Chasing my shadow

The wind whips around my skin. The sun is kissing the sky in a beautiful way. The deer are enjoying running through the woods. My shadow stretches across the ground in front of me. And I breathe in deeply the enjoyment of being outdoors running.

 In the midst of these times, I have to find the positives. I am an extrovert and I love being around people, so this time of being at home with family can have benefits in savoring the hours with the kids nearly grown, but also can provide challenges in my anxiety with lack of conversations over cups of coffee and sweet embraces. Running is a time of peace for me in the midst of these strange, ever-changing days.

 Over the last 10 years, I have really enjoyed running. Each season of those 10 years has held different reasons for the running being significant. I have come to learn much about myself through the process, developed a sense of confidence I didn't know existed within me; found a career and worked my way up the ladder through that; fought anxiety and depression with the weapon of mind over matter and getting out to run; made some great friends; crossed a few finish lines; and most of all, have become a better version of me.

 The challenge for me over the last year is that between schooling, work, family and mission work, while I have still exercised, it's been more of a robotic act than one of pure enjoyment. These days are allowing me to find that enjoyment again.

 I've never been a fast runner. Running is work for me. But the sense I feel when I am out there doing it is is one that cannot come from a spin class nor a weight training session. However, in regards to my running, I am going to be honest here. Over the last year, I've let several comments affect my desire to get out and run, let alone blog about it as much. But, I'm over that, so I'm going to share.

 I've heard things (when discussing my run time) "Oh, I pace the slow people!"  or comments like "I can't wait to have another runner around"  or "That's it? You only did 2 miles?" or "What was your time" to which I would be embarrassed to answer.
  I'm paraphrasing, but I've also been told that perception is reality and those words and more said have affected my mindset of pushing through the challenges to do something I love simply for the sake of doing it. Yes, I have had extra activities affecting my ability to get out, but words play a huge role in my mindset and I let those take over for a time.

 However, in these days, I am returning to my roots. I am starting over again, essentially. I haven't lost my knowledge in how to run or what to do to improve. I may have lost my motivation for a time, though, in discouragement or in the business of daily life. Today I write to share for anyone out there doubting their ability : DON'T. I'm using this time of the world slowing down to rediscover that part of me. In those moments I think clearer. I feel the presence of the Creator. I find my confidence again. I remember why I began to fall in love with this sport in the first place. So, today I write to encourage those of you who may feel  you "can't" or that you are not a runner. It isn't about your speed. It's about your heart. So....

 Let the breeze tickle your skin, don't care about the speed.
    Watch the sun kiss the sky and slow down to take a picture of it.
Chase your shadow with the flag whipping in the wind behind you.
  Pause to stare back at the deer looking at you.
     Push through the "I don't like hills" and feel the burn in your legs bring you to life.
 Add an extra mile, even if it is at a walk pace.
    And most of all, as you run, let the words roll off your back into the wind and just allow yourself to be free and to be you.

 That is what running does for me. I am enjoying the daylight hours of running, certain that contributes to the joy of it for me. (As opposed to the 530 am dark and chilly wintery days). As much of an extrovert as I am, this space of running by myself is a savored moment I have severely missed . In times when it can be hard to find the positives, in times that my anxiety honestly has a tendency to be heightened, these are the moments that bring me into who I am, the moments that I am thankful for in the midst of these strange days of unknown- the quiet moments in dawn hours of running. And so, I will savor this. And whenever normal becomes back to normal, I hope to hang onto these lessons I am learning, one day at a time. Because when I run, it isn't just about being out running more miles again, it is about learning about my Creator, it is about learning my own self and pushing through the mind blocks that can come with the daily grind of life. And thus, I will chase my shadow in the early morning hours.... one day at  time...

 

9 Years Ago

Today the world is changing rapidly. The virus is captivating attention, causing fear and creating change on even an hourly basis. This is an event and a time that we will all remember the rest of our lives. 

  However, while there is seriousness to this topic, I find myself really wanting to talk about something besides the virus. Continuing life as normal as possible, whatever normal is. Normal changes rapidly, honestly.  Colombia is typically my go-to topic of choice as I continue growing and learning. Writing helps me process what I'm learning and share those lessons with others. However, today I want to write about my mom. 

 I have written countless stories about my mom and it often seems there may not be one left to share. Yet somehow, it feels there will never be ones I run out of, if that makes any sense. Today is a day that changed my world 9 years ago. Today, March 20, is the day that my mom went home to heaven. I have written many times about what that day was like. Today it is easy to recall the day as if I were living it out again. The details of those moments are ones forever engrained as part of my story. 

 

Today I watched a video play back of what we put together for mom's funeral. That's the story I want to talk about today. Yes, I get sad many times missing my mom. The ache of not having her when I am frustrated about work to call and share is an ache that physically hurts at times in my chest.  The tears fall when I feel sad and cannot call her. The joy I have when I get to do tasks I love, such as work on the foundation or travel to Colombia or plan a marathon - that joy that I cannot sit over coffee with my mom and tell her all about it does create heartache at times. And I allow for those moments because that is part of grief. I visited the cemetery today and let myself cry there. 

  

 But this moment, this is a moment to remember her with joy, too. The video brought back a lot of memories I hadn't thought about in a long time with her. First of all, my mom used to sing a song to me as a child each night before bed. Then she sang it to the grandkids as they were babies and growing up. She sang the song "I have decided to follow Jesus".  Mom lived out that decision in her every day life, reading her Bible, praying for others, inviting people over, sacrificing financially all the time when there was little to sacrifice. On the video, the grandkids, who mostly were fairly young, sang the song to begin the video of mom. 

 The video was a compilation of photos of mom's life. She grew up in Minnesota, where winter is brutal. But mom enjoyed winters. (She did not pass that on to me!) She was Sweedish, after all. There were photos of her ice fishing. There were also photos of her fishing in the summer time. One photo was from a time she took my dad up to the lake for a visit and he had fish as well. I can't ever really remember a time of my dad eating fish, let alone fishing. But there he was in the photo, grinning like a boy in love. That was their relationship... love and laughter. And doing things the other enjoyed. 

 There was a photo of mom and dad playing around like a cowboy saying "stick 'em up" (maybe today that is a rarity, but there was a time that was a game). Dad had a handkerchief around his face, mom, turning her head in laughter. Photos from their wedding, photos from our family growing up, all 4 of us kids. We didn't have many vacations, but there was a photo of us in Texas, where mom's parents lived for a time. I remember that vacation, where we traveled the 6 of us in the Chevy Impala hours and hours to arrive at Texas. I was very young, but I even recall on that trip crossing the border (on foot) into Mexico and visiting a little touristy area. 

  In the video was a photo of mom holding a trash can with a big bow on it. My mom was so simple and the smallest things made her smile. That was what she wanted for Christmas- a trash can. So that year we sent her on a treasure hunt for that can and once she finally got there, she seriously grinned as silly as the photo shows. 

  

 She loved children and children loved her. She taught Sunday School at church for nearly 40 years. She was an education major at Cedarville (College) University but chose to stay at home once she had children. The video has many photos of her holding my kids, my sister's kids and even other babies. You can see her attentively playing games with them. And always, always she had a smile. She liked to be silly, wearing tea party hats or making funny faces or telling stories that made everyone laugh. 

 Watching the video again reminded me of many stories of her life. She was the youngest of 7, with two sets of twins in that family. She was teased and the stories go on about the tricks they liked to play on her. However, they loved her fiercely and I really enjoy seeing the photos of her with her 6 siblings and how they even hovered a bit over her. 

 You see, while I feel I have shared many stories, the memories will always surface with more. Writing about them makes me smile about her instead of cry. Sharing about her life keeps her legacy alive. She is gone and I miss her fiercely. But her words and her memories burn inside me, keeping the smile that she had every day as a part of me as well. 

 People will often comment on my smile, when they see it genuinely, that it is a wonderful feature of mine. I got that from mom. Oh, my dad loves to laugh just as much... but the smile I have I contribute to my mom. 

 I miss her today, but I miss her every day. I hope that I never forget these stories and that we keep telling them and one day my kids tell them. I can hear her laugh when I see these photos. 

 9 years ago today I said goodbye to my mom. But she will forever be a part of my story that I will keep telling. 

Cartagena- Rich in Culture, Full of Love

The world is turning a little upside down right now and all of us likely feel a little out of sorts. However, I don't want to focus on the reasons for that in this blog. I write today to return to the stories of how my life got turned upside down when I became a part of Colombia... when I got wrecked as I wrote about in my last blog.

 This was my 7th trip there. Some have asked me if it becomes old or if I grow numb to what I see. My answer is no... and I hope that I never do. Each time I travel to Colombia, when I return to my home away from home, when I am wrapped in loving arms from my family in another country, my heart and eyes get opened in some new way. I get stretched, I learn, I cry, I laugh,  I am touched, and I am changed... every time.

 I can't figure out yet whether to capture in words in this blog my experiences day by day or just list out some of the more interesting ones little by little. This trip was full of "first" experiences for me, even though it was my 7th time there... This trip was a little different for me in that I took with me 3 others, James, Isaac, and Andy. James and Andy are part of then board of Footprints with Hope, the foundation we've established to begin doing deeper work in the villages/cities of Colombia. (our fourth board member could not go with us.) Isaac is the son of Andy. It was my first time doing that. Isaac and Andy have a way of story telling that can be deep in moments which touch the heart but can also be completely hilarious. We laughed a lot on this trip, thanks to their humor.

 I'll share the trip day by day and preface my "first" experiences with those words. Seriously, a blog does not do justice to these experiences.

 There is a first time for everything....
   1. When we finally got through the long line of customs, and to the counters, it was taking James forever to move through customs. James has been there as many times as I have, but each time he has only visited the same village. This was going to be his first of visiting other locations. But from the get-go, we called him the "problem child" on the trip. (He wasn't really, but every trip has one, so we gave that to him).  We all passed through customs quickly, but I noticed that James was taking a very long time at his counter.
 James does not speak Spanish, so I asked my lady who passed me through if I could go help him, as he'd been there some time. She said yes and when I moved over to his counter, the man checking him in to the country would not let him pass through because he didn't have a reservation number for the hotel where we were staying. Well, this was a first. They usually only ask for the name of the hotel. Props to the man for doing his job diligently, but... I could not understand this when the others of us passed through without that. well, in the end, the man called the hotel and confirmed that James was with me  and we were allowed through. Not a bad experience, just a little weird. We moved on for our luggage.

 2. First time for me to arrive to the carousel for luggage for it not to be there. Andy and Isaac had been waiting on us to come through, so they informed us. I spoke with the man at the carousel and was informed we had to go to the Delta office. Well, another first for me. Lesson here: always have good clothes in the carry on bag. Now, I've traveled enough to know this. I did have one outfit (simple running clothes and flip flops, of course) in my carry on. But our next day activity was going to be one in which I wanted to be dressed up. So... lesson learned. In all fairness, on this trip, we were taking a lot of books, heavy, and so in order to balance out the weight of the 2 suitcases, I stuck a fair amount of books in my carry on because clothes are lighter for the checked bags. Well.... lesson learned. But hey, it made for a fun excuse to get a little something new to wear ;)  This was the first for my luggage to not quite make it.
  In case you're wondering, the luggage didn't make it because our connecting flight was pretty tight and thus, our luggage did not make it not that flight. Kindly Delta delivered our suitcases to our hotel when they arrived the next day.

3. Another first for me- I was the full time translator on this trip. I have traveled there by myself without a translator, but on this trip, I was the translator for everyone with me, navigating all the conversations. This is both exciting and well, I also felt nervous, insufficient to do so. There is a great way to learn- jump in and do it!

                                                            Day 1. Sunday. Cartagena
 Cartagena is full of culture. There are bright colors, live music, awesome food and so much rich history. Although I've stayed there several times, on this trip, I saw more of the city than before and we got to experience many restaurants and explore a bit more the ideas and the history of the city. Andy and I will lead a team there in October with Footprints with Hope through the Restoration Park Church and we are quite excited. We had fun exploring the city in new ways, navigating ideas for what or where we can go with the team in October.
      After a fun evening Saturday night exploring Old City, we left Sunday morning from the hotel to attend Flor de Campo, the church in Cartagena. We were welcomed with open arms. I felt like I was in my own church, welcomed with hugs and kisses and kind words. These friends have become family and it was wonderful to be back. Being the translator was a new experience for me. I was up front with Bishop, translating the sermon and then later translating all of the conversations and the very cool things the church is doing there in Cartagena.
  When the service ended, they broke into small classroom settings. This is the ministry in the little area of Flor de Campo with the kids, Voces Invisibles, Voces de Todos, some of whom are migrants from Venezuela. They are taught photography, and on this day they were taking actual printed snapshots of their small city blocks (as we would think of ) and placing them on a paper, mapping and drawing them out. They were learning how to use photography to understand their own space of living.
 They were learning guitar, drums, singing, literature, reading and through all of these avenues they are taught their rights, they are taught their roots and their history and they are taught how to live life abundantly and make better choices. To see all of this was beautiful, to see the joy these kids have, and an avenue to grow in a healthy environment off the streets.

 Next we ate lunch together in the pastoral parsonage. While we finished lunch and enjoyed tinto (coffee) we listen to Bishop and the girls who were preparing a cultural dance for us banter back and forth about whose dance was best- Salsa, from Cali, Bishop's home town, or the other dances of the other cities like Cumbia, and  Maplé. Listening to them was quite comical and that banter continued on the whole week every time the topic arose.
  Which led us to the next moment of the gals presenting dances for us. They gave a little intro to each one, what the background and the history to the dance was, why it was original to its location and how they used it as an expression of their culture, their history and their lives. They prepared 3 different ones for us. We really enjoyed this.

 Lastly, after many photos and much laughter, we were able to enjoy one more "show". There is a small band called Ninguneados, who you can see here who performed for us for a bit. They shared their story, how they use their music to be the voice for those who do not have a voice. Their name Ninguneados is based on this poem. Their music is beautiful and powerful.

 After that, we visited the home briefly of one of those band members and then made our way back to the hotel. From the hotel we went back out into the city and enjoyed another meal in another new location, exploring the possibilities and also reminiscing about the day and the ideas our foundation was beginning to form through the little bit of exposure.

 By the way, Cartagena is the location of launching our first pilot program with the women. We are half way to our funding for that. If you're interested in donating towards it or want to know more, please go here to donate.  We are looking for partners in our mission to bring hope to Colombia, one step at a time!  You also can find more information on our facebook page, with more videos at Footprints with Hope facebook

 PS. Please forgive the messiness of these photos... there is a work in progress in bettering the blog site. Enjoy the photos!