Powered by Faith representing our stillborn daughter Faith MaryJo, and the four mile distance represented the four years she’s had her heavenly wings. In the hospital after she was born we were given a story about a dragonfly getting it’s wings and flying off to Heaven, so dragonflies (and pennies from heaven) have always been something special to our family.
Today’s race was a virtual race, but I am joined by some dear friends and encourager's of mine, who live thousands of miles away, in different time zones, but who chose to get up and get out and join me, to push themselves, to better themselves, to support me, and to honor Faith. I am so grateful and proud of them!
We set this race quite a while back, and this weekend finally arrived!
And then I got to bed late, and then I couldn’t sleep well, and then I realized I’d forgotten to buy more batteries for my noxgear - all that typical “night before a race” stuff that tries to wreak havoc on you.
The alarm went off, and I was up and getting ready, more excitement than dread coursing through my veins. I headed out into the cool early morning dawn and took a left down the quiet rural Minnesota backroad. Since I didn’t have batteries for my noxgear I did wait just a bit longer than usual to start my run, so there was a little more daylight and visibility.
At the half way point the scene in the sky was… breathtaking. The vibrancy of the colors behind the clouds just continued to grow and intensify. I had to stop for a quick photo and continued on to finish. The spot where I finished was also just an amazing view. I stood there watching in silence as the sun continued to rise, as it peeked its first rays over the horizon, as it slowly rose higher and higher, dancing and playing among the clouds also hovering nearby in the sky.
I found myself feeling just so grateful to be right there in that moment, right there in that moment of majesty and beauty, as sweat slowly trickled down my back and forehead from a run that I was just able to complete, thanks to the training and current health within my body that I have been so diligently working on for the last three years.
I was humbled, I was in awe, and I was beyond grateful.
I arrived back at the camper and took just a few more minutes to photo and selfie with my medal and bib (yup, I’m one of those… I admit it… sorry for those of you who aren’t or don’t get it… it’s just something I enjoy and it brings me joy. I love going back through race photos and physically touching those medals, turning them over to look at the stats I’ve marked on each one with a sharpie with that particularly race’s stats, location, distance, time etc. Each race is a story, a moment, a part of my journey. Each race holds its memories and moments, and yes… I selfie with them “insert smile emoji”).
I sat down at the lake for a while, the bib and medal laying on top of the chipped white dock for a while. I was alone, there was no wind, it was warm, and I had that clammy, after-run sweaty feeling where you almost want a sweatshirt, but know you’d just overheat.
The water was lapping softly at the edge of the sand, there was a family of goslings all slowly swimming around the docks and boat lifts, a few clouds hung above the water, a few birds were in the sky and chirping in the trees above.
I breathed in deep and closed my eyes. Wanting to savor, to capture, to remain within it all just a little longer. All of that, right there, was a moment when all of my favorite things aligned. The lake, the sunsetoclock aqua and red Adirondack chairs, the docks, the sunrise I'd stood within just moments before, the run I had completed, the sweat and the sore muscles a quiet reminder of the pace and distance I’d pushed myself through, the texts coming from my friend who was also just finishing this same race all the way over in Virgina…
The moment stood still for just a millisecond. I looked down at the medal in my hand, the dragonfly and it’s beautiful aqua wings (which yes, someday will be tattooed on my body) and I was grateful. Not grateful that it had to happen, not grateful that it had to represent the loss of our daughter… but a recognition of the grand significance of knowing somehow, amid all the hurt and pain and loss, “this” had come out of it…
Today’s race was a virtual race, but I am joined by some dear friends and encourager's of mine, who live thousands of miles away, in different time zones, but who chose to get up and get out and join me, to push themselves, to better themselves, to support me, and to honor Faith. I am so grateful and proud of them!
We set this race quite a while back, and this weekend finally arrived!
And then I got to bed late, and then I couldn’t sleep well, and then I realized I’d forgotten to buy more batteries for my noxgear - all that typical “night before a race” stuff that tries to wreak havoc on you.
The alarm went off, and I was up and getting ready, more excitement than dread coursing through my veins. I headed out into the cool early morning dawn and took a left down the quiet rural Minnesota backroad. Since I didn’t have batteries for my noxgear I did wait just a bit longer than usual to start my run, so there was a little more daylight and visibility.
At the half way point the scene in the sky was… breathtaking. The vibrancy of the colors behind the clouds just continued to grow and intensify. I had to stop for a quick photo and continued on to finish. The spot where I finished was also just an amazing view. I stood there watching in silence as the sun continued to rise, as it peeked its first rays over the horizon, as it slowly rose higher and higher, dancing and playing among the clouds also hovering nearby in the sky.
I found myself feeling just so grateful to be right there in that moment, right there in that moment of majesty and beauty, as sweat slowly trickled down my back and forehead from a run that I was just able to complete, thanks to the training and current health within my body that I have been so diligently working on for the last three years.
I was humbled, I was in awe, and I was beyond grateful.
I arrived back at the camper and took just a few more minutes to photo and selfie with my medal and bib (yup, I’m one of those… I admit it… sorry for those of you who aren’t or don’t get it… it’s just something I enjoy and it brings me joy. I love going back through race photos and physically touching those medals, turning them over to look at the stats I’ve marked on each one with a sharpie with that particularly race’s stats, location, distance, time etc. Each race is a story, a moment, a part of my journey. Each race holds its memories and moments, and yes… I selfie with them “insert smile emoji”).
I sat down at the lake for a while, the bib and medal laying on top of the chipped white dock for a while. I was alone, there was no wind, it was warm, and I had that clammy, after-run sweaty feeling where you almost want a sweatshirt, but know you’d just overheat.
The water was lapping softly at the edge of the sand, there was a family of goslings all slowly swimming around the docks and boat lifts, a few clouds hung above the water, a few birds were in the sky and chirping in the trees above.
I breathed in deep and closed my eyes. Wanting to savor, to capture, to remain within it all just a little longer. All of that, right there, was a moment when all of my favorite things aligned. The lake, the sunsetoclock aqua and red Adirondack chairs, the docks, the sunrise I'd stood within just moments before, the run I had completed, the sweat and the sore muscles a quiet reminder of the pace and distance I’d pushed myself through, the texts coming from my friend who was also just finishing this same race all the way over in Virgina…
The moment stood still for just a millisecond. I looked down at the medal in my hand, the dragonfly and it’s beautiful aqua wings (which yes, someday will be tattooed on my body) and I was grateful. Not grateful that it had to happen, not grateful that it had to represent the loss of our daughter… but a recognition of the grand significance of knowing somehow, amid all the hurt and pain and loss, “this” had come out of it…
We would have never ended up at this lake, at this campground if we hadn’t been pregnant with Faith, if we hadn’t had to be ten miles from a hospital, if we hadn’t wanted to find a place to “hide” away (which in turn would turn into a place to also heal and find ourselves again). We would have never bought this camper and been surrounded by this amazing community of friends we now have here if we hadn’t lost Faith. I would have never realized how it feels to be truly and honestly not well for a long and extended period of time, and I would have never had to dig deep to fight my way back to health (mental health, physical health, and spiritual health) if we hadn’t lost Faith. And as I worked and continued on that health journey I found my way into an amazing group of supportive #wonderwomen who have seriously become some of my greatest friends and lifeblood, if we hadn’t lost Faith.
The lake, the camper, the sunsets, the sunrises, the friendships, the miles and miles of training I’ve run, the races upon races I have entered and completed… and honestly the list could go on and on. Things I would have never come to know, experience, love, and cherish had we never lost Faith.
So this morning I sit here on my deck at the lake, slowly sipping some post race recovery while my coffee perks inside… and my heart is filled with gratitude. It’s still delicately laced, of course, with just a touch of sadness, but I am grateful that God has brought me to a time and place (which I realize may be gone again by tomorrow morning at this time) to where I can look behind me and see some of the steps we’ve taken over the last four years on this Journey To Faith that God chose for us to be on.
And today, right now amid that inner silence of pain, and disappointment, and confusion, and anger… there is gratitude, lots and lots of gratitude... and for that, I am grateful.
The lake, the camper, the sunsets, the sunrises, the friendships, the miles and miles of training I’ve run, the races upon races I have entered and completed… and honestly the list could go on and on. Things I would have never come to know, experience, love, and cherish had we never lost Faith.
So this morning I sit here on my deck at the lake, slowly sipping some post race recovery while my coffee perks inside… and my heart is filled with gratitude. It’s still delicately laced, of course, with just a touch of sadness, but I am grateful that God has brought me to a time and place (which I realize may be gone again by tomorrow morning at this time) to where I can look behind me and see some of the steps we’ve taken over the last four years on this Journey To Faith that God chose for us to be on.
And today, right now amid that inner silence of pain, and disappointment, and confusion, and anger… there is gratitude, lots and lots of gratitude... and for that, I am grateful.
