A discovery on the road today.

With a handfuls of sick children throughout this week, running has been at the bottom of the list. But today was Thursday, and everyone was healthy! So I had a morning all to myself. Due to the before mentioned blizzardy conditions, and then the slushy, melted-blizzardy conditions, my running has been mostly indoors as of late. But today the road was calling, and so I obliged. And the running was profound.

Recently I have come across a few articles about the plight of the young mother (or the mothers of young children), centering around the age old dilemma which we all supposedly encounter of wondering if we are losing our sense of identity, or being lost and forgotten amidst the travails of the task at hand. And it's not just the young mother who suffers such sensations of being lost, over the years hasn't Oprah been championing the cause for all women to "find themselves", and to put themselves first?

So while I was reading the article I was somewhat tired of the subject. I guess I don't feel all that lost to begin with, and therefore don't really understand what exactly I should be looking for. But one comment by a reader of the article particularly perplexed me. It said something along the lines of, "like many young mothers, I have taken to the common hobby of running as a form of escapism..." and then her comment continued on, to which point I do not remember. But that one line never really left me, I guess because it bothered me. I had never really viewed my running as a form of escapism. While I run, I maybe am literally escaping from my house at that particular moment, but I don't think that I had felt like I was wishing to be escaped from all that was in my house. And while the title of running is a nice one to have, I don't think it was ever my intention to possess it. Running was something I had simply found along the way. It is something I do for now. But I realize I may not always do it, and therefore would hate to tie too much of my sense of identity to simply one aspect of my life.

Rather for me I have viewed the running not as an escape, but as my strength training. God in all of his great wisdom decided eons ago to make me a Woman. And in so doing made me inevitably soft and sensitive. A nurturer. A burden lifter. A listener (okay, and a talker, I don't deny it). A multi-tasker. Someone who naturally thinks of others, often before herself. Those are things that women naturally do. And when I decided to become a mother, all of those innate traits suddenly had the most profound way of being implemented. But to do all of those things 24 hours a day, 7 days of a week is never going to be easy. And it requires strength. And therefore, I have to strength train.

With every step I take on my run, I am strengthening my muscles to be able to lift more burdens. I am teaching my lungs to breath deeply and efficiently. With that skill, when my kids want to race me from the elevator to the front door for the 400th time since moving here, I can do so easily, and they derive joy out of the game, which in turn makes me happy that they are happy. With the running I gain insight and peace, which translates into patience and love at home. Because someone is always about to cry around here, and my name is usually the first name called to sooth and make better. But I can, and I do. The running teaches me endurance and stamina, because I don't really foresee the day when my skills of wiping tears away will not be needed by someone. To learn to run a little bit further, a little bit faster helps me train for the days which feel never ending and all together too hard. But I know I can finish them. The run always ends eventually. The running is like depositing money into the bank and saving it for a rainy day. The strength is deposited and ready to be called upon when it is needed, because you never know when someone is going to need to be carried instead of being able to walk for themselves.

But to run to escape? How could it be? Every trail that I choose, ever path that I take, every course that I invent, eventually leads me right back to my home. And the metaphor of that never eludes me.

The title that occurred to me today, is that I am His. I belong to Him. And ultimately that is the only title that matters. We all want to have a purpose. We all want to feel like we belong. But in realizing that I am His, I also get to know where I belong, which is basically all I wanted to know in the first place.

That my days are often filled with mundane tasks; That I do not relish the role of sock matcher, or meal planner, or taxi car driver, or master finder; are all true facts. But that I am trying to give my children a very clear and undeniable knowledge that they belong to me, that they are not in the least bit lost, because I am RIGHT HERE, is truly an edified employment. Until they are old enough to know and understand for themselves that they too are His, I need to make sure that they know that they are mine, and that I give to them that same warm and satisfying feeling of belonging, just as I receive from my Father in Heaven. That is my journey. That is my job. That is my title. And I hope that it is enough.

And that's what I discovered on the road today.