Today is the first post in a series written every Monday with my LDS missionary bro in mind. I want to pay more attention to the "missionaries" in my life that inspire me to do better and come closer to God.
Husband and I were watching my new favorite TV series, Modern Family. When I was in labor with Jdog it was my pre-epidural drug. On the latest episode the husband compares his wife to a border collie, “She needs to be run every day or she goes crazy.” I laughed out loud and gave the hubby a knowing look. He’s too nice to joke about it, but there have been a few moments in our marriage when he kindly encouraged me to lace up my nikes. Running is my daily prescription for sanity.
It’s rather humbling to try and establish a regular routine after a new baby. Lately I’ve been hitting the gym after dropping Atrain off at preschool. Usually Jdog sleeps soundly in his car seat while I tread on the mill. Yuck I hate treadmills, but between the snow and the smog I thought it was my best option—I was wrong.
All of the treadmills were taken, so I decided to check out the basketball court to see if I could do a few laps around the perimeter. To my surprise, I spotted an indoor track on the second level. Perfect: an entire gym to me and my baby. It took my back to my undergrad days…minus the newborn. But my and baby J’s unaccompanied run didn’t last long. Five minutes in we were joined by another pair of runners.
From the opposite side of the track I noticed that the two were different. Rather than running side by side or slightly offset, these two ran in a strait line-one right in front of the other. The one in back was the shorter of the two, had graying hair and frequently called out various cues in a practiced, matter of fact way. The runner in front was very tall, roughly sixteen and had a noticeable limp in his gate. The two steadily gained on me as I slowed to a walk, now holding fussy baby J in my arms. I became even more curious about them as I heard the runner in front mumble incoherently when tail runner directed their lap around mine. As they passed me on the left I glanced in their direction, making eye contact with the older runner in the back. He gave me a kind smile and wink, and I realized that he was a father running with his disabled son.
Something about watching the two while holding little Jdog made me well up with emotion. I wondered how many hundreds of times they had run together like this, how much of their daily routine they shared and how special their interdependent relationship must be. They humbled and inspired me. I want to be that kind of parent: gently leading from behind with confidence in my child’s ability to navigate their track. I want to be their friend and companion they can trust. I want them to know how much I love them and love God because of the things we do every day. I know that parenting is the most difficult mission I will ever undertake, but I have already learned that it will bring me more joy, sorrow and meaning to my life than anything else I could be doing right now. And I know that God can help us do anything.
I’m thankful for the example of this father and son. I hope to meet them on the track again some day.
hum
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