Querencia

So often when I attempt to write it out certain sentiments elude me in the shadows and I cannot tether them with a word or phrase. 

I have discovered a word to which I gravitate it pulls me to the center of where I should be as I am mulling through how to best capture feelings...liquid mercury cohesing and rolling away; perhaps poisonous. Toxic if I hold it too long? There aren't many metaphysical words. Hello querencia, it so nice to meet you. Now perhaps I can finish that started long ago poem...

Scars

Disclaimer: the following is not, on any level, for the faint of heart. You have been warned.

This is how it began. A jagged to the bone gash sustained from a faulty coaching platform at a swim arena. I had no sooner sent my last swimmer off, and I attempted to step off the platform when it snapped and the platform that had once held me up, became a metal jaw chomping at my shin. My advancing foot was already on the wet pool deck and this resulted in my slow motion tumble to the ground, my leg akimbo caught in the clench of the metal teeth. My fellow coaches laughed and said they had never witnessed such a slow and graceful fall. Then they saw my shin and the laughter ceased. I assured them I would be fine. I tried to stop the bleeding, but there wasn't a lot in the way of helpful materials or even paper towel in the washroom. Once we were back at school I took the best care of the wound I could. It looked okay. Until it didn't.

Until it looked like something from WebMD. 

My white cells fought valiantly and I pulled out every, "I am not a doctor, but would love to play one on T.V." stop, and by grace it healed at last. Keeping the wound dry and clean in Vietnam was an interesting and difficult exercise.

Today, just over a year later, it is a faded gray fissure and a funny story about an Amazonian American woman and the Vietnamese platform that wasn't built to hold her.

The scar reminds me. It reminds me of a time when I, very new to a place, wanted to support the community however I could. It reminds me that sometimes we engage with the best intentions and still walk away wounded. It reminds me that even when things seem painful and raw, eventually they heal. I need these reminders. 

I see the scar daily. I field inquiries about its origin frequently. I expect this. It is in a prominent place. It makes me wonder about the scars that cannot easily be spotted? If I thought my wound was difficult to heal, it was simple compared to healing these unseen wounds. 

Inherently scars attest to a certain degree of healing. This healing does not necessarily indicate a lack of sensitivity or letting go of the trauma or feelings the initial wound produced. Scars show a good fight was undertaken, but the reminders linger. Here's to healing...

A Place in the Choir

1 Corinthians 12

"There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them.There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work." v 4-6

When I was an elementary student many decades ago, Mr. Chapman, my music teacher taught us many a fine tune. One of my favorites we sang was "All God's Creatures Have a Place in the Choir." The chorus was ever so much fun to sing, but what really appealed to my gangly gawky elementary self were the lyrics. That prickly porcupine? Yes, God intended him that way. Every creature had a divinely designated place. Each was meant to be, just the way they were. 

The song evoked a sense of purpose and place within my chest as I sang it. Somewhere between my awkward elementary self belting out that tune in my enthusiastically albeit creaky voice, and here, in middle age, I have lost that assurance. Doubt has crept in like a fog filling once clear places with uncertainty.

Am I supposed to be here? Am I really making an impact? Does my contribution matter? Does my life make a difference?  I think back to one of my favorite movies it's a Wonderful Life in which George Baliey, the main character, gets the "gift" of seeing what the world would be like without him in it after proposing it would, "Be better if I'd have never been born."

After this wish Clarence takes George on an emotionally charged journey through a George-less world. George sees no matter how dire his present circumstances are, a world without him in it is NOT a better outcome. He realizes he is living a "Wonderful Life." Wouldn't it be interesting to glimpse what the world would have been without me in it? I would love to gain that reassurance that the ripples of my life are buoying others positively along. However, this isn't a fictional cinematic feature; I don't have that view into my own story. So what to do when that doubt leeches in zapping the positive vibrancy of life? I find myself in need of frequent reminders as the circumstances of life situations erode away at what I want to believe is true. Remind Me Who I Am. Songs are inspiring, and beyond that action may be the cure for doubt. "Action will remove the doubt that theory cannot solve." Pehyl Hsieh So I act. Like my gawky elementary self I allow my actions to sing, even if they are off-key, and surrender to the assurance that even if I don't FEEL like it I am right where I am supposed to be.

From Stressed to Steadfast

James 1:2-4 "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing."

Dried leaves, blossoms, and buds blanketed in an opaque linen sachet hardly seems remarkable. Enter a delicate bone China cup filled with one of the most common compounds on the planet at lightly rolling boil. Introduce the demure sachet to the cup's contents and let your senses of sight and smell be awed as the clear water becomes jeweled onyx, amber, topaz or jade and the earthy scent of earl grey, chamomile or matcha rises from the heat energy.

This process is the embodiment of eustress. If the satchel is never submersed in the water brimming with heat energy, the full potential of the contents is never released.

Stress gets an overall bad rap. Psychologists tell us humans require a certain amount of challenge and trial to stretch into our full potential. 

The same is true of the physical body. I recently returned to lifting weights. I carefully temper a balance between eustress (good pushing though a few more reps) and distress (causing injury to my arms or legs). I know if I don't press into some tired effort I will see no change into body or endurance. 

Sometimes the growth is gradual, and sometimes it is rapid like being scathed in a rolling boil. As of late I feel like I have been "in hot water" for a while. So while I am steeping I will hold in mind that it is the only way to become steadfast.

Diamonds (or diamantes) in the Transition

                       Lemming

             unsure,     unsettled

     scurrying,     wandering,     racing 

cliff,         f  a  l  l         den,          pride,

      securing,     communing,  roaring

              strong,      protected

                            Lion

Coming in Last

My running partner and I always held a similar approach to running races. Sometimes we even uttered it aloud when others would ask about our time goals. "I certainly won't be first, but I won't be last either." When I ran my first full marathon in 2012 my students asked if I planned on winning. I explained just finishing would be winning. I would not break the tape, nor would I shuffle in with the SAG wagon at my heels. From the first time I set foot on a track to run a heat 31 years ago to my first 5k 25 years ago to my most recent marathon I have never come in last place. This July that all changed.

I was engaged in my typical head talk. Should I run my hometown 5k or 10 miler? That was the question. Two weeks earlier I recorded my slowest EVER 5k (although I have not seen the official splits because my running partner is no doubt trying to save me from mental self-berating.) I secured third in my age division scoring a fabulous glass, but shook my head as it was an ugly accolade save the awesome glass and beauty of finishing. 

My running base had dwindled away no doubt as I was coming off a hiatus due to a nasty jaw infection that found me in the hospital on intravenous antibiotics and almost septic. 

So what to do? Which race to run? The 5k would be over (relatively) quickly. The 10miler would hold fewer in the field and would be chocked full of passing hometown haunts. I opted for this 10miler. The course would be a veritable run through my childhood. A mile in I ran past the farmhouse where my grandmother welcomed my father into the world and listened with bated breath to the radio announcer relay events of World War II.Three miles in I ran past my Uncle Phil and Aunt Lorene's house. I could picture their blue prints rolled out on my gram's coffee table when the house was just a dream. Another quarter mile down the road I was running past my Uncle Stan and Aunt Barb's house, skirted by woods in which my cousins and I played countless games of war and tag. Uncle Stan was strolling from his polebarn to the house. I drew a big breath and yelled, "Hey, isn't there a water stop here?!" A query which sent my uncle into stitches. Another half mile down the road was the house I lived in from preschool until third grade. I grinned to see it was still the "Seashell gray" color I had the honor and responsibility to pick decades ago. Just then my Uncle Stan and Aunt Barb drove past me in their pickup truck merrily beeping. They were on their way to meet my parents for the Saturday sibling breakfast. Energized by my own private horn section, I picked up my pace. My phone app announced my time and distance, and I wasn't running too shabbily. I was approaching Fremont Lake, the body of water where I grew up swimming, paddle boarding, tubing and pontoon boating. Turns out it wouldn't just be the water IN the lake that I encountered.

As I made the curve of Lake Drive the sky grew ominously gray. It was like I was running into a wind tunnel. Branches from the canopy of trees above groaned and several broke clean off and whipped into the road. A pair of runners I had been traveling along with peeked back over their shoulders at me to make sure I remained unscathed. Rapidly the gray sky spewed forth its fury with large, cold, raindrops pelting everything beneath them in a frigid spray. I ran on laughing at the joke of myself. As I made my way along the lakeshore the proprietor of Lakeside Swirl offered me sanctuary in his shop. "Thank you, I am alright. I am already wet and only have a few more miles." As I ran past the last water stop. The soggy volunteers cheered me on, "Looking good! You okay?" I laughed and responded, "I live in Vietnam rain is par for the course!"  No sooner had I uttered this than lightening split the sky in a brilliant arc. I ran on chuckling to myself. I heard a low rumbling behind me that was not thunder. It was the SAG wagon. It appeared the minivan had picked up several runners on the course behind me. The driver slowed and rolled down the window. "Lightening has been sighted on the course. Would you like a ride?"

"No sir, thank you. I would like to finish."

The driver smirked, "I kinda thought you may say that."

"I promise I will run faster." 

He laughed. Gave me the thumbs up sign and drove off to eventually scoop up the two runners in front of me.

As I promised I ran my final mile as the fastest. As I crossed the time mat the gentleman overseeing the finish line said, "And you are it! Well done!" He promptly began picking up shop as the rain was coming in sheets and the thunder and lightening was unrelenting. I had finished dead last! 

The race director came over and gave me a hug. "You did it! We picked up quite a section of the field."

"I had to finish, despite the storm. After all I do live in Vietnam."

"Although it was not advisable we figured you ARE an adult of consenting age."

Never say never, right? I was dripping wet and met some incredulous stares from fellow runners who had been plucked off the course, as I re-entered the shelter of race central. I wasn't sure if the stares were offered in admiration or with an air of, "You are a FOOL!" Either way I still found myself chuckling. 

My dry carriage/car, occupied by my kids and parents, arrived to bring me home. "So are you still glad you did it mom?" asked my daughter. "Yes. I am." I went on to relay the highlights of the race. My kids wanted to justify that REALLY their mom did not come in last because others posted a DNF. I boldly clung to my title of "dead last." Coming in last taught me that courage is required to stay the course and finish regardless of in which place one finishes. 

2 Timothy 4:7

The Weaving of a Tale

Spin a yarn, tell a tale, weave a wonder, share a story. As a teacher I have spent much time with students examining narratives. From climbing story mountains to sequence of events, plenty of character analysis, perusals of settings, and tracing the thread themes throughout, I have traversed tales with students. This past school year I was able to teach Ancient Civilizations second period and American History 1860s to contemporary times third period. I was struck by the timeline of humanity's story.  Now a couple of weeks out of session I am presented with an opportunity to consider "Your Story God's Story," from @HollyMueller and #SpiritualJourney Thursday.

Along the historical time line my students and I noted how geography and location were critical to ancient civilizations decisions and success. We observed how 19th, 20th, and 21st century historical figures often had to be "in the right place at the right time." One thing about history is the phenomenon that hindsight is 20/20. How many of these peoples of the past fully grasped their part in history in the moment? It is easier to see "the big picture" now.

Now I find myself focused on setting again. Within my own tale I typically tend to focus on character development and motivation. However setting is also an important element of my narrative. I found myself in an altogether different life chapter and setting this past year. There were plenty of times where I questioned if I was in the right place for this time. There were many darker threads along with the silver and gold. Ultimately I am trusting the omniscient author to develop His character until--The End.