Everything I Need to Learn about Sheltering in Place, I am Learning from my Cats

Growing up I was a cat hater. One cranky old cat, belonging to my great-grandmother, decided the reputation of all cats, present and future, by scratching me and drawing blood when I was five. After that, I was done with cats. Or so I thought.

Dogs were our pet of choice in the Lohenry Family. First came Max, a charming Welsh Terrier. And after Max succumbed to diabetes which sent him to dog heaven much too soon, we welcomed Muffin. She was a black
Cockapoo who, despite my father’s pledge he would never love another dog, overcame the challenge and won him over. I don’t know if it was her daily delivery of the newspaper at his feet or the overzealous greeting she demonstrated each day he came home from work, but she was successful.

When my husband and I deemed it a good time to add a puppy to the Gilligan household we returned to the terrier breed and brought home a West Highland Terrier who was quickly dubbed Coconut. But quite sadly, our dog days were numbered and after some excruciating deliberations, he was sent to live with a new family.

Trying to replace a new puppy with something like a gerbil or hamster or fish or bird didn’t seem to cut it with my five year old, so against all of my deeply rooted prejudices, we rescued a cat. My husband had some limited experience with them and assured me they were quite easy and entertaining. Against my instincts, I trusted him and boy am I glad I did!

Currently our family pets include Sweet Pea, 11 years old and Finnegan, 9 years old. They have been incredible companions on the journey of family life and each has charmed and delighted us in individual ways.

Sweet Pea can be kind of cranky, but if you find yourself feeling under the weather, or just sad, she will gently show up to be a support and comfort. “Nurse Peep” is her nickname for times such as this.

Finnegan, we are convinced, was gifted by the Creator with the super power of cuteness to save him from the consequences his devious side should merit. He has the ability to look so cute that any anger or frustration he elicits with his devilish ways instantly melts when he employs this, his greatest weapon. He has at least 25 nicknames, all to which he responds with a charming gaze. To be completely transparent, there may just be more pictures of him on my phone than there are of my own kiddo.

In these most difficult of days brought to us courtesy of a global pandemic, it became very apparent, very quickly, that Sweet Pea and Finn might just hold the key to our better survival of such times. After all, they are indoor cats (minus the occasional supervised minute outside the front door) and their lives consist of perpetual sheltering in place.

To help organize and focus myself during the chaotic days of pandemic living, I began sharing daily on Facebook the lessons I was learning through a closer observation of their ways. After all, we are stuck in a tiny house, approximately 1,000 square feet, with 3 humans and 2 cats. I figured I might as well try to make the best of it.

So without further ado, in an act of repentence for my former hatred of the feline species, I share the ten lessons my beloved Sweet Pea and Finn have taught me:

Lesson #1:

Look as cute as possible. It helps those who are stuck inside with you ❤

Finn, giving one of his “looks”

Lesson #2:

Spend at least a little time each day contemplating the beauty in nature. It’s good for the soul ♥

Sweet Pea, gazing out the kitchen window at the birds who visit the neighbor’s bird feeder

Lesson #3:

Take this time to share more meals with those with whom you are sheltering. It gives you time to connect positively ♥

Sweet Pea and Finn sharing meal time on the kitchen island

Lesson #4:

Take naps. It gives your body, mind and soul some much needed rest and rejuvenation during these stressful days ♥

Nap time for Sweet Pea
Nap time for Finn

Lesson #5:

Get outta your silo and spend some extra time hanging out with those you love ♥

Finn and Sweet Pea just hanging out on the stairs together

Lesson #6:

Sometimes you just gotta get creative in the pursuit to entertain yourself ♥

Finn entertaining himself by repeatedly catching his tail

Lesson #7:

Do not waste food. You don’t wanna have to go to the grocery store more often than needed and right now, more than ever, is a time to be grateful for the blessing of food ♥

Sweet Pea, face deep in a can of tuna, licking it clean until it was spotless

Lesson #8:

Some days call for some lazy time spent basking in the sun. We all can benefit from an extra dose of Vitamin D ♥

Sweet Pea soaking in the heat of the sun, just outside the front door
Finn basking in the sun from inside the house, as he cannot be trusted outside

Lesson #9:

Even though we don’t always get along, it is nice to have family with which to self-isolate. We are stronger together ♥

A rare moment of civil togetherness, stalking our resident chipmunk who taunts them

Lesson #10:

If you want alone time in a tiny house, you absolutely gotta get creative and find a good hiding place ♥

Sweet Pea as found at the bottom of a cabinet among wine glasses
Finn as found tucked behind a Batman mask

Though the days ahead may bring more freedom than we’ve known for the last 8 weeks, I’m grateful for the 10 lessons imparted from my wisdom teachers, my beloved cats. Certainly they will prove helpful should I be required to self-quarantine due to exposure to the corona virus or even if I just find myself yearning to embrace my inner introvert for awhile.

Stay safe and healthy y’all!

He Had Been Made Known to Them in the Breaking

Photo by James Wainscoat on Unsplash

The Road to Emmaus is a story contained in the Gospel of Luke that takes place just three days after the Resurrection of Jesus. Two followers of Christ are traveling to Emmaus from Jerusalem. They are discussing all that had taken place, from Jesus being handed over to the chief priests, His condemnation to death, His crucifixion, how the stone at His tomb had been found rolled away and of the angels who appeared and announced to the women, “He is alive!” While they were talking, Jesus draws near and begins walking with them. It says they did not recognize Him. When He asks of them what it is they are conversing about, they reply, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days? And as Jesus so masterfully does many times in the Gospels, He replies to their question with his own question: “What things?”

The two men take the time to give Jesus the summary of what has taken place. After explaining everything Jesus asks them “Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” And from that moment forward, He speaks of the words of Moses and the prophets and interprets to those on the way all the things in the scriptures which referred to Him, including these very events which had just occurred.

When they draw near to the village of Emmaus, Jesus looks as if He is going to continue on elsewhere, but His followers urge Him to stay with them. He sits at table with them, takes the bread, blesses and breaks it, and gives it to them. Then their eyes are opened and they recognize Him; and he vanishes from their sight. This encounter propels them to immediately get up from the table and travel seven miles back to Jerusalem. There they find the eleven disciples of Jesus and they proceed to tell them what they had just seen. They explain to them everything that happened on the road and how Jesus had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

Ever since I heard this story recounted in the liturgy last Sunday, the words “He had been made known to them in the breaking…” have echoed in my head and heart. It seems to me in our days of living in the midst of a global pandemic, most everything is breaking, as it must have seemed to the followers of Christ after His crucifixion. Almost all of the foundations on which we have built the structure and meaning in our lives have crumbled underneath a real and ever present threat to the health of the world. It is utterly unbelievable and unreal. How quickly it has all come falling down. The implications are life changing and mind blowing.

In the earliest days of the stay at home orders I found myself scattered, experiencing difficulty in focusing with a sense of God’s presence evading me. I perceived myself to be walking perilously close to the edge of mental breakdown. This is something that is not unfamiliar to me and with experience I have better learned to recognize its closeness. What I swiftly realized is that which was propelling me closest to danger was more about others’ suffering than my own. Watching the stories of how families were separated from their hospitalized loved ones was gut-wrenching and worse yet was hearing of those dying alone. Suddenly, nurses and doctors who normally are responsible for attending to the physical health of patients were now having to fill in and provide some kind of emotional and spiritual support to both the dying and their families. And all the while, they are in the midst of suffering their own kind of hell, encountering unprecedented traumatic experiences each and every day.

The economic fallout, though somewhat affecting me personally, was put into perspective real quick when a cherished friend confided in me that her living situation had been radically altered. Previously all of the siblings had been combining their salaries to keep their household of four young adults as well as their elderly parents afloat. Now with business closures, reduced hours and unemployment, they were cumulatively living on one salary among the four working members. When she told me the six of them were only able to eat one meal per day I thought my heart was going to break into two. I grappled mightily with this revelation that poverty and need was as close as it has ever been to me. In this dark place of intense sadness, feeling paralyzed and close to breaking, He was made known to me.

Although it may be laughable to some, pretty consistently throughout my life since adolescence, my Creator has chosen to draw near to me through lyrics of songs and most often through those penned by the infamous Bono of the band U2. Such was the case on St. Patrick’s Day when Bono, self-isolating at his home overlooking beautiful Killiney Bay outside of Dublin, sat down at the piano and filmed himself singing a song he had just written entitled, “Let Your Love Be Known.” As I listened to the words and tears streamed down my face, I recognized that in the breaking of my heart and in the breaking of things I thought were certain, Jesus was making Himself known to me anew. It became crystal clear that in the midst of all this chaos and catastrophe, I have the power to do one thing and one thing only. Each and every morning on decent days and as often as is necessary on the worst of days, I ask myself, how can I make my love known today? What can I do to relieve the suffering of others in my little way? And then I humbly implore of my God, please let Your love be known through me. This question and pleading have grounded me and led me away from the precipice of despair. They have restored hope and have opened my eyes to look for the opportunities to show love and to recognize love being made known through others.

One of the first opportunities when I recognized love being made known through others was the day I shared with a small group of five childhood companions the story of my friend’s situation wherein six adults living under one roof were only able to afford one meal a day. We were group messaging, discussing the toll of recent days. I was only hoping to relieve my heartbreak by sharing my sadness. What happened next blew my mind. One after the other, these women and their families reached out with gifts of food, toilet paper and cash for me to pass onto my friend. Even my goddaughter, a high school student working part-time at Target, responded with a large sum of her savings toward the collection. We each did what we could and in the end we delivered over $1500 cash and gift cards, along with loads of supplies. We have an immense power, both individually and collectively to lighten the burden that crushes so many right now. The family was enabled to pay their mortgage and to secure enough food for a while. Since then many more opportunities have presented themselves. Time and time again, I have witnessed people of goodwill step up to care for others in creative and inspiring ways, even for strangers in need.

As we enter into another month of self-isolation, I still try to let a good dose of the world’s suffering into my heart, so as not to grow cold. But I have also begun to balance the breaking with the bright spots. For me these include the simple blessings which once went largely unnoticed when we were living in the normal day-to-day. Waking up to the laughter of my girl, who has at times taken on the schedule of your average vampire, has been like a medicine for my soul. Instead of being annoyed that she is up all night, I revel in the sound of the joy reverberating through my house in the early morning. When praying a blessing over my food before meal times, somehow my thoughts and intentions now include gratitude for the soil and its nutrients, the sun and the rain, the farmers and the food packagers, the pickers in the fields, the truck drivers and the grocery workers; all of these give of themselves to make it possible for me to nourish my body with food. For the first time in my adult life I find a sense of excitement to work outside in my yard to clean up the winter’s leaves and tackle the emerging weeds. To be surrounded by the beauty of spring and the new life it promises against the contrast of devastation that is our current reality is a gift unlike ever before.

On the Road to Emmaus, the followers of Jesus didn’t recognize Him at first because He was no longer the same after crucifixion and resurrection. Many of us naturally long for the time when we can go back to how things were before this pandemic changed everything. But in my longing for the comfort of normalcy, I find myself wrestling with the possibility that maybe I’m not supposed to be the same. So much has been exposed within me that I really don’t like seeing. I have been confronted by the character flaws and patterns that have comfortably hidden themselves under the guise of the normal routine. They include the false belief that since I have less than many of my neighbors in my affluent suburb, I shouldn’t be expected to give much to others; my lack of action that makes me complicit in creating a society that is unequal and unjust for those with the least among us; my unconscious mindset that I am entitled to my shelter, food and healthcare. These are all so ugly to face and yet, I can only hope and pray that when these dark days lighten, I will have been transformed. Maybe, just maybe, parts of me will even be unrecognizable compared to who I have been in the past.

Yesterday the death toll due to COVID 19 in the United States surpassed the number of Americans who died in the Vietnam War. This grim reality can remain but a cold, hard statistic unless we allow ourselves to enter into the stories of those who have been lost and the grief of those left behind. The temptation to avoid the suffering and remain hardened so that we don’t feel the pain is real. Yet it is precisely in this moment in history that we are being given the gift of an enormous opportunity. May we allow for enough of the breaking to occur within ourselves so that Love Incarnate may be made known to us and leave us transformed in His wake.

“It is no longer in my power to change, correct or add to the past; for neither sages or prophets could do that. And so what the past has embraced I must entrust to God.

O present moment, you belong to me, whole and entire. I desire to use you as best I can. And although I am weak and small, you grant me the grace of your omnipotence.

And so, trusting in Your mercy, I walk through life like a little child, offering you each day this heart burning with love for Your greater glory.”

Diary of Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska: Divine Mercy in My Soul

When the Almighty, All Powerful & All Loving One Does Not Measure Up

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The first time I can remember when the One who is Almighty, All Powerful and All Loving did not measure up to my expectations was on Sunday, March 20, 1977. It was the morning of my First Communion and I had been spiritually prepared for months in advance to receive the Body of Christ miraculously present in the little piece of unleavened bread known as the host. The problem was, no one, other than my uninformed, imaginative 8 year old self, had prepared me physically for this experience.

Disclaimer: As I continue, it is not my intention to be offensive in any way and I myself believe wholeheartedly to this day in the Real Presence of Jesus present in the Eucharist, however I will be honest about my experience of Him as a child. IF you are easily offended by such honesty, you should probably stop reading here.

My method of self-preparation for First Communion consisted in this: when bored during Mass, I would find myself daydreaming and staring at the bas relief-esque sacred artwork on the wall to the right of the sanctuary and imagining the delicious taste of heaven I was going to receive on the day of my First Communion. It was a beautiful piece of art, portraying the parable of the vines and branches, with grapes a predominant theme in the portrayal. The deep theological significance of grapes and vines and branches was completely lost on me at that stage of spiritual development. My sole focus was on the taste of grapes. In the web I wove in my little girl mind,  I associated the flavor of grape not with the actual fruit which we would consume plentifully each summer, but with the grape flavor I loved most–the one concocted by some genius pharmacist who helped brew up grape flavored Dimetapp, circa the 1970s. Back in the day I didn’t mind getting cold symptoms, because to be stuffed up and coughing meant a few days worth of better-than-candy Dimetapp was going to be freely poured onto a big spoon several times a day and handed over for me to drink. YUM! I was convinced this was most definitely a sweet pre-tasting of the heavenly banquet and how could God taste anything less delicious than Dimetapp?

Well, as you might imagine, March 20th arrived and all did not go according to my plan.  When a heavily wheat flavored host was placed upon the outstretched tongue of this girl whose daily experience with bread involved only the kind named Wonder, things quickly took a turn for the worse. First off, Jesus got stuck to the roof of my mouth. This was a frequent experience of early communicants, at least until you got into the practice of receiving communion. This only served to intensify the unexpected and unpleasant flavor of the wheat filling my taste buds with horror. I tried to swallow what I could, but before I knew what was coming, my gag reflex kicked in and everything holy I had just consumed landed into the lap of my visibly shaken mother. I guess you could say, things between Jesus and I didn’t get off to a good start. I was wholly disappointed in the Almighty One. Why did He sell Himself so short when in my mind He should have been the best tasting food on earth!!?? Thankfully, in response my parents didn’t overreact and call in an exorcist for me. Instead, they made me practice receiving unconsecrated hosts for weeks before I was allowed to try again with the Real Jesus. I am happy to report that the Almighty One didn’t give up on me, even though He didn’t measure up to what I thought He should be like.

I was reminded of this story just the other day because my mom is cleaning out boxes of old stuff and she handed me a copy of the church bulletin she saved from 1977 with my name listed under the article entitled “First Communions”. My parents, who are now in their early eighties, find themselves in a difficult situation. They are moving. The good news is they’ve lived longer than they had planned and therefore they need more cash to continue those lives. The bad news is their cash is tied up in their property. Since their vacation rental in Galena hasn’t sold in the last four years it has been off and on the market, they have decided to sell their main home. It breaks my heart to see them have to upend their comfortable retirement and leave the place they love, filled with memories of their grandchildren growing from babies to adults, large, cozy family celebrations and memorable card games around the table where all of us gathered to be together, basking in the the warmth of my parents’ love and support, while simultaneously trash talking whoever dealt us a crappy hand.

I sense a wrestling within me again with the One who is Almighty, All Powerful & All Loving. This scenario most definitely does not measure up to my expectations of how He should provide for them. They are two of the most wonderful human beings I’ve ever met and they’ve given their lives in love and service of God and humanity. Why is He selling Himself short by allowing His servants to have to undergo such hardship and humility!!?? To add insult to injury, in the last two weeks, my dad who like the old Timex slogan, “takes a licking, but keeps on ticking” broke his elbow and about 7 days later had a mini-stroke. “Some people will do anything to get out of packing” I said to my dad in jest, but truth be told I find myself just plain old mad at the Almighty One because my mom is now burdened with more of the heavy lifting, both proverbially and in reality. Thankfully, in response He who is Almighty, All Powerful & All Loving doesn’t overreact and call in an exorcist for me. Instead, He invites me to practice the art of opening my eyes wide to find the good, the blessing, the lovely, the beautiful through this, in this and with this unfortunate scenario.

My parent’s oldest grandchild Keegan, and his wife Emma, are amazing humans. They have a way about them that is set apart. They are very passionate about that which they believe is important and their actions match their beliefs. One passion they have is giving back to those who have given to others. They have offered their comfortable ranch home to my parents to live in while Keegan is on active duty with the United States Marine Corps, thus removing a huge burden as to where to go now. Keegan will be taking time off of work to fly home in advance of the move to outfit the house with some added safety features so that Grandma and Papa are comfortable and safe. It occurs to me that maybe this scenario has been allowed so that the graciousness of their spirits and joy of giving back may shine forth through Keegan and Emma, and my mom and dad can receive full circle the extravagant and supportive love they have shown since the day Keegan was born. “Open your eyes to this goodness” the still, small voice whispers to me.

Mom and I met the most lovely of women when Darlene, the realtor, showed up at the door one day at the end of March. Not only did she affirm my mom’s great sense of design, but shared how relieved she was at discovering there was not much work to be done here to stage the house. Darlene grew up with Emma’s parents, and greeted my parents as family, since they are Emma’s grandparents-in-law. With warmth and sweetness, she left my parents with hope and support and a generosity they had not expected to encounter in the experience of listing their home on the market. Although my career path took a very wide turn somewhere during my twenties, in my early life and early days of college, I wanted to be an Interior Designer. In the midst of the sadness of change, I found it to be a fun, creative and bonding experience working with my mom to get the house picture-ready. Darlene was impressed by our efforts and less than 24 hours after the house was listed, it sold. It occurs to me that maybe this scenario has been allowed so that mom and I may be gifted with time together to build new, joyful memories in the midst of a letting go of old ones. “Open your eyes to this blessing” the still, small voice whispers to me.

In the past I have written more than once about my parent’s incredible love story, still going strong 57 years later. Every so often there is an opportunity to listen anew when they retell it to someone and I revel in hearing every last detail. Lo and behold, in preparing for moving day, my mom came upon a box of old letters my dad wrote to her when they had broken up, months before they ended up eloping and getting married. I was salivating at the chance to learn of these unknown details of their story and she let me read them. BE STILL MY BEATING HEART. When he thought all was lost and the plan was not going to go as he thought he wrote to her, “Of course I want you to change your mind about things and marry me because I know we would be happy together…if I can’t have you I can do the next best thing by remaining close to you so I can continue to tear myself up into little pieces.” And, I’ll never forget you Suzanne Kennedy. I’ll remember all the good times and forget the bad. And as long as both of us are single, I’ll always hope that you’ll end up as my roommate for life. For no matter which way our lives lead us there will always be a section of my heart labeled “Sue & Todd”. (Todd is my brother from my mom’s first marriage and was about 3 or 4 years old at the time) But wait, there’s more…”I sincerely hope that you can decide what you want and get off the merry-go-round of confusion. It may be that you will be up and down with everyone that comes along. (In which case you’d be better off with me) But I sincerely hope not. I’m still available…my standing proposal is always open. I wish I could give you the world; but more than this I wish I could give you peace of mind in everything you do and all decisions you make.” Signed: “Just a tired, bewildered, little fool who wishes he had your shoulder to lay his befuddled head on every once in awhile. Chuck.”

“DAD!” I found myself exclaiming aloud after reading these lines, “Boy were you smooth!!  You got the girl!! You won her over with your words and your heart!! You are good Dad!!” And suddenly he who finds himself saddened with broken body, unavailable to help his wife with the tasks of the move, he lights up like a Christmas tree and remembers that this life he has built with this incredible woman was good, is good and will continue to be good. It occurs to me that maybe this scenario has been allowed so that dad may be reminded of his wonderful life and be affirmed in the excellent choices he has made, even though in his current situation his body prevents him from being who he wants to be for Mom.  “Open your eyes to the lovely” the still, small voice whispers to me.

My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the LORD.

And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine.

For just as the heavens are higher than the earth,

so my ways are higher than your ways

and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.”

ISAIAH 55:8-9

40+ years past my First Communion and our rough start together, I am happy to report that the Almighty One still hasn’t given up on me, even though He doesn’t always measure up to what I think He should be doing. And thankfully, He gently reminds me of my place in creation, while generously opening wide my eyes to see He surpasses my standard of measurement through the revelation of His presence most clearly in the good, the blessing, the lovely and the beautiful found in the scenarios I might even see as unfortunate.

Yesterday, on April 27th, in the midst of a beautiful week of Spring, a nasty snowstorm hit the Chicagoland area. “This is just wrong! This isn’t how it should be” was overheard all day in conversation, on the television, and on social media. Early in the morning today when I woke up and went out for my cup of coffee, I was awestruck by the beauty of the colors and contrast found in the rare palette of white snow, partially covering the bright green grass and colorful tulips set against the backdrop of a clear blue sky. It occurs to me that maybe this scenario has been allowed so that we all may realize that the most awe inspiring moments are sometimes born from the unwelcome, unwanted and unexpected intrusions into our lives. “Open your eyes to the beautiful” the still, small voice whispers to me and continues,“I am the Almighty, All Powerful & All Loving One. Trust me. I’ve got this!”

 Yet just as from the heavens

the rain and snow come down

And do not return there

till they have watered the earth,

making it fertile and fruitful,

Giving seed to the one who sows

and bread to the one who eats,

So shall my word be

that goes forth from my mouth;

It shall not return to me empty,

but shall do what pleases me,

achieving the end for which I sent it.

Yes, in joy you shall go forth, in peace you shall be brought home…”

ISAIAH 55:10-12b

The Lifeless Backdrop for a Glorious Unfolding

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A couple of years ago, during the same time of the year in which we find ourselves now, I wrote a blog post about the contrasts found in nature, which also seem to mirror the contrasts found in the experiences of our lives. I am grateful for the opportunity given me by Carlos Briceño, editor of Christ is Our Hope Magazine to revisit the post and update it to be relevant for today.

During the process of revision, it struck me how the same words written then still hold true today. Many of my loved ones are still suffering; watching them endure heart-wrenching experiences is still painful and there are days when I still feel utterly helpless to relieve their suffering. Yet these same written words also hold true—life’s moments filled with the darkness of hatred, despair, failure, betrayal and loneliness still can serve as the lifeless backdrop for a glorious unfolding to come. May we keep our eyes wide open so we might see it and recognize it and be empowered by it anew.

The Lifeless Backdrop for a Glorious Unfolding as featured in the March 2017 edition of Christ is Our Hope Magazine.

 

Sweetness of Body & Soul Found in the Embrace of My Enemy

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Continued from Embracing the Unlikely Culprit that Unshackled My Soul

When after years of struggle I finally made the decision to follow in the footsteps of St. Francis, climb off my proverbial horse and embrace the leper in my life, my interior shackles began to loosen. That which predominantly tormented me spiritually and emotionally was my need to control life and the people in it. This need for control controlled me. It made me a slave to its every impulse. And as my husband, the psychotherapist taught me, one definition of crazy is trying the same behavior over and over and expecting a different result. I had to try something different if I was going to get healthier. Running was the last thing I ever wanted to try, but try it I did.

Giving alms and a kiss to this leper meant giving it the precious gift of my time and conjuring up some sort of affection for it. At first, the kiss I gave it was like the ones I was made to give as a child, on the cheeks of aunts and uncles and grandmas upon arriving or leaving a family gathering—obligatory, lacking in sincerity, sometimes followed by wiping the lips clean of the germs left by the one embraced. But like the good girl I was taught to be, I did it nonetheless.

»The Early Days

It was winter. Never would I have entertained the idea of running outside. Lucky for me, there was a new indoor track nearby. About four times a week, usually early in the morning (when no one else was there to whom I could negatively compare myself), I made my way there and I began to walk the straight parts and run the curves. I won’t lie, at first it seemed so boring and repetitive and a waste of my time, but I brought along music which became my saving grace. Music had the ability to transport me away from the monotony. It served to drown out the sound of my heavy breathing, so that I wouldn’t become discouraged when I heard how out of shape I was. It became my partner in this new relationship. Without it, I don’t think I could have kept up the routine past a couple of days.

I was nearly 40 lbs. overweight. Changing this reality was my main motivation for beginning. Slowly, but surely, I began to see that embracing my enemy was something I should have considered a long time ago. Nevertheless, what mattered now was to remain faithful to this new relationship in a consistent way. As I did, measurable transformation began to take place. Physically, I was becoming stronger and leaner. My endurance grew. Clothing became too big and new clothes had to be purchased. The number on the scale decreased steadily. As my confidence increased, so did my affection for running. It was giving to me things I couldn’t experience without it in my life.

When winter turned to spring, I moved outside to a track at a nearby college. By now I could run an entire lap, walk a lap, run a lap. And the fresh air was a change I welcomed. For years I had avoided the great outdoors. I hated the cold, the heat, the rain, the snow. I despised how uncomfortable it all made me feel and the mess it created. Feeling cold or hot or sweaty or wet was not in my comfort zone. However, since spring in Chicago is practically over before it begins, it wasn’t long before we were slammed with a hot and humid day. I was at a crossroads. Was I willing to leave my comfort zone in order to continue the journey I had begun, even when conditions were not within my control? Even when it would leave me feeling hot and sweaty and messy? Yet that which had once seemed so bitter to me, running, had slowly turned into sweetness of body. I looked better, felt better, slept better and somehow, the anxiety disorder that had plagued me since childhood, it no longer controlled my every move. The decision was made. I kept on running, even in the heat.

»Revisiting My Past While Looking Forward to the Future

Beyond the investment of time, I now found myself investing in a pair of authentic running shoes, a couple pair of running shorts and tanks. Before long I could run an entire half mile, then 3/4 of a mile. Finishing with sweat pouring down my forehead, my hair drenched; it felt strangely empowering. Who was this person I was becoming? Though I didn’t entirely recognize her, I really liked being with her.

One day in a bold move, she took me back to visit my old elementary school. At the very same playground where I had finished dead last in the annual mile year after year, she led me in a one mile run. This time I ran the entire mile, finishing in a decent time, with my head held high. Tears of healing and joy streamed down my face as I imagined speaking to the broken, demoralized little girl of my past. “You are stronger than you know”, I told her. “One day, things will be better. Don’t give up hope.” For good measure, I did a victory lap before I left the playground that day; the theme song from Chariots of Fire playing as the soundtrack in my mind. I felt unstoppable.

It was the beginning of June; my 40th Birthday was fast approaching. I set my sights on kicking off this new decade of my life by running my first race. There was one being held on my birthday on the lakefront in Chicago. It was a 5K race; 3.1 miles. For the next six weeks, I followed a training plan and ran more than ever. I ran off of the track and ventured into my neighborhood. Living within just 1/2 mile from a beautiful river, I decided to explore the trails alongside it and a whole new world was opened up to me.

»Undergoing Deeper Transformation 

Crossing the finish line at that first race on July 26, 2009 was, in retrospect, a definitive starting line for a deep spiritual transformation that continues to this day. Crystallized within me at that moment was the resolution to enter into a lifelong embrace with my former enemy. This embrace had already brought such sweetness to my body and mind in such a short time; just now was I beginning to savor the delights it brought to my soul.

It didn’t take long for me to discover that the healing of my soul was somehow tied to my resolve to do as much of my running as possible in the great outdoors. Predominantly, my miles have been traversed outside, in the rain, in the sun, in the wind, in the calm, in the extreme heat, in the extreme cold, in perfect conditions, in imperfect conditions and everything in between. Cooperating with nature several times a week, especially here in the Midwest, has demanded of me to become very flexible. Each day of each season presents to me a wild variety of requirements for the way I need to dress, the way I need to plan for my hydration, the route I need to take and the attitude I need to develop in order to accomplish my goal. Day-by-day, if I want to run, I am required to adapt and flex.

On days like today, adapting and flexing looks like checking the weather to assess the day’s forecast for precipitation and temperature in order to determine when is the optimum time for running before the sun sets at 4:24 p.m. It means dressing in three layers on the top, donning a hat, two pair of gloves and running shoes with spikes in them to prevent me from slipping on ice. Since my favorite route is temporarily impassable due to snow and ice, I will run the streets in my town and set my mind to be inspired by nature and the occasional sighting of dogs, squirrels and bunnies. With all of the outdoor water fountains shut off during winter, I will plan to stop by the local 7-11 for some hydration.

In the summer, adapting and flexing looks like planning on leaving super early, before the heat and humidity render me incapacitated. It means dressing as lightly as possible, with a headband in my hair to catch the sweat from dripping into my eyes. Since my favorite path provides shade, I will run along the river, through the woods and anticipate being inspired by nature and the occasional sightings of foxes, deer, beavers, turtles and the predictable encounters with Canadian Geese and Mallard Ducks (and their abundance of poop) along the waterfront. With all of the outdoor water fountains working, I will rely on them for hydration. However, if I am going to be running for awhile, I will to drive to spots along the path ahead of time and drop some Gatorade.

Slowly, but surely, I am being transformed through the ongoing embrace of running. The lessons to adapt and flex with every single changing condition, first learned in the physical and emotional realm, now have taken root in my spiritual life. With each stride I take, surrounded by the beauty of creation, I am awakened to the presence of the Creator, both outside of me and within. I am being taught to accept the things I cannot change, being strengthened with courage to change the things I can and being graced with the wisdom to know the difference.

»By No Power of My Own

Dominican historian, Fr. Augustine Thompson wrote this about St. Francis and the affect that his embrace of the lepers brought to him:

What before was truly ugly and repulsive now caused him delight and joy, not only spiritually, but viscerally and physically.  The startled veteran sensed himself, by God’s grace and no power of his own, remade into a different man. Just as suddenly, the sins that had been tormenting him seemed to melt away, and Francis experienced a kind of spiritual rebirth and healing.”

(Testament of St Francis 1-2).

More than seven years have passed since I crossed that finish line for the first time. In the process of training and completing seven half marathons, I have logged thousands of miles. Sometimes when I glance at my Nike App after finishing a run and view the total distances I have traversed, I am shocked that it is me who has accomplished this. Truth be told, even after all this time, I still don’t love the act of running itself. Yet what before was truly ugly and repulsive now causes me delight and joy. I sense by the grace of God and no power of my own, I am being remade into a different woman and a kind of spiritual rebirth and healing is mine.

This post was inspired by a podcast entitled, “Running as Spiritual Practice”, from “On Being with Krista Tippett”. If you would like to hear others’ stories of how running served to transform their lives, click here.