Bust A Move

Before spiritual maturity = Young MC

Now/today/getting closer  = Go out and help others.  Go make disciples.

Fine, chant the lyrics if that's your pre-game, but know the better message to spread before you get wherever it is that you're going.  And I know you maybe don't know where that is yet.  Trust me, I know firsthand.  But that's ok.  None of us do exactly right now - but we can know for sure where it is that we should want to end up later.  Look at it as the lesser of two evils swarming around in your constantly conflicted brain:  when has doing good for others ever made you feel worse about yourself?

As promised, more on the Christian Mission class for which I find myself reading for days on end and wanting to immediately pack up and move to Cambodia.  Or, at least to the corner of Creighton and Hanna.

The first assignment was an open-ended "write your own personal theology of mission."  No idea.  But I turned it in on time nonetheless and received it back last Thursday, fully graded.  Let's just say since I'm not at 100% right now, I have some work to do in order to do better...for others.

Side note:  CliffsNotes version is don't wait to go anywhere other than where you already are in order to make a difference.  In 27 minutes, that means RediMed for me.  Happy Sunday.
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INTRODUCTION

     Developing an inaugural theology of mission can be and often is, the most overlooked component of Christianity for the majority of best-intentioned Christ followers.  While we purport to “being Christian” and “doing God’s work” – what does that really mean?  Do we even know what we are saying let alone doing?

     The difference between the singular “mission” and plural “missions” is notable.  The former is of a larger scale and scope, i.e. “God’s love for redeeming the lost, encompassing God’s church in its entirety.”[1]  The “mission” of theology, therefore, belongs to God – just as those who carry out the requisite cross-cultural “missions” work under its umbrella so find themselves.

     Regardless of geography, while one without the other can exist, it would be futile for individuals to partake in missions work without the greater mission in mind.  Missions and [the] larger scale mission neither are nor should be mutually exclusive.

     Moreover, without the One to whom the greater mission belongs guiding the way for those doing the missions, the work itself is pointless.  It becomes nothing more than worker bees ineffectively buzzing about, circularly swarming an increasingly more frustrated global nest.  God is a God of purpose; of mission.  Therefore, my personal theology of mission begins with Him. 

“THE” THEOLOGY OF MISSION

     God had a mission in Creation.  He is the original Creator of all; the Great Artist, Draftsman, Architect and Builder.  Man is the pinnacle of His creation, made in His image and likeness (Gen. 1:26-27).  All of creation is for God’s glory and as such, still finds itself in accordance to God’s mission.  Stated simply, while God had a mission in creation, so He still has.  According to Christopher Wright, “Creation exists for the praise and glory of its Creator God, and for mutual enjoyment between the Creator and the created.”[2]

     God is on a mission to be loved and worshipped by all people.  Perhaps the best way to summarily describe God’s purpose for [His] mission by [His] created mission workers is as follows:  “For His Glory in global worship, God purposes to overcome evil by redeeming a people who will love and obey Him within every people.”[3]  Indubitably, God’s mission is seen in His redemptive work.

THE REDEMPTION OF MISSION

     Redemption is restoration through Jesus Christ.  Jesus has bought [us/creation/missions workers] back what was stolen by Satan (Col. 1:13-14).  Believers in Jesus Christ and His redemptive work are “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation in order that they may proclaim the mighty acts of Him who called them out of darkness into his marvelous light” (1Pet. 2:9; cf. Ex. 19:6).  God’s promise to Abraham then, becomes my/our individual precept for missions, as in effect it was His promise to the world.  God said he would not only bless Abram but that Abram would become a blessing (Gen. 12:2) and that “all peoples on earth will be blessed through you” (Gen. 12:3).

     This promise is fulfilled in Christ:  “And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise” (Gal 3:29).  Paul declares, “Those who believe are the descendants of Abraham.  The Scripture foresaw that God would justify the Gentiles by faith and announced the gospel in advance to Abraham: “All nations will be blessed through you.”  So those who have faith are blessed along with Abraham the man of faith” (Gal. 3:7-9).  Thus, as Gallagher and Hawthorne point out, “through Christ anyone on earth can inherit the full family heritage of being blessed in order to be a blessing to the nations.”[4]

     The reciprocity is profoundly intentional.  If God’s mission is seen in His redemptive work, not only did he first do (model) the work through Jesus in redeeming His creation, but it is exactly those redeemed beneficiaries through whom His purpose continues, i.e. He saved His people so that they could save others.  “The promise so clearly reveals God’s purpose that Christians rightly consider it to convey God’s mandate to serve as His agents of blessing among all the peoples of the earth.  We are blessed in Christ in order to bring forth the blessing of Christ among all the nations.”[5]

     As a disciple of Jesus, my personal mission is to follow his example and commands.  He came from heaven to earth to show us the way; in turn, I am called to show others the way.  Jesus gave his disciples a clear command:  “Go into all the world and proclaim the good news to the whole creation” (Mark 16:15).  My assignment, therefore is to go into all the world, my task is to preach the gospel, and my target is all of creation.  Blackaby and Willis rightly remind us that “Jesus was on a mission with the Father, and He calls every one of His followers to join Him in that relationship of love, power, and purpose.  Nothing could be more precious than to follow God on mission in the same way that Jesus did.”[6]

THE RELATIONSHIP OF MISSION

     We are not called to exercise a carbon-copy of Jesus’ ministry, but His practice of ministry is to be normative for us: “our task is simply to imitate him” even though what He did was “unique, climactic, decisive.”[7]  Since a commitment to Jesus is also a commitment to His mission, our missions must take a primary and inescapable place in our lives.  In considering Jesus, the most important things to note are not what He said or what He did, but who He was and the relationship He had with his Father.  His entire ministry flowed from this self-understanding and relationship.  Wright’s assessment of Jesus’ self-understanding as a key issue is largely accepted, even by his critics.[8]

     Yet it was not merely Jesus’ ministry that demonstrated interconnection.  The whole of the New Testament is primarily about relationships.  Doctrines matter because they affect how we live; how we live matters because it affects our relationships.  Jesus concisely summarizes the Law of Moses in terms of two relationships:  love God and love your neighbors (Mark 12: 30-31).  Again, the redemption/atonement is paramount as it restores a broken relationship:  “you are no longer strangers and aliens, but…of God’s household” (Eph. 2:19).

     Perhaps most significantly, we see in John 20:21 that Jesus “makes his own relationship with the Father” the basic paradigm for the disciples’ relationship with Jesus in pursuit of their mission.[9]  Jesus’ own ministry was about encountering other people, even and especially the original disciples, and serving them in appropriate ways.  His focus was not solely on His own spiritual life and health (although these things clearly mattered significantly to Him) but on the concerns and needs of the people around Him, including both His disciples and those who did not follow Him.  Jesus saw His relational role as that of a servant (Luke 22:27) and always put the needs of the people He happened upon before his own agenda of teaching and demonstrating the Kingdom.

CONCLUSION

     When a person claims to be a Christian, the one component they cannot overlook is Jesus.  A commitment to Jesus is a commitment to His mission.  This statement has major implications for not only our doctrine of salvation, but our practice of evangelism and what we mean when we say “mission.”  Once we know what we are saying, it is then that we can begin to understand what we are doing.

     Redemption and relationship are the missional keys to unlocking the door of the main mission at hand, a Hand solely responsible for our creation.  Jesus demonstrated His relationship to God; God’s primary relationship is to the world.[10]  And it is exactly that world for which we are on a mission - one which God redeemed by sending His only Son, and the same one He expects us henceforth to reject the deceit and pleasures of, in order that we may continue to be effected by, and affective in, a completely transformed community. 

Works Cited

Blackaby, Henry T. and Avery T. Willis. “On Mission with God,” in Perspectives on the World

Christian Movement:  A Reader, eds. Ralph D. Winters and Steven C. Hawthorne. Pasadena:   William Carey Library, 2009.

Coleman, Robert E., The Master Plan of Evangelism, 2^nd ed.  Grand Rapids: Spire (By Revell), 2010.

Eby, Kent.  “Developing a Beginning Theology of Mission.” The Chapel, Fort Wayne. 5 May,      2016.  Lecture.

Gallagher, Sarita D. and Steven C. Hawthorne. “Blessings as Transformation,” in Perspectives on the World Christian Movement: A Reader, eds. Ralph D. Winters and Steven C. Hawthorne.  Pasadena: William Carey Library, 2009. 

Hawthorne, Steven C. Perspectives on the World Christian Movement.  Pasadena: William Carey Library, 2009.

Hill, Graham. Global Church: Reshaping Our Conversations, Renewing our Mission, Revitalizing Our Churches.  Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2016.

Kostenberger, A.J. and P.T. O’Brien. Salvation to the Ends of the Earth.  Leicester: Apollos, 2001. 

McNight, Scot. Kingdom Conspiracy:Returning to the Radical Mission of the Local Church. Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2014.

Newmann, CC (ed).  Jesus & The Restoration of Israel. Carlisle: Paternoster, 1999.

Stott, John and Christopher J.H. Wright. Christian Mission in the Modern World.  Downers Grove: IVP Books, 2015.

Wright, Christopher J.H.  “Mission and God’s Earth” in Perspectives on the World Christian Movement: A Reader, eds.  Ralph D. Winters and Steven C. Hawthorne.  Pasadena: William Carey Library, 2009.

Wright, N.T.  The Challenge of Jesus.  London: SPCK, 2000. 

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[1] Eby, Kent.  “Developing a Beginning Theology of Mission.” The Chapel, Fort Wayne. 5 May, 2016.  Lecture.

[2] Wright, Christopher J.H.  “Mission and God’s Earth” in Perspectives on the World Christian Movement: A Reader, eds.  Ralph D. Winters and Steven C. Hawthorne.  Pasadena: William Carey Library, 2009.  Page 28.

[3] Hawthorne, Steven C. Perspectives on the World Christian Movement.  Pasadena: William Carey Library, 2009.  Page 4.

[4] Gallagher, Sarita D. and Steven C. Hawthorne. “Blessings as Transformation,” in Perspectives on the World Christian Movement: A Reader, eds. Ralph D. Winters and Steven C. Hawthorne.  Pasadena: William Carey Library, 2009.  Page 38.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Blackaby, Henry T. and Avery T. Willlis. “On Mission with God,” in Perspectives on the World Christian Movement:  A Reader, eds. Ralph D. Winters and Steven C. Hawthorne. Pasadena: William Carey Library, 2009. Page 77.

[7] Wright, N.T.  The Challenge of Jesus.  London: SPCK, 2000.  Page 140.

[8] Newmann, CC (ed).  Jesus & The Restoration of Israel. Carlisle: Paternoster, 1999.  Page 110.

[9] Kostenberger, A.J. and P.T. O’Brien. Salvation to the Ends of the Earth.  Leicester: Apollos, 2001.  Page 260.

[10] Stott, John and Christopher J.H. Wright. Christian Mission in the Modern World.  Downers Grove: IVP Books, 2015.  Page 18.

Ec-you-what?

Ecumenical.  It's my new favorite slash most frustrating word of late.  It means "representing a number of different churches," i.e. nondenominational, universal, latitudinarian, all-embracing, all-inclusive...you get the gist.  I had no idea it was even a thing, let alone that there was a word for it, and you know how I feel about words. 

Enrolled in the next MATS class entitled Strategies of Evangelism & Christian Mission, my head wants to explode.  I sometimes think maybe the reason I can't stop learning about theology and religion and yes! - even and especially God - is exactly the same reason I refuse to stop running marathons.  Each pushes you outside of your comfort zone in a way that is exhilaratingly scary.

Will I get there?  Will I make it?  Am I cut out for this?  Why is that chick better than I am, did you see her?  Wait, no!  Don't judge!  Keep going!  If she can do it, you can do it!  You love this!  People are cheering for you to not.give.up!  They must have either figured it out or maybe kinda sorta want to, so you can't stop now!  They are watching you, waiting anxiously for you to cross, to arrive, to get your medal and...say you're not sure that was worth it and may never do it again. 

Wait, what?  You mean that wasn't worth it? 

You're not sure.  You are standing there, among droves of people only you feel alone for some weird reason and literally, you cannot think.  You are spent.  Every ounce of your being just wants to collapse. 

Until you see someone else on the other side of the finish line who catches your eye.  They are a mess.  They are broken and bruised and hobbling around in circles, having just been made intimately aware of how much pain and turmoil what they just went through truly entailed.  They are now, in that moment, living in a new and confusing reality of an unfamiliar emotion.  One which clearly has replaced their prior state of naïve, blissful, and unsuspecting. 

Yet inexplicably, they are also smiling from ear to ear in a way that makes them seem joyful.  They are joyful.  They are filled with joy.  This makes no sense.  But yet you watch this unfamiliarity with profound curiosity.  It's scary.  It's exhilarating.  No matter their pain, no matter their struggle, no matter the outcome of their race, you know there is no question they are going to do it again.  It's like those runners are just...different.

This class is also proving itself to be different. 

Evangelical vs. Ecumenical.  Following Scripture vs. Social Justice/Action.  Saying vs. Doing. 

Me vs. My Head.  My Heart.  My Black.  My White.

My God. 
Is the same today as He was yesterday as He will be tomorrow. 

And I thank Him for that.  Because one of us constantly changing and having growing pains is definitely enough.

(For the record, "verses" help me understand the "versus."  I'll post more about this class later, but for now, just know that my new favorite color might be gray.)

Don't quote me.

My “job” allows me to meet many new people on a daily basis.  My interests, endeavors, hobbies – whatever you want to call the “stuff” that fills the non-working hours – allow for me to meet even more people from “different walks of life,” i.e. “non-corporate/non-‘white-collar.’”  Wow!  How many “quotations” are you gonna use in your intro paragraph you over-writer (Jim Carrey = “over-actor”), you? Seriously, what’s up with the “quotes,” sister?

Oh, cool.  Glad you asked.

First, let me tell you that it’s a really, really good thing I’m able to meet so many people on a daily basis.  There is NO WAY I could be employed for nineteen years at the same organization without that component.  People are interesting.  Being a human is interesting.  I’ve never not felt that way, even when I really, really disliked some of them for their treatment of me, others or themselves.

Getting to know people even if it’s within the confines of an exceptionally brief time span is more than just a pastime, job, or necessary evil for me.  As overused as the term is, it’s my passion.  I am passionate about people.  Sure, some of them suck, but I’ve always wanted to know the why behind that reason.  Hey you, have you always sucked or are you just in a bad mood?  Hey sir, have you always been maximally mundane?  You get the point.

My fiancé (totally have to get used to writing that word – no, scratch that – totally have to get over what other people think about me using that word…getting to that, hold please) told me just this past weekend that one of the best things about me is my sentimentality for people, places, organizations, etc. with which I have been a part.  I’m talking it could date as far back to 1973 and if I had a fondness for it then, chances are, I’d still welcome it with open arms today.  Even as I type this ridiculousness, it never really honestly dawned on me until he said it out loud and Chels confirmed while she and I were on the phone, I recounted his assessment to her, and she scream-laughed something like…I’ve been telling you that since forever you moron. 

He also lovingly told me in the midst of our philosophical discussion (which is one of the best things about him) – that while my sentimentality is a good thing, it can also be one of the worst.  Not to him, mind you, because he is selfless and puts me first; but rather, to me. To my personal growth. My hopes, goals, and dreams.

Of course it took me a second to process what he was saying, since my former self would have wanted to go into DANGER! DEFEND YOURSELF! mode.  But oddly instead, this new self which he has encouraged to be its best version of unfiltered, unapologetic, and unwavering just stood there smiling in disbelief.  Disbelief, I think, that I not only finally understood the disservice caused by being mentally stuck in 1991, 95, 97...->; but also that I no longer had to be.

Thanks, Ry.  You know I love you beyond any words this blog can display.

So…now that THAT sentimentality is outta the way – let’s get back to the meeting people thing.

Tomorrow.  I have a book that is calling my name tonight.

Hungry For More

This has been a fantastic week.

I say that because in no particular order, I have: spied on Liv successfully from afar during Little 500 week; researched obtaining a PhD; upped my mileage and effort for the pre-marathon training which begins officially on June 1; picked a wedding date; and had several excellent new business opportunity meetings.

One of the meetings was not one which I secured myself but rather, was put on my schedule by our internal sales rep.  Now, I am nothing if not game for new experiences especially when they include going out of my comfort zone under the auspices of being surrounded by education and religion all in one fell swoop.  Or in this case, candles and buggies.

“I scheduled you a meeting at a school district, it doesn’t seem too big but I think they have student records from forever that they can no longer store there,” Laura announced while walking in my office six seconds after I closed my door.

“Ok, when and where?”

“It’s on your calendar and, LaGrange.”

Lovely, I thought.  The only good that can come of this is that it’s in the direction I travel to go see the man who has the same wedding date on his calendar and is also presumably having a fantastic week.

I arrived at the school corporation in LaGrange Tuesday morning at 9:00am.  My GPS helpfully buttinski’d me there, through the winding roads of nothingness save each and every white house, clothes line and barn on either side of the road.  IF I were to text and drive – and I’m saying IF – there’d be no way to effectively do it on the way to Westview School Corporation, as there are no rumble strips, only piles of horse manure and obviously that’s no way to slow anybody down.

The “campus” was a very large Middle School, an Elementary School, and a much smaller than both High School.  Unusual, I thought, but at least the Admin Building was clearly marked, standing somewhat concealed behind the row of F150’s (phfst, Lariat’s) and tractors (phfst, please, like I know tractor brands).  In I went.

I breathed a collective sigh of relief and apple-cinnamon air while being immediately greeted by a pleasant mid-40’s woman with frosted-tipped short hair sitting behind the front desk.  Administrative secretary?  Check.  Normal.  Candle burning and rustic metal stars hanging every which way as far as the city eye could see?  Check.  Expected.  Bathrooms?  Whew, check.  What a long ride it was to the middle of uncomfortable.

The meeting with the Superintendent and SURPRISE! the Admin secretary went well.  They understood their needs, explained them clearly, and followed the recommendation I provided with ease. 

Well this was totally fine and dandy; thinking it’d be weird was all for naught.  Just because you went ONE time to Amish-ville (click here for THAT story) does not mean that there is no need for Student Record scanning, don’t be a stereotyping chump.  Plus, judging, hello.  Have we NOT had enough of that lately within the religious construct?  For the love of…

“Oh!  Beth!  One more thing I forgot to tell you,” the still-smiling Admin secretary squealed out as we were standing around the conference room table about to adjourn.

“What’s that?” I asked, secretly hoping she was going to give me some homemade noodles for the road.

“The records you’ll get – I’m not sure if this matters – but the majority will only be for kids through 8^th grade.  Most of them drop out before high school to go run the farm.”

I sat back down.

“Is that a problem for you guys to handle?” she asked me, almost apologetically.

“Not for anything we’ve talked about in terms of scanning the records, no.  But for society?  For calendar year…TWOTHOUSANDANDSIXTEEN? Yes.”  I simply could not hold in my opinion on the matter even though it was clearly not the time, nor my place to express it.

In my defense, I knew she and I had similar views - how I deduced that I have no idea, as everything externally visible would have indicated no freaking way – but we were in the Administration Building of a school.  The system of education.  She was employed there, I’m pretty sure she drove a truck and knew the brand of every tractor in the lot, so clearly she loved to learn.

“I know,” she lamented.  “My Dad used to be Amish so I was raised all around it but thankfully am no longer a part of it.  They are such hypocrites.”

Two things: this post is in no way meant to be disparaging towards another belief system AND there are hypocrites everywhere.  They abound.  We know this.  We recognize this.  We both loathe and cause this.

“What do you mean hypocrites?” I quickly asked, no longer as enraged but now beyond interested in her forthcoming response.

“Well, they like, all have cell phones now.  They have laptops.  Heck, most of them even drive – Monte Carlos and mopeds – but drive they do.  On the roads.  And some of them even have washing machines now!!  Can you believe it?  All because the inefficient rinsing was leaving soap and causing the men to lose time working since they were itching too much.”

Ok, it took EVERYTHING I HAD in that moment not to bust out in complete, utter, disrespectful hysteria.  I’m definitely gettin’ some noodles now.  All I could think about was a bunch of dudes up on a roof with synchronized, contorted hands down their backs doing some crazy ants-in-their-pants dance, yanking on their suspendered shirts, when suddenly and horrifically, in an accelerated over-the-Price-Is-Right-cliff-like-manner one topples over only to be immediately trampled by a horse who just moments ago had been tied up to the front porch, but was now like a Preakness entrant, displaying a brave and valiant effort to save his itchy master who otherwise might have been ok and just needed a good home remedy or some salve.

“But you want to know what’s the worst thing?” she went on.  “That stuff is all well and good, and people pretty much kind of accept it even though we English think it’s absurd – just like, go to school then if you’re gonna ‘not BE Amish’, you know? – but what’s even worse is the time in between when they turn 16 and when they finally decide to ‘join the church.’”

“Wait.  I’m confused,” I say. “Aren’t they already part of the church?”

“Well, once they turn 16 they go through Rumspringa.”

“Rum what-a?”

“Rumspringa.  It’s when they can go and sow all the oats they want and then come back and say formally that they want to join the church.  They get it all out of their systems – their parents KNOW – they KNOW! – what’s going on out there in the barns and yet we aren’t allowed to do a thing.”

She went on and on and on at this point, clearly upset by the hypocrisy and the inability to do something, to intervene, in a world which shuns its members if they don’t do what they are supposed to do.

“You mean, they have sex?  Lots and lots of hot-lovin-relations before they get married?” I sarcastically and rhetorically inquire.

“Yeah, exactly.  And that’s sooooo much worse.”

“Worse than what?” I push.

“Worse than the cell phone.  Worse than the laptops or the washing machines or the mopeds or whatever else their ‘religion’ says they can’t have but they do anyway.”

And it was in that exact moment when I didn’t feel so far removed from any other religion on the planet. 

She must have sensed my introspection and wonderment of people and beliefs because she added one last story.  My mind would almost certainly explode under the weight of its own pain.

“Once – and I know you have to get going, you’re probably starving – a kid went through Rumspringa and joined the church.  Then he decided to leave after about a year and his family never talked to him again. He was shunned. His Dad started to beat him but no one would do anything because they also don’t believe in the police or suing anyone, so we finally intervened.”

“That’s horrible,” I respond. “What father would ever do that to his own child for not following the rules?”

I think she may have said something, but I was already out of the building - filled not with a belly full of noodles, but rather, a complete understanding of the answer to that question which I had needed to ask for a very long time.

Seeing the bigger picture.

At any given moment I have no less than 6.5 million thoughts in my head, each competing with vigor to move to the front of the chaotic lobed pack while forcing the others to the back of the messy jam, if for no other reason than they are better. They have more credence. More merit. More potential. More, more, more...

SHUT UP!
Shut up, I say. 

Others may say ADD, ADHD, or some other acronym of a label I prefer not to affix to any part of me. Mostly because I'm finally ok with who I am, what I'm made of, and all the crap that has made me the me I am today. While that's not necessarily interesting, here's what is: perception. What people perceive you to be, wherein "perceive" equals...let's be honest - "judging"...is a very interesting discussion.

...Wherein "discussion" equals "slippery slope."

What is this, thesaurus dot com day, Beth? Stick with me, I'm making a point.

Who of you is guilty of vacillating between introspecting the hell out of yourselves so you can also annoying say, "I'm finally ok with who I am" (puking as I type it) and judging everyone else nonstop to validate those findings?

Instead of telling you that was distinctly rhetorical, I'll just state the obvious: yeah, we all are. From an early elementary school age, we are each guilty of those useless and exhausting time sucks. And I would further assert that since we -regardless of varying "religious" (puking again) affiliations- inherently know we are a broken, sinful, and judge-y people, the only way to deal with it and not go 6.5-million-thought-crazy is to accept who we are and leave the rest up to the only One who will judge us individually someday.

Let's think about that for a second, shall we? Instead of what everyone else is doing, shouldn't be doing, did do, didn't do, probably may do, or like, 'fo sho...did you see what she looked like?!' must have done, let's actually think about what THAT day is gonna look like when it comes.

And maybe try to get as many people as we can to want to see it too.

F4F Marathon

"Keep it between 1000 and 1100 words, Beth...yeah, I know it won't be easy for you."

Below is the article I was asked to write to provide a general overview of why running the F4F marathon might be an idea worth contemplating. 

“How far is a marathon?”

That question, when posed to anyone who defines themselves as a runner, will always elicit a smile.  It is the surest way to know that the person inquiring is contemplating the idea of taking up running, and perhaps – even conquering their first marathon.  All 26.2 miles of it.

My running bug started out as what I like to call an “early mid-life crisis.”  Kids were getting older, life was moving faster, and something fulfilling needed to be added to the mix of the inevitable mundane.  I used to run, I thought to myself.  Sure, it was almost twenty years ago, but how hard could it be to start up again?

That was 2008.  Thousands of miles later, I could not be any more thankful I decided to find out.  What began as an attempt to recapture the pure joy of youth has morphed into constant joy as an adult.  Not only were innumerous miles over the last eight years beyond hard, others were downright cruel.  And yet others were something different altogether – Therapeutic, Exhilarating, Competitive, Strong, Contagious, and Empowering.

What exists in the world of running is this: possibilities.  At first, even thinking about the mere idea of running farther than you may commute to work may seem like an utter impossibility, but it can become an absolute reality with a little planning, a lot of dedication, and a good pair of running shoes. 

The first time I trained for a marathon, I distinctly remember thinking to myself after completing the very first scheduled ‘long run’ alongside my newfound running buddies, “Did we seriously just run from like, Fort Wayne to Huntington?”  While we were all hobbling back towards our cars, I heard one of them utter in response to what I must have in actuality, thought out loud, “We did!  We did!”

At that moment, the why we just ran that far wasn’t answered in words, but in action - we danced in the streets (whereby “danced” equals Elaine-like moves from her Seinfeld days since our hips were a smidge creaky), screamed Woooohoooo!!! about a thousand times, and high-fived like we were....well, kids again. 

The question of “why?” never needed to be pondered again.  We were recapturing our youth.  We were forming new friendships based on trust and camaraderie.  We were setting individual goals which would be tackled in collective effort.  We would share physical and mental pain alike, running side-by-side five days a week at offensively early hours of the morning, sometimes not even coming close to what the training planned demanded we complete.  And yet we never stopped running down our dream of finishing our first marathon.

Note the word “we.”  Running alone provides solace, clarity, and time we all need to unwind, unplug, and just sort of take a break from this crazy world in which we live.  But running together will bond you for life.  When you go through the highs and lows of what running encompasses, whether it be in the span of one run, one 16-week training plan, or one lap around the track, you are part of an immediate and understood fellowship that is unrivaled and one you will never forget.

This year marks the eight consecutive year for the Fort for Fitness and the first year it offers a marathon distance.  Much like we as individuals evolve over time, so has the F4F.  Every year the field of racers has grown in number, and additionally, there are now four distances from which to choose:  4-mile, 10k, Half-marathon, and this inaugural year of…the full marathon. 

Having run not only the F4F every year since inception as well as many other races over the last eight years, I can tell you unequivocally that it is one of the best put together races anywhere out there.  From the ease of registration, to packet pick-up, to the goody bag with top notch swag – all the non-running stuff is fantastic!  But how is the course you ask?  EVEN BETTER!  The starting line is exhilarating, crowd support is amazing, and the route is fast, flat, and scenic with plenty of aid stations along the way.   Last year, I may have even stopped with a mile to go and taken a shot of beer instead of Gatorade or water because hey, carbs.

If I didn’t have you at beer, allow me to add this – the race finishes on home plate at Parkview Field!  While most of us may never know what it’s like to throw out the tying run at the plate or slide into it for the win, we all know how to be that runner.  We all know how to be a kid at heart who still wants to see his or her face on the jumbotron as thousands of screaming fans and one announcer are yelling our name in anticipation of us circling the bases and finally crossing the finish line.

26.2 miles seems like a long way, you say.  It is.  But you can do it.  Regardless of how far you may not be able to run right now, you can get there.  Along with running buddies, time, and dedication, there are three imperative kinds of runs which you will need to incorporate into your weekly training regimen: a long run, a tempo run, and a speed workout.

No idea what those are or what a “training regimen” even is?  Runner’s World can help.  Check out this site: http://www.runnersworld.com/tag/training-plans, or go to one of our local running stores (Fleet Feet or Three Rivers Running Company) for all the information necessary to help you achieve your goal.   

The race is Saturday, October 1^st at 7:00am.  Which means you have between now and the first week in June to ease into working out, eating better, and informing your loved ones of this incredible decision before official training begins…because we all know the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

And good news for you, you’re only going 26.2. 

“If you want to win something, run 100 meters...If you want to experience something, run a marathon.”   --Emil Zatopek, Czech long-distance runner best known for winning three gold medals at the 1952 Summer Olympics.

Back to Basics

Less than 24 hours.  That's how long Liv will have been "home" before she leaves in seven loads of laundry from now and heads back to school to finish her freshman year of college. 

It's been a blur.  From campus visits, to orientation, to move-in day - gone.  A Big Ten game with her parents against their alma mater?  Check.  Several welcomed and slightly unwelcomed visits with homemade cookies in hand?  Check.  Christmas Break?  Another whirl wind, followed by an early return to IU so she could go through the sorority rush process. 

I found myself at home alone during that time, right after our favorite Holiday filled with special traditions.  The house was full of over-decorated and underutilized Christmas nostalgia from memories past and I was on pins and needles hoping/praying/begging she wouldn't get let down for the first real time in her life.  Not by me or others for a change, but by giving something she positively wanted her all only to have it not work out.

And yet she triumphed.  I remember exhaling as tears of relief welled up, once again greatly proud of this little girl turned woman who was now conquering her own To Do List.  The one she crafted all on her own with no input from anyone else and clearly not me since the thought of being in a sorority back in the day ranked somewhere in the intolerable range on my pain scale.

I have grown accustomed to being exceedingly proud of Liv.  She is an amazing human being.  And while I have obvious bias, ask anyone who knows her and that sentiment would be an undisputed consensus.  So while the newness of whatever accomplishment, witnessed behavior, or her general next choice elicits a feeling of incredible proudness in response, I was completely ill-prepared for the subsequent (or more accurately, simultaneous) feeling which surfaced all the way up from the pit off my stomach upon hearing of her acceptance into a sorority: Dread.

Here are some the questions which invaded my brain in rapid-fire succession:

1.  Have I equipped her to avoid the forthcoming pitfalls of Greek life, stereotypical as they may be?
2.  Will she feel increased peer pressure from her sisters or let's cut to the chase - from those godforsaken fraternity boys? (I know some of you are wearing your rings or pins or other badges of brotherhood (gross) as you read this right now - please know I'm proud of you for being able to continuing to read and I am not at all wondering if you are hungover as adult Dads on a Sunday morning during March madness.) 
3.  Does hazing still go on?  Will she have to retrieve something out of a dirty toilet with no hands or make some Evil Kenevial  jump into a bowl of Jell-O?
4.  Is there a "House Mom?"  Can I be her?
5.  Is she excited?  What if she hates it and finds herself let down by something she thought she wanted but it doesn't turn out to be all she thought? 
6.  Will she morph into a bevy of cultish drones, embodying some kind of hip "group-think?"  Have I taught her the value of not doing that, of being a leader and not a follower?
7.  Wait!  Mom's weekend.  I have tackled cancer and marathons, but please tell me I won't have to endure sitting in a parlor mixing with #sistersforlife.
8.  Will she be ok?  What if she's not?  What if she now lives in a house where she feels isolated by bad relationships? 
9.  Will she need me anymore?  Is this like the final straw whereby she'll pull away totally, surrounded by her "new" family - a sister(s) that I could never biologically give her or otherwise hold on to for her?
10.  Have I taught her how to say NO and mean it and not feel guilty and not give up things she can never get back and be ok enough with herself that she can say NO NO NO! get out of my face, get out of my life, get out of my way, get out of sight?

And #11, just for kicks - at what point do we forgive ourselves for all of it?

My To Do List says before August something, 2016.

A Buffet of Writing

I was asked to write an 1100 word max (uh-oh already) article for a local publication.  Topic?  Running. 

As luck would have it, I know a little about both of these things - writing and running, namely because I think I used to enjoy them.  Even more importantly, I used to do them.  Cheers to Amelia Earhart for saying it best with such accuracy and brevity:

"The most effective way to do it, is to do it."

(Nike, please put the check in the mail to her descendants.)

So, I ran an ugly 10-miles this morning, came home, showered off the paradox of disappointing and encouraging disgust, and just finished reading some of my former writing material.  Nothing bypasses questionable self-talk faster than actionable proof.  While it may not be up to Pulitzer qualifying standards yet, I was at least successful in finding several pieces which never made it to this blog, as well as the first chapter of a maybe-might-be-published someday memoir.  

In an effort to just do it, I am sharing some of those findings below and will continue to write - both here and elsewhere.  Oh, and I just signed up for a marathon 6 months from now to see if I can tackle at least one kind of qualifying standard...

Here's hoping Amelia isn't the only one who could fly.

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I used to author "Beth's Top Ten Lists" for my former running partner.  Letterman-esque in fashion, they covered work, family, and life topics.  I stumbled upon this one which I put together in an effort to start running together again and training for a race after a way too long hiatus.

Beth’s Top Ten List for Reasons Why an Easy-Peasy Run Makes Total Sense

10.  We are runners.  Well, at least one of us is and if we equate running on the greenway with running for president, halfway capable seems largely appealing.

9.  We have little lives, nothing else to do, and all the free time in the world.  It’s not like either of us has ever won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize.

8.  We are vegan.  Well, one of us is and the other one would like to make fun of that.  In person – as he runs out of sustenance.  Like so much maize – which you’ll remember, means corn.

7.  Help us, Brian Kopack!  Help us!  We need to remember how to run together!  And your training plans worked magic for all of us the first time.  Boston was a-MAY-zing.

6.  We have endurance.  Well, yours has no doubt decreased.  But neither have you had to endure any menial stir stick stories for a while.  So, when those are reinstituted, you’ll pretend to listen by saying “what, what” like you’re Puff Daddy laying down background vocals on a new track. 

5.  We have personal trainers.  Though I’m still not sure what that means.  Or what we’re training for, really. 

4.  Substitute running partners have placed gifts in my mailbox, said “good job,” told me to “have a great day!” and given me Hallmark cards on recurring intervals, including Kwanzaa.  In retrospect it’s only your lack of effort that made you a total running stand out.

3.  There have been times when I’ve been so miserable running without you that it was almost like having you there.

2.  I can tell you are still a crap lawyer by the mere fact that this has somehow turned into my idea.

 1.  You see, this hobby is filled to the brim with unrealistic MFr’s.  MFr’s who thought their ass would age like wine.  If that means it turns to vinegar, it does.  If it means it or the running gets better, it don’t. 

(We are not gettin’ any younger, dude.  Let’s go already.)

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Found this written 3+ years ago, but was afraid to post for fear my Mom would stumble upon it out there in, you know, "that iDevice internet cyber web thing."  Writer's license taken; no offense to my mother intended.  I adore her and have no desire to have her baked goods withheld from my diet - even during training.

It's Monday morning. Which means if I don't call my little sister by 7:45am, she will call me. The conversation will commence as it always does, with her stating that my Mother is driving her nuts (and yes - even though for the last 36 years I've been telling her she was adopted, we have the same parents). I indulge her with my ensuing inquisition and we laugh together. She lives just under 4 hours away, and I miss her. 

There were many, many years when I did not miss her in the least. I suppose for the first 17 years of my life that was because she was right there next to me, growing up with me, annoying me, watching me, sharing life with me. But when I went off to college there was an immediate void. Not so much mind you, that when she came for a visit I stayed with her in my dorm room the entire party-infused night instead of hanging out with Andrew McGinnis down the hall. Whew. Andy. 

I was happy to have her again by my side at Ohio State, sharing that new season of life with me. Without question, that night was far more fun than the night, years prior, she and I had found ourselves in a heated argument inside our parent's bedroom. While we don't look much alike, we were like Siamese twins when it came to the loud, nasty mouth gene pool. Apparently, or at least how the story goes, I won said heated argument and my prize was a horse-like brush being hurled through the air at me.  However, thankfully my award was not bestowed with enough speed that I didn't have time to hit the deck and watch as it lodged itself into my parent's bathroom door. As I wished her good luck, part of me actually wanted to help the little squirt.  Instead, the prideful big sister part of me walked away, smugly pretending I was going to be handed yet another prize as I walked through the one remaining unscathed door in annoying silence. 

Today, the post-it note which she carefully placed over the hole in the bathroom door resides in my closet, right next to the Strawberry Shortcake plaque she gave me for Christmas when she was seven and I was ten.  It reads: "Dear Mom and Dad, I am sorry about your door, but number one you should have gone with solid oak and number two, Beth moved out of the way in time.  Please don't be mad since we're not mad at each other anymore either. Love, Sarah." 

Not mad at each other is an understatement, as love her I do - as we continue to share this beautiful life and all the crazy stories together. Especially the ones about her Mom. 

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I think they call this "realistic fiction."  Otherwise known as "story of my life, you can't make it up."

Her mother had taught her many things, namely, that “one day when you become a mother you’ll understand.”

How right she was, not that Mary-Kate – MK to her friends – would ever admit it.  She loathed admitting anyone knew more than she did, let alone her own mother.

But that was when she was a typical teenager.  Twenty-five years plus later and about to send her only child off to college, she finally understands.  And, as luck would have it for her friends, only pretends she still hates it when they know more than she does.

MK’s Mom, Ellen, was born and raised in a generation where “things” were not discussed; rather, grace and class were demonstrated by what you did not say.  Restraint apparently took more strength than throwing a right hook or jabbing at an offender with cutting words.  Yet, mess with her kids and the gloves were off.

“Hi, Mom,” MK squeaked out.

“Are you sneezing or crying?” her mother responded over a cell connection and hundreds of miles.

“I can’t take this.  Why does she have to leave?” MK rhetorically pleaded. “I teach college classes on the side, you know I could totally have homeschooled her.”

“You’ve done your job,” MK’s mother said matter-of-factly of her oldest granddaughter.  “This will be tough, but you will both get through it and your relationship will be even better.”

Ellen was always the optimist.  While you wouldn’t want to catch her on one of the few non-sunny days, she was never without positive reinforcement, especially on the mothering front.

Once recently, she told her still-learning-to-show-restraint-with-her-words daughter that they (Ellen and MK’s Dad - because ‘they’ have always been “they”) were at a get together a few weekends ago with two of their long-time couple friends.  Everything was going swimmingly and per usual - lots of food, lots of conversation presumably about their grown kids who would always be “kids,” and lots of happy in the hour(s).

“She’ll be fine, she always is,” Ellen told the other women as they asked about MK and her empty nest.  Of course the better question would have been asking about how much MK loves stereotypes and clichés, but nothing kills alcohol flow like generational disparity.

The three men began laughing over stories about their respective jobs, mostly surrounding labor relations.  Joey, the husband of one of the couple friends, owns his own company where, ahem, not all of the employees have cards of the green variety; however, his job in a prior life was the topic of the evening’s discussion.

“I may have been a collector of sorts,” Joey began.  “You know, of things which certain suspect people living in the outskirts of Philly could not necessarily afford initially, or pay back in a timely manner when people like me told them face-to face-ish that the bank also knows they cannot cough up anything other than nicotine phlegm.”

Joey’s wife, Carolyn, cringed.  She was a debutante back in the day.  MK’s Mom did not belong to the Carolyn Coiffed Fan Club.

“Oh, Joe…” she said in her best I love the little people voice.

“What about that bothers you, Carolyn?” Ellen asked, poker face intact.

Ellen had a way of dealing with her dislike of certain people which subdued not only the offenders real-time, but also her propensity of wanting to choke them out subsequently causing a scene absent of grace and class.

“It’s just…it’s just that I wasn’t allowed to date ‘those kind’ of people that Joe had to deal with when I was growing up.”  “Didn’t your parents tell you that you couldn’t date anyone that didn’t, you know, measure up?”

Ellen also had a way of dealing with anyone who was intolerant of the entire human race.

“No.  My parents liked people for who they were and how they made you feel based solely upon how they treated you.  It was a pretty simple methodology that they employed, actually,” she responded, again miraculously without tone or eye rolls.

“Well,” Carolyn went on obliviously.  “Even worse than those people, my parents said, were Italians.  I could NEVER date those kind.”

“Now that I think about it, my parents forbade me to date stupid people,” Ellen said without hesitation, grace, class, or apology. 

They shared a look and a grin that only they understood after all these years.

Comfortingly, MK comes from a long line of hot-tempered Italians and Irishmen alike, all of whom adore family even more than they do homemade pasta, Jameson’s, or putting idiots in their place. 

And she knew now just as she always had, that in the midst of generational “things” and life changing seasons, she would always have these kind of precious exchanges and memories – both old and new.

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I've been writing these kind of poems and gifting them to family and friends to mark milestones for as long as I can remember.

I’ve loved you since before I met you, all 37 weeks of feeling you move,

And when you arrived on February 23^rd the absolute thing it did prove;

That it was not possible to love anything or anyone more than this beautiful little being,

I could not fully believe or understand the joy I was holding and seeing;

Through sleepless nights, nervous days, and uncertainty as a new mother,

I didn’t know much about what to do, but I knew there was no other;

No other place I’d rather have been, hugging you, rocking you, watching you breathe and grow,

And today, no longer a baby, but today I do know;

That you are an amazing human being, filled with kindness and compassion and love,

Sent to this earth, our family, your friends as a precious gift from above;

From your first words, to your first walk, to your first hurt, I remember it all so clearly,

Sixteen years later you are still, and shall always be – loved so dearly. 

 

I miss my girl.  And I have missed writing.  Time to take another run at it. 

...1100 words and a 3:39:59 marathon, here I come.