"There's Mom!" And Finishing Well
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.”
I’ve never been a good finisher. If I got straight A’s in term 2 then I would feel just fine to let things slide to B’s in term 3. If a puzzle got too hard after five minutes then quitting seemed logical. When I went to university I came one year shy of becoming a certified teacher. I often joke that marriage and parenting have been the only things I haven’t walked out on. Jokes aside, I have always felt somewhat haunted by the possibility that I had somehow placed limitations on myself, subconsciously, that kept me from completing things that I started.
When I turned 40 we had a fun party with lots of friends, wonderful food, and good wine. My mom surprised me with three poster-sized collages with photos of yours truly from super fat baby to glorious (?) 80’s teen. Thanks mom. Among the fun and frivolities a conversation arose about a half marathon. A half marathon? I had always wanted to do a half marathon. Well so had 3 other friends in the room. It was decided then and there. It was March which meant that we had just enough time to train if we wanted to do a summer race. We looked at each other with sober (pretty much) resolution and signed up days later.
The training schedule was printed off and taped to the fridge and I began to follow it faithfully. I was working full time at this point and I had four kids (remember?) so I got up at 5:30 five days a week and did my long run on Saturdays. It was going famously but it also wasn’t long before the old thoughts started to plague me like a mosquito in my ear. “You don’t actually finish things.” “You will get almost there but not all the way.” But I kept going. Praying. Soaking in my husband’s encouragement. Talking to myself. As the long Saturday runs flowed into a balmy June I would encourage the the elderly ladies of East Vancouver to spray me with their hoses as they tended to their little urban gardens. Their crinkled smiles and little girl laughter urged me on.
About five days before the race I started to notice the dreaded twinge of shin splints. I felt sick. No. One of my fellow racers sent me to a physiotherapist but the mental damage had begun. I’m not going to finish what I started...again! Days before the race I was increasingly on edge. Because the half marathon was out of town, we were combining it with a family camping trip. I don’t know if you have tried combining being “on edge” with packing up for a camping trip but let me assure you that it is a nasty little cocktail.
It was a Friday. The van was packed and we were waiting for my husband to get home from work. At this point I should explain that I have one child out of four who has anxiety about going away. It wouldn’t matter if it was Disneyland or Hawaii. If she is leaving home, there will be some moments before we leave that will not be pleasant. I know this. I’m usually ready for it. We have learned good strategies to help with this. But when you don’t ever finish things and you have shin splints and you are supposed to run a half marathon the next day and your 12 year old daughter says, “I don’t want to go! I mean I don’t even understand why we’re going anyway!” Well, you flip out. That’s right. It was some gross cringe-worthy martyr mom situation along the lines of… “What?! Why are we going?! You DO realize how important this is to me, right?!” And so on and so forth in an almost yelling voice with scary eyebrows. Needless to say she was hurt. She was holding back tears as she just walked away and waited in the back of the van. The rest of the day I tried to make it right but she was cool toward me and I felt like the biggest idiot.
The next day, as we made our way to the starting line I was buoyed up by my fellow racers and my little crowd of supporters; Vern, our kids, my mom, and Vern’s parents. I could tell that my daughter was still not impressed with me but she mustered a little smile. And off we went.
Not to worry, I will not take you through every 21 kilometres. The short version is that the shin splints as well as an old knee injury reared their ugly head about a third of the way into the run but as I adjusted my pace they settled down and just after the 15km mark it started to sink in that I was going to know what it felt like to be a finisher. There were some powerful thoughts going through me in those minutes and hours. I was deeply humbled by the fact that my mother-in-law was waiting at the finishing line in a wheelchair. She had to be in the wheelchair because she was dying of cancer. But she was determined to be there; an action that blessed me more than any gift she has given me. I was also struck by the fact that sometimes not finishing is really OK. I realized that, by God’s truly amazing grace, not quitting being a wife and mother was actually a big deal. In fact, it was a million times bigger than finishing a half marathon. And my daughter? Well that was still hurting. Why did I do that? Why do I snap at my kids when all I really want is for them to know and feel the depth of my love for them? What kind of relationship will I end up having with them if I keep doing that?
The last 2 kilometres was a bit surreal. The course had a sharp right turn about 2 blocks before the finish line so that the the runners and the waiting crowd couldn’t see each other until the bitter end. Before I tell you this next bit I should tell you that I am not a cryer. I like to think of myself as someone who has fairly good emotional control but whenever I think of this next moment or attempt to talk about it I am overwhelmed.
I was close enough to hear, but not see, the crowd. I turned that last corner. Who was the first and only face I saw? My daughter. The one who “didn’t want to be there.” The one who I had yelled at. Her arms were in the air. She was jumping and grinning and then she yelled as loud as she could, “THERE’S MOM! THERE’S MOM!” The others were a little further along and as soon as they heard her they all started cheering and running along the side and laughing. The only one I didn’t see was my husband who was waiting for me right at the end. Sweetness. I didn't cry then but I cry now.
There are so many millions of moments in our life that happen and are forgotten. This moment was God’s very special gift to me. He lead me to the finish line NOT to show me that I could finish things but to show me that the bigs things, the important things were going to finish well. “There’s Mom!” became a reminder to me over the next few years when my daughter was struggling and battling a few demons that even when she was angry and depressed, underneath there was so much more. This is the girl who can cheer and rejoice and will never be afraid to show it. She feels things so deeply and is unafraid to speak of the incredible things she is passionate about. She is self aware and, because of her struggles, already knows how Christ can change things. “There’s Mom!” is the humbling reminder that I will only finish well if I remember that it is His race I am running and He will give me absolutely everything I need to complete it. “There’s Mom!” is the statement that often breathes hope into my prayers for all my children causing me to pray things in faith for my kids that I wouldn’t have otherwise.
I urge you to ask our gracious Lord for a “There’s Mom!” moment. Something that will give you encouragement when you are in hopeless moments with your child and the way you are relating to him or her. God is very interested in us loving our people more and better and I believe this is a prayer He will delight to answer; very likely in a time and manner that will surprise you.
