It's August, 2015. Three and a half years since Rwanda. Yesterday, I ran my first half marathon.
When I started this blog, I thought about adding "running" to the Rs in the title (hence my poem called 'The Fourth R,' which you can read in a previous post), but I thought that would be too confusing. And I didn't want to make it a big part of my writing, my thinking, because the Rwanda trip was about God's work in me and through me.
While in Rwanda, I had hoped to continue training (just running) for whatever sport I would be doing when I returned to Gustavus -- skiing or track (and it ended up being track). But I think I ended up running just twice, short distances.
God did work in me, and I hope through me, though I may never know how I affected or influenced any of the Rwandans I met. I remember walking with pregnant Claire to the bank, holding hands, just the two of us. It meant "nothing," but it also meant something. It was a symbol of trust. It was a symbol of the Rwandan culture. It was a moment I can't imagine I'll ever forget.
Nor will I forget when Willy came to see me after I had been sick, and I complained about having to stop writing my blog, mid-sentence, to say hello. Karen chastised me for being childish. I was overwhelmed with guilt and even shame. I think that criticism in particular has always been the hardest for me to take, the most humiliating. But perhaps it teaches me to be kinder. Reminds me that people don't always see things, situations, the way I do. Intolerance of differences in perspective can forever damage relationships, and it makes life just plain hard, harder than it has to be. Especially if one side does not understand or really believe in true forgiveness.
If I had made running more of a priority while in Rwanda for such a short time, I may have completely missed certain revelations, such as these, that God had planned for me. I may even have lost sight of certain truths, at least for a time. I will likely never know What May Have Been, had I run more, but I am sure my life would have been different.
When I returned to Gustavus, it was Touring Week. I had arranged to stay on campus, as had many athletes and students who's homes were far away. But most people stuck to their rooms. I ran every day. And on the seventh day, as I recall, I ran 10.5 miles without stopping. That was the farthest I had run in my life, and it was glorious.
I still don't know quite what got in me that day. I used to think it may have been that I was lighter, and could last longer. (I lost a significant amount of weight in Rwanda, though I don't recall the number. Part of it was getting sick. Part of it may have been though food, though I certainly ate plenty to keep myself full 90% of the time.) But after yesterday's half marathon (if not long before), I doubt that had anything to do with it. I don't know exactly what happened, but I believe that God knows what's best for us, and when. He knew I hadn't trained, He knows I am stubborn, and could have started the race and hurt myself and had to drop out of the race to learn my lesson. But he also knew it didn't have to go that way. He knew how finishing the race well (well enough, in my opinion), and running with certain people at certain points in the race would empower me.
I have another long race (an 8.5-mile leg of a mountainous marathon relay) coming up in a month, and I won't promise that I'll run 5-6 or even 3 times a week, leading up to that. I won't tell you my half marathon finish has given me a full cup of motivation that will eternally runneth over. But I learned something about the power of will yesterday, about the potential of the human body; if I can endure, and then push myself to a physical limit for the sake of finishing an event I paid money for, just because I paid for it/signed up, how much more can I endure and do by the power of prayer? Why do I not trust that prayer will be more than enough for an equivalent spiritual accomplishment, when it is what the Bible teaches? Why do we rely on our own understanding?
Perhaps I have learned nothing, by the worldly definitions of knowledge -- I have only questions, it seems. But by asking these questions, I feel I have learned something. I'm onto something, and it is more awe-some than frustrating. I experienced Something. In Rwanda I experienced many Somethings. And I wonder about those things. I wonder. And, at least for now, that is enough.
Run. Learn. Wonder. Stand in awe. See where that leads.
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