26.2

Training, , ,

They say the half-way mark in a marathon is somewhere between mile 20 and 22. I believe it. The morning dawned grey and misty, the skyscrapers of downtown Austin hidden behind the damp curtain. With the humidity at 88% and the temperature hovering in the mid-60’s it was going to prove challenging to stay cool and hydrated.

My goal was to break four hours. But as I turned south on Duval St for the final four miles, I was gassed. I had consumed all 42 ounces of electroyte in my bottles and doused myself with water at every aid station. But those four miles seemed like thirteen. I had fallen far off pace and was struggling to simply keep moving.

My legs were so dead it felt like I was running on tree stumps. The tops of my feet hurt and my thighs felt swollen. Fortunately those last miles are mostly downhill, until mile 25.5 that is. One of the steepest hills on the course is just 800 meters from the finish.

I was on the cusp of missing my time when two teammates fell in beside me as I gritted my way up the hill. They had finished the half marathon earlier and were now on a mission to get us over the hump. They were loud, in my face and I would have slugged them if I had the energy. Instead I just kept digging.

Finally at 26 miles I crested the final hill and with the last shot of adrenaline I kicked for the line. Then I was across in 3:58:58! I’ve never been so physically spent. The floodgates opened and I wept in the arms of the aid worker who guided me out of the finish chute. A finisher’s medal swinging from my neck, I reunited with the rest of my team as I exited the recovery area and the tears flowed again.

26.2 miles done. Tears of relief, tears of joy, tears of sadness… all at the same time. Kristi would have been proud of me today. We used to talk about me doing a marathon some day. Today was someday. I miss her dearly.

Marathon, Not a Sprint

Training, , , , ,

“It’s a marathon, not a sprint, Kristi.” We must have heard that advice 30 times in the first months after Kristi’s diagnosis. I hated it. I didn’t want it to be true. It didn’t feel like a marathon. Several of my posts likened it to running the 400 meters, a brutally taxing sprint. Well meaning friends were telling us to pace ourselves. But that didn’t seem possible at the time.

Now that I’m familiar with running, I can say that her fifteen month battle was a sprint. Sprint’s demand all your energy from the opening gun to the finish line. I finished my second official 5K race two weeks ago. It is the sprint event of distance running. By the end of the first mile my lungs were screaming, by the time the finish line came into view at 3.1 miles I was spent.

Tomorrow morning I will toe the start line of the Austin Marathon. Its my first race at that distance. By mile 1 I will barely be warmed up. I expect to be fully loose and hitting my stride about mile 3. Miles 3-8 promise to be relatively easy. Then comes four to six miles of uphill that will put teeth into the course. At mile 14 the course flattens out and meanders to the 20 mile mark. That’s as far as I’ve run in training…and it hurt.

I managed to run 2-3 days per week on our trip, and let me tell you that was grand. Whether running the rolling hills outside Sydney, along the beaches of the Coral Sea, cruising the Southern Alps or busting through the native bush around Rotorua, I soaked up the atmosphere and reveled in the views. However I wasn’t able to get in as many long runs as I hoped and that hurt my preparation for tomorrow. Once I cross the 20.3 mile threshold I’ll be in virgin territory for a single run. I know getting to the finish will require grit and fortitude similar to the half-ironman triathlon race last October.

But you see the difference don’t you? The marathon eases you in, warms you up and then drops the hammer at the end. The sprint comes at you hard from the get go and never lets up. That’s what Kristi and I faced.

Nine hours from now I’ll finally get to experience what a full marathon is like. Look for an after action report. In the mean time your prayers for safety are appreciated. It’ll just be me, several friends from the Georgetown Triathletes club and 19,999 others moving through the streets of Austin.

Oh, and if you know someone going through cancer, keep your mouth shut about it being a marathon. Know that its requiring everything they’ve got to make it through each day. They’re in a sprint, no matter how long the battle. Take care of them accordingly.

The Fellowship

Legacy, , , , , , , ,

“Welcome to Rivendell” proclaimed the road sign. Katie was bubbling with excitement and well, truth be told, so was I! Its no secret that we are fans of J.R.R.Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. So of course it was only natural that during our time in New Zealand we explored and toured many of the locations used in the making of the films. The country has embraced being cast as the backdrop for Middle Earth, Tolkien’s name for the land in which he set the stories. The ongoing release of The Hobbit as a three part film has only served to reinvigorate the identity.

In Wellington, home of WETA (the movies’ production headquarters), the airport featured giant sized sculptures of the characters Gollum and Gandalf. The Embassy Theater, where many of the premier’s have been held is draped in a large banner that proclaims “The Middle of MIddle Earth!”. Rivendell, the home of the elves, was filmed in a park on the northern outskirts of the city, while the famous shot of the four Hobbits scrambling off a tree-lined lane in the Shire was captured on the forested slopes of Mt. Victoria, an urban park in the heart of Wellington.

Meanwhile, the high country of the South Island was used extensively for many of the wilderness and mountain scenes in both the Hobbit and LOTR films. As fans of both the books and the movies we excitedly clambered up the slopes of Mt. Sunday, the rocky outcropping used for Edoras, the capital city of Rohan. We re-enacted several scenes in the expansive pasture used for the penultimate battle on the Pelennor Fields, our tour guide providing us with movie props and costumes. Katie and I even took a horse back tour deep into Paradise to see many locations used in not only LOTR and the Hobbit like Eisengard and Beorn’s house, but we also trotted by several iconic locales used in the Chronicles of Narnia films as well.

Part of what captured my heart in these stories is the tale of friendship and love woven throughout the books. In the opening book, The Fellowship of the Ring, Tolkien pulls nine characters together who will serve, throughout the trilogy, as key figures in the battle against evil. There are two men, a dwarf, an elf, a wizard and four hobbits in the company that sets out from Rivendell. These nine companions are dubbed the “Fellowship of the Ring”.

Well as our little family of five exited the doors in the Christchurch airport to begin our NZ adventures we met up with our dear friends Steve and Mel Thawley and their precious children, Chester, age 6, and Verena, age 4. That of course makes nine travelers! Our own fellowship with which to explore Middle Earth, complete with four hobbit sized companions. How cool is that?!

As it turned out it was far more than cool. Our fellowship with Mel and Steve stretches all the way back to the summer of 2002 when they spent four months living in our home while we all worked at Wolf Mountain Camps. We formed a fast friendship as housemates, co-laboring together as we ministered to children and staff. We promised we’d return the favor someday and come visit their homeland. It look longer than hoped, and we were down a key member of the family, but we’d made it.

Our friendship immediately rekindled as we joined forces. They’d been part of the faithful prayer covering over Kristi and now our family as we’ve walked this path. When I enlisted their help in planning our itinerary I was hoping to spend some time at their house in order to catch up. About a month into our planning they informed me they were free to travel with us during our three week trek and were keen to introduce us to their family scattered across the islands. I was thrilled!

Chester immediately clicked in with Matt and Luke to provide a wonderful new buddy while Verena was amazing in her abilities to keep up with the older crew. I appreciated the time to share deeply with old friends and process through feelings and emotions of grief over our loss, joy in the present excitement of the trip and hope for a future full of vibrant life with my children.

Steve and Mel co-pastor a church in the town of Masterton. We were able to attend their year-end celebration service during the week we spent staying at their home. In our honor they decorated in a Western theme and invited us to play some bluegrass music and teach them an American folk dance. They even procured a quality 5-string banjo for me to play. We had packed the spoons so Matt could keep rhythm, and thus we made our international music debut with Katie accompanying Matt and me on the guitar. Luke and Megan sang as we powered through “Dark and Stormy Night” and “Old Jonah”. Then I played solo on stage while the children demonstrated the steps of the Patty Cake Polka to the sure-footed Kiwi congregation. A real American Hoedown, deep in the heart of the Wairarapa! (that’s the name of the fertile valley where Masterton is located.)

Its not often you get to dance at church but that gives you a flavor for the joy in their faith community. It was a highlight of our time together and a shining example that God’s best gifts are people. The Thawley family was another priceless treasure that the Father bestowed on my children and me. They enriched our experience, layering personal knowledge and cultural understanding on top of the amazing scenery to provide a rich context from which to appreciate the land and its people.

So when I say the fellowship was “Sweet As”, I’m utilizing a Kiwi idiom to express the fact that deeply interacting with others in the family of Christ is one of the highest forms of worship, full of joy and pleasing to not only the participants but also the Father himself.

Winter’s Spring

Inspirational, , , , , , , ,

Because of the inverted seasons in the Southern Hemisphere, traveling New Zealand during December meant it was late spring to early summer. I was hoping that would mean the foliage would be in full display and it didn’t disappoint. Our first week we traveled on the South Island exploring Christchurch along the coast as well the amazing high country of the Southern Alps and the communities nestled there.

While Christchurch inhabits the rich farmland of the Canterbury Plain the smaller resort cities of Queenstown and Wanaka are perched on the edge of large alpine lakes. We stayed in Cardrona, a hamlet tucked high in the Crown Range between the two larger locales. In fact there weren’t many trees around Cardrona, the hillsides were draped in verdant green tussock grass. The vistas were grand with the valleys and peaks providing a world class backdrop everywhere we went. I compare it to Lake Tahoe, Glacier National Park and Switzerland combined.

While the scale of the snow capped mountains and the contrasting blue waters grabbed the scenic headlines, what captured our fancy were the flowers. The wild mountain lupine was simply breathtaking. With colors ranging from pale yellow to white through deep purple and blue, the bloom stalks were a full eighteen inches tall, two to three inches in diameter, and reached two to three feet high off the ground. The shoulders of roads, the banks of rivers and sheltered valleys were carpeted with them.

While we rocketed up the Shotover River in a jet boat I thought one of the passengers had opened up a perfume bottle. Then I realized source of the delicious smell was the lupine packed along the shoreline. It was so thick that we could smell them as we flew up the river at 60+ mph. Being fresh off the experience of diving in the Coral Sea, this colorful, botanic spread compared quite aptly to a floral reef waving in the breeze.

As they surrounded the house where we stayed we could enjoy them at a more leisurely pace too, soaking up their fantastic beauty. I would love to return and see the high country in winter but I would miss the wanton display of elegant color. Spring in the mountains is always a riot of flowering plants, racing to produce seed before the cold buries them in a few short months. But this spring, this spring in the middle of our winter was heaven sent.

It shouted to me of new life, of God’s amazing gift to us. It was a joyful declaration that life continues, even after being pressed and stressed in the icy grip of winter. The sun didn’t set until 9:45PM. I would sit outside and soak up the late night twilight, filling my lungs with the fresh, fragrant air and thank the Father for life, for my children and His gift of love.

Hollow Ground

Inspirational, , ,

“See you in a few minutes. Ta!” and with that she hung up. There were a few words I hadn’t caught at the end of the conversation but I had clearly communicated that my family and I would be arriving in less than 30 minutes. Surely she would wait at the house as she said. Yet the house had been empty when we pulled up the driveway. I had even ventured around calling out loud Hello’s. Nothing but silence and the clean laundry drying lazily on the line in the back. Whatever words I missed must have been important. Hmm. What to do.

I hopped back in the car and decided to head 1.5 KM further down the road to see if we could find the entrance to the glow worm cave. Supposedly there was a sign. Nope. The only thing 1.5 KM from the house was a gated entry to a sheep farm with a wool shed set back a couple hundred meters from the road. Even from where we pulled over you could see the pens around the shed were packed. Fluffy sheep on the back side, skinny sheep on the front. The folks inside were busy helping the sheep get their summer slim on!

Not wanting to cause problems with the shearing operation and enter an obviously closed gate I drove further down the road. Nothing there. I turned around and drove back to the house. Still deserted. I SO wanted this to be a unique adventure for the children. Not sure what I was hoping would happen I drove back to the gate and just parked off the road.

On the North Island in New Zealand is the Waitomo Glow Worm cave. It is a site not to be missed on your tour…that’s what the website says anyway. The subterranean adventure actually takes you in a boat on an underground lake while you gaze at glowing worms on the ceiling. Supposedly they look like stars in the night sky.

Our dear friends with whom we traveled in New Zealand are natives. In fact one of the best parts about spending 21 days there was that for 17 of those days we were hosted in someone’s home, not a sterile hotel room. They of course recommended the best things to do and places where money would be well spent for a tour. But they also had local knowledge they were eager to share about traveling on a budget.

Thus when they said, “Well you can take the Waitomo tour for about $75/person and its a good tour. But, there is a local glow worm cave that just costs about $5 total. Its not big but you’ll get the same basic experience for a fraction of the price.” I listened.

Turns out that “local cave” meant a hole in the ground on private property that the owners allowed the public to explore. There was no tour, no guide and not even any sign out by the road. Was I at the right gate? Would the sheep shearers mind an American with four children breaking up their work to ask about some random cave? What to do? We had been sitting with the engine off for about five minutes and we were growing restless. I decided the game was up. Nothing’s going to happen and the social risk was too high for me to go through a closed gate, cross a crowded pen and try to wrangle information from sheep wrestlers.

I started the car and mumbled something to the children about this not being our day and that we had tried but failed. I backed up on to the road and then mentally slapped myself and had a silent conversation that went something like this:

“Dude! You are in New Zealand! You have a chance to tour a private cave. Do not be afraid! You can do this. Don’t let the fear of potential embarrassment freeze you out of this opportunity.” I paused for a moment and then audibly continued, “Luke, get the gate, we’re going in!” The kids were mortified, they had figured out I was scared.

I decided that rather than walk we would just drive and get it over with. I pulled up to the wool shed and parked next to a tattered hatchback vehicle of undetermined make. I hopped out and looked around for some way to get in the shed without having to dodge sheep. Nothing presented itself. I glanced back at the car and noticed the children were doing their best to become one with the floorboards. My heart was beating in my chest as I waited for one of the shearers to stop and come investigate the interlopers. Nothing.

Then movement caught my eye. I turned to my right and there was a man and woman approaching across the paddock with backpacks and walking sticks. I made a beeline for them and queried them about any caves around the area. “Oh sure! We just came from there. Its just up the trail.” Said the man. I figured out quickly it was a father/daughter pair out for a hike. They pointed in the general direction and said no one had bothered to come out from the wool shed, they’re too busy I guess. “Just follow the trail. There are some signs past the gate that point the way.”

Bingo! We were at the right place! My decision to change my typical pattern had paid off. I made sure everyone had their headlamps (never travel anywhere without a good headlamp!) and water bottles and off we went. About a mile later the trail ended at the cave entrance.

You couldn’t miss it because the creek we had been following ran right into the mouth and disappeared under the earth. This WAS going to be an adventure. Knee deep water for me is crotch deep on Matt. Fortunately it was summer and he was wearing nylon shorts. We plunged in.

As daylight faded to gray twilight we switched on our lamps to make sure we found solid footing in the loose rock and gravel of the stream bed. A bit further on and it got dark. Time to switch off the lights to see if there was anything to these glow worms.

I have goosebumps racing up and down my arms as I relive that moment. When our lights went out the cave came alive. Thousands of tiny lights surrounded us. In an instant we had stepped off the earth and into space. The heavens glowed! The water reflected the light from the walls and ceilings creating an immersive, 360 degree display.

We took a collective gasp and plunged deeper. Time stood still. It was real life, lived wild. No guide to corral us or warn about keeping hands to ourselves. We laughed, we pointed, we splashed, talking excitedly over one another as we discovered new skies and constellations in the unfolding rooms of the cave.

One room had decent acoustics so we sang praise songs and allowed a sacred moment to develop as hollow ground became holy. I fingered the silver pendant hung around my neck, the one with Kristi’s fingerprint engraved on it, and whispered to her that she’d be proud of her brood in that moment and would have enjoyed it as much as we were.

That afternoon was a reward for making a behavioral change. For standing up to fear. I had asked the Father to provide us with a never-to-be-forgotten moment. This was it. Out of all the commercial tours we did, the amazing mountains, rivers, and reef that we covered all five of us rate the little cave on the sheep farm as one of the main highlights of the entire trip.

I’m pretty sure that our Heavenly Father enjoyed our time as much as we did, but I had come within a hair’s breadth of missing it, of squandering his gift because of old habits and fear. Jesus encouraged his followers by telling them “It is the Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” But entering the kingdom requires change and faith. However he also notes that the Spirit himself will help us in our weakness. We aren’t alone in this journey!

I’m thankful I recognized the old pattern needed to change and exercised faith to do so that day. Because, to borrow from another famous passage, His kingdom came and his will was done under the earth as we gazed at the heavens.

Change is possible. Once you realize that, then desire to accomplish it kicks in. And the best part is that divine assistance is available any time. Just ask. What are you waiting for?

Habitual Change

Inspirational, , ,

I knew driving on the left side of the road would be a challenge, but as we left the city behind on our second day in Australia I thought I was doing alright. After picking up the rental car I had managed to do a u-turn in town without violating any traffic laws or colliding with any locals. Plus I had found the right road out of Cairns towards our rental apartment in Trinity Beach and we were on our way!

I was hyper-alert because of everything feeling backwards, but all was relatively calm and smooth. Then came the first roundabout that necessitated a lane change. As I checked over my shoulder, my left hand automatically flicked the turn indicator lever up to merge right. I heard a strange whooshing noise and as my gaze snapped back forward I was immediately surprised and consternated by the fact that the windshield wipers were going full speed and no blinker light was flashing on the dashboard. What!? Arghh! What’d I do wrong?

Oh yeah…the blinkers are on the right side of the column in Australia and New Zealand! I quickly rectified the situation but kept the children laughing for the entire 30 minute drive as I signaled my intention to turn by activating the wipers at most every opportunity. My howls of protest and wild machinations to identify the right lever kept them in stitches. I could only chortle along with them as I applied my utmost concentration only to fail again and again that day. My left hand just wouldn’t stay put after being called on for thirty years to flick that lever. Humbling? Pretty much.

Fortunately the pedals were not switched around, the gas is still on the right, brake to the left/center and clutch on the far left if present. If those had been different I’d have been a cabbage (New Zealand slang). I was still pretty close to making cole slaw though. Turning left meant a near turn while a right turn crossed traffic. It was a constant and massive flow of foreign input that had to be accurately processed in real time to maintain our safe travel.

Turns out our brains are pretty amazing. By the end of the week in Australia my gray matter was starting to create new neural pathways. The stress of making turns had abated. I was able to converse with the children instead of locking myself into focused silence. If I set off the wipers it was usually only one time at the start of a drive. That audible and visual cue jolting me back to the new reality and reminding me to be ever vigilant with my right hand to indicate the turn.

Fast forward two weeks and I had mastered shifting a manual transmission with my left hand while driving the winding roads in New Zealand. The blinkers came more or less natural and turns weren’t an issue at all. I still climbed into the car on the wrong side twice while in the islands but other than that I was fairly comfortable. By the time we ended our twenty-one day tour through Middle Earth we were all looking forward to coming home, none more so than me. I was eagerly anticipating getting back on the right side of the road so 30 years of habit could take back over.

However, a funny thing happened the first time I slid behind the wheel here in the U.S. In fact, there was no wheel. I climbed into the right side of the vehicle only to be confronted with an empty dash. Once properly ensconced and underway I had to make a left turn into my sister’s subdivision. There was an island in the road. Without thinking I turned to the left side…my wipers indicating my intended turn.

The kids were cracking up. So was I. But I was also stunned. Thirty years of habitual action had been effectively re-wired after just thirty days of driving on the left side. Driving is typically performed at such a core level that we routinely talk, sing, read, apply makeup, eat and more while driving because its so automatic. We don’t have to think about it. The car just goes where we want, the blinkers coming on when they’re supposed to. I knew I had worked hard during the trip to make sure the 2000 miles we drove would be safe, but I never figured that relatively short effort could actually make a dent on such an ingrained habit.

But it did. It took me a good week of regular driving back here in the states before I wasn’t thinking about driving anymore. The implications are profound. What other habits do I have that I consider to be so ingrained I can’t change them? Changing behavioral patterns takes work, but I’ve discovered that even behaviors that are performed so automatically as to be almost subconscious can indeed be changed and that change can be affected with relative speed.

Losing Kristi last year has of course caused me to change many long held behavior patterns out of necessity. And then over the last 20 months I’ve changed my lifestyle to become an endurance athlete. However with the revelation last month I’m looking at all my behaviors in a new light, because now I know that even slapping the pejorative label of “habitual” on an attitude, behavior or emotion doesn’t mean its insulated from change. In fact, change can be just around the corner. What’s on your habitual list that needs changing?

Home Again, Home Again

Legacy

The snoring emanating through the wall confirms I’ve successfully worn them out. Tomorrow morning we fly home to Texas…and we are READY to get home! We left November 23rd, six weeks ago and have traveled over 25,000 miles by just about every conceivable mode of transportation except motorcycle… 6×6 wheel drive vehicle in the high country of New Zealand, mountain biking the Rimutaka Range between Wellington and Masterton, cruising the Interislander ferry between the north and south islands, jet boating the Kawarau and Shotover rivers outside of Queenstown, NZ, winding through old growth beech forest on horseback in Paradise, NZ, exploring the four decks on the jet powered catamaran ride to the Agincourt Reef located 90 minutes from the coast of mainland Australia on the outer edge of the Great Barrier Reef. But perhaps the best mode of transportation of all has been our own two feet.

Our fin-clad feet pushed us over, around and the through the reef. Our bare feet luxuriated in the sands of Tauranga, Cape Tribulation, and Trinity beaches. With long boards strapped on we’ve schussed down the slopes around Lake Tahoe. And when shod, we’ve traipsed, traversed, rambled, hiked, splashed, waded, balanced, jogged and yes, walked through some amazing places.

2013 was a hard year. The care-giving demands were extreme. Then, when Kristi died, the grief just piled on. So many changes, so many adjustments to life. I wanted to put a good end on the year and start 2014 off on a good note. I hope that as 2014 winds down we will be talking about all the good that happened here at the end, rather than the bad that filled so much of the year.

Through it all, I’ve stayed consistent in my training. I’m now facing my second full year of triathlon training and races and it has me nervous, but motivated and excited at the same time.

Here’s to going home, though. And here’s to a great 2014.

Timing and Provision

Inspirational, , , , , , ,

We were in a pickle for sure. The queue of people waiting to catch a cab must contain at least 100 people. Most, in groups of two or three, easily clamber into the comically small, economy car taxis that pull alongside the curb. No way my crew of five would fit, even if we double buckled in the back seat…too much luggage. We each have one suitcase and one backpack, pretty compact for the length of our trip, but still way too much to even consider trying to wedge in one of those micro cars. I can’t split up. There’s no way I’m putting Katie or Megan and one of the boys by themselves in the car with a strange man in a foreign country. My mind is racing.

Then hope pulls around the corner. A mini-bus sized taxi that will easily swallow us all and our baggage. It whips up to the curb but only one man walks up, slides open the door, hops in and motors off. I’m raging inside, but my face is mostly implacable to prevent the children from worrying. What a waste! “Idiot, can’t you see that’s MY taxi?” I’m shouting. No one acknowledges my outburst and thankfully I realize I’ve only been screaming it around between my ears. Phew.

This won’t do. The line begins to shrink rapidly as the hungry drivers gobble their fares and motor away. Another mini-bus motors into position. Perhaps someone will notice our predicament this time I think. Nope. Three people hop in with shoulder bags and are whisked away. A few minutes pass before a third mini-bus arrives. I actually step out of line prepared to muscle my way forward to claim it, ready to push aside anyone who dares lay hands on MY transport. I’m too late. Its gone with a partial load before I can get close.

We weren’t supposed to be here. Waiting in this line. That’s what ticks me as well. Our plane was an hour late landing in the tropics and when I called the rental car agency for an airport pickup I got, “Oh sorry mate, I’m the only one here now since its after five and can’t leave. We’re just a five minute ride from the airport, can you catch a cab?”

“Um, sure, but you know I’ve got five in my party plus luggage and we can’t split up, right mate?”

“Aye, just grab one of the big taxis. They’ll be easy to catch. No worries now, see you in a couple minutes. Bye bye.” His sing-song farewell phrase would be cute if it didn’t feel so much like the American death knell when giving directions: “No problem, you can’t miss it!”

No worries. Right. I’m stuck on the curb, hope shrinking. Wait. No worries. That’s it. Brilliant! I gather the children close and pray out loud, “Father, you know we need a ride. Its gotta be one of those vans, otherwise I’m riding shotgun on the hood. We trust you to take care of us now.” I smile at them and reassure them with quick hugs all around. Let’s see how God provides. My gut is slowly untwisting, but I’ll admit, I’m still sweating and its not just the heat and humidity of the wet tropics in far North Queensland. I take a few deep breaths and remember the gentle nudge. He’s present.

Another micro-bus pulls up, we’re only a few parties back now. Nope. Gone. This time I actually chuckle. Just wait I think…trust and wait. No taxis appear for a couple of minutes. I bury worry without eulogizing it. Then four vehicles slide into view around the turn. Three wee cars and a van at the end. I can’t sort the groups in front of us in line. We all surge forward and the other travelers veer toward their chosen car. No one takes the van. Its the only one left and so are we. Provided. Just for us. No pushing, no shoving, no shouting. The right one at the right moment, perfect timing. We pile in with room to spare, our luggage easily stowed in the back. God is good. He knows our need.

That was November 27th, at the end of our second day in Australia and still just the very start of the trip. God’s provision of a taxi at exactly the right time helped me relax and enjoy the rest of the week. Even on the mornings we ran late due to traffic, got lost on unfamiliar roads or simply tried to find parking, I knew God would take care of us.

In the tropics of the western Pacific where we stayed, it is just heading into the monsoon season. The forecast was for rain every day. And it did rain, but never interfered with our activities. In fact our best day on the Great Barrier Reef started in the pouring rain at the wharf. By the time we reached the reef some 20 miles off shore it was partly cloudy and smooth as glass. So smooth in fact that the boat crew noted that the sea is only this glassy about one month out of the year. Thanks Lord! Rays, sharks, giant clams, christmas tree worms, multi-hued fan and staghorn coral, parrot fish, clown fish and so many more I couldn’t possibly name. Our three days on the reef were amazing.

During our last snorkel stop of the week we decided to take one more swim around. Luke started hooting through his snorkel and then out of the blue deep a large sea turtle appeared heading right for us. We swam right above it for a good ways before it left us behind with a quick sweep of its flippers. So cool! I’d asked the Father to give us a memorable moment on the reef. Several guides said they’d gone years without seeing a turtle of that size up close. And it came when all five of us were in the same group instead of split off in pairs and trios. Again, perfect timing.

The nine days in Australia ended all too soon and we found ourselves on the plane to Auckland. My tickets plainly said “meals available for purchase” but as we boarded the flight attendant looked at our boarding passes and said, “Oh you have “the works” on your tickets. That means you get free food and drinks.” Again, thanks Father. I hadn’t asked for or paid for any upgrades. Provision.

Timing and Provision.

Be Gone, B-9, Be Healed…its a way of life!

A Gentle Nudge

Inspirational, , , , , ,

My eye’s flicked open and I was awake. I shouldn’t have been though. Just three short hours earlier I had finally wrapped up the final must-do item on my trip prep list and flopped down on my bed. In the moments before I drifted off to sleep I wondered if my phone’s alarm would ring out loud even with its “Do Not Disturb” mode engaged. So I whispered a simple prayer: “Father, wake me gently right before my alarm.”

I thought planning this trip would be the biggest challenge before we left. I discovered, that hands down, shutting ones life down for six weeks trumped the scheduling. Every time I crossed one item off the list, two more would take its place. It wasn’t until the last night that items finally seemed willing to give up their place in the queue to empty space. When the last buckle snapped shut on my backpack I knew I had beaten the list but at the cost of sleep.

So when I finally hit the sack early Saturday morning I knew I’d be in deep slumber when 5:15 rolled around. But after my prayer, I didn’t worry about waking up. And sure enough Father gave me a gentle nudge. As I lay there in the pre-dawn darkness I wondered how close it was to wake-up time. The thought had barely formed when, sure enough, I confirmed that “Do Not Disturb” doesn’t silence the alarm.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed; it was time to travel. As I stood up, my swirling head confirmed the lack of sleep, but I smiled and relaxed. Father is present and he cares enough to wake me on time so this adventure gets rolling on schedule. The children have been at a fever pitch of excitement for several weeks building to a crescendo in the days leading up to blast-off. I didn’t want to screw up the first day. No worries! That waking nudge was the best gift I could have received here at the beginning.

It was Father’s confirmation that even here, at 36,000 feet over the western Pacific, His Spirit is with us as we cover the final three and half hours into Sydney. And that is my goal for this trip…that each of the children experience His presence, knowing that this is indeed our Father’s world. So my prayer is the same as two nights ago: “Gently wake us up Father to the reality of your presence. Let us respond to your nudge and let your Spirit guide us along the way.”

And now, eleven hours and 6000 miles from LAX the children are doing great at adapting to international long haul travel. Matthew’s biggest thrill has been receiving the free sleep mask. He’s sacked out next to me with his neck pillow and mask in place. He wakes periodically, shaking me from my reverie and asks again, “Do I get to keep this mask?” He responds to my yes with a grin, a fist pump and then he snaps it down in place and flops to one side. He hasn’t been pestering at all, just cute as a button in his Star Wars PJ’s as he takes in the wide-body jet with wide eyes.

The flights from Austin to LA were smooth and on time and we arrived at my sister Amy’s house excited to see her family. The cousins spent the entire 36 hours in constant motion and play of one sort or another. I thankfully got a full night’s sleep and Sunday’s dawn promised a perfect SoCal day. It didn’t disappoint. Our time together closed with an early Thanksgiving meal whipped up by Amy. Thanksgiving of course isn’t celebrated in Australia so stuffing ourselves with stuffing was nourishing to body and soul.

Our checkin for the fifteen hour flight to Sydney couldn’t have been smoother. No lines and twice more I was reminded of Father’s presence before we even cleared security. During checkin, the lady working the desk said, “Only four?” as she cast a glance at the children. Yes, only four. “I come from a family of eight siblings” she noted positively. How nice… “only four” is typically a comment reserved for home-school conventions. Usually people are gasping at four. This was just a little reassurance that Father’s favor doesn’t worry about family size.

Then just a few short minutes later one of the TSA officers took a shine to my little flock as we loaded our bins to go through xray. “Dad, are these your fine boys? And those lovely ladies too? Beautiful family sir. What a blessing! Step right this way”…and he whisked us through the simple metal detector instead of the full-body scanner. Nice!

As we settled on the plane I realized Matt and I sat in the wrong row. We had to move forward…to a bulkhead row. Three feet of leg room. No one reclining in my face. No extra cost! Yes! And the checkin lady had blocked out the seat next to us so the five of us have six seats between us in which to spread out. Yep, the nudging continues.

Sunset was in North America. Sunrise will occur on Australia. Yet we’ve never left His hand.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed…Its a way of life.

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70.3

Inspirational, ,

“My left foot is numb.” I hollered to my dad as I ran past him and waved to my cheering children packed into the wall of spectators lining the race course. “Please pray” I managed to communicate before I trotted out of earshot. The front outside portion of my left foot was indeed feeling thick as I finished the first round of the three loop course. I have dealt with foot numbness on the bike in the past, and I can usually ameliorate the tingling by sliding my foot around inside the shoe. But there’s not much place to move your foot while running, you just have to keep going… I was concerned. Would it get worse? Was this going to derail my race?

I had felt good about the day up to this point. My swim time was the fastest I had ever posted. That gave me some breathing room during the bike to let my heart rate come down a bit and refuel for the coming run. The only real issue, up until my foot had given notice it was not cooperating, was my stomach. I had been a little queasy since just after starting the bike course. But after three hours of queasiness I figured it wasn’t going to get any worse. I knew I had a good chance to beat my time goal if I could put together a decent run time. Now my left foot was really bothering me. Not this, I thought, not now. I only had nine more miles to go…

As I passed my dad again on the way out for the second loop he called out with the advice to move my impact point, to change how my foot hit the ground. I adjusted my stride to land a little more on my heel and monitored the results to see if it helped. Winding down the second loop I was glad to report to my dad that though the foot was still bothering me, the feeling had stabilized and I was ok. I could hear him praying for me; his shouts of encouragement buoyed my spirit as I entered the roundabout and began the last lap.

Passing my children for the final time and taking in their smiles, high fives and cheers was priceless. Only 4 more miles to go. I wouldn’t see them again until the finish line. But I wasn’t alone out there. In the throng of runners were two other friends also competing and we were watching for each other, calling out our names and a mutual “You got this!” as we flashed by each other. And then there was our tri club operating one of the rest stops of the course. They were busier than bees offering liquid and food to the athletes streaming by, but they always cheered loudest when one of their own came through. By the last lap I was walking the aid stations so I got to soak in their adulation a little longer than normal. I needed those few seconds of respite from the pounding to take a blow, dig deep, pour a cup of cold water over my head gobble some fuel and then restart my cadence.

Finally the eleven mile marker came into view…only two miles and the finish chute to go! For the first time all day I checked my elapsed time on my watch. I was going to do it! The end, while not quite yet in sight, was close and with that I picked up my pace.

The finish area was inside the main arena building at the expo center. Instead of entering the roundabout to start another loop you veered right and entered the chute which took you down and under the building. I took my shades off as I passed through the dark entrance and then burst into the light and noise, finally catching site of the finish arch, just fifty short yards away. Arms raised like I’d just won the world championship race in Kona I glided along the carpeted path reveling in the moment. I heard my name and turned to see my children and parents pressed to the barrier waving and snapping photos. And then I was through. Done. 70.3 miles completed. Bent over. Hands on knees. Chest heaving. Adrenaline flowing. Five hours, forty-two minutes and six seconds. I felt something hanging around my neck. I opened my eyes and there was the medal that proclaimed, “Finisher”! YES!

And then I was enveloped in love, hugs and tears from mom, dad and my children. I sought out my fellow athletes and congratulated them on finishing and we all hugged and high fived. I was of course euphoric that day. Tired yes but amped up and thrilled to have finished and to have beaten my goal time. The rest of this last week has been recovery. I was extra sleepy on Monday and Tuesday. My legs and hips took a few days to overcome soreness but was this the toughest thing I’ve ever done in my life? Not by a long shot.

Yesterday morning the children and I took time to just rest in the presence of our Heavenly Father. I reminded them that in our study of the book of Exodus earlier this fall, we learned that the Israelites camped around the tabernacle while in the desert. The tabernacle had either a pillar of cloud by day or fire by night that enveloped it. The very presence of God was in their midst. They weren’t just camped around a portable building, they were camped around the living God. Our lives need to have a similar orientation. Our advantage over the ancient Hebrews is that God’s spirit is within us through the life of Jesus! We can freely approach Him at any time to get His input, encouragement and correction…wisdom for life, in fact the very author of life sharing it with us!

With that encouragement I gave the children four questions to ask God. The first was this, “Is there anything You want to tell me about the loss of mommy?” I want them to be able to talk to God about the hurt, about the process, about grief. He’s their source of life, they need to connect early and often. I did the same exercise so we could all share at the end. What I heard was this: “Don’t let this loss define your life. Let my life, my life in you define you. Live full of Me, Chad.” What a needed message! So timely, so full of hope and life.

And with that we all laid back on the trampoline where we had gathered to share, relaxing in the morning sun and soaking in our Father’s presence. We are not alone in this race. My foot may go numb at times, there may be more queasy stomachs ahead. But as we walk the rest stops, taking time to rest and refuel with Jesus while refocusing on the road ahead, His life, His joy will indeed manifest itself in and through us. And that is where I aim to live.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed…It’s a way of life!

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Matt extends an encouraging hand!

Be Strong and Courageous

Inspirational, ,

Fifty-four weeks ago I was in this same position. My gear was packed, I had my race number and I was ready to go. My first triathlon, my Race for Kristi, which many of you so graciously supported, would start just after dawn on a cool Sunday morning in October. It was a 400 yard swim, 11 mile bike and 4 mile run. I was sweating the swim and unsure about the run.

This week during morning Bible study with the children we’ve been going through the book of Joshua. It opens in chapter 1 with God prodding Joshua to get moving by telling him three times: “Be strong and courageous!” The Father has been gently leading me to get going as well. The message this week to be strong and courageous was timely. It really hit home when I realized the context. Joshua had been mourning the death of Moses. God tells him its time to get past the mourning and get to leading!

I shared this wake-up call with the children, explaining that it doesn’t mean grief is gone or finished, but that its ok to move forward with God in anticipation of the good He’s going to continue to work in, with and through us… to look for and live in the joy that He gives.

Tomorrow my family will be there cheering me on at the finish line…minus one key person from last year. But I take courage and strength from the fact that my Father is with me. That tomorrow its ok to race with joy, excitement and energy.

A year ago I was a tri-newbie, tomorrow will be my fifth race this year. Last year I was hoping to finish 15.25 miles. Tomorrow I hope to finish 70.3 miles. Last year I quailed at the thought of exercising for more than an hour. Tomorrow my goal is to finish in six hours.

Last year I was focused on helping Kristi in her battle. This year I’m focused on moving forward. Taking one day, one step at a time. Tomorrow is a microcosm of life…don’t look at the whole stretch of open water, just keep swimming until 1.2 miles are down and my feet hit bottom. I can’t regard the entire 56 mile bike course, I just have to keep spinning my legs until I wheel in to the transition area. And I certainly can’t dread the 13.1 mile run… I must simply keep focused on the moment, choosing to be strong and courageous by putting one foot forward at a time until the finish chute swings into view.

Be Gone, B-9, B-Healed… its a way of life!