Running

Hey out there. Still processing. Do we ever stop processing? There are moments where I'm actually able to be present and forget that half a year of "empty bed syndrome" (thanks for the new catch phrase, Sarah) is emanate. The last few days I've been struck with the strange desire to do things that I hate. Not in an Apostle Paul sort of way... that's inevitable, but in a run towards your fears sort of way. I am finding that while the total rage and resentment that Thursday night's family briefing dislodged is starting to settle, a healthy amount of "pissed" is still looming on the surface. And it's as if this edge is pushing me to run head first into things that rub me the wrong way... and tackle them.

Example: I hate running. HATE. Hate being uncomfortable if you want to get right down to it and hate that I hate it... but I think all of that is several posts away. But running in particular with the burning chest, the disgustingly thick mook collecting in my mouth, coating my throat, the pain, etc. is just not my favorite thing.

Today I ran.

Albeit for 15 minutes... but I thought I may die. I was pissed for sure. But in the midst of this temporary pain and discomfort at least I felt like I had a reason to be mad. A physical, easily describable reason. In some weird way that made me feel better about all of the cloudy, strange emotions surrounding this upcoming deployment - the ones that I don't understand and can't fully articulate. It gave me a place to put them. I guess the goal is to keep running. Run until I'm not mad at running any more. I wonder if that is possible. It doesn't seem so.

Other things on the list: stand in long lines, be cold, get up early in the morning...

Things that regular people do everyday without a second thought I suppose, but I struggle with them. I feel drawn to these things at the moment. Just to say - see, I can do this. I can. I don't want there to be anything in my life to which I can point and say, no... I just can't do that.

This is probably because many years ago when I was about fourteen and planning out my future with my husband I told God that I didn't care who I married... as long as he wasn't in the military. That is one thing I couldn't do; couldn't be. God and I knew that I was talking about separation at length. There were and are other reasons that the military has been a challenge, but this was at the top of the list. Here I am: living out a "worst fear," a bargain that I made with God so many years ago. The "can't" of that statement, plea, request, whatever is loud in my head and it just makes me want to run, for my chest to burn, for my throat to get thick with phlegm, and to spit in the face of ever single fear or aversion I've ever had.

Reminds me of a story. My best friend in high school was a strange fellow. I adored him. He decided one day that it would be a good idea to pee into some mason jars and keep them in his dad's shed. You know, just in case. In case of what - you'll find out later. We were in choir together. It was a large choir, nearly 100 students and one very crazy most likely bipolar director. One day my friend, his nickname was Badge, was acting up in class. Our teacher stopped and turned to him proclaiming, "Badge if you don't cut it out I'm going to tell everyone what you have in your shed!" Badge looked at him and said, "What? Lots and lots of jars of piss?" Everyone roared. I was probably mortified at the time. But I think of that story so often. He completely pulled the rug out from under our choir teacher. He had no more power. And a few weeks later he got a surprise in his mail box.

So, will I be an amazingly patient marathon running morning person who enjoys parka-wearing weather by then end of these next six months? Probably not. But today, for now I'm running. And by then I will certainly, by the grace of God, be able to say yes and can to more than I ever thought possible. And by then, I will most likely be able to do it without gritting my teeth and deepening that wrinkle between my eyebrows.