After a good half marathon run this past weekend (not a race, just training), I couldn't seem to get back into the right mind frame to run well earlier this week. After two terrible runs that were cut short, I had a new opportunity today during a one-hour time slot while Jacob had an appointment at school. I typically do pace runs on Tuesdays and Thursday along a route close to the school. It's an imposed race against time because I have to make it back to quickly move on to the next thing on the schedule. My running shorts and T weren't making me want to step out into the cold, while the seat heater of my car was much more pleasant. I lingered while returning some messages. Shoot. Fifty minutes left. As I removed my pullover and popped my earbuds in, the dread of running hard loomed heavy. I prayed, "God, help me to run well."
I used to think I shouldn't bother God with unimportant details of life, as if he was too busy with real issues. I used to think it was immature to pray about mundane, silly, unspiritual things. I believed it was almost irreverent.
But I don't live like that now. God is infinite. To set limits on his desire to listen and answer prayer, or to set limits on his genuine care for every single detail of our lives, is to impose human limitations on God. He doesn't have to prioritize attention and energy because there is no scarcity. He isn't restricted in his care. His power and love are endless. To think God is only concerned about the big stuff of life or about issues of a spiritual nature is to disbelieve his infinite nature. This doesn't honor him, especially since he has invited us into relationship with him. I get to receive his love and care even in the particulars of this temporal life, particularly when I acknowledge in greater detail my complete dependence for all things on him. This, I believe, is an act of worship. I can come to him with full conviction that he is able and willing to bless me. It is like taking God up on his invitation to come as a child.
So with my little prayer made, I ran off into the cold. At one point I noticed a long trail of radiator coolant spilled along the shoulder of the boulevard. Memories of a June day in upper state NY rushed into my head. My sister and I had made the trip from my hometown in Quebec where I was spending the last of my single days with my family. She was 17 and I was 19. We traveled to my brother's college friends' home in a no-where town where my wedding dress had been delivered, the one I had bought for a discount in a North Carolina warehouse during my university spring semester in Virginia. I'd given myself one afternoon to find a dress because that was all my life permitted at the time. And since it couldn't be delivered to Canada, my sister and I made the trip in my old, grey Chevy Cavalier with fingers crossed. After a few hours of travel, we stayed for a quick glass of lemonade, packed up my dress in the trunk and began our journey back. I'm not sure where we were (except that it was even less of a no-where town) when coolant began pouring onto the passenger floor from somewhere below the dash. We pulled into the nearest station and discovered more coolant puddled under the car. No cell phones, of course. Somehow I mustered the courage to ask a gruff, blank-faced man for help. He was my only option. He grumbled when he took a look at the situation, but drove off nonetheless to pick up a replacement part. After his fix I handed him my one $20 bill, knowing full well it wasn't enough but having no other option of payment. We were on the road for just a short while before the episode repeated once more. No more coolant meant no long distance drive. I don't remember exactly, but I must have collect-called Jon or my dad from a payphone, and just waited for hours. It was very late when they finally arrived on that muggy summer night. I was happy to see Jon that night, like comfort and safety washed over me when he appeared. And my dad, like always, got the car going again somehow.
It's funny how some green fluid on the road can bring up memories on a random Thursday run.
My running pace quickened as my body and breathing adjusted. I rounded the corner and began a two mile gradual ascent through the business park. My mind continued to recall the small, dilapidated cars my family used to drive. For most of my childhood, our family of six drove in an economical Chevette, one that had been previously owned by multiple owners. One of us kids rode in the hatchback trunk for lack of space. When it became law to ride with seatbelts (and doubling up was prohibited), my dad jimmy rigged an extra one he had taken from the junkyard or somewhere. We didn't use that seatbelt much; it was much easier to just duck when passing a police cruiser. I remember a car that had holes in the floor clear to ground below, thanks to the corrosive nature of winter road salt and carpet worn bare. As a new driver, I remember a wedge of wood and bubble gum in the mechanics below the hood, making it possible for the car to run. There's more I could relate, so many more details of car adventures and roadside waiting. My dad had a way of keeping cars going long past the normal lifespan.
I never really conversed with God as a little girl, or even as a teen. Once in a while I did out of desperation. I didn't really know that God cared. I wanted to love him, but it was hard to muster up love when I didn't feel love in return. I felt too insignificant and incidental. Yet life just kept moving along somehow, rattling, stalling sometimes, broken parts held together by used gum and wood, coolants oozing and temperatures rising. I was a tenderhearted little girl in it all. Why didn't I know God cared? In all the years of going to church, why wasn't that ever impressed on my heart?
My running continued past a field of solar panels. Tender hearts and churches.... Memories of former days subsided and were replaced by anger at church-goers in more recent time. Unresolved anger? Maybe. Righteous anger? Yes.
What does a mama bear's heart feel like when aroused because her offspring were toyed with and their well-being threatened? I think I might have an idea. It is right for me to feel this anger at what church has carelessly communicated to my kids. It will be a tender mercy of God if they choose to take on the label "Christian" despite what those who profess have displayed to them, publicly and privately.
Anger seemed to fuel my run.
Breathe. Run. Breathe. My legs kept moving as my mind settled, because my merciful God listens to my pleas. I know that all of our pains in life and all the failures of people, including our own, may be the very reasons we lift our eyes up out of this earthy mess and onto him. So I settle on hope in God once more. He is a loving Redeemer.
As is usually the case by the end of my running loop, each breath is accompanied by a little moan. I can endure distance more than I can sustain speed; pace runs are hard for me physically and mentally. I feel slow despite my desire to sprint those last 400 meters. It's a most unpleasant portion of the route as I run along a busy boulevard, traffic and transport trucks traveling toward me and whirling wind tunnels of dust and debris. "Help me, God. Help." It's my usual plea from morning till night.
Once I made it to the particular traffic light that marks the end of my route, I stopped my iPod nano. I listened as my time, pace, distance, etc. were read off. Then I heard: "Congratulations! You ran your fastest recorded mile!" Sure enough, I'd run alright. Of the 1650+ miles I've run with this particular device, I had just run my fastest mile.
"See! God does care!" I practically panted it out loud. Immediately I was excited about sharing this happening with my boys. God's love is limitless. Walk in relationship without reservation. Or maybe run...
..>>•<<..
I've had these pictures uploaded in a draft for a long time, but always withheld posting for fear of venting in an unproductive way. My pictures kept bringing reactive sentiments rather than calm response. But tonight, as my husband is away using his gifts and talents, I have a renewed appreciation for him and this life we lead. It's a simple matter of fact that the most worthwhile commitments in life will also find certain difficulties and hidden grief connected. Kingdom work is a prime example. If I'm not careful, I will view the connected hardships as parasites rather than thorns: the former saps energy and health from its host, the latter points to the sufficiency of Christ.
These pictures are from the summer of 2018 when Jon and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary. For years and years we had dreamed of going to Europe for this anniversary. We loosely planned for it by saving up air miles, and hoped the different facets of our lives would make allowance for such a trip.
But it could not be. Ministry life made no allowance. (I am happy just to let that point be without explanation tonight.)
So in a sort of last minute fashion, we took a weeklong trip to San Francisco instead.
It's a beautiful city, and we very much enjoyed exploring without four other people in tow! We learned a few tricks about city exploration by taking Airbnb tours from locals. We took a biking tour through all the parks and districts of town, and a Nordic hiking tour of Angel Island. It was wonderfully pleasant; we now have a handful of places that we just love.
We saw many of the typical tourist attractions, but also ventured off the beaten path a ton.
Running the hills and climbing the city stairs were on my must-do list. I didn't know Jon was peering at me through my zoom lens as I came up the street and up the stairs. This is what I like to do, even on vacation!
We each had a day of sickness, unfortunately. On the day Jon was sick, I explored Tiburon. (It looks like this is the only picture I uploaded to this blog draft after returning from our trip, and I don't feel like returning to the archives of picture files for more.)
At the end of Jon's recovery day, we spent the evening in Oakland. Mural shots are always fun!
Beautiful Angel Island
We learned that Nordic hiking is a very fast way to move once you get the hang of it.
When someone thinks a camera "shot" is like a gun shot, they aim the camera like a gun and put the main subject in the bull's eye. Here's a basic photography tip: Don't take gun shots with your camera. Be a little more intentional with your composition and you will have a more pleasing image.
View from the ferry -
We discovered several great shops. We really enjoyed a Valencia gourmet grocery store perfect for picnics; also bakeries, flower shops, and many curiosity and specialty shops. We developed a better sense of the different districts and what each had to offer.
"Je dois avoir des fleurs, toujours et toujours."
Claude Monet
Reality of our life: We are always "followed" on vacation. Ministry needs know few boundaries. If it's not actual pressing interruptions, it's mental distractions that are difficult for Jon to escape. I am accustomed to this, albeit reluctantly at times.
This is another part of this post/memory that I will just have to let be.
Nonetheless, what I love seeing here is evidence of Jon's love for God's people and his commitment to the things that have eternal implications. That I love. I can happily get on board with that endeavor and assist or bear up in the various ways required of me.
Sometimes this simply looks like me taking pictures of window reflections while Jon does more important work. Most times, it's exercising immense patience and understanding. It's a lifestyle few people can relate to, and one that some people harshly misjudge.
Tonight, however, I am also reminded that it is through this work and through the church (local and at large) that many of our most treasured and life-giving relationships have formed. This is not lost on me.
Tonight, however, I am also reminded that it is through this work and through the church (local and at large) that many of our most treasured and life-giving relationships have formed. This is not lost on me.
Jon called tonight with hardly a voice left to speak. He has been going full throttle for many weeks now on a difficult and sensitive project. The work is coming to a climax this week, which is the reason for his trip away. He left yesterday with chills and body aches; evidently extra water, vitamin C, and NyQuil haven't been curative. But he doesn't stop. He leads despite a killer flu. No sick day luxuries. (I do hope no one else gets sick!!)
I have such tremendous admiration for him.
For our 20th, Jon bought skydiving tickets. It took us a while to actually do it, but finally we took the jump at the close of the year. I hope to post pictures soon.
~Katherine
