I started my running journey with the couch to 5K app. When I began, I quite literally felt like I was going to die. My lungs were burning, my body ached….and this was after 30 seconds before falling back into a 2 minute walk. I felt that there was no way I was ever going to be able to do this. Yet the app didn’t have us jump immediately into running the 5 K. It was gradual. Each day I’d run just a little bit longer. Each day was building upon the other- increasing strength, Increasing endurance. Each day I was getting a little bit further a long. I started signing up for 5K’s…then 10K’s….then a half marathon. I was utterly hooked. I was running the race.
I remember one night in particular, it was really late. I was running the alley’s of Taiwan; training for my half marathon. I loved running at night because the humidity wasn’t as stifling. I was trying for a 10 mile loop, but I was queasy, dizzy- a hot mess. I started staggering around…unsure if I could make it home. I had not prepared well for this run. I did not stretch or hydrate well and it was clear that this was showing in my sloppy display around the city.
Cool Aly. Thanks. So……….is this really about running or is this just a clever parallel to running the race of life? Oh friends. You’re so smart.
**Bear with me as I begin the running/marathon analogy. Feel free to tap out as needed.**
This month is National Adoption Month. Every part of my cliche running journey relates to that of our adoption journey. Adoption is achingly painful. Every. Single. Piece. Of. It. Painful to the bone. For every person involved. I love what my friend Jackie has written- “Adoption is Beautiful and holy but the need for it comes from brokenness, and love and family don’t fix all things. God is good and He is mighty but adoption is hard and being an orphan is not meant to be.” Hard words to swallow- but they resonate so, so deeply.
If you know an adoptive family, you may have seen the hashtag we could have missed this next to their precious photos. I’ve caught myself a few times typing these words then erasing them…because I felt like a fraud. Because the moments in my pictures are a fragment of what we go through on a daily basis and they are not our norm. Because many times when my body is weary and I have not trained well for the day a piece of me wants to miss that moment. The moment of being screamed at, of having something thrown at me, of a house destroyed or a full on meltdown of epic proportions. Guilt and shame at some of my regrettable reactions to feeling out of control in my circumstances. But just as my first day of running was not a 10 mile run, my journey with these boys is not going to magically be one of smooth sailing. Please. This is motherhood. This race is gradual. One cannot fully enjoy the end of the race without the daily training and rough spots it takes to power through to the end. If we were to only get the sweet spots, there would be no growth, no increase of strength or endurance. You would not be well prepared for the next race at hand.Alex came home at 1 1/2. He was fifteen pounds of precious. He did not sleep….for about 4 years. Guys? No-one is built for that. There were days I was full on hysterical. Delirious. We were living in a foreign country and I was depleted. I had a unit of 4 women that were my sanity. My girlfriend Candace would walk with me. Every. Day. We would walk the streets of Hiroshima, get a coffee, put Alex in the stroller and just get outside. It was his happy place- and Candace knew what I needed. She supported and loved on us in a way I can never ever thank her for. She would listen. These girlfriends were my people; holding signs during this season of my life race saying, you got this. WE got you. You are not alone.
At the end of my first half marathon, I felt exhilarated, nauseous, in excruciating pain. I bawled. I had trained so long, and I had finished the race. Later that day, I swore I would never do it again…..
Bowman came home at 6. I think I am still in a state of shell shock quite frankly. After all, this is a race I said I would not run again. The adjustment we are still going through, mirrors that of the other two boys. Similarly, I surrounded myself with trainers and exhorters. Now back in the U.S., I had a small, trusted network of friends who were holding signs and giving me water throughout yet another race. Jenni, who would call and hear in my voice that one or two of the boys needed to be picked up ASAP. Friends who would drop coffee on the doorstep instead of asking how I was doing…...Listen to me when I say…you do not need to be the one running the race. Hold the sign. Pass the water, be the listener. Be the village. Love on those kids, because sometimes mom and dad have nothing left in the tank to give.
We are not in control. At the end of the day our kids may leave and never look back…that’s just not what it’s about. This race is one of brokenness, hope, redemption and redeeming love. Our race in life should be one of discomfort and growth- one of strength and endurance.
While the road is rocky and the days are hard…..it’s all worth it. Every moment. While we are running our race, we are teaching our boys to run theirs as well. Teaching them to start slow, not to sprint, find their pace, hydrate, ask for support, let us in and hold their arms and run with them.
I’m so glad that I’m not still staring out the window on a beautiful day simply saying- wow, what a beautiful day for a run. Think of what I could be missing right now.
#wecouldhavemissedthis
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