Life, Death, and Running

I'm not sure I believe myself anymore when I think/say, "I have never been so tired!" The causes of my fatigue have names (though I won't share them now). We are caring for a two year old boy and four month old girl (thereby increasing the size of our brood by 33% [I think...math was never a strength]) through Safe Families for Children, a short-term foster care ministry that partners at-risk parents with Christian churches. WE ARE TIRED! I love these little rascals, but...oh my.

Foster care is not necessarily pertinent to life and death (certainly not running), though I could go on at great length about the beauty of these little ones just as I wonder what kind of life they will have in light of their parents' very real struggles. God help us. The little girl, an infant, is a joy (except at 4am, of course). Will her parents love her and tell her she is precious and important? That she is lovely? Will they surround her with beauty? Will they teach her the ways of virtue? (I pray they teach her the source of all virtue, our Lord Jesus Christ.)

I don't need to worry of that for all children. The newest addition to the Faith Community Church family will be taught in the ways of the Lord by her loving Mom and Dad and her brothers- and sisters-in-Christ. This beautiful little girl will be baptized into the covenant community next weekend; signed and sealed with the covenant promises of God in Jesus Christ--to forgive her sins, to adopt her into the Body of Christ (the Church), to send the Holy Spirit daily to renew and cleanse, and to resurrect her to eternal life. Her baptism will not be about life in a generic sense, but about the abundant, eternal life we have in union with Jesus Christ. The difference between life and life is the difference between fake fruit and real fruit.

My fatigue also has something to do with the reality of death--my own mortal flesh and its inherent propensity toward decay that points to death, to be sure. (I am feeling old, but more on that in a bit.) I am simply fatigued with sadness upon the death of my friend. George VanDerMolen and I had lunch together every week for the last three years, ever since we both came to FCC--me upon my acceptance of a call to serve here as pastor, George upon the closing of his church of over fifty years in Lombard. George was afflicted, particularly over the last six months, by poor health, and drew his last breath last week. He was ready to go, and I rejoice that he is now at home with the Lord. Christ healed him in death--George is now abundantly alive, experiencing union with Christ that we now only know in part.

Through life (caring for these little kids) and death (leading us in worship at George's funeral and ministering to his family), Julie has proven herself once again. She is a tireless warrior. Actually, she is a warrior because in spite of fatigue she hammers on tirelessly, loving and blessing and holding things together at home when things should really be falling apart. She is sustained by God and she knows it (reminding me of it often). Our kids have been champions, too, as they bless these new additions (just as these little ones disrupt their lives), and come to terms themselves with the loss of their friend George (they truly loved him).

What does running have to do with any of this? Nothing, really. I've been running for a long time, and it is therapeutic and all that, but today it seems pretty silly to be thinking about road races. I'm running the Wisconsin Marathon with a friend on Saturday. I am excited to run with and encourage him, as he is trying to qualify for Boston, and it certainly seemed like a good idea to race back in December, when I signed up. Today, I'm just tired. My heart issues and mis-diagnosis in April set me back in training (not a lot, but enough to affect me mentally, if not physically). Also, I tweaked my groin fixing a neighbor kid's bike two weeks ago and it flares up every time I run, bike, or swim. The mind is semi-willing; the body is moving quickly toward break-down mode.

In the end, I am reminded that I do not hold the reigns of life and death for others or myself. I should not be surprised at the breakdown of my body. I should not be surprised at the brokenness of parents who cannot or will not care for their children. Perhaps I should be more surprised (and take for granted less) that parents do love and care for their children, and that 86 year old men with lung cancer and pneumonia are resurrected, that wives/mothers can give and give and give, that kids can sacrifice and love and bless. And that thirty-nine year old men like me can run at all.