Slate Stairs by Bgrace
Yesterday I walked with my Dad.
Today, I ran.
Yesterday, when my Dad and I went for a walk, I told my Dad he’d scarred me for life from running. See, among other sports, like baseball and basketball, my dad was a cross-country coach. So he runs. And he knows a lot about running. And he likes to get other people to run. I on the other hand, hate to run. It’s not that I’m not athletic, (and in my house Dad made sure we all had our eye hand coordination skills down soon after birth,) it’s just that I don’t really like how it feels. I can walk forever, and I can do 4 miles on the elliptical machine in a half hour barely breaking a sweat, but for some reason, I really hate to jog. I don’t like how it feels in my chest, I don’t like how it feels on my knees, and unless you have a really good sports bra there are other reasons to consider. (That’s just a little side note that I know you girls can appreciate.)
When I was much younger, my Dad used to have these races that he would set up for the youth groups of our various churches in Brazil. He would make a big deal of it and have trophies and the whole deal. So I would never train, but I would show up at these 5K races and push myself through and usually win the girl’s race (admittedly against fairly shallow competition). I would feel so awful all the way through it I’d vow never to run again…and I’d keep that vow ‘til the next race when my Dad would goad me into it. (I think he was just trying for warm bodies.) So my point is…I hate to run.
But today, I don’t quite know why, I decided to try it. Maybe it was because the sun just seemed so cheerful this morning, maybe it was the spring from my new insoles in my new sneakers, maybe I wanted to see if I could because I want to know how ready I am to climb the mountain, or maybe I just wanted to run with my Dad, but for whatever reason, instead of walking the almost 2 miles to Jean's apartment, I decided to run.
I started out feeling fine, and thought to myself, well maybe I’m in better shape than I thought! But soon I felt like there was a tow truck on my chest. So I walked until I got my breath and then I started to run again. I did this twice before I got to the apartment.
Dad was waiting for me in the parking lot shining the wheels of his car. At 6:30 AM. In Portuguese that is what we call a doenca. (c like an s) It means illness. When I made fun of him He said that shining a car’s wheels is like a woman putting on a new pair of shoes.
(At least he’s using helpful analogies.)
I told him I ran there. (In case he hadn’t noticed my haggard breathing and bright pink cheeks.) “Oh?” He said interestedly. “AND…I’ll run with you if you promise me we can walk when I can’t breathe,” I said. “OK,” he happily agreed. “People will think we have to slow down for the old man,” I teased. He laughed, both of us knowing full well my Dad could outlast most people his age AND my age.
We started out, and I was feeling better than I had earlier, even though I’d already put in about two miles. After a bit we hit a fairly long incline, and about halfway up I started to feel it in my chest. “You’re doing good,” he said. (“He thinks I’m doing good,” I thought to myself, “I can’t quit now.”) My breathing started to labor a bit. “Now pull back here just a little,” Dad said, slowing down a bit. “Whatever you lose on the incline you can more than make up when you level out or go downhill.”
A couple of things were going on in my head at this time. None of which I could actually have spoken out loud at that particular moment, even if I had wanted to. First off, he was right. As we slowed a bit I found my breathing easing up just enough to keep me from quitting. Second, he was being very gentle. Almost like a trainer with a young horse. Third, because I’m me and I can’t help it, I began to feel the spiritual applications even before I could mentally connect them. Running with my Dad feels like running with my Father. My Dad is leading me, guiding me, coaching me, helping me and encouraging me. In the midst of my physical misery, I was sharing this really tender moment with both my Fathers.
The incline was pretty long though, and so after a few minutes my breath started to come really hard again. Dad gently suggested, “If you ever have trouble breathing, try pulling your arms behind your back a bit, and don’t bend over. It can help to open up your chest and keep you from restricting your air passages.” I was a little hesitant thinking that I would need my arms to help me get momentum, but at this point I didn’t think I was going to make it up the hill anyway, so I decided to try it. To my surprise it did help, and I found myself mentally determined now to make it to the top of the hill.
Dad talked to me about how the doctor told him a few years ago that he had the beginnings of arthritis and that he shouldn’t play tennis or basketball anymore because it could exacerbate it and bring it on more quickly. He’s knees were really starting to bother him and so he decided not to participate in those things for a while and tried to exercise in other ways. But soon he found that he was able again to play all of those sports as well as ever. He felt completely restored, like the Lord had given it all back to him for at least a time. (And I’m thinking to myself, sounds like a healing miracle to me, but sometimes pointing out things like that don’t end up being helpful, so I didn’t.) Instead I contented myself with letting my Dad distract me from my discomfort.
We made it up the incline, and as we rounded the bend into the Masonic Homes, I told my Dad, “I’m going to need to walk soon.” “OK,” he said. Instead, we continued to run as he commented on the beauty around us in the sun, trees, etc. At that point, if I had been alone, I would have stopped. My breathing started to get pretty strained again, and Dad started to chuckle. (Once you meet my Dad you’ll realize he laughs a lot at his own thoughts.) “You know what I tell Joel, don’t you?” He continued, “When he started to mumble a little about having to do his work, I asked him if he’d ever heard the phrase, “Bring it on!” I told Joel that when things get really tough, you need to rise to the challenge. I learned that in basic training. Before I went into the army I thought I was so tough. I had no idea what tough was. But I learned to welcome the challenge, to want to get tougher. To take it on.”
We were quiet for a while, and I said to my Dad, “See that sign way over there?” I said. (It was about 200 meters past the point where I wanted to stop.) “I’ll run to there.” “Good,” Dad said. If it hadn’t been for all of that, I surely would have given up earlier, but my determination set in and I didn’t slow down. We got to the sign and Dad contentedly walked with me the rest of the way to the gardens, and then we walked around and took in all the beautiful flowers that are out, though we kept up a good pace.
I was thinking about how a few years ago I had gone through that exact test in my spiritual life. I remember one day I was driving, and I was listening to a CD a friend of mine had given me. It was Justin McRobert’s song
Safe. The song is about how people think they need to protect themselves and their family from evil, but what we really end up doing is not showing grace to those who need it, and the song crests with this wail that pierces your soul with the cry,
“A thousand times I’d rather fall than be afraid to move at all. And after all what is this thing that you call grace? And is it safe?” I had this experience of blinding clarity. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I needed to stay my course. That nothing and no one except God Himself would turn me back. I believed deeply that God was moving me forward. It was almost as if Satan was standing over top of me saying, “If you don’t turn back I will come against you with everything I have. You will pay an enormous price.” I sensed the threat so strongly I could almost taste it. I had to pull the car over to the side of the road. I felt the full impact of the crossroads I was at. In that moment, I truly accepted the challenge. The challenge was that God’s grace would be enough for me, no matter the outcome, and that I would extend God’s grace regardless of how unsafe it became. I was determined, no matter how short of breath I was, that I was going to make it up the incline. I decided I’d rather give it everything I had even if it meant failure than not to try. It was like I was saying to Satan, “Bring it on.”
My mind turned forward to the present, and we were approaching the flight of stairs that lead out of the garden. “I thought we might do stairs,” I said to my Dad. “Good idea,” he said. “This will be good,” he said as he sized it up, and started to take two at a time. We went all the way up and then started down. “This is the part I’ll have a hard time with on the mountain,” he said. “Because of your knee?” I asked. He assented. We were quiet except for the sound of our footsteps moving in unison up and down the stairs. If it weren’t for the fact that we were so light on our feet and thus stepping so quietly, it would have been like we were marching together.
I was doing something I didn’t like to do, and yet through that very thing connecting so deeply through it with my Dad and with my Heavenly Father that I didn’t want it to end. I wish I could describe to you better the opening in my spirit, and the way I see God bringing me closer to my Dad by using him to teach me. Yes, about running, but also about my spiritual journey. It’s almost like He’s bringing my Dad into it in retrospect, almost backwards…showing me that even though my Dad wasn't able to help me at the time because he was trying to protect me from it, he really was there all along. My Dad’s life and teachings, and the way he raised me, had prepared me and brought me through. In a similar fashion, even when I went through my darkest times, so was God. They were getting me up the hills, helping me to breathe, walking with me through the gardens, moving with me up and down the stairs, and walking me home.
For as many times in the past as I asked God why I was being so cursed, I now find my heart asks over and over again, “How is it possible to be so blessed?”
And you know what? I don’t want it to end.
