I did a 23 mile run today and this was my last long run of the program. At this point I start to pare back on the miles in preparation for the race on October 18th. I can’t wait to come back to Denver! I was supposed to do 20, but I wanted to get as close to a full marathon as possible without doing something really foolish, like running a full marathon. This exercise served to break down any remaining doubts or fears I have about the race. I now know for certain—barring something I can’t control happening—that I can and will finish.
This has been a long journey, and it is not over yet, but today I called out my best effort and at the end told myself I had done something extraordinary. I’m not sure we hear that enough. I know I don’t say it enough to the people that I am in relationship with.
At work mistakes are often the focus. The missteps and fumbles are played up and spotlighted. If someone does something great there can almost be an effort to not make a big deal out of it because we don’t want to single anyone out. I see this frequently in big corporations. Rewards and recognition budgets go unspent each year because managers can’t bring themselves to acknowledge that they have extraordinary people working for them doing extraordinary things.
SIDEBAR: Some people get promoted to management not because they know how to work with people (the organization's most valuable asset), but because they have experience or technical expertise. These things are valuable, but should be maybe 3rd or 4th on the list of management criteria.
I spoke with an HR manager just last week about her frustration with this. “I’m going to have to tell them they have to spend this money on their people and genuinely express gratitude for the big efforts they make, or they will get some other area of their budget for HR cut, like seminars and travel.” Managers love to go to seminars and travel around on the company dime, so she was going to hit them hard right in the professional solar plexus. Rock on Ms. HR.
Sometimes, like I did today, we have to validate ourselves, no matter what the endeavor. This is not egotistical, but rather a form of self-care. On Facebook I see status updates from friends who are doing amazing things all the time. One friend has three weddings to cater this weekend. He is an excellent chef and has such a great attitude about huge efforts like this. How do you juggle three amazing meals in a 72 hour period? Another pastor friend regularly performs weddings and funerals, so much so this year that I think he is on pace to break some kind of record this year. He helps people on a regular basis through wonderful and difficult life transitions. Another friend produces amazing metal sculptures that are in every sense of the word, extraordinary. I hit the ‘Like’ button regularly because there is no ‘Extraordinary’ button. Tell someone today you think they are or that they did something extraordinary. You won’t regret it.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Fatigue, Irrational Fear, and Rebooting the System
As I enter week 15 of an 18 week training program, I am at that stage where it has been going on long enough that I am feeling confident, but at the same time having a day here and there when I am just sick of it. Yesterday was a 16 mile run, which went fine, but today I had a measly three miler that felt boring and difficult. I have not been sleeping well and was just plain tired. I read in my Hal Higdon marathon book that this stage can be tough, especially as your high mileage diet requirements become more complicated in terms of maintaining glycogen stores and taking in the right amount of carbs and protein. The book also said your body can start to fatigue and even sleeplessness can result from overstress, even if it seems you are just following the plan. I don’t think I am overtraining, but I suppose it is possible. I have been having trouble sleeping, but I assumed that was related to the pain around losing a friend last week. Truth be told, it is probably a combination of things, from a hairy project deadline, grief, and where I am in the training program.
This is also the stage of training where irrational fears related to getting hurt or sick show up, either of which could send weeks of hard work and aspiration down the drain. I use hand sanitizer every five minutes and walk very slowly through parking lots so I don’t trip on a rock or go off a curb wrong and twist my ankle. If I am in my office and don’t have to leave, I take off my shoes and pad around in my socks. The other day I snuck down the hall to the copier, thinking no one would notice me, and ran into our Chief Medical Officer, who looked down and my feet and smiled. Stairs are almost out of the question at this point and I really don’t like to shake hands with people anymore.
The point is, training has been a mental and physical challenge that will come to fruition in five short weeks, and I don’t want anything to sabotage getting to race day. Something very well might end my hopes of doing the race, and this is where the need to reboot comes in. There is nothing I can do about many of the events that could stop the show at this point, so I need to focus on what I can actually do something about or influence.
My own attitude could foul things up if I don’t stay focused on why I set off on this crazy trip to begin with. It is natural to get tired at this stage, but that does not mean I can’t push through it by resetting my frame of reference.
I started this whole effort to challenge myself to do something difficult. I’ve done this before, but it has been five years, so to get back on the trail and do the work holds special meaning for me at this stage in my life. I want my son to see his father as someone challenges himself and swings for the fence every time he gets an at-bat. I want him to see me as a man who takes on goals that bear a cost. I want him to see me cross the finish line. It is not about impressing him or showing off, but about demonstrating how to set a goal and work to achieve it, and how to celebrate when that goal is met.
At this point in the training, where there is fatigue and fear, it is vital for me to go back to why I started this journey and remember to train defensively (not overdoing it, listening to my body). At this stage I can avoid things that can lead to injury and just keep doing what I know yields results, like eating right, getting enough sleep, and not giving in to the temptation to over-train.
Above all, I need to continue to enjoy being outside with friends doing something that brings me life. When a computer no longer understands why it is doing what it is doing or gets scrambled in terms of processing information, a simple fix is to reboot it. I need to reboot my training program and attitude as I move into the final weeks of the effort. I suppose in any area of our lives there is a time where we know we need to reboot. Perhaps it is in a relationship, at work, or in some other area of your life. Where is a reboot needed in your life?
This is also the stage of training where irrational fears related to getting hurt or sick show up, either of which could send weeks of hard work and aspiration down the drain. I use hand sanitizer every five minutes and walk very slowly through parking lots so I don’t trip on a rock or go off a curb wrong and twist my ankle. If I am in my office and don’t have to leave, I take off my shoes and pad around in my socks. The other day I snuck down the hall to the copier, thinking no one would notice me, and ran into our Chief Medical Officer, who looked down and my feet and smiled. Stairs are almost out of the question at this point and I really don’t like to shake hands with people anymore.
The point is, training has been a mental and physical challenge that will come to fruition in five short weeks, and I don’t want anything to sabotage getting to race day. Something very well might end my hopes of doing the race, and this is where the need to reboot comes in. There is nothing I can do about many of the events that could stop the show at this point, so I need to focus on what I can actually do something about or influence.
My own attitude could foul things up if I don’t stay focused on why I set off on this crazy trip to begin with. It is natural to get tired at this stage, but that does not mean I can’t push through it by resetting my frame of reference.
I started this whole effort to challenge myself to do something difficult. I’ve done this before, but it has been five years, so to get back on the trail and do the work holds special meaning for me at this stage in my life. I want my son to see his father as someone challenges himself and swings for the fence every time he gets an at-bat. I want him to see me as a man who takes on goals that bear a cost. I want him to see me cross the finish line. It is not about impressing him or showing off, but about demonstrating how to set a goal and work to achieve it, and how to celebrate when that goal is met.
At this point in the training, where there is fatigue and fear, it is vital for me to go back to why I started this journey and remember to train defensively (not overdoing it, listening to my body). At this stage I can avoid things that can lead to injury and just keep doing what I know yields results, like eating right, getting enough sleep, and not giving in to the temptation to over-train.
Above all, I need to continue to enjoy being outside with friends doing something that brings me life. When a computer no longer understands why it is doing what it is doing or gets scrambled in terms of processing information, a simple fix is to reboot it. I need to reboot my training program and attitude as I move into the final weeks of the effort. I suppose in any area of our lives there is a time where we know we need to reboot. Perhaps it is in a relationship, at work, or in some other area of your life. Where is a reboot needed in your life?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Loss
On Sunday, September 13th 2009, our running community here in Omaha lost a mother, wife, and friend.
J was running near Life Time Fitness and died. She left behind a husband and daughter. This is the second time I have opened my email and received this type of news. Two years ago a friend died while running the Collegiate Peaks Trail Marathon near Buena Vista Colorado. Now I descend again into what David Whyte calls "The Well of Grief."
I talked to J for the last time on Saturday night at an Endurance Club party. She was excited for a half marathon she was going to do and had made great progress toward that goal. Her husband is an excellent athlete and was so proud of her. He is currently injured, so we were joking with them saying that J was the real runner in the family now at that it would take her husband months to catch back up, if he could at all.
J was a beginner, but never gave up. Running is a hard activity to pick up because on the first few runs it can seem almost impossible that it will ever be enjoyable. I remember when she showed up to the track workout for the first time. Runners can be pretty obsessive about technical clothing and shoes, but she didn’t care about the gear. She came in cut-off sweats and these really glamorous movie-star sunglasses, and slowly moved around the outside of the track, pushing herself a little harder each week.
She reminded me that with a positive attitude you can achieve a goal, even if at the beginning it is hard to see results. Running can be frustrating at times and is like any sport in that regard. My 20 mile run last Saturday was frustrating because my legs gave up the ghost at about mile 17 and I ended up finishing a lot slower than I did on my first 20 miler. I have said that time is not my concern when running, but improvement is, and even though I finished the run I admit to some momentary disappointment in the idea that I had seemed to have moved backwards a bit. My memory of J reminds me that it really does not matter how fast you are and that the point of the journey is not to arrive, but to do. It is in the doing that we are changed, and she was changing.
Her husband offered to help me and Catherine move about 48 hours after having met me for the first time, and is such a good man. He owns some Subway stores and they get robbed all the time. He smiles when I ask him about the latest robbery and says, "no one was hurt, that's what's important." He has such a great attitude and loved his wife very much. This evening was the viewing and most of the running club was there. She was a scrapbooker and we got to look through several of the albums she created. We all signed a Team Nebraska bib and gave it to her husband. Life Time Fitness has given us the backing to organize an annual race in J's honor and we will start on that next week.
I pray for the family during this time of grief and pain. In the Psalms the writer says “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…you are with me.” To me, right now, the important words here are “through,” and "with me." The writer is telling us that the valley is not endless and that there will come a time when the sun will come out again and we will emerge from the canyons of grief. The author is telling us we do not go through grief and sadness alone. In this instance I know that grief is being met by our running community with love for Steve and his daughter, but this fact does not make the process any easier.
Goodbye J. You are missed by all of us.
J was running near Life Time Fitness and died. She left behind a husband and daughter. This is the second time I have opened my email and received this type of news. Two years ago a friend died while running the Collegiate Peaks Trail Marathon near Buena Vista Colorado. Now I descend again into what David Whyte calls "The Well of Grief."
I talked to J for the last time on Saturday night at an Endurance Club party. She was excited for a half marathon she was going to do and had made great progress toward that goal. Her husband is an excellent athlete and was so proud of her. He is currently injured, so we were joking with them saying that J was the real runner in the family now at that it would take her husband months to catch back up, if he could at all.
J was a beginner, but never gave up. Running is a hard activity to pick up because on the first few runs it can seem almost impossible that it will ever be enjoyable. I remember when she showed up to the track workout for the first time. Runners can be pretty obsessive about technical clothing and shoes, but she didn’t care about the gear. She came in cut-off sweats and these really glamorous movie-star sunglasses, and slowly moved around the outside of the track, pushing herself a little harder each week.
She reminded me that with a positive attitude you can achieve a goal, even if at the beginning it is hard to see results. Running can be frustrating at times and is like any sport in that regard. My 20 mile run last Saturday was frustrating because my legs gave up the ghost at about mile 17 and I ended up finishing a lot slower than I did on my first 20 miler. I have said that time is not my concern when running, but improvement is, and even though I finished the run I admit to some momentary disappointment in the idea that I had seemed to have moved backwards a bit. My memory of J reminds me that it really does not matter how fast you are and that the point of the journey is not to arrive, but to do. It is in the doing that we are changed, and she was changing.
Her husband offered to help me and Catherine move about 48 hours after having met me for the first time, and is such a good man. He owns some Subway stores and they get robbed all the time. He smiles when I ask him about the latest robbery and says, "no one was hurt, that's what's important." He has such a great attitude and loved his wife very much. This evening was the viewing and most of the running club was there. She was a scrapbooker and we got to look through several of the albums she created. We all signed a Team Nebraska bib and gave it to her husband. Life Time Fitness has given us the backing to organize an annual race in J's honor and we will start on that next week.
I pray for the family during this time of grief and pain. In the Psalms the writer says “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…you are with me.” To me, right now, the important words here are “through,” and "with me." The writer is telling us that the valley is not endless and that there will come a time when the sun will come out again and we will emerge from the canyons of grief. The author is telling us we do not go through grief and sadness alone. In this instance I know that grief is being met by our running community with love for Steve and his daughter, but this fact does not make the process any easier.
Goodbye J. You are missed by all of us.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Grief
Our running community lost a good friend on Sunday. She died while running. I am sad for the loss of a friend and the devastating impact a tragedy like this has on the family. Our group is in shock but committed to this family and helping in every way we can.
There are points during the day when I let the grief settle in around me and not try to fix anything or make it better. Grief must be felt, not stayed. It is at times, as Rilke said, "like pushing through solid rock," but is a necessary part of being alive. I left my Asics on some landscaping near where she died today. Someone had placed roses there. I run that stretch every day, and now every day it will be different.
"Between grief and nothing, I'll take grief." William Faulkner
There are points during the day when I let the grief settle in around me and not try to fix anything or make it better. Grief must be felt, not stayed. It is at times, as Rilke said, "like pushing through solid rock," but is a necessary part of being alive. I left my Asics on some landscaping near where she died today. Someone had placed roses there. I run that stretch every day, and now every day it will be different.
"Between grief and nothing, I'll take grief." William Faulkner
Friday, September 11, 2009
Nerves
"People begin running for any number of motives, but we stick to it for one basic reason-to find out who we really are." George Sheehan-MD
Tomorrow the training plan calls for the second of three 20 mile runs. I say “calls for” because I always have four options when training:
1. Train to the plan
2. Change the plan to not include the specific runs
3. Reduce the mileage and try to make it up later
4. Not run at all.
This morning I decided to choose option number one. In fact, I think I may do 21 or 22 miles, which is about three laps around Lake Zorinsky and probably means about three hours of time-on-feet.
The Friday before a 20 mile run always brings on a bit of nervousness. Will I trip on a sidewalk today and get one of those slight injuries that does not give me an out but makes the run more difficult? Tonight will I crack and eat five slices of pepperoni pizza washed down by seven Cokes? Will I be unable to sleep?
The key today is to remember that I ran 20 miles two weeks ago and everything went just fine. The other key is to remember the quote by George Sheehan and continue in my desire to find out who I really am.
I believe most people have some way of discovering and expressing who they really are, and that most people want to choose option one. Artists create; people with the gift of service give selflessly back to the community; parents invest in the lives of their children; teachers try to awaken the minds of the students. How do you discover who you really are and cultivate this process of discovery?
Tomorrow the training plan calls for the second of three 20 mile runs. I say “calls for” because I always have four options when training:
1. Train to the plan
2. Change the plan to not include the specific runs
3. Reduce the mileage and try to make it up later
4. Not run at all.
This morning I decided to choose option number one. In fact, I think I may do 21 or 22 miles, which is about three laps around Lake Zorinsky and probably means about three hours of time-on-feet.
The Friday before a 20 mile run always brings on a bit of nervousness. Will I trip on a sidewalk today and get one of those slight injuries that does not give me an out but makes the run more difficult? Tonight will I crack and eat five slices of pepperoni pizza washed down by seven Cokes? Will I be unable to sleep?
The key today is to remember that I ran 20 miles two weeks ago and everything went just fine. The other key is to remember the quote by George Sheehan and continue in my desire to find out who I really am.
I believe most people have some way of discovering and expressing who they really are, and that most people want to choose option one. Artists create; people with the gift of service give selflessly back to the community; parents invest in the lives of their children; teachers try to awaken the minds of the students. How do you discover who you really are and cultivate this process of discovery?
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Running in the Dark
“When we become aware that we do not have to escape our pains, but that we can mobilize them into a common search for life, those very pains are transformed from expressions of despair into signs of hope.”
As summer yields to fall and my marathon training program really hits stride, I find myself running in the dark. Like a lot of runners, I have to maintain a pretty regimented schedule in order to account for all the training required to get through the 26.2. This regiment becomes even more crucial in order to balance my life between family, work, friends, and community.
Since this is my blog, I can put in whatever potentially uninteresting content I want to, so skip the next section if you’ve no curiosity about how a runner like me has to operate.
MORNING
4:00am: Wake up, feed dog, and get to coffee pot that was preset night before
4:15: Do personal email and Facebook and get lunch together
5:00am: Load up car with enough stuff to summit Everest (gym bag, work clothes, briefcase filled with consumer electronics and books, lunch) and drive to Lifetime Fitness
5:30am: Run Lake Zorinsky
6:30am: Shower at club and get ready for work. Drive to office listening to extremely loud rock music
7:00am: Get to office. Take deep breath and change roles
11:30am: Eat lunch (I do six small meals a day, so my lunch bag is like a clown car. Food just keeps coming out in a long ridiculous procession. I get grief for this pretty regularly from my inconsiderate co-workers, some of whom may read this and repent)
AFTERNOON
4:00pm: Leave work. Take deep breath and change roles
4:30am: Play with Aiden
5:30pm: Dinner
6:30pm: Play with Aiden
7:30: Start bath/bedtime process (Catherine does most of this with me as backup quarterback/referee/EMT if a fight breaks out and/or one of them is injured)
8:30pm: Check in with email and Facebook
9:00pm: Go to bed and read
9:15pm: Nod off and drop book on face. Wake up briefly in shock. Turn out lights
Now that it is fall the workouts around Lake Zorinsky take place in the dark. This darkness persists until a small band of light appears on the horizon at the end of the run. I wore my headlamp the first time I had to run in the dark a few weeks ago, but don't like it so have abandoned the practice. Now I wear a dorky orange construction worker vest, as most of my running clothes are black in honor of Robert Smith. One of my primary running goals for this marathon is to train smart, and the first part of this run takes place on streets. Being run over or by a car or hit by an early morning cyclist is not consistent with the goal of training smart, thus the dorky vest is a required piece of gear. There is also a herd of deer at the west end of Zorinsky that sometimes crash across the trail if a runner or cyclist spooks them, and I want them to see me too.
I can hear the deer moving around as I run through some of the more densely forested areas of the park. The first time I ran in the dark this season I was convinced the snapping branches were being caused by Jason Voorhees. He never really ran in those movies, so I think on a middle distance run I could get away, but who knows, he may have done P90X or is training for a fall marathon. He probably walks at about a 20 minute/mile pace and I am at about 8:10s on shorter distances, but he can hide really well and I don’t think ever pulls a hamstring or gets an IT band injury.
I expected to be the only weirdo down there, but there are actually some other regulars, who I assume are also doing fall marathons and have schedules similar or even more complicated than mine. There are no lights down in the park so you can’t see other runners until you are very close. You will hear the sound of shoes on the trail or perhaps see a headlamp before you see the other person and exchange a “good morning” or simply a wave if you are burning it and breathing hard.
As I have been running in the dark for a few weeks now, I realize that my eyes adjust about a mile in, and that I can see the basic shape of things. The darkness bothered me at first because I was afraid I would trip on something and get an injury that would prevent me from doing the marathon. I thought about how sometimes in life we find ourselves running in the dark, processing worry, fear, doubt, and emotional injury. I have experienced this processing recently, especially in my career, where I question if what I am doing at work is what I was designed to do. Pain from my life story has also surfaced, and I don’t know what is in front of me or off to the side in the forest. Sometimes in “grass is always greener” moments I want to flee what I do for a living or numb myself to the pain. As I ran the other morning, I remembered a line from Dante's Divine Comedy.
“In the middle of my life I awoke in a dark wood, where the true way was wholly lost.”
Perhaps the undergrad majors in English and Philosophy were not a total wash after all.
I find solace in the fact that I can still see small pieces of what is in front of me and that just as the sun eventually rises in the natural world it will rise again in the world of my heart and spirit. Sometimes this solace occurs when I pass another runner and remember that running in the dark is a shared human experience. I understand in those moments that there are brief, or sometimes long, periods when we can experience the dark together. I can reorient myself in the dark when I remember that God calls us into a “dark night of the soul” in order to prepare us to freely give compassion to others. We are able to give grace and compassion to others because we have experienced darkness and the need for these things in our own lives.
The fact that the sun will rise can occur at a fleeting moment during the day when I realize I am using my gifts and talents alongside others to accomplish something greater than myself in the world of non-profit healthcare. Pain from the past is redeemed when I play with my son and I see the joy in his face.
The other day I thought about the title of Hemingway book “The Sun Also Rises,” and this brought me confidence that even though I am at times running in the dark, my sight will adjust enough so I can navigate the questions, doubts, and fears. Eventually a small band of light will appear on the horizon. I am comforted when I eventually cross paths with others who are experiencing the same darkness, but are committed to moving forward one step at a time.
Credits:
My wife Catherine created the amazing new graphic for my blog. I am thankful to live with an artist because otherwise the header would have remained pretty lame and uninteresting.
Thanks to Rachel C for posting the Nouwen quote in her status. I updated this entry because of how well it fit and how great it was that we were in the same frame this week.
Henri Nouwen
As summer yields to fall and my marathon training program really hits stride, I find myself running in the dark. Like a lot of runners, I have to maintain a pretty regimented schedule in order to account for all the training required to get through the 26.2. This regiment becomes even more crucial in order to balance my life between family, work, friends, and community.
Since this is my blog, I can put in whatever potentially uninteresting content I want to, so skip the next section if you’ve no curiosity about how a runner like me has to operate.
MORNING
4:00am: Wake up, feed dog, and get to coffee pot that was preset night before
4:15: Do personal email and Facebook and get lunch together
5:00am: Load up car with enough stuff to summit Everest (gym bag, work clothes, briefcase filled with consumer electronics and books, lunch) and drive to Lifetime Fitness
5:30am: Run Lake Zorinsky
6:30am: Shower at club and get ready for work. Drive to office listening to extremely loud rock music
7:00am: Get to office. Take deep breath and change roles
11:30am: Eat lunch (I do six small meals a day, so my lunch bag is like a clown car. Food just keeps coming out in a long ridiculous procession. I get grief for this pretty regularly from my inconsiderate co-workers, some of whom may read this and repent)
AFTERNOON
4:00pm: Leave work. Take deep breath and change roles
4:30am: Play with Aiden
5:30pm: Dinner
6:30pm: Play with Aiden
7:30: Start bath/bedtime process (Catherine does most of this with me as backup quarterback/referee/EMT if a fight breaks out and/or one of them is injured)
8:30pm: Check in with email and Facebook
9:00pm: Go to bed and read
9:15pm: Nod off and drop book on face. Wake up briefly in shock. Turn out lights
Now that it is fall the workouts around Lake Zorinsky take place in the dark. This darkness persists until a small band of light appears on the horizon at the end of the run. I wore my headlamp the first time I had to run in the dark a few weeks ago, but don't like it so have abandoned the practice. Now I wear a dorky orange construction worker vest, as most of my running clothes are black in honor of Robert Smith. One of my primary running goals for this marathon is to train smart, and the first part of this run takes place on streets. Being run over or by a car or hit by an early morning cyclist is not consistent with the goal of training smart, thus the dorky vest is a required piece of gear. There is also a herd of deer at the west end of Zorinsky that sometimes crash across the trail if a runner or cyclist spooks them, and I want them to see me too.
I can hear the deer moving around as I run through some of the more densely forested areas of the park. The first time I ran in the dark this season I was convinced the snapping branches were being caused by Jason Voorhees. He never really ran in those movies, so I think on a middle distance run I could get away, but who knows, he may have done P90X or is training for a fall marathon. He probably walks at about a 20 minute/mile pace and I am at about 8:10s on shorter distances, but he can hide really well and I don’t think ever pulls a hamstring or gets an IT band injury.
I expected to be the only weirdo down there, but there are actually some other regulars, who I assume are also doing fall marathons and have schedules similar or even more complicated than mine. There are no lights down in the park so you can’t see other runners until you are very close. You will hear the sound of shoes on the trail or perhaps see a headlamp before you see the other person and exchange a “good morning” or simply a wave if you are burning it and breathing hard.
As I have been running in the dark for a few weeks now, I realize that my eyes adjust about a mile in, and that I can see the basic shape of things. The darkness bothered me at first because I was afraid I would trip on something and get an injury that would prevent me from doing the marathon. I thought about how sometimes in life we find ourselves running in the dark, processing worry, fear, doubt, and emotional injury. I have experienced this processing recently, especially in my career, where I question if what I am doing at work is what I was designed to do. Pain from my life story has also surfaced, and I don’t know what is in front of me or off to the side in the forest. Sometimes in “grass is always greener” moments I want to flee what I do for a living or numb myself to the pain. As I ran the other morning, I remembered a line from Dante's Divine Comedy.
“In the middle of my life I awoke in a dark wood, where the true way was wholly lost.”
Perhaps the undergrad majors in English and Philosophy were not a total wash after all.
I find solace in the fact that I can still see small pieces of what is in front of me and that just as the sun eventually rises in the natural world it will rise again in the world of my heart and spirit. Sometimes this solace occurs when I pass another runner and remember that running in the dark is a shared human experience. I understand in those moments that there are brief, or sometimes long, periods when we can experience the dark together. I can reorient myself in the dark when I remember that God calls us into a “dark night of the soul” in order to prepare us to freely give compassion to others. We are able to give grace and compassion to others because we have experienced darkness and the need for these things in our own lives.
The fact that the sun will rise can occur at a fleeting moment during the day when I realize I am using my gifts and talents alongside others to accomplish something greater than myself in the world of non-profit healthcare. Pain from the past is redeemed when I play with my son and I see the joy in his face.
The other day I thought about the title of Hemingway book “The Sun Also Rises,” and this brought me confidence that even though I am at times running in the dark, my sight will adjust enough so I can navigate the questions, doubts, and fears. Eventually a small band of light will appear on the horizon. I am comforted when I eventually cross paths with others who are experiencing the same darkness, but are committed to moving forward one step at a time.
Credits:
My wife Catherine created the amazing new graphic for my blog. I am thankful to live with an artist because otherwise the header would have remained pretty lame and uninteresting.
Thanks to Rachel C for posting the Nouwen quote in her status. I updated this entry because of how well it fit and how great it was that we were in the same frame this week.
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