So I run

A little over two years ago, my husband and I were at a place where we were ready to grow our family.  We had prayed and waited and talked about it, and now it seemed everything was finally going according to plan.  The only thing that wasn't in our plan was the fact that, unlike my previous pregnancies, I felt like CRAP!  Physically and mentally this time around was not being kind to me.  And I realized that I was going to have to do something.  I knew I needed to find a way of taking care of myself in a new way - primarily by giving myself some feeling of control and "normalcy" in my body and thoughts - if I was going to be strong enough to make it through the next nine months.  

And so I ran.  

One evening I pulled myself off the couch, went down to the basement, dusted off the treadmill we had bought months ago and had yet to use, put on the tennis shoes I had purchased on sale while I was pregnant with Adrian and had yet to wear, and for the first time since I left Granite Falls in 2005, I tried "running" (or at least that's what I called it).   I began with the easiest preset 30 minute routine, which had me huffing and puffing by half-way into it.  But I did it!  And after a few weeks of this, I was up to 45 minutes, and was quite proud.   And so it began.  Layla was barely the size of a seed inside of me, but she (in an unsettling sort of way) was a huge motivation.  And as she grew, so did my enjoyment of running again. 

Two months later, with the encouragement of my extended family, the baby (who still remained a secret to everyone but her dad and I and our clinic) and I ran our first ever 5K.  I set a goal finishing time for myself (I won't say what, but it was not in the low two-figures I can tell you that, as "running" was still a very loose term for what I did), and to my huge surprise I made it with almost 7 minutes to spare.  I was ecstatic!  (Not too bad for a 14 week pregnant woman who hadn't run in nine years and was passed by women pushing strollers on the route!)  

And so I kept running.  

A year later, Layla now a part of my cheering crew, I ran the same race again, beating my previous year's time (along with the new goal I had set for myself for this year) by another big margin. I was once again overjoyed!  (Not bad for a woman who could barely hobble for the first six months after her last race, and almost literally hadn't slept for the six months just before this one!)  

And so I ran harder.  

Tonight, after a few years of running on and off the treadmill and two pairs of worn-out tennis shoes later, I once again ran that race.  And once again, I beat my time and goal. Happy?, you wonder.  Proud?, you ask.  Heck yea!!  But not necessarily for the reason you would imagine.  Sure I'm proud of my finishing and my time and my improvement - all reasons to consider it a success.  But mostly, my feeling proud and successful is because of my motivation. 

The motivation which, however unpleasant (and trust me, it was unpleasant!) it may have been at the time, got me moving a few years ago is the same motivation that had me running my heart out tonight too - my kids!

I started running because I wanted to be strong enough to carry that little baby within me as best I could.  I continue running because I want my kids to have that same strong mother.  

Not a bulked-up, gym rat, super strength or speed kind of mother.  Not even a can-open-a-jar-of-pickles-and-swing-a-sledgehammer-without-blinking-an-eye kind of mother (though that may not be all bad), but strong nonetheless.  Strong enough.  Strong enough to run a 5K, and then some.  Strong enough to make it up steep hills.  To fight against the wind that tries to push me back.  To outrun the neighborhood dogs that nip at my heels.  Strong enough to try something new sometimes, taking on new paths and greater distances.  To out-do my own best.  

But not just physically strong.  I want my kids to have a mother who is mentally strong as well.  Strong enough to push myself up and over challenging spots in life's journey.  Strong enough to keep going when it gets tough and life's storms try to push me to turn around or give up.  Strong enough to get past those others who would as soon hurt me as help me.  Strong enough to try new adventures, taking on risks and challenges that could lead to great things.  To out-do my own best.  

I also want to be strong in confidence.  Strong enough to know that not only am I doing alright, but if I put my mind to it, I can climb mountains.  Strong enough to feel good and proud of myself, no matter what is coming at me.  To recognize and trust in my own strength, regardless of the perceived strength of those around me.  Strong enough to try to find new, deeper levels of love and pride in myself, taking on the me that GOD created me to be.  To believe that I am capable of out-doing my own best.  

And so I run.  

I run because I want my kids to have a strong mother.  I want my kids to have a strong mother, because I want my kids to be strong.

I hope that my children too will be strong people, in all ways.  That they will have the strength to be healthy and happy.  The inner strength to set their minds to great things and meet their lives' goals.  To believe in themselves and rejoice in all they are.  I dream that my children will set ambitious goals, work hard for them, and exceed even their own expectations.  I pray each and every day that they will be far stronger than I will ever be.  

And so I run. 

That motivation which made me take control of bettering my situation a few years ago has led to a new normal for me.  The tiny push to plug in the treadmill that February evening now has me continually moving in new, better, directions.  That little seed started just over two years ago has made me stronger, and continues to do so.  Layla was tough on me, and it has made me tougher.  She was, and continues to be, my motivation, along with her siblings. I want my kids to have a strong witness, because I want them to be strong. 

The hope that my example of striving to grow in strength - physically, mentally and in confidence - will inspire the same, and greater, strength from my children is why I run.  They are there on the sidelines (be it next to the treadmill, waiting on the driveway for me to return or at the finish line of my annual race), cheering me on.  My running is just one of the ways I can strive to be their cheering team as well - letting them know they can climb mountains, laugh in the face of the wind, and outrun any adversity nipping at their heels; my choosing to run is how I can clap wildly for their future selves, trusting that they will out-do their own best over and over again in their lives. 

I love them, and the strength I can already see in each of them.  

And so, I run.  

Lord, I am not worthy that You should enter under my roof

It's been another insane attempt at church.  Impatient kids fighting.  Loud baby escaping.   Tired parents trying.  A family failing at prayer.  It's our usual scene.  And amidst all the squealing, the shush-ing, the wiggling, the "stop that"'s, and the frazzling commotion of pew #3 (aka, our pew), I still somehow (miraculously as it seems) manage to hear the priest's words, and I respond instinctively along with the congregation in rehearsed response:

"LORD, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof..."

'Isn't that the truth!,' I think to myself as I respond.  My roof houses three nutsie little kids who I can't even keep quiet and under control for an hour at Mass, let alone for the hours that make up the rest of our week.  My roof sits atop disgustingly dirty floors that haven't been swept in days - a task that was made all the harder to do this morning when the baby pushed her big brother's cereal bowl off the table, splattering milk EVERYWHERE.  My roof covers a husband who's been sick for two months and a me who's been overwhelmed and impatient for almost that long (well, EXTRA overwhelmed and impatient that long, on top of the usual overwhelmed-ness and impatience that have been under my roof since moving in).  No, unless he likes baskets of unfolded laundry, stepping on Duplos, running out of Kleenex and noise (oh, so very much noise!), my "roof" is no place for my LORD to enter!  

"...But only say the word, and my soul shall be healed."

'I wish it were that simple!,' I think to myself, as I barely finish the sentence before having to quickly grab the 17 month old smiling at me as she runs down the aisle, once again having escaped pew #3.  Everything about the chaos that lies under this family's roof screams unworthy.  With no sign of being fixed any time soon.  My child now wailing because I won't put her down again (fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice...ok four times in one Mass, shame on me!), and me frantically searching for her pacifier that isn't where it's supposed to be in the diaper bag which just fell and spilled all over the floor, including rolling back into pew #4.  Oh my!  Thank goodness GOD isn't knocking at my door!  

It is not a worthy place for my GOD.

* * * * * * 

We did it - we made it to the end of another hectic, All-Eyes-on-the-Loud-Family Mass!  As I am trying to find everything that has been spread all over (and under) pew #3 (and 4), while my husband attempts to get three squirrly kids into coats before they dart off to run up and down the sanctuary ramp, I feel a tap on my shoulder.  "You have a beautiful family!," the stranger tells me. 

'Yeah, right,' I think to myself, as I watch my son almost trip and elderly man in his quest for that ramp-run he's been waiting for.  Beautiful?  Don't you mean busy?  That's what we usually hear: "You sure are 'busy.'"  And after this past hour of desperate attempts to maintain order (and a volume level acceptable to the poor worshipers around us), I find it hard to believe she meant beautiful and not busy.  But it is nice of her to offer the pity compliment.    

I smile and say thank you, ready to get out of there as quickly as possible before my kids do anything else worthy of another comment by the strangers, or worse yet the friends, who have witnessed our Sunday morning ritual of mayhem.  I take a long, deep breath - one of disbelief.  And I look at my husband, who just let out a similarly painful sigh.  "How does this happen?"  "I don't know; let's just go home."

* * * * * *

Home, under that unworthy-roof.  Where chaos abounds in unending heaps.  Where tidiness does not (though the heaps part is accurate).  Where noise (I'm pretty sure the neighbors across the street and down the hill can hear us despite closed doors and windows) happens.  Where life happens...

Where my "beautiful" family happens.  

Home, where we raise three ridiculously rambunctious, but incredibly clever, kids.  Where we laugh (oh, their cute little laughs) together.  Where we cry (those heart-breaking cries) and comfort with each other.  Where we pray for one another.  Where we love one another...

Where so much of GOD is present.  

Home, where I am blessed by a loving husband and the three children that came from that love.  Where we enjoy enough food, water, and health to satisfy more than our basic needs.  Where we enjoy enough fun to satisfy a small army.  Where my life is made messy by the daily challenges of life and motherhood, but where those same things also offer me growth...

Where my soul is healed.  

We gather up our kids, the oldest nicely saying good-bye to the gentleman he almost knocked over, the middle jumping up to hug her beloved "Daddy," and the youngest reaching out to hold my hand in her tiny fingers as she wobbles towards the door.  Another long, deep breath of disbelief.  But this time, one of gratitude.

How did this happen - that under my roof lies an abundance of GOD and so much of His grace!  Blessings by the handful, all of which I am completely unworthy of.  And all of which, make me whole.  

"Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof..."  Yet here you are, day after day, entering and abiding with us, showing us yourself through one another.   

"...But only say the word and my soul shall be healed!"  It is, just look at them, it so is. 

* * * * * * * * * 

Tonight I will be taking my children to Mass at a time over-lapping with both their supper and their bedtimes, the longest service we go to all year.  And as if that didn't make me enough of a glutton for punishment, it is also my favorite service of the year.  Why give up my most meaningful night of prayer and community for the usual "Ritual of Mayhem" that is going to church with my kids?  Because...they, like the GOD who gave them to me and the church I give them to, heal me in ways I never knew possible.  Because the reasons why tonight is my favorite (the presence of Christ, the humble service, the feasting and fearing together with those you love) are my favorite things about being their mother too.  

Happy Holy Thursday everyone! 

 

The Presentation: a Prayer for Parents

They're young yet, but ever since they were really young, my husband and I have enjoyed thinking about our kids’ futures.  Those late night conversations where we speculate about what they will be like as they grow up.  The sensitive guy in the corner of the library.  The spunky girl in the middle of the party.  The determined gal leading the mountain-climbing expedition.  And What they will be.  The engineer.  The elementary school zoo field trip tour guide.  The senator.  What does the future hold for these unique little personalities we watch unfold?  Creativity.  Friendship.  Adventure. 

But no matter what I envision our children’s futures to look like, or what I hope they might hold, I am continuously left with the reality that it is all out of my control.  And I am faced with the realization that it may not all be beautiful. 

Yesterday was the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord.  The day in which we recalled how Mary and Joseph took their new child to the Temple to entrust him to GOD, where Simeon and Anna proclaimed his destiny (Luke 2:22-40).  And as an extension of that destiny, also proclaimed Mary’s: “and you yourself a sword will pierce.” 

A mother’s nightmare, to hear about the challenges ahead for her child.  The prayed-against truth of the heartbreak she will suffer as she watches her child’s fate unfold.  Every parent’s worst fear – an un-easy road ahead for the little life they love so much. Nothing pierces my heart more. 

And yet this is the reality for many parents in our world.  Those fleeing danger, those separated from their children, those pierced by violence.  Those still longing (aching) to be parents, those facing complications for their unborn child, those pierced by the loss of a life they had only begun to know.  Those living in poverty, those living on the fringes, those pierced with the harsh realities of want.  Those facing disabilities, those facing serious illness, those pierced by the knowledge that their child’s dreams of being a fireman or a ballerina may not come true. Those facing bullies, those facing being cut from the team, those pierced by the look of sadness and disappointment on their child's face. 

In all corners of the globe (and corners of our communities) there are parents who live daily with the reality that their child’s future may not be all beautiful.  And though it differs in severity, all of us parents face the truth that our children’s future will have challenges, and that both the struggle and the triumphs of whatever is in store for them is out of our control.  No late night conversation between spouses filled with hopes and dreams and wonder and laughter at our little ones’ days to come has the ultimate say on our child’s destiny.  They may be destined for great and glorious things.  They may be destined for pain and struggle.  They may be destined for both, sometimes inseparably.  We are not Simeon or Anna; we do not know. 

We can only ask that The One Who Does Know Their Destiny will help us trust and pray.  

And though I know it is out of my control, that doesn't stop me from dreaming that my children's future may look something like this: “The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon [them]”  (Luke 2:40).  

* * * * * * 

A Parent's Prayer on this Feast of the Presentation:

Heavenly Father,

on this Feast of the Presentation of our Lord,

I recall the gift Mary and Joseph gave to the world by offering baby Jesus to You in the temple.

I offer up to You all the children in my family.

I place them into Your perfect will and I turn their futures over to You.

Help me to let go of my ideas of what they should do in their lives,

and show me how to guide them into the purposes for which You created them.

Help me to learn from the example of the Blessed Mother, whose heart was pierced by the sword of her Son's pain,

how to always trust in Your plans.

Holy Family, pray for us.

Amen.

(Anonymous) 

Groundhog Day, Every Day

Happy Groundhog Day!  That day when we send a furry little critter out into the cold world to decide the future; when we allow the shadows to determine what our next several weeks will hold for us.  Ah yes, a sacred day to be celebrated if ever there was one!  (insert sarcasm here) 

When I hear Groundhog Day, I always think of the 1993 movie with Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell, where Bill Murray’s character gets stuck in a day that keeps repeating itself over and over again.  But each time he wakes up to the same day again, he has the chance to change pieces of the way the day happens, and slowly things are made better, including himself and his relationships.  How nice it would be at times to have the chance to re-live a day and try to make it better!  And yet, in many ways, every day gives us that opportunity.  Enter Groundhog Day…

* * * * * *

I just returned from Washington, D.C., where I was attending the Catholic Social Ministry Gathering.  It was a fantastic conference!  But it was also a challenging one.  In addition to great speakers and the gathering of wonderful people who share a passion for service and justice stemming from our Catholic faith, the conference also included a number of workshops on very concrete, real issues today—gun violence, racial discrimination, wage theft, climate change, criminal justice reform, poverty, countries at war, etc.  These were hard, often depressing workshops!  At times I found myself in tears; at times found myself asking “why?” as the only prayer I could think of in the midst of the overwhelming realities being discussed.  There were moments of feeling completely helpless at the number and the severity of issues facing so many in our world today. 

Yet my favorite part of the conference was how it didn’t stop with just discussing the issues; it offered participants a chance to do something about them! 

The conference was extra powerful for me because of its location in a setting marked by historical justice-seekers—those leaders of the past who have witnessed to how hope and action together can make a difference.   

Despite the “Blizzard of 2016” on the east coast, I was able to trek out (in true brave, or crazy, Minnesota fashion) and see many of the monuments around the National Mall – Lincoln Memorial, Martin Luther King, FDR, Thomas Jefferson.  Each one, along with their striking sculptures and design also includes quotes from those they memorialize; wise and poignant thoughts from people who have striven for peace in their day and challenging settings.  Though each time in history was a different situation, they all had similar needs of unity, peace, welfare and compassion for all in the midst of some cold and ugly realities and issues facing so many. 

And like some of my workshops, visiting these monuments found me at times in tears.  So many times in our history, so many who have gone before us seeking so many of the same goals of peace and justice, and yet still so much hurt and hate remains.  Is history just caught in a cycle of evil, repeating itself over and over again?  How do we break that cycle?  Will things ever truly get better? 

But each player remembered along that National Mall was given the chance to live and lead in a way that could put things right, make things better.  Obviously they couldn’t fix it all, that kind of healing can’t be done overnight.  But each did something.  And perhaps above even what they did in their own day in history, these justice-seekers also affected the future by letting it be known in their hearts and in their world (and in the walls around their monuments) that a sense of futility, no matter what the situation, is simply not acceptable.  As the prophets of old, and the prophets of our more recent history, have shown us: there is always hope.  We can, we must, strive for something different – something better! 

I also visited the Holocaust Memorial Museum (on International Holocaust Remembrance Day no less).  Again, I found myself in tears; again, a feeling of helplessness, with that prayer of “why?” ringing through my head and heart.  Yet it was a powerful museum not only in the sad reality it shared, but in the hope it pushes us towards.  An entire floor of the (four-floor) exhibit is focused not on the past, but on the future—encouraging all to recognize the needs, the discriminations, the unjust powers, of our fellow humans in the world still today, and to take action!  The slogan “Never again” has been said after the atrocities of the Holocaust, urging us to ensure that such inhumane evil isn’t allowed to happen again.  And yet, sadly, it has happened again (and some would argue is right now).  But there are things we can do – hopeful, helpful things. 

Like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, we can use each day to attempt to make things in the world around us better: 

* Acknowledge past genocides (Native Americans, the Holocaust, Rwanda)
* Recognize current realities of equal horror (Syria, Central African Republic, South Sudan, Immigrants and Refugees and races and religions facing discrimination here in the U.S.)
* Take steps to end them (welcome the stranger, disseminate truth rather than false propaganda, participate in Catholic Relief Services, encourage government to work for peace not arms, and poverty reduction domestically and globally) 
* Live your life for others, not just yourself (and for those who are “other,” not just our own immediate “bubbles”) 

As Franklin D. Roosevelt said at the time of World War II and the Holocaust, “More than an end to war, we want an end to the beginnings of all wars.”  Let us work for an end once and for all, to the war on poverty, the war for life and dignity, the war of nations and of ideal-isms.  History is marked by people who have tried.  Each new time period like a new day, with those making changes for an end to the cycles of suffering, striving for a better day to come.  Now it’s our turn! 

* * * * * *

Every day can be our “groundhog day.”  We are given the chance with every new day to break the negative cycles and situations, and bring hope for a new day tomorrow.  Unlike Bill Murray, let us not repeat horrible situations, and unlike the furry little critter himself, let us not crawl back into our holes out of fear of the shadows.  In the words so clearly etched in the walls of the Martin Luther King, Jr. memorial remind us: “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” 

Today (every day) is Groundhog Day.  A day which holds the power to affect the future.  We live in a cold world with many cold, harsh realities; we can either enter it with hope, determined not to shrink away from the shadows, or we can burrow back in and allow the cold to continue.  Either way, we have the power to determine the future.  It is my prayer that our actions would work to stop the negative cycles of history, and bring about a new “day” of hope and life for our world! 

Ah yes, it is a sacred day to be celebrated!  (no sarcasm intended)