The Memories of A Man in His Old Age...

Chasing Old Men

2012-02-14T19:54:00.000-05:00

By November, 2002 I'd been running for about 9 months. I'd finished my first 5K in a time that turned out to be respectable for a first 5K. I'd lost around 55-60 pounds, depending on what time I weighed in and what we'd had for dinner. I was feeling pretty darned proud of myself.

Riding that high, I registered for my 2nd 5K, the Waterfront 5K in Homestead. The route ran from Sandcastle Water Park, past Loewe's down to Eat N' Park and back, along the Monongahela River. Along the way it passed the remaining open hearth stacks; all that remains of the era's U.S. Steel plant. Those interested in the U.S.'s gilded age will recognize this as the site of the 1892 Battle of Homestead, which pitted just under 4,000 steel workers fighting against wage cuts (among other things) and two of the richest and most politically influential men in the world - Carnegie and Frick.

Things didn't turn out well for the strikers. And, on November 16, 2002, they didn't turn out so well for me, either.

I arrived early. Way early. Like, too freaking early, my family in tow on a cool, drizzly day. Not sure why I feel the need to point out the weather conditions, given that we're talking about Pittsburgh, but now ya know.

There may have been a couple of other runners there when we arrived and I got out the car with Caleb to stretch. Denise and Emily, because girls are smarter than boys, stayed in the car where it was warm and dry. Caleb was excited for me, which got me pretty pumped. At that time I was a big believer in stretching, having read an article or something praising its benefits. However, being a believer does not mean that one knows what one is doing, so I randomly went through a series of stretches I'd seen folks doing at the Hazelwood 5K back in October.

A couple minutes in a car pulled up and out hopped a gentleman who looked very much like the man in the cartoon above. His smile literally swallowed his entire face as he greeted us with a booming 'GOOD morning!' He believed deeply that it was. Nearly made me a convert.

Being the introvert that I am, I meekly returned his greeting and sized up my newly arrived 'competition.' I am to this day not sure why I saw this man as competition - I hadn't before and haven't since seriously thought about competing in a race. But, if this was who I was up against today, why not? Of course, I'll take your trophy. After all, I'm certain I can take a 90 year old Mr. Magoo looking dude who very likely had escaped just moments ago from whatever Alzheimer's care facility in which he currently resided.

If you want, you can Google this race's results and find that I ran a 20:00 5K; 6:27/mile.

You can also Google the existence of life on faraway planets and honest to goodness tales of those who've died, gone to heaven (or hell) and come back to share their experience. These stories hold more truth than me running a 20:00 5K; 6:27/mile.

The race started well. A few last minute words of advice from Caleb about pushing myself to the finish. Smiles from Denise and Emily, who'd come to the start/finish line to wish me well. And off we went.

The pack was not sizable, and I was in the front of it for a full mile and a quarter. A sensation not altogether different from one I'd felt as an elementary schooler back in Akron racing against the big boys flooded me. This may well be my moment after all. Denise would be so proud. Caleb would carry me off on his shoulders. Emily would brag about me to all her friends. I could hardly wait to see them.

The footsteps behind me were now next to me. Then in front of me. And they were legion.

Ok, not legion. But, there were enough. And two of them belonged to my new 'friend.'

As this was an 'out and back' race, he reached the turn before me and was still smiling that God forsaken 'GOOD morning' as he blew by in an whir. I'd like to say I did not curse him.

My finishing time was more like 26:30, well near the back of this small, but clearly much better trained group of runners. My family reported that the winner finished in just under 16:00, followed closely by our friend.

I did not finish strong. I finished feeling like I was dragging concrete blocks on my feet while being stabbed repeatedly in the side with ice picks.

Denise and the kids briefly beckoned me to push, then just shook their heads. For this we got up early on a Saturday? Nice.

There was no celebration. There were no cheers. I was not carried on shoulders. Em would not be bragging on Monday.

I did learn (re-learn?) an important lesson of humility that day. One that I've repeatedly been taught throughout my life.

For instance, counting myself a good writer, I was shocked to pull my 1st paper out of my mailbox at Emmanuel to find a C+ on the front page and only one note - 'work on writing' - on the last.

Shortly before moving to Pittsburgh I got a voicemail from New Hope's previous minister telling me to call. Who are you to tell me to call? What value could there be in listening to you? Turns out quite a bit, actually.

I remember being a 20 something year old youth minister sitting across a booth from an older, more experienced guy from Southeast Christian thinking he was not saying one new thing to me. I knew a lot about ministry. I was good.

Today I realize how little I knew upon entering Seminary, how much my writing needed to improve, how invaluable it would have been to return that phone call and how very, very little I knew about ministry.

I know less now. And, I don't say that sarcastically, or to demean myself. I say that because it's true. The older we get, the more we realize we have to learn. How much more we value other's wisdom and experience. How much less inclined we are to insist on making our own mistakes and trying to do things our way.

As Denise would say - how much more open we are to accepting influence.

That gentleman was right, after all. I had a family who was crazy about me (and perhaps just a little crazy). I was healthier than I'd been in many years. I was exercising on an historic site. And it was only 8:30 a.m. Who knew what the day still held?

It was a GOOD morning.

With? Wind

2012-02-09T16:29:00.000-05:00

A while back Jeremy, the guy who leads the music part of Harmony's worship gatherings, talked between songs about the passage in John 3 where Jesus says, 'The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.' It's a verse I've often wrestled with because it implies, among other things, that the movement of God in our lives is not predictable, easy to see or particularly comfortable. I like to have solid things that I can hold in my hand and see and understand - at least at some level. Comparing God's movement to the wind makes that pretty much impossible.

Of course, the first image of God in Scripture does this - the spirit (wind/breath) of God is hovering (brooding like a mother bird) over the chaos/darkness of creation. No telling how long that went on before God finally spoke light into the darkness. Soon, God is breathing that same windbreathspirit into human beings, giving them life. And, it's clear repeatedly from that point forward that often in joining ourselves to God's story there is an uneasy balance between darkness (absence of God / disorder) and light (God's presence / hope) and being caught up in the wind and standing still. Sometimes those things go on all at the same time.

Anyhow...that Sunday afternoon I ran 8 miles or so out Crumbaugh towards Lemon's Mill Road. The sky was filled with those big puffy cumulonimbus clouds that are about 9 shades of white and gray. At that particular moment they appeared close enough to reach up and tug off a handful like cotton candy. It felt like a storm was brewing, although I don't remember now if one ever came.

What I do remember was that as I turned west at the intersection of Crumbaugh and Johnson Mill Road the wind almost instantly slammed into my face. The first thing I noticed was the wind. And I didn't so much notice it as get overwhelmed by it. My breath was literally taken away. My steps became laborious, as if I were trudging through water. And the sound. Not sure how to spell what filled my ears. Something like WWWWWHHHHOOOOSSSSHHHH!!!!!!! But, not really. Doesn't quite cut it. The podcast I'd been listening to was completely drowned out by the roar. It was just incredible.

Over the 1.2 miles of that stretch of road, the effects of the wind were unmistakable. Evergreen trees bowing. Blackbirds held motionless in the sky. Tall, brown and gray grasses laying on the ground. And the constant rush of sound.

I had to fight for most every step I took, especially on the 3-4 lightly rolling hills - not normally much of a challenge, on this day strangely steep.

And the clouds - they filled more and more of the sky as they were shoved across the sky. I was afraid I'd get a face full of their cotton now, no longer tempted to reach up and pinch off a piece of their sweetness. They grew darker, taking most of the sky's light with them as they headed east.

As I neared Lemon's Mill, a ray of sunlight first poked and then burst through one of the puffiest and darkest of the clouds, its beam illuminating a patch of pasture where a group of fat, dirty cows laid in the mud and grass ignoring the entire experience. Apparently none of this impressed them nearly as much as it did me.

I couldn't help but recall Jeremy's words from the Gospel of John. I'd certainly not seen this coming, had not an ounce of control over it, and was finding being overtaken by the wind a bit more strenuous and uncomfortable than I particularly liked.

Aren't Biblical images of God and God's spirit meant to be comforting, encouraging? The whole, 'I won't leave you or forsake you' thing sounds good. Until that presence means gasping for air and struggling to move. The wind was clearly there. And I did not like it.

At Lemon's Mill, I turned back towards our neighborhood.

And was just as instantly overwhelmed by a sudden stillness. I'd anticipated the wind being now at my back; driving my run, making me stronger and faster and better than I was before. Like Steve Austin.

Instead. Nothing.

Clouds still filled the sky, broken slightly be a few more cracks of sunlight.

But no wind. Erect trees. Grass warily stretching its nimble frame. Complete stillness. The cows looked at me like, 'Duh. What'd you expect?'

I admit that I was more than disappointed. I was a little angry. 'Nice,' I thought, 'you make it tough for me on the way out and offer no help on the return trip.'

And then - about 1/3 of the way back - WWWWWWWHHHHHHHOOOOOSSSSHHHH!!!!!!

Only this time, I couldn't hear it. I didn't see it coming. Just, suddenly was smacked in the back by its force. The next .7 miles the wind literally pushed me up the street. I had to lengthen my stride to keep from tripping, and still, I struggled to keep up.

Again, I saw the trees bending over, the grass sighing and lying back down, the clouds rushing across the sky. A group of horses sped across one of Kentuckiana Farms' fields, their manes a mess of hair and wind and energy.

It was as if the wind had heard my complaints, smiled to itself, 'OK, want to know my power; to taste what it's like for me to move you? Here ya go!'

It was exhilarating. I know I have never run that far that quickly in my life. At times it was if my feet weren't even touching the ground.

I wasn't thinking. I just went with it, grinning from ear to ear, like Lenny stroking a puppy. I may have even said, 'WHHEEE!'

Or not.

Then I turned north at the corner of Crumbaugh and Johnson Mill, by now not expecting anything. I wouldn't have known what to expect anyway.

Which is a good thing, because the next half mile the wind came from the east, then the south, then the north, then the west, then not at all. I think, just for a moment, I glimpsed the wind blowing where it pleases. It was one of those fall moments when one minute you're raking leaves and the next they are being lifted and whirled around you in a mini-cyclone. Minus the leaves, and, thus, any physical evidence of the wind - just its force. Delightfully unpredictable.

The roar.

Silence.

Shoved from behind.

No resistance.

Gasping for air.

Still.

My ridiculous grin now became a full blown laugh. Like Sarah inside the tent making sweet tea, overhearing her century old husband that they were soon to be parents. Yeah, right.

Oh.

Fun?

Yes, a bit.

But a bit disarming to tell the truth.

I like things to make sense. To know what's happening. To fit into whatever neat little package I have in mind. It's one reason why I wear a GPS watch when I run. So that I can predict within a few seconds when I will finish one mile and start the next. So that I can later map the run out online and see exactly where my steps took me and plan to do the same thing the same way again next time.

It becomes quite comfortable. Normal.

And completely void of life.

With...YOU!

2012-02-06T15:09:00.003-05:00

Yesterday marked the beginning of week 5 of my training for the Flying Pig Marathon. It was a 16 mile run on the Legacy Trail in Lexington, which is a fantastic way to begin one's day! The trail is relatively flat, which is nice this early in training. I know the Pig has some significant hills that I need to prepare for, but, first, just getting my lungs and legs back.

Was pleased with my time, 2:15:42, and that my pace, 8:29/mile, was pretty consistent.

One thing I am noticing that I don't like and will need to consciously work on, is that seemingly no matter what my distance is, the last mile is almost always the slowest or close to it. I am not sure what accounts for that. Maybe I slack off knowing that I am about finished? I know that for a couple of weeks in January by the time I neared the last mile or so I had acute pain where I'd bruised my left foot tripping over a guitar stand while carrying a chair out of Emily's bedroom. Ouch :) No, I am not particularly graceful. But, the pain is gone...will tell that story soon because it's fun!

There was more traffic on the trail yesterday at 7:30 than I'd anticipated. Some sort of running club. A guy walking his dogs. A group of guys having a blast playing what appeared to be some cross between flag football and ultimate frisbee. On my return loop they were covered in mud, which I'd guess made it even better.

I listened to 3 podcasts:
1) The Longest Swim on The Story. This episode featured two stories of perseverance; one regarding Diana Nyad's attempts to swim from Cuba to Florida, the other an interview with Ian Heigh, who leads the charge in maintaining Edinburgh's Forth Bridge. Nyad is a 60something member of both the national and international swimming halls of fame, who, in 1979 recorded the longest swim in history - from Bimini in the Bahamas to Florida. She'd tried to swim from Cuba to Florida before but not made it. After a 31 year 'retirement' from swimming she has now tried again 3 times - the last effort foiled when she was attacked by a school of jellyfish 2 hours in...incredibly she pressed on another 39 hours! Listening to her describe the attack made me feel like a big baby for sure. Seeing a jellyfish is enough to get me out of the water. She plans to try again in Julyish. Listening to her joy for life and her tenacious approach to conquering this goal was uplifting to say the least, and probably accounts for the extra spring in my step the first 4 miles or so of my run.

I also enjoyed the second part, which chronicled 100+ years of maintaining the world's first major steel bridge, Forth Rail Bridge in Scotland. The story focused specifically on the painting of the bridge in its unique shade of red, which generally took about 3 years to complete and due to a constant barrage of water, wind and haar (sea mist) from the time of its construction had to be repainted virtually as soon as the previous paint job was finished - giving the world the saying 'painting the Forth Bridge,' which is used to describe working on a seemingly endless and endlessly repetitive task...like weeding one's garden or, well, training for a marathon. I guess you could see why I'd enjoy the story. Now, the bridge has been painted with some new high tech paint that is supposed to last 20+ years. We'll see :) Heigh, who loves the Forth and his job caring for her, sounds both sure that it will, and hopeful that it won't.

2) How Magic Mushrooms Work, on 'Stuff You Should Know' from How Stuff Works. Funny at times, compelling throughout, Josh and Chuck provide a thorough account of the history of Magic Mushrooms, legal issues regarding their growth and use, an explanation of how they work, and more. Mostly served as mind numbing background fuzz for miles in the middle of my run.

3) Can You Vacation in Antarctica, on 'Stuff You Should Know. Short answer: yes. Short (rhetorical) follow up: Why would you want to? There are great pictures on the internet that are far more accessible and viewable from the warmth and comfort of, well, anywhere besides Antarctica. You can run a marathon in Antarctica. For $16,000.

I hope this part doesn't get buried, but as I mentioned in an earlier post, I am not merely running this marathon for the fun of it. I am running to raise awareness and funds for the Not For Sale Campaign that works to free and educate slaves throughout the world. It's insane that I can run carefree on the lovely Legacy Trail while all over the world there are more enslaved people than there have ever been. I'm guessing even an Antarctic vacation could sound appealing to them.

Please know that when I'm running, I will only be successful if I am running with you, knowing that you are behind my efforts.

With...Denise

2012-02-02T16:02:00.001-05:00

As I've fallen further in love with running for it's sake rather than simply as a method of sweating off pounds, the people I've run with have become a large part of the joy.

Previously, I mentioned running with my son, Caleb. That didn't last long, but does come back into the story later.

When spring arrived in Pittsburgh in 2002, roughly July, Denise became my running buddy. We'd run together a few times early on in the dating days. Denise was an athlete in high school...volleyball and tennis. She exercised a LOT and was very health conscious. I was a pot smoking couch potato whose only exercise came from long walks in the clouds at the top of Iroquois Park and bussing tables at Red Lobster. Running, or any other exercise, for its own sake was not exactly on my top 10 things to give one's evening to.

But, when you're 17 and in love, you'll do anything. So, several times we'd run around Denise's neighborhood in the south end. Her route was about a mile long. Sometimes we'd make a couple laps.
Always a smart aleck, I'd literally run circles around her as she ran. I found it amusing. She didn't. These runs didn't last long.

So...decades later as I'm morphing from dough boy to human being, Denise enthusiastically joined me in running.

Sometimes, we'd run down Hazelwood Avenue enjoying the challenge of the hills in our neighborhood. That was a fun trip because you never knew when it was going to include witnessing a drug deal or some middle school age kid yelling to Denise from his front porch, 'Hey lady! Nice shorts!'

We had two usual routes. One was just up and down Parnell Street behind our house. The other, the one we took more often and that became a regular part of our evenings our remaining years in the Burgh was the oval at the top of Schenley Park.

The oval is a .6 m fine gravel track that wraps around soccer and softball fields, tennis courts, past playgrounds and a pavilion. On any warm day you'll find tons of Yinzers and their kids recreating joyfully on and inside it. And it is a place I will always treasure.

Riding to and from our runs, and on them, we'd catch up on the events of the day, discuss the business of our lives, share dreams, watch Caleb's soccer practice, argue, flirt, laugh and relax 4-5 days a week. Or, at least as often as we possibly could. There, we planned our 15th anniversary trip to Jamaica. The pic above is Denise ready for racquetball on that trip - one of the happiest times of our journey together. On the oval I cried about being homesick - and realized that home wasn't (and isn't) a place.

Sometimes we didn't talk at all. Sometimes we just ran. Listening to the crunch of the gravel under our feet as our strides became one. Watching the guys from Nigeria do things with soccer balls that no sane person could duplicate, dodging children learning to ride their bicycles, watching the sun set in a magnificent pink that I've not seen anywhere else.

Denise usually did 2, sometimes 1, sometimes 3 laps and then sat to read, call her mom, or people watch on a park bench while I pressed on. Generally I did 5, sometimes 6 or 7, laps, enjoying the brief, twinkling eye contact we'd make as I passed her.

Some of the most difficult days of my life ended on that oval - approaching the final turn towards Denise and her bench, wiping away the tears that go with having no idea what you're doing in your job, how you'll provide for your family, what this incredible woman sees in you. I'd see her from a distance and slow my stride, not because I didn't want to reach her, but because I wanted as much time as possible to drink in the anticipation of being with her - my best friend, my running buddy, the person on earth who's shown me Jesus more than any other has or will. Who has always believed in me. You don't rush that. You cherish it.

It Became My Crack

2012-01-30T15:10:00.002-05:00

14 mile training run; longest since last year's marathon. Ouch :) The first 9 miles actually went really well. But, then, I kind of hit a wall.

At least it was warm and sunny today! Listened to a podcast on human trafficking from howstuffworks, one on standardized testing from The Story...this one was pretty cool. A school administrator in Florida took his state's 10th grade aptitude test. And failed...It also included a story about Siglinda Scarpa, a rather, umm, eccentric woman who operates a cat rescue farm in North Carolina. Finished up with a sermon by Steve Daugherty from Crosspointe Church in Cary, NC. He is one of my favorite preachers and I try to catch Crosspointe's podcasts every week.

So, I've been telling about my experiences getting started running back in 2002. After that first embarrassingly painful run on a crazy cold February day, I kept at it. The plan was simply to go a little further each time out, which I did. I even bought my first running shoes, putting away my air walks one and for all. It would be quite a while before I'd buy any other running gear. For now, my 'uniform' consisted of xxl t-shirts and baggy shorts.

Caleb, unfortunately, didn't hang in there with me, although we did run together again a time or two his sixth grade year when he ran cross country for his Middle School. By then, I'd made a lot of progress and was preparing to run my first 5K.

I get that calling a race a 5K or 10K is more fun that calling it a 3.1M or 6.2M, but, for those of us metrically challenged, it can be a bit to get used to. After all, this is still the U.S., and, yes, I know the metric system makes more sense and most of the world employs it. But...well...this is still the U.S., and we don't :) At least not for anything besides 5K's and 10K's.

I saw the brochure for Hazelwood's (our neighborhood in Pittsburgh) 5K Run/Walk on a counter somewhere. Honestly, I think it was at the local Bruster's Ice Cream shop, which was operated by a guy who was known for riding his bike across the U.S. and other pretty impressive distances. Ironic that I picked it up along with a couple of turtle sundaes? Perhaps. But, I had reached (blown past, actually) my weight goal, and at 32 years old was finding that as long as I ran 4-5 times a week I could pretty much eat whatever I wanted and remain around 170. This has since changed :)

I'd never thought about entering any races, and certainly wasn't considering actually 'competing' in them if I did run. But, I was intrigued. I wasn't certain how far I even ran most of the time. I just ran for 30-40 minutes 4-5X/week listening to the Dan Patrick show or something else on one of the two sports talk radio stations in town. I wondered how far 5K was. I wondered how fast I could do it. I wondered what was accepted as a 'good' time.

I mailed in my application along with my check and early on the morning of October 5, 2002, Denise and I made our way down to 2nd Avenue along with the other runners and their supportive family and friends. Denise had also started running, but has yet to enter a 5K or any other race. Just not her thing. But, as I learned that day, cheering for her formerly fat husband is one of her things.

As I'd never done this before, I tentatively watched the other runners warming up, mimicking their stretches, their postures, their strides as they jogged a bit to loosen their muscles. I re-pinned my race number bib because...well...it was not on correctly.

A typical Pittsburgh drizzle cooled the air a bit, but not too bad. The temperature without wind or rain in your face was in the mid-50's. Of course, wind and rain would, in fact be in my face.

I was excited, though, and didn't really care.

The 95 entrants lined up as time for the start approached. A newbie, I didn't know that this was a relatively small number. I only knew my heart was starting to pound, my head was rushing and I never heard the gun.

I'd lined up just behind the front, and when they took off, so did I. We sounded like a herd of cattle clomping down Second Avenue. Not many people had come out to watch, and once we left our wives and friends behind to wait for us at the finish, we had the streets pretty much to ourselves.

The first mile + I hung right with the leaders, but soon realized this was not going to last and remembered I'd not entered to win, just to see if I could do it.

After that, the details are fuzzy. It's been nearly 10 years, after all.

I remember passing Carl and Kris, our next door neighbors who volunteered w/ the neighborhood association and were thrilled with the number of runners in this year's race. They seemed a little surprised to see me, and cheered my name.

I remember as we turned back onto to Second Avenue 1) being filled with righteous indignation at the 3-4 runners who passed me by cutting across a parking lot and shaving off the corner; and 2) remembering that the remainder of the race was mostly flat and straight. I'd done the hard part (only 1 significant hill) and was home free.

Turning into the lot where we'd finish, I saw and heard Denise cheering for me. Later, she'd email all our friends and relatives bragging on me. Seeing her smiling and clapping under her umbrella, I tried to sprint home, but there wasn't much left in the tank. Turns out 5K was about as far as I'd ever run in my life, and I'd certainly never done it this fast.

I finished in 25:19, a pace of 8:10/mile. I came in 3rd in the 30-34 year old male group. Out of 5. I think I got a ribbon or something.

I was hooked.

Learning to Run

2012-01-23T16:50:00.001-05:00

I pulled on my Airwalks, my xxl sweatpants, a t-shirt and sweatshirt, a toboggan, and gloves and headed out to change my life.

My energetic, ever supportive 10 year old son, Caleb, joined me. In retrospect, I think it may have been a bit like going to the zoo for him. What strange, new animal is this? My dad...exercising?!

Parnell Street was a .20 mile stretch that ran behind our house in Pittsburgh. It was where folks who lived on Gladstone Street, like us, parked; mainly because the walk to and from your car was easier. Downhill from car to house, not nearly as steep in reverse. Few of us owned a garage.

It was also relatively flat and didn't see much traffic, especially at night after everyone was home from work, hibernating in front of their tv's trying to stay warm. Seemed a good place to start running.

My plan was simple. I'd jog as long as I could and stop. Tomorrow I'd repeat. And so on. There was no goal for time nor distance. Just jog off some more of this fat butt, couple that with a more reasonable diet, and work down to a healthy weight.

Walking out the back door and up our sidewalk and steps to the freshly plowed street, I cursed Denise a bit for suggesting running. Once the trees shed their leaves, there's nothing shielding the biting wind that howls down the Monongahela River in October announcing the arrival of winter in Pittsburgh. While I don't recommend it, I have willingly swum and tubed in the Mon, which is one of a handful of north flowing rivers in the U.S. In Pittsburgh it was once lined with majestic steel mills that pumped smog into the sky and money into the pockets of Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick. We lived about a half mile uphill from the river.

The wind was lively this evening as we trudged up to Parnell. A new snow had fallen that day, and while it was night, the crisp, clear sky allowed the moon and a few stars to illumine our neighborhood in a surprisingly lovely way. The view down river, over the tops of Gladstone's houses to downtown Pittsburgh gave me weird sense of 'home.' I don't feel at home much.

I looked at Caleb, watching me with a twinkle in his eye. I was quite glad he was with me because a) there'd be a witness to this historic event, b) since he was there I could not back out and c) if I collapsed in a heap, he could quickly run home and tell Denise.

I don't remember if we talked or stretched. I only remember this. I 'ran' about .15 miles that day and felt like I was going to die. My feet hurt (possibly the shoes were not right), my side hurt, and I could not breath.

I'd like to blame the frigid air for my struggle, but I must be honest. This, for me, was liking starting up Mt. Everest with none of the right gear, no guide and absolutely no sense of direction except 'up.'

Realizing that that was all I had in the tank that night was humbling. It frightened me, really. How in the world had I allowed myself to get so horribly out of shape? Was I going to be able to change? Did anyone happen to glance out their window and see me bouncing down the street?

Fear and fighting with my body were going to be two incredible obstacles.

The most important thing I took from this first experience with running was the value of a partner. In the 11 years since I have run the vast majority of my miles alone. But, none of the hardest could have been possible without someone next to me or cheering me on.

So, thanks Denise, for pushing me out the door. And, thanks Caleb, for coming along for that freakshow of a night.

Step One.

2 Down...15 to GO!

2012-01-21T14:59:00.000-05:00

Today wrapped up week 2 of training for Cincinnati's Flying Pig Marathon. Things are going well so far. The biggest challenges are: 1) simply making time for runs more than an hour long, and 2) coping with stiff legs that come from running in the cold along with the blisters I tend to get on my toes. But, time always seems to work out somehow, it really hasn't been all that cold, so I'm feeling pretty good.

As mentioned in an earlier post, I'd love your support, encouragement and prayers. I am running to raise awareness and funds for the Not For Sale campaign, which works to help free and educate as many of the 30 million slaves living all over the world (more than ever in the history of our planet) as they possibly can. Not for Sale doesn't just work to bring relief, but also rehabilitation and development.

If you'd like to help, go to Not For Sale's donation page and make either a 1 time donation or sign up for recurring monthly donations. If you choose the 1 time donation, I suggest basing your donation on an amount per minute I take off my previous marathon time (3:59:38). My goal this year is 3:30:30.

So far in my training I'm looking at about an 8:25/minute pace, which is a 3:40:31 marathon pace. If that's where I end up, I'll take it, but it encourages me that when spring gets closer I should be able to speed up a bit.

If you decide to help my efforts with Not for Sale, please let me know your plans so I can keep track of our collective efforts. Feel free to post on my Facebook wall or comment on my blog where I will keep you up to date on my training and fundraising.

First Steps

2012-01-20T15:35:00.000-05:00

The little boy version of Andrew ran. Quickly even. He couldn't hit a ball well. Had never shot a basketball. Wouldn't ride his bike without training wheels until 3rd grade. The rope climb in gym class was simply not happening. Roller skating? Forget it. But, he could run.

It was customary for the boys at Akron Central School to gather on the sidewalk before the morning bell rang announcing the start of each school day. Inspired by the Bruce Jenner's magic the previous summer in Montreal, we'd often we'd use the time challenging one another to foot races.

The course was a figure eight, the bottom of the eight somewhat pregnant looking as someone's hand was bumped while drawing it, or, like a child just learning to write his numbers. Or, like I'd drawn it.

The racers would start at the bottom of the eight, the point closest to the school building, and set off in opposite directions. Racing in this manner added to the excitement. You could hear the other kids cheering on their favorites, with little idea how the race was actually proceeding. Until you met your challenger. Of course, you wanted to meet your opponent on your way back if at all possible. This meant they were still on their way out, and you were winning.

Like I said. I was fast. Never lost a race in first or second grade. I attribute this to two things. One: sprinting down Bloomingdale Avenue to escape the older boys who often chased me after school with snowballs or just to poke fun at me because I was smaller. I know they were trying to kill me and would have torn me limb from limb given the chance. Thankfully, they never caught me. Because I was fast. And, because my big sister beat them up for me. Two: sprinting even harder down Hoag Avenue to escape the 492 extremely large dogs that resided at the corner of Hoag and Eckerson Avenue.

I'm not sure why there are so many 'Avenues' as opposed to 'Streets' or 'Ways' in Akron, NY. Apparently the main differences between an avenue and a street is that an Avenue is generally in a nicer area and leads to a particular building, for which it is named. Streets are just paved roads. Hoag, Bloomingdale, Eckerson and other Avenues in Akron were lovely, lined with proud beech, cedar and sycamore trees and lovely arts and crafts style houses constructed in the late 19th and early 20th century. But, as far as I know, there is no Hoag, Bloomingdale or Eckerson building. At the end of Hoag there is, a Ford Gum and Machine factory which was kind of fun.

I know, I digress. Those yapping, horrifyingly annoying dogs haunt me to this today, and I am quite sure are one large contributor to my speed as a 1st grader. Put one behind me now and I'm pretty sure I could give Usain Bolt a race. To keep things honest - there weren't 492 dogs living on that corner. And they were poodles. These facts are completely beside the point. The seven year old me was quite sure they'd eat me if they caught me. We will never know, because I was simply too speedy for the little devils.

Over time, I developed a reputation for my racing skills. Beat every boy in my grade so often they eventually refused my challenges. For a while, this was great. After all, everyone wants to be good at something; to make a name for themselves. It's as old as the tower of Babel.

Eventually, though, it got old. What's the use of being fast if there are no opportunities to be fast? There was really only option. I was going to have to race one of the older boys.The prospect of such a thing made me feel much smaller than I was; and slower. For one thing, racing them meant first talking to them.

Contemplating this locked my knees, made my hands sweat and caused the voices in my head to go silent. It was weird. Generally, upcoming conversations are preceded by said conversation taking place in my head. For instance, in this case, it would go something like this. I saw myself walking over the group of older boys waiting their turn to race, taking my place in line, watching race after race, sizing up the competition. Race protocol was much like open gym in basketball. The winner held court until defeat, the challenger then taking his place, and so on. I'd inch closer and closer to the front, getting some idea of what I was up against. Reaching the front of the line, I'd say 'I've got next,' again, following protocol. Simple enough.

In the real world, as one boy after another tried his luck against the day's champion, and I saw how fast this boy was, the 'conversation' played itself out in my head like this. I'd inch closer and closer to the front, getting some idea of what I was up against. Reaching the front of the line, I'd see that this kid was not only faster than me, but was one of the older boys my sister occasionally had to knock down for me, enabling me to run safely home from school. Instead of boldly claiming my right to run, I'd merely stare at my feet, trying to remember why I was there and what my tongue was for and did my mom pack me a chocolate or vanilla zinger today for lunch?

So, for about two weeks I strove to muster the courage to actually get in the older kids' line.Finally, my day came. I watched the first and second graders run a few races, but the boredom was too much. I wanted to race. I longed to feel the wind in my face; hear the pounding of feet, the cheering spectators. I wanted to win. And beating these kids again would not be winning.

With all the boldness I could find, I moved over to the older kids' line and took my place in the back. Thankfully, there were only 3 or 4 boys ahead of me, limiting the amount of time I'd have to fret.

It was a gorgeous, blue sunny day. Warm enough to shed jackets once out of one's mother's site. The sidewalk on both sides of the figure eight were lined with kids loving the arrival of spring.

Now, only 2 ahead of me. 'I've got next,' I rehearsed silently, watching the current race. The champ was fast. And he was one of the boys who chased me. At least six inches taller. Buzz cut. Our Gang t-shirt. Yellow fang like teeth I'm certain could have bit me in half. I hoped he was wearing himself out.I looked down.One ahead of me. I saw and heard none of that race.

'You racing, kid?' the champ asked. There was no threat in his voice. Nor was there a hint of fatigue. Not even heavy breathing.

'Ummm. Yes.' I muttered.

'Well?'Well, what? I had no idea what he was asking.

'You got next?' he cued me.

'Ummm. Yes.'

'Well?'

Lightbulb!'I've got next.' It came out as much as a question as a challenge, but, nonetheless, I'd stated my case. Such as it was.

'Come on, then.'

Nimbly, I took my place on the right, challenger's side, of the figure eight.We waited.

Someone shouted, 'On your mark.' I took my stance, made sure my shoes were tied.

'Get set.' I squeezed my hands into a tiny fist, staring straight ahead. No way was I going to look at my opponent.

'GO!!!'

I took off as quickly as I could. The shouts of our audience fading from a flood to vaguely audible.I pumped my pencil thin arms and legs harder than I ever had in my life.

The sun's warmth hugged my face like a loving grandmother; my t-shirt clung to my tiny chest. The world was utterly silent.

I approached my turn at the top of the eight, exhilarated by the fact that the champion had not passed me yet. I had no idea where he was. Did I actually have a chance?

I saw myself reaching the finish line, kids who'd never so much as seen me 10 minutes before now chanting my name. They'd lift me onto their shoulders. I'd be the talk of the 3rd grade. A big deal for me, a 2nd grader. My nemeses would now all be of the four legged variety.

Then it occurred to me. I had no idea where anyone was.

Turning back, the reason for the silence became evident. I heard no cheering because there was none.

Everyone had gone inside. Including the champion. I wasn't beating him. I wasn't even racing him.The bell had rung. The sidewalk had become a ghost town. School was starting. I was late. I swear I saw a tumbleweed rushing past.

The silence now roared in my head, barely drowning out the gut wrenching emptiness in my stomach as my big chance evaporated.

Losin' It

2012-01-13T14:16:00.001-05:00

The first 15 pounds were the quickest. I simply stopped soft drinks, switched to light beer, and went back to drinking coffee the way it was intended to be drunk - black. It wasn't necessarily easy, but by early February I was down to about 210. Still obese, but making progress.I stopped gasping for breath after walking to my car. I was encouraged that, maybe, I could do this.Then, things stalled. I didn't regain any weight, but I couldn't seem to shed any more, either.And, truth be told, I didn't notice much difference yet. My clothes fit the same. My head still looked like a pale watermelon with bad hair. And, I really, really wanted a donut.After a couple of weeks of stagnance it was clear that to make more progress I'd have to change something.I'd heard of people having success with the Atkins Diet, although, not Atkins himself, apparently. My parents, briefly, were advocates. So, for about 10 days I ate only meat. Made sense. Nothing beats a great steak, or smells better than Denies's roast. And, after being tormented by cold vegetables at my mother's dinner table as a child (they weren't served cold, but since the rule was that I'd sit there until I cleared me plate, I am not sure I ate a warm vegetable until I was 15 years old), eating only meat seemed like the ideal plan. More success. In that short period I dropped another 10 pounds. I'd squeezed my belly under the obesity line. Down to 200! Looking at that last sentence now makes me both laugh and cry. I think if I was at 200 now I'd be tempted to see what size dent a 200 pound man puts in a moving car. But, as February 2002 chilled on through the Burgh, I was quite pleased. In a short time I'd lost 25 pounds. I poked a new hole in my belt. Someone at church actually asked with that awkward, puzzled look we get if something was different about me? New glasses? New haircut? Why do we squint when asking such questions? I just smiled.Eating only meat was fun for a while. Kind of an adventure, really, experimenting with new ways to consume flesh of some who gave all. I learned to love my meal of 3 boiled eggs smashed up and mixed with a bit of hot salsa. Still a favorite. A plain burger topped with a slice of cheese was good, too. It became apparent that for much of my life what I'd enjoyed about a burger was the bun, the condiments. Most often, I'd not taken the time to truly enjoy food. It was more like a mindless, hand to mouth shovel fest in the car or in front of the television. Now - I caught the texture and luscious juiciness of the beef. Then, I watched my family enjoying Denise's mashed potatoes a couple times, the aroma flooding my senses like Niagara Falls to a dixie cup.Soon, on Sundays, I found myself looking around to see if anyone was watching me at church, tempted to take the entire communion matzo rather than breaking off a piece...or at least to break off a very large piece. Sorry if there's not enough for you. I needed lots of Jesus, I thought. I knew I was going to drop this plan soon. Just one slice of Rialto's, PLEASE. I'd have killed for one bite of their chicken ranch pizza with fries and onions. One very large bite. Again, something was going to have to give. Surely a guy can eat sensibly and lose weight. All things in moderation, right? Isn't that in the Bible somewhere? And, I really, really wanted a donut.Then it happened. Sensing my frustration, Denise suggested exercise. Running, maybe.What I thought she said was, 'asdoifoihaoighaoidshaghaoighoagh.'Ever patient, she repeated herself.And I knew.It was going to happen.I was going to try running.

Why I Started Running

2012-01-09T09:25:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I officially began training for the Flying Pig Marathon with a 10 mile run. Other than a bit of stiffness from the cold, it was a good run and things are off to a fine start. As I ran I listened to a sermon called 'before you change, don't change anything' by Steve Daugherty from Crosspointe Church in Cary, NC and a podcast from This American Life. Well...I say I listened. I did, but, as is often the case, my mind wandered all over the place.

One place it stopped was Louisville, KY for a brief visit to the event which inspired me to take up running in the first place.

Christmas 2001. We celebrated with my in laws, the Whitlocks. I don't remember much about that Christmas. My kids were 6 and 10. I'm sure that Christmas, like most others with the Whitlocks, was great fun...all the cousins were children, so there'd have been the music of their toys and laughs and exclamations of approval for their gifts.

One of the gifts from my mother in law to our family was a bathroom scale; the first one we'd own after 12+ years of marriage. The picture above is of me just after opening it. I'm not sure what I was thinking. From the look on my face, it was probably something like, 'I'd have preferred a German chocolate cake...or a larger belt.' I'm sure I sucked in my gut (or tried to), as if to deny the need for being aware of my weight. Clearly it was an appropriate, if somewhat awkward gift.

In December 2001 it had been at least 2 years since I'd stood on a bathroom scale. The last time I'd weighed what was, for me, an alarming 190 pounds. At 5'10", 190 is most definitely not a healthy weight, although, still a little shy of clinically obesity.

In the time between we'd moved to Pittsburgh and taken on the stress of leading a church whose collective age was about 21 and average annual income not much more than 21. Dollars. We loved New Hope...its youth; its raw, open worship services; its many amazing people. But, I had no clue what I was doing Monday-Saturday trying to lead a church, and it was crazy stressful for me. Having given up every other vice, and not having developed any healthy coping skills, I ate. A lot.

I knew I was gaining weight, but, without a scale to confirm this, I kind of ignored it. Yes, it was getting hard to breath when walking from the house to the car, but, hey, I did have to walk uphill to get there. Yes, wearing a seatbelt was nearly unbearably uncomfortable, but that was a pretty poofy winter coat I'd bought, and those seatbelts are overly restrictive. Yes, wrestling my 10 year old son sometimes made me fear I'd faint on top of him causing him to suffocate, but, he was pretty quick and he would most likely squirm out of the way before that happened.

So, at the end of the holidays, we politely packed that scale with the rest of our things and headed back to Pittsburgh. I'm not sure how long it was before I got up the nerve to step on that thing. But, I remember quite clearly the event when it finally took place.

I rolled out of the shower, dried off with my sail sized towel, chucked it down the laundry shoot - launching my towel off my big toe into the laundry shoot was sometimes one of the most exciting things I did all day - and the little devil caught my eye, glaring at me out from under the sink.

I pulled it out, tapped the button with my extremely talented toe, waited (weighted?) for the numbers to flash to zero, and clambored on.

Because I try not to use such words on the internet, I will leave out what I said, but I will tell you that I said it right out loud and that while it included several words, most of them contained only 4 letters.

190 I could ignore, even laugh about. 'Maybe I should cut back on the cookies, or even, haha, exercise.'

225, I could not ignore and I didn't find it very funny. I like 'The Hobbit,' but I didn't want to BE one!

I pictured my dad, lying in the hospital waiting for one of his bi-annual angioplasties. I didn't like the look of those beds much.

I saw my kids graduating from Harvard and Oxford, giving their valedictorian speeches, saying, that while they were glad my life insurance had made this day possible, they'd gladly have gone to community college instead if it meant I'd be alive to share it with them.

I saw Denise, thanking God that it wasn't my habit to mow the yard shirtless.

I knew something had to change. Not soon. Now.

Flying Pig - You Can Help!

2012-01-04T11:55:00.000-05:00

Hello Friends. Next Sunday, the 8th, I 'officially' begin training for Cincinnati's Flying Pig Marathon, held May 6. I'd love your prayers and encouragement as I prepare.

This will be my 3rd Marathon and I am looking forward to it like a kid anticipates his birthday. I've heard that the course is fairly challenging, and I welcome that.

One tangible way you can support me is by making a donation to the Not For Sale campaign. Not For Sale works to help free and educate
as many of the 30 million slaves living all over the world (more than ever in the history of our planet) as they possibly can. One aspect of NFS is the work of Kru Nam in Thailand. Kru Nam bravely stands up to
the human trafficking and sex trade that affects thousands of children in Thailand. The kids Kru Nam and her friends rescue from the sex trade are rehabilitated and then
educated and given vocational training in order to make a way for themselves.

Would you consider supporting me and helping bring freedom and opportunity to folks who desperately need our help? You could do so by following this link to Not For Sale's donation page and making either
a 1 time donation or signing up to make recurring monthly donations. In April, 2011 I ran the Pittsburgh Marathon in 3:59:38.If you choose the 1 time donation, I suggest you base your donation on an amount ($2?)
per minute I take off my time this year. I plan to take about 30 minutes off :)

Either way, please let me know your plans so I can keep track of our collective efforts. Feel free to post on my Facebook wall or comment on my blog where I will keep you up to date on my training and fundraising.

Grace and Peace

Finished!

2012-01-03T09:35:00.005-05:00

This may not be the best post with which to make my comeback to the blogosphere, but, here goes :)

In November last year I finally wrapped up a project I've been working on for over a decade; reading a biography of each of the dead U.S. Presidents. It was a fascinating journey that I am very glad I stuck with. To be honest, I wasn't sure I'd get through James Madison; one of the more brilliantly boring people about whom I've read.

Others, like Andrew Jackson and Richard Nixon more than made up for Madison's ability to bore. Not saying they were great Presidents, or even good people - but they were definitely a lot of fun to read!

Along the way I was also privileged to hang out with some wonderful writers; David McCullough (John Adams & Truman), Robert Dallek (Richard Nixon), Edmund Morris (Teddy R, Reagan), Stephen Ambrose (Ike), and so many more.

What's always fun in undertaking a project like this one is the gems you stumble upon. One of the brightest for me turns out to be James Garfield. Originally I read Allan Peskin's bio of Garfield. My interest in the U.S's gilded age was piqued, my disdain for machine politics given feet and legs. But, more than the politics, what thrilled me about this book was the subject himself. If I was making a list of U.S. Presidents who truly had character and are worth emulating as human beings, it would be quite short and James Garfield would be near the top. The joy he had for life, his genuine kindness to people, his humility, his willingness to stand up for African Americans and with the rebuilding South are all admirable. But, the fact that he remained who he was throughout the 2 month excruciating trial that ended his life is...well...inspirational (seems weak, but it's all I can think of).

It's amazing the contrast between Garfield and JFK, whose term was also famously cut short. Neither accomplished much as President, and JFK is obviously the more remembered and popular of the two today. But as human beings...well, let's just say there is far more to learn from James Garfield :)

As I moved on from Garfield, I was a bit disheartened. Arthur, Harrison and Cleveland - while good imperialists in their own right - were nearly as dull as Madison when taken as a whole. About halfway through my plod through Harrison's life, my friend Ben gifted me with Kenneth Ackerman's Garfield bio. I am always glad for a new book, but wanted to finish the project in order, so this one went in the 'to read' pile to wait its turn. Then, in late fall 2011 my father in law loaned me Candice Millard's account of Garfield's shooting.

Since the Millard book was a loan, I started there and am very glad I did. She is a great storyteller and weaves Garfield, Alexander Graham Bell, the medical establishment & Garfield's assassin, Charles Guiteau, together with incredible fluidity. I'm not a book reviewer, so I will stop there, but I must say that Millard made me want to move on quickly to Ackerman and learn more about Garfield.

I took on this project with 3 main aims: 1) to learn something about each of the men (hopefully someday we can say 'people') who've held the office of President of the United States, 2) to learn something from each of these men; everyone has something to teach us, like them or not, and 3) to enjoy some good stories and writers. Sometimes one of these aims was more accessible than others, but I think I accomplished what I set out to do.

What's next?

Here...2

2011-09-07T08:20:00.003-04:00

Apparently my previous post caused some confusion. One friend encouraged me to not smoke dope when posting. Another pointed out my ocd tendencies - which are fun when they are competing with my a.d.d. for sure.

Anyhow, I thought, being the good friend that I am, perhaps another post along similar lines would help make the point I was getting at.

Here goes:

Last Thursday marked the kick off of U of L's football season. They opened with Murray State and won, 21-9 in what began as an exciting game and quickly became a bore fest - which was fine because it gave Denise and me time to talk and grow accustomed to our new seats in section 234 of papa john's cardinal stadium. this is the 3rd section we've had season tickets in over the past 7 seasons, and I think we are going to enjoy them very much.

One highly positive aspect of these seats is that they help us focus on being at the game. Last year's seats, in section 9, were cool the first week because they were in the expansion. They provided a breathtaking view of Churchill Downs (following a breathtaking walk to THEM!). Also visible were Iroquois Park, the Louisville skyline, such as it is, and several other landmarks around town, outside the stadium. All of which were nice because often, you kind of wished you were outside the stadium. Especially late in the 2nd quarter when the 'lady' behind us was working on her 7th or 8th beer and 2-3 hundredth rendering of 'you idiots!'

So, like I said, our new seats direct our attention to the field. We can see all of the game action, as well as much of what's happening on the sidelines - player's interactions with coaches, their celebration of big plays, etc. We can hear big hits. We can smell the grass.

OK, that part is a lie because there is no grass. But, Denise and I did share a chuckle when, in the 3rd quarter, the Ladybirds performed during a timeout. The timeout followed what had not been a pretty play for the Cards, and as they gathered around Charlie Strong and a couple assistants for instruction several of the players struggled with 'focus.' Strong was obstructing their view of the dancers. Their teammates, behind them on the sidelines, were nearly all checking out the Ladybirds. Coach seemed to be teaching his heart out, at least his mouth was opening wide enough that his heart could have come through it, but I'm afraid his message was falling on deaf ears.

I'd looked forward to Thursday all week because of the game, and the time with Denise, but also because of the run I was planning to get in. Denise was getting her hair done that morning and we had dentist appointments following. My plan was to run from the salon, down Eastern Parkway, past PJCS, up and around Iroquois Park and then to the dentist - about 11.5 miles. I hadn't run the park for quite a while and was looking very forward to it.

Turns out the temperature on Earth and Venus on Thursday were about the same and it was an extremely difficult run. It's hard to breath air that won't fit into your nose. Not prime conditions for one's longest run in nearly four months.

About the 6.5 mile mark I texted Denise. First telling her it was crazy hot and then asking her to text me when she was leaving the salon. I was feeling quite done. About half a mile later I reached the corner of Southern Parkway and New Cut Road. I was dizzy. I was thirsty. I had stopped sweating.

This was not good. I thought only briefly about going on through the Park. One glance up Rundill Road towards the golf course told me there was simply no way. Not today.

I was not happy whatsoever.

And then, I saw it. A park bench on the south side of the the intersection next to a clump of trees and south end flavored landscaping. It was gorgeous.

I must point out that it was green - only one shade :)

For the longest time, breaking to walk, much less sitting down has signified to me that the run was over. I just don't have the drive to get up and start again. So, when I sat on that incredibly cozy bench in the 100+ degree heat & humidity just over half way through my planned run - I knew I was finished.

Denise hadn't texted me back. She wasn't going to be available to pick me up. I knew I was going to have to walk somewhere. And I really did not want to move. Period.

I don't know how long I rested on that amazing piece of plastic, but it couldn't have been long. Ten minutes tops. However long it was, it was just what the doctor ordered.

I caught my breath.

I thought to myself that I'd never noticed this bench before - much less this bit of landscaped 'park' area outside the actual park. A look at the site from Google Earth doesn't even show the bench - which is a bit odd :) But, it was there then, and I was grateful.

Grateful for the bench. For the breeze that was blowing, just slightly, but enough to cool me.

Grateful for the fact that I would soon see my best friend, go to the dentist with her. Enjoy a meal with her. Go to the ball game with her. Talk with her.

Grateful that, while I was not particularly comfortable, I had already run 7 miles on this insanely hot day - much better than I'd been doing in previous weeks this summer.

Grateful for highly entertaining Cole Lindbergh's story I was listening to from This American Life. Who wouldn't want to work for a boss like him?!

After my brief rest, I stood, turned down New Cut Road, and ran the 2+ mostly down hill miles to my in-laws house. A bit disappointed that my plans had changed, but knowing how blessed I am. Not the knowing that I get from reading a book or news article. The knowing I get from living, experiencing, touching, feeling.

Here...1

2011-08-31T15:03:00.005-04:00

Leo Babauta tells this story of father and son:

A father and his son went fishing on a small boat, hungry.

The father helped his son reel in his first fish, and it was a beauty. “Great catch, son,” the father said.

“Yes, but I’m worried I’m missing out on better fish,” the son said. “What if I could catch a bigger, tastier fish?”

“Maybe you should try,” the father said.

And the son did, catching an even bigger fish an hour later. “A real beaut,” the father said.

“But what if there are better fish out there?” the son asked.

“Maybe you should try,” the father said.

And the son did, catching a bigger fish, then wondering if there were better fish, catching another, and so on.

At the end of the day, the son was exhausted. The father asked, “How did the fish taste?”

The son hesitated. “I’m not sure. I was so busy looking for better fish that I didn’t taste any of them.”

The father smiled contentedly, patted his belly. “Don’t worry. They were delicious.”

Training for the Pittsburgh Marathon, sometimes the playlist or podcast I was listening to would run out with 4-5 miles to go. I listen to the podcasts because they make it easier to run. They give me something else to think about. Something besides the pain. The fatigue. The sweat. The thirst. They take me away.

On one such occasion I was running up from the bridge over what used to be Johnson Mill (I don't know what was milled there, but I'm guessing it was named for Robert and Jemima Johnson who established the first permanent white settling in what is now Scott County at what is now Great Crossing - who wouldn't want to settle near someone named Jemima?!). One side of the road is lined with trees, the other holds a grazing pasture for some cows next to a tobacco field. The spring wind wooshed into my face waking me up a bit, and I realized that I'd never felt it before, much less heard it - even though I run this piece of road dozens of times a month.

I glanced around, wondering what else I'd missed and was struck by the various shades of the color green. I like green. It was one of the colors in our wedding, although Denise insists that wasteal. I saw that there were several shades of green on single leaves. That dandelions, one of my favorite flowers, are the same way.

I'm a counter. I count when I slice mushrooms. I count the number of strokes it takes to clean the bathroom mirror. Running, I count footsteps per breath (usually it goes something like, '1, 2, 3, 4 in. 1, 2, 3, 4, out). It's weird, I know.

But, it makes sense to me to count shades of green. So I did.

A google search tells me that there are 40 different shades of green. Another google search tells me that there are 9,142,857. Another says 'it depends.'

I'm not sure how many there are, but I'm inclined to agree with this last.

I counted 36.

In a space of about 1/4 mile, before I reached the top of the hill where i was distracted by some horses playing in the spacious field that now opened on my left...there were 42 of them.

Six Years Down

2011-08-11T12:18:00.002-04:00

Today I begin the 7th year of ministry at Harmony Christian Church. This is the longest I've ever served with any congregation and the longest Denise and I have ever lived in one place as adults. It's crazy to think about.

In many ways our time here has flown by. As school was starting this week I looked back at a picture that hangs on our refrigerator of Caleb and Em on the first day of school in August '05. Caleb was entering 9th grade, Emily 5th. Now Caleb is starting his sophomore year of college (after a year of serving in Bosnia) and Em is a junior @ Scott County. They have both grown up so much, and are becoming such interesting, fun people, it's weird that they were so young when we moved here.

We've certainly had some great times here in Georgetown and serving w/ Harmony - highlighted by mission trips, lots of time just hanging out with students, Denise starting her career as a therapist, taking some great vacations, making some good friends, running my first marathons, etc.

We've also had our share of 'down' times - my mom dying last year, kids we've given multiple hours to turning away from their faith, often feeling like square pegs in round holes living in a small town and serving with a church in which many people are far more 'conservative' than we and who I am sure think we're crazy for some of the lifestyle choices we make (trying to eat all organically, for instance).

But, all in all - I am grateful for how God has blessed these past six years. We've grown a lot through both the good experiences and the not so good. I am excited to see what the future holds for us!

Thanks Buccos

2011-07-26T07:37:00.004-04:00

When I was a kid, I'd stumble down the stairs every morning to eat my Golden Grahams, drink some orange juice and read the Courier Journal sports page. For me, if there'd been a big game the night before, say a Louisville basketball game or a MLB playoff game, opening that sports page was more exciting that Christmas. These were the days before ESPN, the MLB network or the internet. The actual headlines, stories and boxscores were where I got my information, covering my hands with ink as I found out who'd scored how many points, what the critical plays had been, how many people were there, etc.

There are many things I like about the technology we live with today. Being able to watch any game I want or at least follow on gametracker, instantly knowing...it's awesome. The problem, lately, has been that there just hasn't been that much to rush to find out. Louisville basketball no longer holds much appeal to me. It's not football season yet. I love the Yankees, but, well for a Yankees fan the excitement doesn't really start until September. Anyhow...instant information somehow, for me, reduces the rush of waking up to good (or bad) news about your team.

Thank God, then, for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Yes, the Pittsburgh Pirates.

For the first time in 18 years, the Pirates are winning and doing it in a fun way. They are gritty. They work hard. They have fun. Apparently, someone neglected to inform this team that they are incapable of success.

Last night Caleb came over for coffee & dinner & to show us his UK student id. The better part of my evening was given to conversation with Denise & Em - taking a walk, sitting on the couch chatting, etc. It was splendid! I can't think of a better use of our time.

Meantime, the Pirates were playing on ESPN for the 1st time since 2004. I watched out of one corner of my eye while Denise told me about her day - and, then, in the 4th inning with the Pirates leading 2-0, we turned the t.v. off. I went to bed wondering.

And, it was great. The Pirates are in Atlanta this week for a 4 game set. They will follow with 3 games in Philadelphia. At the end of these 7 games we will know if the Pirates have changed or not. This is the truest test they've faced all year.

When I came down this morning to finish my coffee, read my Bible and invite God to love through me today, I knew that 1st - I was going to find out if they held on. Couldn't help it. And, God being a baseball fan, I know God understands.

For a minute I was 10 years old again. The paper snapped in my hand (ok, it was actually my computer booting up - which, incidentally takes longer than opening a newspaper and even longer than waiting for my dad to hand over the sports page while impatiently I slurp cereal). I anxiously waited for mlb.com to load, finally revealing in vivid color that the Buccos, led by James McDonald's pitching, Andrew McCutchen's bat and some nifty plays and timely hits by catcher Michael McKenry pulled out a 3-1 win. Of course, it's cool that I don't just read about it. I can watch replays and interviews, see dozens of pictures. God is good, for sure!

This is not a great team, and I don't expect them to be playing come late October. But, boy are they playing now, and they're making morning coffee exciting.

So today, what I like - what I'm thankful for - hearing about my son's day, talking with my wife, walking Howie with my girls, and the Pittsburgh Pirates helping me feel like a kid again.

the past week

2011-07-20T15:26:00.005-04:00

has been a slice of why i like student 'ministry.'

thursday mac rode his bike to our house, helped me with some gardening, talked about his life, his job, his home, his romantic interest, etc and finally fell asleep in the living room floor while i answered one of his questions :)

saturday linda and andy joined us for a cookout celebrating caleb's return from bosnia. the cookout was so that all of caleb's supporters could hear reports of his year there. i was thrilled that 'mama linda' got to come. would never have met her if not for student ministry, and she is one of the most godly people i have ever encountered. it's been a privilege to partner with her and adopt uganda on several projects over the past few years as well as travel with her, caleb and a group of folks to uganda in 2009.

sunday we tried to volunteer at church under the bridge in lexington. they had a large group from another group already there so they didn't need us (the other group was already, literally, tripping over each other). backup: go get some yogurt with josh, jacob and samantha. it was a good backup. they are very enjoyable people to eat yogurt with! afterwards we returned to our house for some cards and lots of laughter.

monday we cooked burgers and dogs at scroggin's park in the 100+ degree heat. the best part was talking with travis about college, the upcoming football season, his friends, etc.

tuesday jon joined me for coffee on our back patio. it is such a beautiful place to sit and catch up on life, ministry, etc. finished my day at frisch's with scott, scott and mark - my lifeteam. two of the guys are also deeply involved in our student ministry (i'm working on the other). loved hanging out with them, talking about recent mission trips, upcoming vacations, possibilities of buying a house (not me!), and being inspired by one of my friend's faith as he trudges nobly through a divorce he did not ask for.

it's weeks like this, again, that remind me why i love student ministry. the parts where we're doing life with people.

and while all this is going on...for much of it one or more members of my family are there. other times, they aren't, but because my schedule is flexible, we are able to etch out junks of time for each other that i am incredibly grateful for and blessed by.

of course, the highlight, for me, when it comes to family time in the past week was last thursday night going to see the final harry potter movie. loved it!!!

here's a picture of me as voldemort alongside denise as bellatrix!

I don't know what this means,

2011-07-12T16:36:00.004-04:00

but i found this research on The Achilles Effect interesting. I've always believed that words matter.

What does it say that the top words used in advertising 'boys' toys are things like 'battle, power, heroes, ultimate & beat?' and for 'girls' toys, 'love, friendship, fun, magic, girl, style and snow?' :)

When Caleb was little we determined we would not buy him any toy guns. Still, he, like most little boys, learned to make a gun with his thumb and forefinger. We disallowed television shows we deemed 'violent,' making one exception when he was about 4 years old for the Power Rangers. Within five minutes after watching we found Caleb in his room wearing a football helmet and using a miniature Louisville Slugger as a sword to battle Squat or Baboo or whoever the villain was at the time.

I think that, to some extent 'boys will be boys' is a true maxim, and the opposite is true for girls. Whether she would ever want me to say this on the internet or not, it's the truth that Emily entertained herself for hours playing with dolls. Heck, she entertained herself an equal amount of time contributing to my balding by filling my hair with barrettes and ripping them out over and over and over again.

But, I do wonder how great a role parents, family, advertising and society in general play in reinforcing and encouraging gender stereotypes that may or may not naturally be that strong. I wonder if either list (boys or girls) is filled with the kinds of words I want used to teach my son or daughter or the students I work with what it means to be male or female. 'Style, perfect and nails' are no more appealing to me for reaching my daughter than 'battle, power and beat' are for reaching my son.

So, what words would be better? If I want my kids to be attracted to something or someone or some idea, what words would be best to use?

celebrating with friends

2011-07-11T08:30:00.004-04:00

On Saturday Derek Jeter got his 3,000th hit in dramatic style. It's a feat most baseball players will only dream of accomplishing, made all the more impressive by the fact that only 11 players have done it while playing for just one team. No other Yankee has 3,000 hits. It's pretty heady stuff.

Being Yankee fans, and Derek Jeter fans, the Gill household is very happy for him.

But, not nearly as happy as his buddy, Jorge Posada. The look on Jorge's face (watch the video at the link above) when Jeter hit his home run is priceless. While Jeter was, I think, relieved and obviously excited Posada was downright giddy.

And with good reason.

Posada, Mariona Rivera and Derek Jeter have played their entire careers together with the New York Yankees. They've won multiple championships and represented the reality that few Yankee haters will ever admit: the past 15+ years of Yankee success was not merely purchased, it was homegrown. These guys have weathered the New York media, experienced incredible success and hardship. These were the guys the nation looked to after 9/11 to restore a sense of normal, of hope. And they came through with flying colors.

The celebration Jorge and Jeter shared Saturday was one that any friendship would envy, I think.

My immediate thought when watching was, 'Who do I celebrate with like that?' Whose personal success would draw from me that kind of emotion?

Denise, of course, is one obvious answer. She's been my best friend for 24+ years, and there have been such moments of celebration in our journey together: the birth of children, college graduations, the growth of her practice, etc.

Ben, who has been my friend since I was 3, comes to mind as well. When he was able, after 10+years @ Home Depot to get a different job that he was excited about I couldn't wait to hear his news and be happy with him.

Good news of your own is fun. But, the good news of a friend is better some how. I don't know why. Don't care, really :)

So, who do you celelbrate with?

what's the good of that?

2011-07-07T13:16:00.004-04:00

Yesterday in staff meeting we had a conversation about a theological issue that was a long time in coming. On a staff as large as Harmony's there is bound to be a wide range of opinion on various issues, and this is one of the few that is important enough to wrestle through together and have an 'official' opinion, I think.

A few of us have discussed this issue privately before and it has taken me, literally, years of thought, study, prayer and conversation to land where I am. Currently.

So, when the conversation began I was, mentally, prepared.

Now, if you know me, you know that 'arguing' is not particularly my gift. Not that I'm not good at making my point and shredding (at least in my opinion) my 'opponents.' I am pretty skilled at this.

What I am not so good at is doing this in a loving, respectful way.

Add to this the apparently obvious 'fact' that I just look grouchy in general.

I was told last week at Summer in the Son, my favorite week of the year ministrywise - a place where I feel nearly 'giddy' - that when I was walking around I had a scowl on my face and looked 'mean.'

My daughter told me this.

Terrific.

I spent the rest of the week creeping her, and possibly many other people, out by deliberately smiling whenever I knew or felt like someone may be looking at me.

After all, no one wants to look mean, just as a general practice.

The conversation took place yesterday only because our administrative pastor's 'plan a' didn't work - which kind of stinks because he was excited about it, and it seemed like it was going to be interesting.

As it began, I swore to myself, 'I am not going to say anything!' We've had these types of conversations about things I feel far less strongly about in the past, and I've come across angry enough then. Even when I wasn't.

But, you guessed it, about 10 minutes in I was asked, point blank, my opinion. And I gave it. Oh, I was good. I argued my point clearly, almost concisely, and coherently. Backed it up with Scripture. As far as I can tell I am most definitely in the 'right' on this one.

And when it was over I felt like someone needed to call 911.

A couple of my friends laughed at me.

One called me and arrogant ________.

And, he was right.

Because, when all is said and done, what's the good of being right (assuming I am...which may be completely untrue) and being completely disconnected emotionally from my team? These are the guys I'm going to want to have my back in the future should things get difficult. I'm going to want them to trust me to get theirs as well.

Why would they want to do that?

So...my prayer continues to be, 'Lord, tame my tongue. Help me to mark my words. Help me to speak as little as possible, and when I do, to use my words to edify rather than tear down.'

Because I see little value in being right and alone.

Translation of Avaz article

2011-07-05T08:18:00.004-04:00

Here's the article I linked on Facebook translated into English, thanks to Jeff Summay:

Human gesture from humanitarian Jeff Summay from the USA

Single father, Bajro, was given a greenhouse

Director of the american humanitarian organization “Most Prijateljstva za BiH” (Friendship Bridge for Bosnia and Herzegovina) Jeff Summay through their own aid programs in the last few years often have done projects for the elementary school “Alija Nametak” in Begov Han. Almost every when they come to Bosnia they also visit the school in Begov Han where the last couple of years, as an ex-player, formed and led a school baseball team.

The school principal, Adil Gačić, says the up to now Jeff and his humanitarian organization often plan school repairs, floor tile and bathroom repairs, also at the end of every year they come and pass out student gifts.

In a proposal to the school and the local community leaders this year Jeff decided to help Bajro Memčić, a single father from Begov Han who lives with his 2 sons without any income. This will help him in providing the essentials for himself and his sons. They bought for him a greenhouse with all the equipment and watering systems. For the greenhouse, Memčić received all the needed planting materials even the first seedlings of tomotoes, peppers and cucumbers.

With the surprize gift, Memčić is very satisfied because he hopes that the produce from the greenhouse wiil soon provide many easy feedings for his family

hey friends...need your help

2010-03-29T14:16:00.003-04:00

time to put together for my playlist for the kentucky derby festival marathon, coming up april 24. need about 4 hours, 20 minutes of music. hopefully, won't hear it all, but that remains to be seen. all sugestions are welcome. thank you in advance, and know that, besides making the time go faster, the songs also help me think of my friends and family who make life such a joy.

day is coming...but for now, it's night

2010-02-17T08:05:00.001-05:00

Praise the LORD, all you servants of the LORD
who minister by night in the house of the LORD.

Psalm 134.1

snow days

2010-02-16T20:32:00.001-05:00

With our most recent snowfall, the Georgetown area went over 20 inches of snow for the year. That may not sound like much to our friends back in Pittsburgh, but considering that 16 inches is ‘normal’ for a winter here, and that it’s only Feb. 16…well…it’s a lot for us.

The kids have missed school 6 days in the last 2 weeks alone.

It’s cold.

It’s gray.

Yet…

A good friend of mine posted on Facebook today that the 1^st of his 700 onion seeds had poked through the dirt today…

Tomorrow is the 1^st day of pitchers and catchers…

Undeniable signs that spring is on the way.

I heart spring!

Tomorrow is also the 1^st day of lent. Having grown up and served all my life in the Stone-Campbell/Restoration Movement, lent has not been much a part of my walk with Jesus. Occasionally I’ve ‘given’ things up, like my last year of Seminary when I swore off caffeine. This was probably a good move, if for no other reason than the fact that I was drinking 10-12 cups of coffee on a slow day at the time and my stomach felt much of the time as if it would explode.

This year, for some reason, is different. The ‘death’ that surrounds us in this deep, cold winter is starting to weigh on me. Denise has struggled with her health all winter. I’m missing my son. Louisville sucks. It’s a hard time in some ways.

But, there’s life on the way. And, that makes my heart smile.

It’s amazing to realize that in the depths of this season, God constantly provides glimpses of life that is and is becoming.

Last night, for instance...the wind was howling, snow was blowing again, I hadn’t been able to run outside for about 3 days. It was a yuck time.

And, in the middle of that, Emily declares “I’m done!” and holds up the fabulous scarf she’d just finished as a gift for Jon Welch! Life shows up in fun ways.

So, as a reminder that life is on the way, and is here now, I will participate in lent this year, and I invite you to join me.

One way that we can do this is to follow a Lenten calendar like this one from Mars Hill Bible Church in Grand Rapids. There are lots of other ways, but this is the one the Gill family will use.

this made me chuckle

2010-02-10T13:05:00.002-05:00

today on facebook an old friend invited me to join the group 'the right to keep and bear arms.' their mission is: preserve the constitution's assurance of the people's god-given right to keep and bear arms.

truly?

have we met?

now, if the mission was to preserve the God given right to keep bare arms, i'd be all in.

2010-02-04T12:28:00.002-05:00

'And.'

That about sums up this book.

In Thy Kingdom Connected, Dwight Friesen explores the wide variety of ways that human beings are connected with each other, with our planet and with God; and why that matters to people trying to live in concert with what God is doing in the world.

Friesen begins and ends the book reminding the reader that 'whatever is you, you will share it.' It echoes Shane Hipps' idea that the medium is the message. Consciously or not, we are constantly sharing who we are and what matters to us with the world around us. A weighty thought for those of us concerned with joining Jesus in his mission of reconciliation.

Reconciliation - 'missional and'ing' - is, according to Friesen the focus of God's people. It is the good news. God is working to reconcile all creation w/ Godself and invites us to join in the process.

If we would join in that process, Friesen says, we must be aware that all individual decisions, believes and actions have bearing on others and our world.

This is a timely book, I think. In an exciting era of church history, in which we are able to participate in the wonderful and ever changing conversation about who God is, what God is doing and how we fit into what God is doing, it's easy sometimes to give more energy, time and attention to what's wrong with the 'other' side(s) of the conversation. How we relate to one another has never mattered more for the health of the church and the world we interact with. How can we hope to join in reconciling the world with God, when we are not reconciled to one another?

em's language arts project

2010-01-29T20:30:00.002-05:00

well...

2010-01-17T16:53:00.002-05:00

...i'm registered now, so i guess i better start training :)

stuff that's on my mind

2010-01-11T20:08:00.002-05:00

caleb's gone back to school today. miss him already. love him much.

is anybody there? with michael caine is one of the best movies i've seen in a long time.

i'm really enjoying reading the know it all by a.j. jacobs. hilarious, informative, fun to read.

i am truly blessed to live with denise and emily. they rock hard.

Happy New Year!

2010-01-01T14:06:00.003-05:00

So, now that our fears over what they'd do about those cool glasses @ the Times Square New Year's Eve Party have been relieved, I suppose it's time to move on.

Quite honestly, I'm glad to see 2009 in the rear view mirror. Yes, there were some good things...our anniversary dinner in Charleston, the bittersweetness of Caleb graduating from high school and heading off to Belmont, Emily starting 9th grade, Uganda & Mexico, several other awesome dates with Denise, walks with Emily, Caleb introducing us to some great new music, getting to work with Jon Welch and an incredible team of volunteers and student leaders, deepening our relationship with Clint and Sacha, an awesome high school retreat, our highly successful Bucks for Benard project, riding bikes over the cooper river bridge with denise, meeting Nabwire Leah and Miriam Motto, making new friends like Pedro in Mexico and Jimmy and Benard in Uganda, several very fun lemongrass grenades shows, they joy of watching em march in the largest marching band in ky, Waffle House w/ Ben, Upbeat with Chad, good times hanging out with and being challenged by Scott, a fabulous 30 hour famine and getting to be there when the bikes we raised $ for were distributed to the pastors in Uganda, building my grill with Scott, Chad & Caleb (and breaking it in with Buck), seeing U2 in Chicago with my wonderful family...

...hmm, that's interesting. I fully intended this post to be a kiss 2009 gladly goodbye let's please turn the page kind of post. There were some crappy moments (including fearing at one time or another that both of my parents would not be with us in 2010). Instead, it's only served to remind me, once again, how truly blessed I am.

So...yeah. THANK YOU to everyone who made 2009 the joy that it turns out it was.

bucks for benard

2009-12-17T09:15:00.003-05:00

Last night @ our Harmony Student Ministries Christmas Party, we collected donations for our Bucks for Benard project.
Benard is a young man we met in July in Busia, Uganda. His dream is to return to school, become a physician and minister to the people in the remote villages of East Uganda. The total cost for him to finish school & college is $7600.
Our student leadership team challenged the rest of our student ministry to give up all or part of their Christmas this year and instead donate to this project.
As of now we have collected $6005.23!!
Needless to say, I am really excited about how God is working through our student ministry.
We will be collecting for this project through January 13. So, let's see what happens with our goal.

sometimes...

2009-12-15T13:34:00.002-05:00

i don't want to presume that i speak for everyone, but i would guess that we can all relate to this story:

'a little girl comes to Albert Einstein and says, "Please explain Physics to me."

He responds. "Let's begin with the theory of general relativity. Now then, this is essentially a theory of gravity I discovered that supersedes Newton's theory of gravitation, which is reproduced as a weak gravity, low velocity special case, and replaces the Newtonian notion of..."

Obviously, Einstein could go on like this for hours. But, the frowning little girl stomps her foot, tugs on his coat and says, "I'm serious, Uncle Al, tell me about Physics!!" (from Athol Dickson's The Gospel According to Moses.)

how often do we find ourselves in situations in life where we feel like we're pouring ourselves out to God, wanting to hear from him, wanting direction, wanting understanding of our situation and feeling as if our prayers are floating up to the ceiling and dying like pipe smoke?

we come to wonder if anyone is listening. if anyone cares. if anyone is even there.

dickson suggests, rightly, i think, that the problem is not with God, but with us. because we don't realize our poverty, our own lack of wisdom and strength, we pridefully come expecting/demanding answers to our questions.

maybe the best thing i can do today (again, i don't want to presume to speak for you) is simply acknowledge my own poverty. my own lack of wisdom. my own strength. to come asking, but not expecting that God will answer because i have something to give in return; but that when he answers it will be out of his love for me as his child.

awesome stuff

2009-12-08T11:34:00.003-05:00

through the wonders of facebook i was able a while back to reconnect with chris collins, one of our former students when we served in bristol, tn. chris was in middle school when we met and, if i remember correctly, a sophomore when we moved to pittsburgh. he was a lot of fun, with a quiet, dry sense of humor and a fantastic smile. he loved to play soccer and was easy to talk with in small groups, but rarely spoke in a larger one.
God has grown him into a very interesting young man who now serves in panama with panama urban ministries.
his recent blogpost brought a smile to my face and tear to my eye. so awesome knowing that God is working through him to bring Jesus to the same folks Jesus went to himself. so...if you have time, check out chris' blog

what a relief!

2009-09-24T11:09:00.002-04:00

this picture shows every mcdonald's in the u.s. we are never more than 145 miles from the nearest big mac!

big month

2009-08-24T09:33:00.004-04:00

august '09 is a big time of transition for our family. first, emily started high school, something she'd been looking forward to for a long time. she's enjoying her classes so far, especially german, i think, and also likes marching band. we are excited for her making this big move! looking forward to this friday, the first time we'll get to watch her march @ a game! here's a pic of em ready to go to school on her 1st day!

this weekend we moved caleb into his dorm @ belmont university in nashville. it was a great weekend, including an inspiring matriculation service sunday morning. we finished the weekend with lunch @ the mellow mushroom, then dropped him off@ his dorm with a surprisingly minimal amount of tears :) denise did cry a bit when caleb gave his sister a big hug. evidently, he's already starting to enjoy the perks of nashville. he got to see the great lake swimmers @ the 3rd and lindsley bar and grill. he even got to meet erik arneson, the banjo player.

here's pic of caleb @ his desk in his new dorm room and one of he and emily @ lunch yesterday.

howdie

2009-08-18T17:11:00.000-04:00

...well, i'm back...enjoy :)

the pic left is of my son caleb and me with nabwire leah, the ten year old girl from bugiri district in uganda that our family sponsors through adopt uganda. she is a nut...loves cookies and coca cola. likes to play net ball (volleyball) and jump rope. is learning to read and write in english. has a terrific laugh. needs new shoes! has 4 brothers and sisters (they needs sponsors, btw). wants a red dress. was interested in what kind of roof we have on our house. can't say i have ever been asked that question before.

we were privileged to meet leah in july when we traveled to uganda for 18 days with michael pippen and scott swicegood from harmony and a group of 7 folks from focus ministries here in georgetown. it was one of the most amazing times of my life. i don't know that i could ever adequately described everything that we saw, the way God taught us through the beautiful people there, the challenges we faced along the way, etc. but, yeah, it was truly awesome and i consider it a great joy in my life to have shared this with these guys, especially caleb.

one of the things that simply blew me away was when we traveled to buwoya to visit the people whose lives were touched by the water project God worked through harmony student ministries to initiate and fund with our 30 hour famine in 2007. for a significant period of time thousands of people who otherwise have no access to drinkable water were able to go to this pond to draw water for their families and livestock. water for them is quite literally a matter of life or death. after we worshiped with the good folks in this congregation one after another they rose to thank us for helping them in this way, and for coming to visit them. i couldn't help but cry as they expressed the depth of their gratitude to God...not because of what we did, but for what we allowed God to do through us. so many of the young people involved in this project will never see the fruit of their labor...but i hope they can somehow know that they made a huge impact in the lives of many people by being obedient to what God called them to do.

when the congregation was done expressing their gratitude, they walked us down the path, about a mile, to the pond to see the source of their water, and their lives. they were so excited. i didn't really know what to expect, but i have to say i did not expect what i saw, which you can see in this pic.

the pond, for which they are so grateful is: 1) just about gone and 2) a source of water i'm not sure i'd step into, much less drink from.

this was just one of many examples of experiences like this that we had. over and over and over again we saw people be grateful and joyful and praise God in circumstances that most of us would at best complain about, much less see the way they did.

i'm amazed that a simple thing like where i was born can have such a radical impact on my ability to appreciate the life that i have. here in the u.s. we have literally dozens of options for obtaining clean drinking water, and generally make our choice based on preference and convenience.

for some reason as i write this, i'm reminded of the story of narcissus, who fell in love with his own reflection in a pool of clear, refreshing water, could not tear himself away from what he saw and died there.

so...yeah...i'm sure there'll be more pics and thoughts to come...i've been going through a lot of other stuff too, which i'll not talk about here but which as kept me from posting for a while...but which joins with the above experience in reminding me not so gently that life is a precious gift and that there's just not time to give to complaining, feeling slighted, petty arguing, gossiping, or any of the other things we get so wrapped up in some times. so...please...join with me to today in expressing gratitude for the mountain of blessings in our lives, rather than letting our vision be clouded by our own reflections.