I'll R(un) for the One
I hated gym class.
For those of you who saw Physical Education class on your schedule and thought "Easy A!" please note all I saw was a designated fifty minute portion of my school day that would be torture. I'm no athlete. Short of the square dancing portion of the class that was mildly entertaining, the rest of the year was carried out like a prison sentence. I do not choose to be here, fellow students, but I am forced to endure learning the rules of badminton so I may then take the tools of the trade and swing like a spaz at some tiny little plastic object, failing to make any contact as it hits the floor.
So, it may seem I have lost my mind, possibly been abducted by aliens and replaced with a clone, or suffered some brain trauma that has resulted in a personality overhaul when I say, "I've become a runner." Okay, technically, at this point, I think it's more like a jog sprinter with a form that gets slightly worse as I make my way through my workout and who still has a mental war going on in her head that says, "We're going to DIE if you don't stop this craziness," but I am trying. Between jogging and walking, I logged in 18.35 miles last week. Fo' realz, peeps. No lies. I'm just as shocked as you are.
To help with this transformation to future Olympian (ha, ha, ha...), I've got two different sets of work out companions:
Mon/Wed/Fri, I drag myself out of bed before the sun rises at 5:30, and I make my way to my friend's house where we walk 2 1/2 to 3 miles all before most of you have brushed your teeth. Sometimes we talk, sometime we just grunt in acknowledgment of each other's company. She doesn't expect me to look pretty, and I try not to sleep through my alarm so she's not left hanging. Yes, I realize that most of you won't sign up for this type of early morning wake up call, but there's bit of satisfaction that comes with knowing you've gotten your work out in before your first cup of coffee. Puts a little strut in your step. I've watched summer bring in early morning sunrises, and how those longer days are already beginning to fade into fall. You should try it at least once.
Then three nights a week, I meet up with a group of gals as we try to survive the Couch to 5K app that now resides on our phones. It's amazing that we are so committed to obeying a faceless voice that gives us commands, but when she says "begin running," we do. And, when she says," begin walking," we comply as well. I now have some screwy Pavlovian dog response to the little bell that signals the command change, because the same sound that equals the start of sweaty, heart rate increasing, physical exertion is also the same sound that means I can slow down enough to be able to breathe without threat of puking my guts on the side of the path. I fear the bell and I also pray to just survive till the bell sounds again. But nevertheless, we keep pressing forward and we keep getting better. We were certain death was imminent when we had to make it through 90 seconds worth of jogging, but now we're at the 5-minute mark, and all of us are alive and well.
So, why the change? Why did I finally commit to leaving my couch behind in exchange for sore muscles and sweat soaked t-shirts?
For the fatherless, friends. Sure, it's been fun getting out there with my girls, but there's a goal in sight.
For those of you who saw Physical Education class on your schedule and thought "Easy A!" please note all I saw was a designated fifty minute portion of my school day that would be torture. I'm no athlete. Short of the square dancing portion of the class that was mildly entertaining, the rest of the year was carried out like a prison sentence. I do not choose to be here, fellow students, but I am forced to endure learning the rules of badminton so I may then take the tools of the trade and swing like a spaz at some tiny little plastic object, failing to make any contact as it hits the floor.
So, it may seem I have lost my mind, possibly been abducted by aliens and replaced with a clone, or suffered some brain trauma that has resulted in a personality overhaul when I say, "I've become a runner." Okay, technically, at this point, I think it's more like a jog sprinter with a form that gets slightly worse as I make my way through my workout and who still has a mental war going on in her head that says, "We're going to DIE if you don't stop this craziness," but I am trying. Between jogging and walking, I logged in 18.35 miles last week. Fo' realz, peeps. No lies. I'm just as shocked as you are.
To help with this transformation to future Olympian (ha, ha, ha...), I've got two different sets of work out companions:
Mon/Wed/Fri, I drag myself out of bed before the sun rises at 5:30, and I make my way to my friend's house where we walk 2 1/2 to 3 miles all before most of you have brushed your teeth. Sometimes we talk, sometime we just grunt in acknowledgment of each other's company. She doesn't expect me to look pretty, and I try not to sleep through my alarm so she's not left hanging. Yes, I realize that most of you won't sign up for this type of early morning wake up call, but there's bit of satisfaction that comes with knowing you've gotten your work out in before your first cup of coffee. Puts a little strut in your step. I've watched summer bring in early morning sunrises, and how those longer days are already beginning to fade into fall. You should try it at least once.
Then three nights a week, I meet up with a group of gals as we try to survive the Couch to 5K app that now resides on our phones. It's amazing that we are so committed to obeying a faceless voice that gives us commands, but when she says "begin running," we do. And, when she says," begin walking," we comply as well. I now have some screwy Pavlovian dog response to the little bell that signals the command change, because the same sound that equals the start of sweaty, heart rate increasing, physical exertion is also the same sound that means I can slow down enough to be able to breathe without threat of puking my guts on the side of the path. I fear the bell and I also pray to just survive till the bell sounds again. But nevertheless, we keep pressing forward and we keep getting better. We were certain death was imminent when we had to make it through 90 seconds worth of jogging, but now we're at the 5-minute mark, and all of us are alive and well.
So, why the change? Why did I finally commit to leaving my couch behind in exchange for sore muscles and sweat soaked t-shirts?
For the fatherless, friends. Sure, it's been fun getting out there with my girls, but there's a goal in sight.
I r(un) for the one.
Reality is, when there are 153 million orphans world-wide, they aren't all going to find a home. I know we like to spout statistics that if so many people would just take one child in, we'd alleviate the crisis, but probable statistics don't fix the problem. Millions of children who have either lost one or both parents will remain vulnerable to poverty, slavery, suicide, drug addiction, and a host of other tragic outcomes if we don't step in to help. And when finding them permanent homes isn't the solution, then we have to do something else.
That's where (un)adopted steps in. The people at the Lifeline adoption agency recognized that, while they were helping find forever families for many vulnerable children, there were still those that would never see adoption and that would one day age out of the orphanages where they lived. Teaming up with other ministry organizations, local churches and families, they've set up partnerships in China, Columbia, Dominican Republic, Ethiopia, Liberia, Pakistan, and Uganda. They're encouraging local churches to care for and foster the orphans in their midst, they're running medical clinics, they're helping deaf orphans receive education they wouldn't otherwise get, they're supporting those who minister to street kids, and running career guidance camps that teach life skills. I strongly recommend you check out the website and watch the video about who (un)adopted is by clicking on this link.
So, when it came time for (un)adopted to have it's third annual 5k R(un) for One and they offered a local run in Louisville, I signed up. Because one may seem like a small number, but it's not. It took one family's adoption of one child for me to start moving towards opening my home to adoption. It took one book to open my eyes to the bigger picture of orphan care and to be moved to action. It took one sacrifice on one cross to offer redemption and salvation for all of humanity. One is certainly not small. And, every child is a One. One worth loving, one worth helping, one worth caring for, one worth fighting for.
I r(un) for the One.
** If you wish to join me and R(un) for the One, please go to http://runforone5k.org/ to register! If I can do it, believe me, you can too!**
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