Best Month of Running in 10 no 12 years

October 2012 is in the books, and for me, it was the best month of running I've had since 2000.  What made such a solid month for me was the consistency of those runs.  In the past few months and years, I would have a good week or two in a row, then a few bad weeks.  When I looked over the logs, I noticed an increase in injuries because I tried to make up for the bad weeks by over-running the following week.  So the difference was just being consistent and running 5 to 6 times a week, even if it was just a short mile run.  So this month was basically four weeks of the reliable running of 5 or 6 days of running, even if it was a short run.

Mother

"But as it is now our purpose to the discourse of the visible Church, [518] let us learn, from her single title of Mother, how useful, nay, how necessary the knowledge of her is since there are no other means of entering into life unless she conceives us in the womb and gives us birth unless she nourishes us at her breasts, and, in short, keep us under her charge and government, until, divested of mortal flesh, we become like the angels (Mt. 22:30)." - John Calvin

On the 8th of August 2012 at 9:01, I walked into the vast and empty Anderson Auditorium at Montreat Conference Center with my wife.  I walked back to the pew in the middle of the auditorium where 38 years before at this very hour on this very day, my life changed, and I shared the story of the moment with her.  And therein that darkened auditorium the days from those years so long ago seemed so close and real to me.

On the 8th of August 1974 at 9:01, Richard Nixon, the President of the United States, began "Good evening. This is the 37th time I have spoken to you from this office, where so many decisions have been made that shaped the history of this Nation. Each time I have done so to discuss with you some matter that I believe affected the national interest..."

At the end of the speech, the youth conference leader stood before the group of over 1,000 youth and read, "...then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs.  The Seraph touched my mouth with it and said: "Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed, and your sin is blotted out."  Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?"  And I said, "Here am I; send me!"

In those last few words, my life goals changed.  As I walked out of the auditorium that night 38 years before all I knew was that I wanted to serve God with all my life.  The conference had been life-altering in so many ways.  At this, I realized who I was and who I was going to be, had all been nurtured in me by my "mother."  The church was my mother.  The Presbyterian Church, who had raised my parents, my grandparents, my great grandparents back centuries had now given birth to me.  It had given me nurture and faith in Christ.  And it was something that was bonded to me forever.

That following week in 1974, I walked into my parents' bedroom one morning around 10 and found my mother seated in a rocking chair reading her Bible and devotional.  As she looked up, she asked me to come to sit beside her.  As we sat there in the room, I shared what I had experienced, and I thought I was going to be a minister.  She responded that being a minister was going to be a hard life, but if that was what I wanted, she and Dad would support me.  Those words were the only words of affirmation that I needed.

My mother who had given birth to me, who nurtured me, and helped me grow into the young man I was becoming, believed in me enough to let me walk where and when I needed to go.  Now 38 years later, I am who I am because of her nurture and love.  And I am who I am because of the upbringing and love of hundreds, if not thousands of fellow Presbyterians and Christians.

John Calvin was right to say that the Church is our mother.  It is in her walls and rooms that we find support and hope to live our lives.  Yes, many times, I have been anger at her and disagreed with her.  But we are family, and you don't walk away from family.

Remnant

Remnant...it is not much...just enough that allows something beautiful to happen. Residue...it is not much...just enough to change the appearance, giving it something more. Finally, reminder... it's not much...just enough to make you remember.

One of my favorite stories from the Bible has always been the one about the Prophet Elijah, who goes out into the desert fleeing for his life. He goes out there, sits under a "solitary broom tree," ready to die. Then God sends him to Horeb, the mount of God, and he spends his time in a cave still bemoaning his situation. Finally, when God asks him what he is doing there, he answers, "I alone am left, and they are seeking my life to take it away. Apparently, Poor God is down to only Elijah as a faithful believer. Sad God, it really looks like everything is turning against him. Just like in that movie, "Elf." His belief meter is about to peg out on the side of empty. And what is worse...Unlike Santa Claus in Elf, God has no jet engines to propel Him forward.

In this cave is a man who thinks he is the final remnant of faith. He is the only one left who would stand up for God.

And God tells him to go stand in front of the cave. And then there is an earthquake, a strong wind, and a fire, and in each of these things, Elijah sees there that the Lord is not in any of these things. So then, he wrapped his face in his mantle in the silence that followed. Then the question comes again... "Why are you here?"

Elijah thought that God is hard of hearing again answers...that he only is there for God. Therefore, he is the only one left.

I love what happens next. God gives Elijah a laundry list of things to do...basically telling him to get his stuff in order because Elijah doesn't get it. Then at the end of the "to-do list,"...God tells Elijah why.

18 Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him.” Harper Bibles (2011-11-22). NRSV Bible with the Apocrypha (Kindle Locations 14774-14775). Harper Collins, Inc. Kindle Edition.

In other words...Elijah...Don...any individual who thinks they are the last faithful remnant of God, members of the PCUSA church...any church out there..." God is in charge." End of story. God rules...now get your sorry tail out there and do the work.

The church will always be a remnant. A small group of people...but it will never come down to one person on their own. There will be others...small in the number who will do what God wants us to do. So if the policy of a church changes... a big deal... God's word hasn't changed. So just keep doing what God told you to do.

Yes, I was one of those who thought I would have to leave the church because I disagree with the removal of the right policy...but...then again. God is in charge. Maybe, I should start listening to God and looking for what God is doing in the midst of all this.

What is the Church?

Back in May 2011, I was interviewed for my new job. At the interview, I heard that the Presbyterian Church (USA) which is my Church finally had the last presbytery voted to remove the moral clause from the Book of Church Order. At first, I felt hurt and offended. The argument was that each presbytery had the responsibility to determine for itself the moral character of its own members. It was a backdoor opening for homosexual ministers to be legally included on roles of presbyteries, and everyone knew exactly what it meant. Now nearly a year after the vote there has been a steady stream of local churches leaving the denomination...including the one that nurtured me over my high school years. It has been a sad and disappointing process. It has left me trying to understand once again what the Church is and what it is not. And it has driven me back to my roots as a Presbyterian and a Calvinist.

Over the past year, part of me debated the idea of leaving the denomination as others have done. But every time I gave real consideration, I kept hearing the voice of my father. Back in the late 1970s and early 1980s, my father served as Stated Clerk of the Presbytery of Southern Mississippi. It was the battleground and a very bloody battlefield for the Southern Presbyterians as they debated reunion with the Northern Presbyterians. Many churches in the southern part of the state left the denomination to help create the Presbyterian Church in America and the Evangelical Presbyterian Church denominations. My father was knee deep in the fight as congregations and families were ripped apart. And several times over those years, I accompanied him on his trips to visit these warring churches.

I remember one time driving home after a church meeting, there were tears in his eyes, and he said to me. "We never leave the body of Christ...we might get kicked out, but we never leave Him." As we talked about this on our drive home, he shared his firm belief that the Church was always a remnant. Going back to Israel and the prophets, God still kept his chosen few, faithfully plowing, and always doing His work. He also expressed the idea that we are called to work for reunion and reconciliation; the moment we decided to divide ourselves from our roots, we were creating division inside of our own very being.

As I have reflected on this and other conversations that I had with my father. I am convinced that I have no choice but to remain a minister of the Presbyterian Church (USA). I may disagree with stands the Church may take, but it is Christ's Body, and it is my "mother." I will not walk away, and I will keep the faith. In the next couple of weeks, I'm going to reflect a little more on this subject, not because anyone really wants to hear what I have to say, but because I have something to say...and I have to say it.

To my beloved little Presbyterian church that left the denomination...you will always be in my heart, but I without a doubt believe you have simply made a wrong turn... I pray one day you will be able to return again home to your family.

Leaves of Gold...Almost Forgotton

I am preparing once again to move, and I have started the traditional process of throwing stuff away. In about 3 weeks, we will be moving to Georgetown in Washington, DC...and the house we are moving into is smaller than our current home. So...my thinking is...let's get ready for the stuff we don't need and haven't used in several years. Easy process, but I almost made a huge mistake.

Last year my mother gave me several of my father's old books...some I've looked at and used, others I've passed on to individuals who might benefit from them...and some of the ancient ones that are damaged and in bad condition, I've actually thrown out.

Just about an hour ago, I was going through the old books again. I came across an old book entitled "Leaves of Gold." I flipped through the pages...and it a collection of early prayers, poems, and inspirational stories, but nothing I felt was worthy of keeping. As I walked to the trash can to throw it out, I flipped to the front page. Written on the page was "Presented to Maggie and John, October 25, 1950, on their Golden Wedding Anniversary" signed by Pearl L. Walker.

I recognized Maggie and John as my father's parents, and this was one of the gifts presented to them at their 50th Anniversary. But the real value was on the opposing page on the left side. There was a list of signatures...signatures of family members who were present for the celebration. As I looked through the names, there were several uncles, aunts, and other family members, most of them now gone from this life. As I looked through them...there was my father and mother' signatures.

The book means little to me...but, the signature page...priceless.

Midnight on South Mountain (Part III: The Finish)

Finish!  The last few strides and the passing of the slap bracelet, and it was over.  I found myself fighting for air, but my part was done.

A few weeks ago, as I lay in bed talking with my wife, she turned to me and told me that she was proud of me and how she thought I was so successful.  I responded…no sorry, but I’ve failed so many times, and in so many ways, I couldn’t be that successful.  I then shared that it was like the Pittsburgh Steelers.  They might win this game and that game…but then they might lose the next.  They won the Super Bowl only to lose another…so success was too fleeting of a term.  I’d rather be known for what I was doing, rather than what I did.  I would rather be a good husband, good father, good chaplain, or a good runner.  And I would instead leave the word “success” for someone to mention of me after I finish my life.
This last remembrance of the Ragnar race of September 23 and 24, 2011, has been painful for me to write.  Difficult simply because it is about the “finish” so let me continue.
When I originally signed up for the race, my three legs were the combination of a 6-mile run, then a 6.6-mile run and a final leg of 6 miles.  But a race like life changed

and changed without my permission.  Due to parking issues, the race organizers moved the relay zone to an elementary school where there was parking.  So they shifted my last leg about 2.8 miles in the wrong direction.  About two weeks before the race, I had learned that my final leg was to be an 8.8 miles section of Rock Creek Park and the Georgetown Branch Trail into Bethesda, Maryland.

As I ran the last section, I could feel the accumulative effect of the sleep deprivation that I had imposed upon my body.  Having only 3 hours of sleep during the previous 24 hours, and that little sleep delivered while lying on a bench seat of a van did very little to aid my body in recovering.  My left knee was still sore from the first leg, my body ached from the excretion over South Mountain, and my mind was now numbed by the lack of sleep.  To be honest, I was even more aware in this last section, I would end up walking and crawling to the finish.  As I stood once again at the relay zone, my teammate gathered around.  All expressed, to me, confidence in me that I knew I lacked.  As I took the slap bracelet, my simple prayer was “Lord, don’t let me let them down.” As I headed away from the starting line, I saw Lt Colonel David Vernal.  His leg still bloody from his first leg fall, but he had run so heroically despite the bruised foot and knee. I couldn’t let him down.  And so I pushed on.  As I turned into Rock Creek Park, I thought about Jason Dugan, our speedster…he had run his three legs hard and
fast.  He had such a natural stride and was a last minute replacement to help out our team.  I couldn’t let him down.  As I ran through the park along the trail up and down the little rises, I thought of Captain Mary Garavelli, she had been handed the hardest of the legs, the monster 3rd leg that was the first significant mountain climb.  We had cheered her every step as she climbed the first mountain of the race.  And at the top, she was just bouncing with energy…I couldn’t let her down.   As I ran up and onto the Georgetown Branch Trail, I could feel my body going…and I thought of Captain Michael Johnson, who at the last leg fell asleep right before his leg and we had to go find him to get him to the starting line.  We then watched him fly like he had jet wings to make up the time he lost and gained back several extra minutes, I couldn’t let that sacrifice he made go for not, so I pushed on.   As I ran along the Georgetown path, which was an old train line, I realized that this was going to be a lot tougher than I imagined.  But Ken Myers didn’t let down on his first, second, or last leg.  He had pushed it into me every time he made his hand off of the bracelet to me, and I couldn’t let him down, and so I pushed.  About this time, I started to pass slower runners who now were falling apart.  They were walking and stopping to stretch. 
These were the team that had been beating us…I couldn’t fail my team.  I thought of those in the other van, Captain Brian Viola and his wife Cynthia, who I had been handing off to, Master Sergeant Tom Harmon, Master Sergeant Cozette Teasley, and our team captain, Senior Master Sergeant Jorge Laurel, and our anchor runner Captain Markenson Dieujuste. They had been there cheering me on…and now I had to run.  As I left the trail heading the last mile uphill into Bethesda, I pushed…I only had one mile left to run.  And if I had too, I would lay it all out here on this hill and die, I would not be passed, and I would finish…no so much for me but for them.  I would run for them who had kept faith with me and did their best.
As I finished my leg and passed the slap bracelet on to Mrs. Viola, it hit me…we weren’t home yet.  There was still the other van of six runners who had to finish.  So our six runners left and headed for the finish line in DC Harbor.  Around three, the
other van came in, and we gathered together about 300 yards from the finish line, and we waited for Captain Markenson Dieujuste to arrive.  On his arrival, we all joined him that last 300 yards, and together we all finished the race.
After the team received our finisher medal and had a group picture taken, we went to a pavilion where there were pizza and beer for the finishers.  As we sat around a table, we talked about our adventure and the twist and turns that come our way.  We shared pizza and beer.  As we celebrated the end, it was heaven to me.
Heaven, because in my theology, and in the practice of my faith…it was heaven.  I honestly believe that when this life is done and my final race has been run, I will gather together with others who have been a part of my life and we will sit around a

table, stand behind chairs, we will slap each other on the back and high five each one another.  We will share stories of the road and will celebrate life.  And Jesus will be there, and he will take a piece of pizza and hand it to us and say this is my body, and then he will take up a cup of beer and give it to us and say drink this is my blood.  And we'll celebrate…

So…am I successful…today…tomorrow…I might lose but in the end…I guess it doesn’t really matter because it is the journey….  It’s the journey that’s the critical part.  (Oh…by the way…last leg, 8.8 miles was done in 1 hour 18 minutes and 18 seconds…which is an 8:55 per mile pace, I never did those 9: 45-mile legs that I had a plan on doing.)

Midnight on South Mountain (Part II: The Mountain)

Now here at 25 minutes to midnight, I stood waiting.  My left knee throbbing with a dull pain, I knew I had over extended in that first section, but now I was facing this 6.6 mile section with a 900 foot climb.  I would be off as soon as our runner arrived.  The rain from earlier in the day was gone, but everything felt wet. 

Earlier in the evening I was talking with a fellow runner and he said that when it got hard, he found himself focusing on prayer.  As he shared his thought on how he dealt with the discomfort of running, I was reminded of a marathon in New Orleans.  At every turn in the course, I would say the “Lord’s Prayer.”  Though it was years ago, I couldn’t remember why I did it.  But when he said those words, focusing on prayer, it came back.  In the midst of the trails of life, our savior’s prayer has relevance.  In the joys of life, this simple prayer had power.  In the pain of striving forward, there was a healing peace.  So now standing there waiting for the runner to come, I started, “Our Father, who art in heaven…”  As I prayed there in the dark and cold, I felt my body relaxed.  I was ready, there in the center of my being.

As I watched out through the night, I felt the other runner coming into the light.  I stretched out my arm and the snap bracelet found it.  Turning up the hill, I started out into the dark.  My head lamp showed me the road ahead.  Looking up was like looking into the blackness of space.  Lights from distant houses, cars, and team vans were the only thing visible.  And above me the darkness of clouds blocked all the nocturnal lights.  At the top of the small rise I started on, I left my eyes again and in the distance, were a few sets of blinking red lights of fellow runners on this dark country road.

This first mile was a set of undulating hills; at the top of each crest you could see the blinking red lights of the runners in front.  The road was still and silent.  The distance had separated us from the other teams.  Those who were faster were long gone and those slower had fallen off the pace, still there was a string of runners making their way towards the summit of South Mountain.  At the end of the first mile the road began a slow rise, which marked the beginning of the 900 feet of climb.  Easy and peaceful, I found myself relaxing and found a prayer in each step I was taking.  My thoughts drifted to my family, to my four wonderful children, and precious wife.  “God, be with them…keep them safe this night as they sleep…and I run up this mountain.”  Then other family members and friends, each remembered with petitions to God for their needs and struggles.  I was lost in my thoughts for each of these people who touched my life in many ways that they will never know…and the peace continue.  I passed a few runners and in those moments, we greeted each other as companions, no longer competitors, as we engaged in the struggle to reach the summit in our lives.

I felt the pressure in my arms and chest.  I knew my heart rate was climbing as I moved into a steeper section of the mountain.  The road was just the few feet my headlamp illumed before me.  I wasn’t sure of my time, but I didn’t care.  My prayer for others turned to a prayer for our nation and concerns for the poor and homeless.  I propelled myself up the mountain, I found myself on the verge of tears.  The pain from my left knee sent sparks up my left side.  In those few moments I envisioned another climbing a hill.

One of the great mysteries of faith is the connection that we have with the suffering of Christ.  At this point my mysticism view of religion kicks in, but this connection I believe is an aid and I don’t know how to describe it any better than that.  William James in his book “Varieties of Religious Experience” notes this phenomenon as well.  But to deal with this would reduce the experience to something that cannot be fully explained.  Simply put…as the pain and pressure of running up the mountain increase in me there was equally reaction that drove me into a stronger feeling of peace.  This run was becoming more a spiritual event that transported my mind and spirit to another level of reality.  There was a physical pain, but there was a spiritual peace that came over me in the midst of this battle.  It seemed that time slowed, the universe was suspended, and I experience something unique to me.  My body moved through time and space and yet my spirit was the actor.  It pulled me up and forward.  If it was the result of the combination of the water vapor, the headlamp, the fatigue, the pain, could not deny these influences, but there was something more involved in the struggle.  A presence ran beside me urging me up.

Before I knew it I was making the decent down the mountain.  I felt nothing put the need to push down the hill as hard as I could propel my body forward.  Then finally in the midst of the darkness, a glow appeared further down the road.  As I made my way into the relay area, I was shocked at how short the run felt.  I quickly pulled and straightened the slap bracelet and came into the relay zone.  My replacement stood there, holding out her arm. And it was over; I hit the stop button on my watch and saw the time 56:57.  Initially I couldn’t understand what I read.  I should have been 1:10:57 or something in that area.  I looked again and the numbers did not change, it read 56:57.  I had just covered 6.6 miles over 900 feet of climb at a pace of 8:46.  My fellow teammates rallied around me, and they made me feel like I had just won the gold medal.  Their high-fives and slaps on the back were incredible.  The remarkable thing was that my earlier section of 6 miles had been covered in 53:47 for a pace of 8:57.  Now I had just run 11 second faster for each mile in the dark and over a mountain.  If the truth is to be told, I didn’t do it alone.

“Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us….” (Harper Bibles (2011-11-22). NRSV Bible with the Apocrypha (Kindle Locations 68399-68401). Harper Collins, Inc.. Kindle Edition.)

I was surrounded by the prayers and thoughts of teammates, friends and family.  A few days later, I had the chance to see a video clip made by one of my teammates.  They had stopped on the mountain to film my blinking lights, and cheer me on.  But I was so lost in my thoughts, I never saw them.  But they were there.

As we battle the challenges in our lives, we climb the mountains that line our paths; we do not do it alone.  We have others around us to help us on our way, even if we do not see them, they are there standing on the side of the road cheering us on to the end.  Now with my first two sections complete, there was the last one to face.  I hadn’t thought about it until now and with my body trying to recover and fighting for sleep, I knew I needed to refuel and rest.  Then test my body one last time.