My dad was one of 13 kids, and we were 1 of only 2 of the families who moved away from Missouri, so growing up there were only a few cousins I saw, and that was pretty infrequent. I'm in St. Louis, MO this weekend, for my uncle's funeral. It has been really good to reconnect with family, and even meet some cousins I had never seen before. It has been a week of topsy-turvy emotions; of being a support and allowing myself to be supported by others.
A song that keeps rolling through my head is Rich Mullins' "If I Stand"
There's more that rises in the morning
Than the sun
And more that shines in the night
Than just the moon
It's more than just this fire here
That keeps me warm
In a shelter that is larger
Than this room
And there's a loyalty that's deeper
Than mere sentiments
And a music higher than the songs
That I can sing
The stuff of Earth competes
For the allegiance
I owe only to the giver
Of all good things
So if I stand let me stand on the promise
That you will pull me through
And if I can't, let me fall on the grace
That first brought me to You
And if I sing let me sing for the joy
That has born in me these songs
And if I weep let it be as a man
Who is longing for his home
There's more that dances on the prairies
Than the wind
More that pulses in the ocean
Than the tide
There's a love that is fiercer
Than the love between friends
More gentle than a mother's
When her baby's at her side
And there's a loyalty that's deeper
Than mere sentiments
And a music higher than the songs
That I can sing
The stuff of Earth competes
For the allegence
I owe only to the Giver
Of all good things
So if I stand let me stand on the promise
That you will pull me through
And if I can't, let me fall on the grace
That first brought me to You
And if I sing let me sing for the joy
That has born in me these songs
And if I weep let it be as a man
Who is longing for his home
And if I weep let it be as a man
Who is longing for his home
St. Louis is my family's home. I've always considered Oregon to be home. But the older I get the more I realize that really, being with family is being home no matter where I am.
I miss my uncle Don, and I miss my dad, and I miss my family and, as I type this, I am weeping -- as a man who is longing for the day when we can all be at home together again.
In November 2006, on the day after Thanksgiving, I bought my first motorcycle. It was a dream come true. Recently I sold that bike and today, the dream-come-true experience expanded as I rode home on my very own BMWR1150R!
When I bought my first bike, I posted about the CE armored, ultra-safe riding gear I purchased. Recently I got some new gear to go with the new bike. I got this jacket (bright enough for you?)
After a few years I finally got around to updating my blog template to Blogger's "layouts". The main reason I delayed so long is that the custom look and feel of my blog was important to me. It took some time and tweaking this morning before I was satisfied and I'm sure I'll tweak some more later.
In June, 2009 I ran the Helvetia Half Marathon in Hillsboro, Oregon. That was my first "Half" and I'd followed the training programs in Marathoning for Mortals. I was ready. I came, I ran, I conquered. It kicked my butt, but I did it. I was proud of my accomplishment (and still am), but was not done. That Half was just one short-term goal on the way to a larger goal of running the Portland Marathon in October 2010.
Another milestone will come tomorrow when I run the Cascade Half Marathon in Turner, Oregon (featured in the Jan 2010 issue of Runners World Magazine!). Unlike last time, I have no specific mile-marker dedications. Tomorrow I'm just going to run.
I started training back on Monday October 12, 2009. Since then I've run over 200 miles, which amounts to a total on-road time of over 36 hrs. I also cross-trained some by cycling -- almost 100 miles in a little over 8 1/2 hours total. It would have been more but I lost motivation for road-cycling after the first 2 months. But that's better than my last Half where I only cross-trained for one month. And, if you've followed me on FaceBook or you know me IRL, you know almost 95% of those 300 miles and 45 hours was in the dark, before sunrise.
Again I've been following the training plans in Marathoning for Mortals, and I feel strong. I feel ready. I'm hoping for a PR. I'm hoping to break the 2 hr mark. But really I'll be happy if I finish.
This time tomorrow I hope to be in the second-half of my 2nd "Half".
But I know a longer road lies ahead of me:
Running 13.1 twice in 6 months is great, but it doesn't mean I'm ready for 26.2 yet.
But it isn't October 2010 yet, so I don't have to be ready yet. One day at a time, one mile at a time, one step at a time.
And first things first -- I still have a race to run tomorrow and I'll be out there rain or shine...
On Monday August 27, 2007 I started my job as an RN Case Manager -- a home-visiting Hospice RN taking care of around 10-15 patients on a weekly basis. One week later, my dad died.
On Monday January 4, 2010 I will start my new job as an RN Clinical Manager -- supervising around 20 staff including RNs, Social Workers, Hospice Aides, and a Spiritual Care Coordinator who will collectively care for around 40-60 patients.
As I type this our 16 year-old cat Jack is sleeping next to me on the couch, but he is not well. He has declined rapidly over the last few weeks, and may not have more than a week left to live. We're hoping for more, of course, but also don't want him to suffer.
As I reflect, I can't help but see the parallels. Life is so good, so full of promise and potential. But then suddenly events outside my control converge and conflagrate, and life seems so much more tenuous; so fragile and mysterious, and all my questions go unanswered. Problems go unsolved. "Conclusions" seem, at best, elusive -- and at worst, evasive.
While sitting with Jack I've been reading a book recommended to me by my good friend Dave Kellogg. Dave was the High School Sports Editor for the San Jose Mercury News and for the past few years has been the Sports Editor at the Monterey Herald. He ran the Big Sur Marathon and blogged about his training. As a journalist and athlete, he's encouraging and upbeat...but he's also a realist. I'm enjoying the book he recommended: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami, who is a Japanese novelist (I'm reading the English translation of his book) and a long-distance runner with the experience of multiple marathons, triathlons, and even an ultra-marathon (100k = 62 miles).
With all that being said, here's the quote I want to share with you which ties it all together. Mr. Murakami is speaking of not finishing the New York City Marathon in his planned time -- how on race day his plans fell through and he never heard the Rocky theme song like he'd imagined. But he's also talking about life when he says:
At certain points in our lives, when we really need a solution, the person who knocks on our door is, more likely than not, a messenger bearing bad news. It isn't always the case, but from experience I'd say the gloomy reports far outnumber the others. The messenger touches his hand to his cap and looks apologetic, but that does nothing to improve the contents of the message. It isn't the messenger's fault. No good to blame him, no good to grab him by the collar and shake him. The messenger is just conscientiously doing the job his boss assigned him. And this boss? That would be none other than our old friend Reality.
He tells the story of his race training, and race plans, and race-day plan-execution...and has no clear answer for why he didn't reach his goal-time. But He doesn't let the failure or setback effect his stride in life. He doesn't let the lack of an obvious solution or "Conclusion" keep him off the road for too long. He keeps on running.
There's one thing, though, that I can state with confidence: until the feeling that I've done a good job on a race returns, I'm going to keep running marathons, and not let it get me down. Even when I grow old and feeble, when people warn me it's about time to throw in the towel, I won't care. As long as my body allows I'll keep on running. Even if my [race] time gets worse, I'll keep on putting in as much effort -- perhaps even more effort -- toward my goal of finishing [my next] marathon. I don't care what others say -- that's just my nature, the way I am. Like scorpions sting, cicadas cling to trees, salmon swim upstream to where they were born, and wild ducks mate for life.
I may not hear the Rocky theme song, or see the sunset anywhere, but for me...this may be a sort of conclusion. An understated, rainy-day-sneakers sort of conclusion. An anticlimax, if you will. Turn it into a screenplay, and the Hollywood producer would just glance at the last page and toss it back. But the long and the short of it is that this kind of a conclusion fits who I am.
What I mean is, I didn't start running because somebody asked me to become a runner. Just like I didn't become a novelist because someone asked me to. One day, out of the blue, I wanted to write a novel. And one day, out of the blue, I started to run -- simply because I wanted to.
I look up at the sky, wondering if I'll catch a glimpse of kindness there, but I don't. All I see are indifferent summer clouds drifting over the Pacific. And they have nothing to say to me. Clouds are always taciturn. I probably shouldn't be looking up at them. What I should be looking at is inside of me. Like staring down into a deep well. Can I see kindness there?
Mr. Muraki goes on and says "No" to his own question.
But I say "Yes" to mine.
I didn't become a Hospice Nurse because someone asked me to. One day in nursing school almost 15 years ago I watched a brief video on hospice care that has ended up changing my life -- because out of the blue I decided I wanted to help people facing the end of their lives stay as comfortable as possible, feel as loved as possible, and maintain as much dignity and self-determination as possible. So when I look inside -- into my well, I do see kindness: not only for others, but also for myself.
And, like Mr. Murakami, I don't run because someone asked me to become a runner. Today I am a runner because one day back in late May of 2008, out of the blue, I decided that I wanted to run. And as I've become a runner I've discovered another well inside me. This one has determination; stick-to-it-iveness I never knew was there. I found faithfulness that, like the kindness, can be for me too.
Jack has just hobbled up onto my lap, laid down, and started to purr.
And right now Monday morning's training run and new job responsibilities are an eternity away.
The mid-January half-marathon is past the horizon and the early October 2010 Portland Marathon (my first) is just a hopeful gleam in my eye.
Right now, for today, a warm purring cat on my lap is enough. I'm content. I really really am.
I received an eMail recently, linking me to this YouTube video. The video seems to imply that being asked to say "Happy Holidays" is somehow offensive to Christians and we should stand up for our "right" to say "Merry Christmas" to people instead -- even if it offends them.
It made me think about a post I wrote back in 2005 -- so I am re-posting it here -- what do you all think?
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I like Thanksgiving. I also like celebrating Christmas, and the start of a New Year. I also like learning about other cultures and traditions. Channukah, Kwanzaa, etc.
So am I the only one who doesn't really mind saying "Happy Holidays" to people?
I mean, sure, I'm a Christian and so for me the signifigance of Christmas is such that this one holiday is at the center of my holiday season. But I know that's not true for everyone.
Me wishing a "Merry Christmas" to people who don't celebrate it is like me saying "Happy Birthday!" to someone when it isn't their birthday -- isn't it? And isn't it rude for me to just assume that everyone I know thinks like I do, and celebrates the same things -- and isn't it even more rude for me to somehow imply they should, by making a big deal of only saying "Merry Christmas", or griping when an employer encourages the use of "Happy Holidays" instead?
And anyway -- aren't "holidays" really just "holy days" and if "holy" means (among other things) "set apart" and "special" then why all the fuss when employers encourage people not to say "Merry Christmas" and instead only "allow" them to say "Happy Holidays" -- isn't that a nicer thing to say anyway -- more inclusive?
I had a sort of epiphany this morning while running. I like it when that happens. I'm running along and my mind is clearing out, and suddenly an idea pops into my head, so I start to play with it. Then, before I realize what's happened, I have a whole new outlook on something, because my perspective has been turned inside-out, in a really good way. These moments seem to happen more often when I run than at other times of the day.
This morning I was thinking about being stressed at work and had an inside-out-turning of my perspective that was really great. Before I share that with you, I have to let you a little deeper into my world so it'll be more meaningful.
In my job as a Hospice RN I have to stay flexible with a host of shifting priorities and that constant shifting is a major source of stress for me. I know many people face similar challenges, so let me share my unique situation.
My perfect day at work is when I am scheduled to see Mr. A, then Mr. B, then Ms. C, then Mrs. D, then go home, and that is exactly what happens. But it is rare. Usually it is very different.
Let's say it is Tuesday and I am scheduled to have the perfect day. But if Mrs. D calls in the morning saying she is having a problem, maybe I can help her over the phone, but maybe not -- I may need to see her first and reschedule the other patients. Or what if Mr. G calls and is having a problem? Now I need to see him today instead of Thursday, and that may mean bumping one of my other patients to a different day. Maybe I come to work and find that Mr. B died last night. I may not need to go to his home today, but maybe I will. At least I'll make a phone call, and offer emotional support. Or maybe I come to work and find a message on my Blackberry that Ms. N is going to be a new patient and it is my responsibility to introduce her to our services -- which means I'll need to dedicate 4+ hours to this process, which means shuffling other patients around...
You get the picture. Now let me complicate it further by telling you that on average I care for 10-13 patients at a time. And patients are people. And people who are facing life-shortening illness sometimes have changes happen quickly, and they need me to help them in those times.
I love helping people, but I hate it when my perfectly planned day gets tossed out the window -- whether that happens at 1:15pm or 8:15am.
When my schedule changes, I often grumble and complain inside, but then I feel bad about it because after all these are PEOPLE who are DYING I am dealing with, and I should be a better sport about the whole thing (especially since, HELLO!, I intentionally CHOSE to go into this line of work). So not only am I stressed about the shifting priorities but I feel bad about being stressed. Then I cut myself some slack and remind myself I'm human too, and as such I get the grace to be imperfect and have needs and faults.
So my priorities get shifted every day, and that stresses me because it feels as if I am being pulled in 15 different directions all at once. It feels like this:
Do you notice how he looks like he is having fun?
I don't get that.
Maybe that's because if he drops a plate all that happens is people laugh and he says "oops". But in my job the plates are people so if I drop a plate it is a much bigger deal. I don't like that possibility, so I'd rather deal with fewer plates at a time. See, if I could just have 4 plates today, then 4 plates tomorrow, I think I'd be OK (I'm probably wrong about that as well, but I digress...).
But I don't just have 4 plates today and 4 plates tomorrow. I have 13 plates all at one time. I can do my best to figure out which plates to help on any given day, but my reality is one of constantly being called upon to run from plate to plate keeping them all spinning.
Because of the nature of my work I know each patient will die, and on average this happens just about every 5 days. So every 5 days or so a plate is removed from my responsibilities, but that is hard on me because it usually happens just when I've grown fond of that particular plate and also just figured out how best to keep it spinning. And it also means that when I least expect it I will be told "Here you go -- another new plate to go figure out."
I have to pause here and say I really hope I don't sound callous. Each and every patient I care for has tremendous worth as a human being and I treasure the moments they allow me in to share their lives with them as they finish their journey here. Each patient is very special to me and referring to them as "plates" may seem discompassionate or even cavalier and I'm sorry for that. But I'm trying to help you understand my human heart and frailty as a person and how stressful my job can be. Because the more you understand how stressful my job can be, within the context of the spinning plates analogy, the more sense it will make to you when I go on now and tell you my epiphany.
There I was running along in the pre-dawn wondering what to do with the stress I feel from spinning plates, and in my mind's eye the imagery shifted, and turned all inside-out and bass-ackwards.
It went from this: to this: And suddenly I felt peaceful about it all. See, instead of me being the guy who is running from plate to plate trying to keep them all spinning...what if in reality I am. Just. One. Plate?
What if all I need to worry about it is keeping myself spinning by staying centered on that stick?
And that would imply each of my patients has a measure of responsibility for their own spinning. Yes, I have an important role to play, but really it is their journey, not mine.
It turns out I'm stressed because I take on a responsibility that is not mine to take!
Wow.
And then as I was reeling from that "A-ha!" moment, the image shifted a bit again...to this: And it was another "A-Ha!" moment. See, the idea of keeping myself centered is good but horribly incomplete because,
the reality is plates don't actually have the ability to spin themselves.
I don't have the capacity to keep myself centered. If I am the plate, then any "responsibility" I take -- any wiggling motion I do make to try and "keep myself centered" usually just makes things worse and the best thing to do is relax and choose to trust The One whose hand is down there keeping me spinning.
That removes a ton stress, and I can just be me and help people and not sweat the other stuff. And that is good for me, but it is also good for my patients, and my coworkers and my wife, and everybody! =O)
A guy from the 1st century called Paul understood this pretty well and wrote some stuff about it, if you want to read it here. I've read his comments before and thought I understood them, but today I got a personalized example and word-picture. Pretty cool huh?
