I have finished the race

I know, I know. You've all wondered where I've been and how I could marry off a daughter and take a son to college without a single word on the blog. Well, I've been thinking. And, thinking. And, thinking.

What does one say when someone who has lived her life solely for her children finds herself without a child in the house?  My children are my life. Their activities alone filled my social calendar. They have been my confidants; I their cheerleader. They have been my companion; I their buyer of track shoes. They wiped my tears as I wiped theirs.

On August 14, my daughter, Jenny, married the love of her life, Scott. On August 19, I took my son, Wil to college --- and left him (or he left me may be more appropriate).

So what do I say?
"I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith." (2 Timothy 4:7-8).

There were times over the years I wanted to give up, give in. You've been there, too, I know. Life is hard, too hard, at times. There is never enough money. Anger robs us of joy. Evil sways us to be ugly to others. It seems that as soon as one challenge is met, another is waiting to take its place.

I didn't cry at Jenny's wedding because I finished the race. I saw parenthood through to the end when I handed her over to someone else whose job it now is to care for her. (He has to buy her track shoes now.) This is the moment I worked so hard for all those years of raising her.

I didn't cry when I left Wil. Okay, I did, but not when I left. I cried when I kept trying to help him (get the room organized and get the computer working and get the electronics hooked up) and he didn't want me to. He was ready for me to leave so he could do for himself what I kept trying to do for him.

He knew what I needed to learn. I had finished the race ... whether I knew it yet or not.

He had become the young man I raised him to be.
He knew it. I didn't until that moment he said, "I can do that when you're gone."

I found this story on the Trinity United Reformed Church of Visalia, Calif. website.

It was 7 p.m. on October 20th, 1968. Only a few spectators remained in the Mexico City Olympic Stadium. The winner of the 26 mile marathon had crossed the finish line more than an hour ago, and now, the last of the marathon runners were across the finish line and leaving the track. As the last few spectators began to leave, those sitting by the entrance suddenly heard the sound of sirens. One last runner appeared at the entrance. The man, whose leg was bloody and bandaged, was wearing the colors of Tanzania. The Tanzanian runner, experiencing intense pain, hobbled around the 400 meter track in the stadium, and the few remaining spectators rose and applauded him as though he was the winner. After crossing the finish line he slowly walked off the field without turning to the cheering spectators. In view of his injury, and having no chance of winning any medal, a curious spectator asked him why he did not quit the race. The Tanzanian runner replied, "My country did not send me 7000 miles to start the race, but sent me 7000 miles to finish it."

So, don't worry that I'm sad. I'm celebrating my victory lap.

Photo credit: Who knows. Whoever had the camera at that moment during the wedding.

Just a bit farther down the road

My new job has me traveling to new places, so my friends at my old job got me a TomTom as a going away present. Only problem is, if you don't have an address, the TomTom can't get you there.

I was headed to the Lawrence County Fairgrounds, so I called the office there to get directions. I scribbled some notes and headed north. I turned west as the directions indicated when I realized my notes were a little fuzzy about just how far I was supposed to go. Surely I can't miss a fairgrounds, I thought, so I kept going. . . and going . . . and going until I thought apparently you can miss a fairgrounds, so I turned around.

I watched both sides of the road, certain I would find a fairgrounds this time, and had faith until I drove all the way back into Lawrenceville.

I turned around again. And, again I started off and went as far as I thought I needed to go and stopped. With no fairgrounds in site, I called a coworker who gave me directions. Armed with knowledge, I returned to the path until I got to the point where my coworker said "if you get to here, you've gone too far." Somehow, I had missed it again.

Late beyond repair, I stopped at a house where a man was mowing his yard, and I asked for directions.

"You have to keep going," he said. "You've stopped too soon. The fairgrounds is farther down the road."

It was then I realized that the directions from my coworker were from HER house. I was coming from the opposite direction, so what was "too far" for her was only the beginning for me.

I had to keep going.
I stopped too soon.

How often do we do that? Stop too soon. Fail to take one more step. Fail to do the one last thing that will put us where we need to be. Fail to plot our course. We misinterpret signs and take the advice of friends who aren't where we are and aren't who we are, and we miss the place where we're supposed to be.

I got back in the car and drove, and then drove more, past the point where I had stopped before and there, just a little bit farther down the road, was the fairgrounds. It was there all the time just waiting for me to find it, claim it, enjoy it.

What is waiting for you, just a bit farther down the road?

Photo credit: Tyler Ackerman, CWCHS cross country runner who understands what it means to go just a little bit farther down the road. Sorry, can't remember if this was my photo or his mother's photo, but too good not to share!