Running

I haven't done much writing in a while. I guess there's a season for everything, and the season of late has been for me to ponder and not write. That said, I have some things to say tonight.

I attended a cross country meet for Justin today. With him starting middle school this year, there were a bazillion different clubs and extracurricular activities with which he could occupy his time. He has tried to get involved with every single thing he could squeeze into his (and our family's) schedule. I have started to see some of the reasons for my needing to take this year off of full-time work, and tending to his every changing schedule has been one of my juggling acts as of late.

So, back to cross country. Today when I got to his meet down at Haworth Park in Bellevue, the 7th grade girls were about to run. They were scheduled 30 minutes before his run time with the 7th grade boys. As they took off and began to run, I watched their course and I watched the varying running abilities. One sweet girl was much slower than the other girls and was behind the pack of runners right from the start. No one wants to be the last one in a race, and I can only imagine (as I've never competed in running) that it probably does not feel the best to be the one at the end of such a large race. The race was just under 2 miles. As the runners all started toward the end of the finish line, there were lots of cheers for individuals and for schools. I cheered for students at Justin's school as well. But something I had seen happen during the past few races occurred again. The little girl who was at the end of the runners at the beginning of the race turned out to be the last runner at the end as well. As she came upon the finish line, everyone cleared the course area and got to edges of the course. Very loud applause and cheers came from the crowd of onlookers--like a million times louder than any of the other cheers and clapping for the other students, even more noisy than the applause for the "winner" of the race. As we all cheered for this girl, she didn't stop and walk even though she clearly had been struggling. She ran. She sped up and ran as hard as she could to get to that finish line.

I watched this scene.

I bawled.

I'm bawling now as I try to type this because I can't relay how much this affected me to watch this race.

I realized that that little girl is metaphorically me. Maybe for 30 years I have been slow to learn and retain some of the most important lessons that can be learned in this life. Maybe I have tried to be a "good girl" and done all the "right" things, but still have been lacking some important lessons. And now I feel like the past 4 years have been spent playing catch up. Like a whirlwind of spiritual knowledge has taken place and I finally feel connected to my spirit somehow. I feel like I have legions of angels cheering me on and trying to encourage me on this final lap of my journey--even though this final lap will likely be a much longer period of time than that first 30 years.

It's comforting. It's like the puzzle pieces are finally fitting together in my mind. It's like I finally understand Adam's role in the rest of my mortal life. I finally get why he is needed in the spirit world and why I'm needed here, even though we are tangibly away from each other. We both have lives that have different--yet at the same time, SAME purposes. And because I feel with such clarity that it makes sense and yet I can't verbalize why it makes sense in my heart, it confirms the truthfulness of this for me.

When Justin was running in his last meet, I started bawling watching him run and I had such a profound feeling of longing for Adam to be right by my side where he rightfully belongs, watching and supporting his oldest son. I know that when I experience these feelings, part of the reason I feel such intense longing is that I get stubborn and not humble and I put my desire to have him with me over the Lord's will and purpose for Adam right now. Because when I can be completely vulnerable, I know that it was His perfect timing that took Adam when he needed to go. That there is no explaining otherwise. But when I watched Justin run that day, I instantly felt comforted that he was right there watching and encouraging Justin. I didn't say anything to the little boys about this experience, and they did not see my tears while they played with sticks and I watched Justin on his course. I found it fascinating (and reassuring) when, on the walk to get Justin, Carson said to me, "Mom, I hope Dad watched Justin run." It confirmed what I felt--and what I know this little 4 year old felt too. After we got Justin back to the car to go home and I told him of my experience, he said, "Mom, that's interesting because while we were racing, I felt like someone was right behind me so I kept turning around during the run. The guy that was behind me, but not in the spot where it felt like someone was running behind me, he finally said to me, "What in the world are you looking at?!" and I explained that I thought someone was behind me, that it kept feeling like someone was there. I'm positive that it was Dad. I know he is with me sometimes."

I think hard hearted, frustrated me is finally starting to soften and make some sense out of life. I'm starting to understand more about the role our loved ones who have passed away can have in our lives. That it isn't a bunch of baloney, and that it isn't some sort of witch craft. It is a simple peace that can't be verbalized or explained--only understood by those who have had the experience. A quote from Helen Keller explains it: "The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart."

And this song from David Archuleta has been ringing true in my heart since I heard it. The first time I heard it I wasn't really listening to the words and their meaning. I found some amazing double meanings and peace in this song.