Gabriel's Roof

Gabriel is one of the Ugandan men who serve Mercy Uganda. His primary area of focus is as a field manager for Karamoja, one of the remote villages I’ll be visiting in September. Gabriel was orphaned at a young age as the result of a very bizarre incident. Despite having been shuffled around quite a bit (including having lived with Kefa Sempangi for a time), Gabriel has a deep love for the Lord.

He works, when he is called, in design and construction but this is not a typical 9-5 job. Gabriel gets work only when there is work to be had. In June, I told you about the foundation he laid for his house in Kawuku. It’s pretty unusual to own property and a home, particularly without regular employment. But I believe the tenacity Gabriel developed as an orphan compelled him to begin this seemingly impossible project. With the gifts left for him following the June mission trip, Gabriel began building the walls for that small house.

“Helping the poor.” This is the answer I get from Gabriel when I ask what his typical day is like. For clarification, Gabriel said that helping the poor means he does “some little thing that needs doing.” Helping the poor…when is the last time I spent my free time helping the poor or even doing “some little thing” that needs doing?

Building a small house in Uganda is cheap by American standards; Gabriel once estimated the cost to be under $5,000. Before he can proceed, though, those new walls on his house need a roof. The roof is also the most expensive part of the construction because it’s not made from the dust of the ground as are the bricks and cement that make up the majority of the construction. About $2,500 will secure the metal roof needed to protect the family that will one day live inside this house.

As I learned from the Susan G. Komen fundraising efforts, every little bit from a lot of people in the community makes a big difference. It will take 45% of the Ugandan population 4 years to earn $2,500. Four years… Here is an opportunity for us to do “some little thing” for this man who gives so much of his time (and his money) to the community in the name of Jesus. Press the donate button to give toward Gabriel’s roof.

Kato's Story

During the February trip to Uganda, an orthopedic surgeon with the Mercy Uganda group met Kato (Kato means twin). Kato’s legs are malformed at the knees. This 15-year-old boy who adjusted to walking in an unusual way over the years, but he is experiencing increasing pain as a result of his natural growth.

In June, the Mercy Uganda team (including me) took Kato to the hospital for x-rays (Kato rode on the back of Henry’s boda-boda) and Laura returned them to the surgeon for closer examination and possibly a surgery to correct Kato’s legs and relieve the pain. This reply came a few days ago:

The doctor feels strongly that Kato had polio when he was younger. The way his knees look he just feels confident that it had to be that. He said there is basically nothing anyone could do to “fix” his legs. The problem is he uses his hamstrings to power his movements. He’s taught himself how to survive. Had it been corrected earlier in his life then it may not have been as bad. Because he uses his hamstrings he basically has no strength in his quads which is what powers “normal” legs to walk. So if they correct his legs to make them anatomically correct he would be unable to walk. If they put braces on his legs to straighten them, it’ll be the same outcome – no strength in the legs to power movement. I asked what would happen as Kato got older because he’s already in pain while walking and the doctor said he’d eventually end up in a wheelchair and if they did surgery he would more than likely end up in a wheelchair as well.

He ended up getting interrupted by a phone call but he called me on my way home last night and said that he was sorry and he knew he disappointed us. He wishes he could help him as well but doing surgery would probably make Kato’s mobility worse off immediately versus later in life. I know he is sad that he can’t help him because when watched that video of Kato walking I could see the wheels turning in his head. He is a great surgeon and he trained at the Shriner’s in Louisiana which dealt with kids with all sorts of deformities and if anyone could do it I would trust that he could.

So, we said that we need to help Kato get into the best schools so he can go to college and become a professor or pastor or something that he doesn’t have to do hard labor! He is currently sponsored?

I’m sorry for the bad news. As the doctor said there is only 1 person in all of creation that can help Kato…..and we all know who He is.

When I read this reply I felt like hope was snatched away in an instant. Even though we know our Creator will make all things work together for our good, it’s tough to pass through some days unscathed. And when it happens to children…that just seems so much worse. It’s hard not to feel that in America the likelihood of having gotten polio would have been almost zero and that in America surgery would have likely been an option at an early age. But we all know that bad things happen to children in America too.

I am happy to report that Kato does have a sponsor and they are willing to do all they can to help this young man to prosper in life.

Are My Motives Pure?

Do I long to be in Uganda
…because of the beautiful children?
…because of the kind women?
…because of my passion for education?
…because we make a difference in the lives of some of these people?
…because we identify critical needs and find ways to meet them?
…because Jesus is there?

Or do I long to be in Uganda
…because I was welcomed and accepted?
…because I was appreciated?
…because I was loved?
…because I was helped?
…because I was cared about?
…because I was cared for?

You see, I believe the answer to all these questions is yes. But I feel a measure of caution because of the second list. I am keenly aware of the dearth of all the things during this season of my life. This scarcity may give me a propensity to connect wherever I can have these emotional needs met. I don’t want to be unfair to my dear friends by loving them only because I have a need to be loved. Does that make any sense? I guess relationship is by definition a mutual affair.

Movie Review: War Dance

The documentary, War Dance, was filmed in 2005 and tells the story of three children who are members of the Acholi ethnic group. These children along with 60,000 other people live in a Patongo refugee camp, a remote northern Ugandan village. Once each month the United Nations trucks in food – usually rice and beans. The children take off school to wait in day-long lines to collect their family’s share.

The camp is under military protection from the Lord’s Resistance Army, a terrorist group that has been rebelling against the government for several decades. Some of the things these children tell about experiencing at the hands of this Army are devastating. Some parents sent their children into the bush knowing that the LRA was coming and would kill the parents. These same children believe that if they had not been sent into the bush their parents would still be alive.

In 2005, the camp’s primary school participated in the National Music Competition in Kampala. The film focuses on the three children as they prepare for the event, build confidence, discuss their lives in the camp and the horrors they’ve experienced, and their individual hopes and dreams.

I will be ministering in a part of Uganda near the Patongo area called Karamoja. Watch the movie to get a feel for the children and their lives there. It's a very inspirational film.

Belonging

I continue to be aware of this inner desire that I have to fit in or to belong. Where does that come from? I know that I am a child of God and that I belong to him. Shouldn’t that be good enough? I know what my purpose is, at least for this year. Shouldn’t that help? Yet I still long for “place” on this earth. What does that even mean? Why has this sense of belonging become a topic that occupies my mind so much?

At least part of the question was answered when I went to Uganda. In retrospect I can see that my love for that place was based on this automatic acceptance, this appreciation for my gifts and talents, this inclusion. I was never an outsider, I didn’t have to find a way to fit in, I just automatically belonged to the group…I was loved. I can say that I’ve never experienced this kind of warmth from total strangers before (although Parson Clampet and his crew in Alaska were pretty sweet but Uganda was different).

I realize I cannot have that feeling everywhere I go and with everyone I meet. But I also think I’m uncovering another aspect of losing Rick that is having a pretty significant impact on me. I belonged to him, he included me, he loved me. I was part of his group, I fit with him. To whom do I belong without him?

I know that I belong to Jesus but this is not a super spiritual problem, it’s a real and practical one. Yes, I am independent enough to not need to belong but I think this is a sign that God is changing my heart – I want to belong somewhere, somehow. God created us for community, right? This desire for a sense of belonging helps me see myself as coming closer to normal than perhaps ever before.

Happy Wedding Anniversary

On a sunny afternoon 21 years ago today, I married Ricky Lee Mosher on the lawns of Point West in Holland. The small ceremony – I never wanted the big wedding so many women dreamt of – was perfect. I’ll never forget the look in his beautiful hazel eyes as we said our vows…dreamy. Many times through the years this same look would return. It’s hard to believe that our marriage endured for just less than half my lifetime.

Last year – for what would have been our 20th anniversary and the 1st anniversary after his death – I revisited the place Rick and I enjoyed our honeymoon – The Terrace Inn in Petoskey. This is the place we had our wedding night dinner and enjoyed a walk on the grounds as well as by the lakeshore. I paged slowly through two albums of wedding pictures with an older couple who had been sitting next to me in the restaurant looking on. I reread all of the cards given to us for that celebration. I described to the then-and-now owner our little wedding story. After dinner, I sat on the very swing we sat on together (I have pictures) so many years ago and removed my wedding ring. I read our Bible verses, placed the ring in its box next to Rick’s ring, and acknowledged the end of that very special marriage.

While I do feel a sense of sadness and loss today, the pain is not quite so sharp at it once had been. I continue to be thankful for many years we had together and the way God has shaped me though that marriage experience.

Ephesians 5:22-33.

Wedding photo: 1989, Point West on Lake Macatawa
Vacation photo: 2005, Taggert Lake in Grand Teton National Park

The Second Year is the Hardest

According to a number of the grief-related books I read and several of the people I talked to who experienced grief firsthand, the second year following the death of a loved one is typically the hardest. I suppose this is because the first year is full of grief, and the second year is full of reality.

So, what does that mean for me and the work that I’ve been doing through My Second Year? Am I avoiding or postponing the seemingly inevitable pain described by authors and grievers? Am I creating an unsustainable new normal? Should I be making efforts to get back into old, comfortable, traditional patterns?

Or am I stepping out of the way and allowing God to direct my steps? Am I finding this new synergistic way of using my knowledge, skills, and experience in a highly meaningful way? Am I really accomplishing the purpose set before me – to break down walls, build compassion, and show grace?

I suppose that only some time distance will reveal the truth.

Movie Review: End of the Spear

End of the Spear is the true story of young missionaries meeting Waodani tribesmen in the jungles of Ecuador. Some reviewers noted that this tribe was the most violent known tribe in 1956, the time this story took place. The five missionaries were speared to death because the Waodani believed that all foreigners were cannibals.

A number of events culminated in the wives of these missionaries being instrumental in teaching the tribesmen about God. People speared him but he did not spear back. At one point late in the story, Mincayani admits to having killed the now-adult boy’s father and offers the spear to him acknowledging that revenge would be his right.

What struck me most about this story – aside from the fact that I don’t think I want to be that kind of missionary – was how western the tribe became. They wore western clothing, cut their hair, and sat at the table for dinner. Must salvation mean westernization?

When I think of my friends in Uganda, a far cry from the jungles of Ecuador, I wonder how economic development will both help and hurt their traditions and culture. I wonder how westernization will help or hinder their kind and gentle spirits, their love of Jesus, and their walk with the Holy Spirit. I remember what Kefa Sempangi said in his book, A Distant Grief.

The idea was that when we don’t know trouble, weakness, or insecurity…when life is good…grief is distant, and thus our reliance on the blood of Jesus is not what unites the body but instead intellectual debate. Does economic development or westernization make Jesus more remote?

The Final Word on Mission #5

Of course, the Mercy Uganda trip is scheduled right at the same time as the Hospice training. So, with a clear sense of God’s will that I return to Uganda, I will delay the Hospice training until spring of 2011. This delay means that Hospice will begin beyond My Second Year and thus will not be part of this blog. Instead, a return trip to Uganda and a possible side trip to Kenya will take its place either as Mission Trip #3b or as Mission Trip #5.

I questioned whether or not to include a second trip to Uganda in the My Second Year blog. Does it even count to go to the same place twice? If God is truly laying out a plan for my life and helping me to accomplish my purpose, then talking about a second Uganda trip as part of My Second Year is absolutely appropriate.

Whatever happens, I know that God is ordering my steps and that having a shorter term vision for my future means that I am becoming flexible enough to make decisions for the immediate future rather than feeling like I have to have the next five to twenty years planned out.

So there it is, Uganda (Mission #5) AND Hospice (later).

“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27). It’s not always easy to hear that voice, but it is becoming more and more familiar.

Biblical Life Ministries

And then there was Biblical Life Ministries, a mission group working in Kenya (an eastern neighbor of Uganda) and affiliated with my church. My pastor asked if the BLM missionaries could stay with me while traveling through the area on furlough. A giant thanks to him for somehow knowing just what an opportunity talking with full-time, long-term missionaries from East Africa would be for me.

After they made friends with every garage sale shopper who dared enter, Kelly and Kathy allowed me to ask dozens and dozens of questions about how missionaries get started, how they know they’re doing the right thing, how they raise their support, and lots of other questions. Because of the proximity of Uganda to Kenya, I was able to ask some culturally relevant questions as well and I discovered there are at least a few similarities between Kenyans and Ugandans. What an amazing gift God gave me as a means to better understand the bigger context of mission work in the longer term.

Eventually we talked a bit about the business development work done with Mercy Uganda. They extended an offhand invitation to visit them in Dallas and possibly Kenya “next time I go” to Uganda to see how I might help them grow their ministry. That offhanded request to visit turned into a reality just a short time later.

A week-long visit to Dallas, thanks to the generosity of an anonymous air miles donor and the generosity of many of the Dallas-based lovers of Biblical Life Ministries, afforded me extensive and multiple opportunities to learn more about BLM and the people at the heart of that ministry. Let me just take a minute to emphasize just how gifted in the area of relationships this missionary pastor really is. A privilege in more ways than one is the only way to describe the time we spent together. I will be forever changed be having been given the opportunity to probe deeply into the lives of this missionary family.

This new opportunity was an absolute confirmation of my place in Uganda/Africa, although I am still quite aware of the various vulnerabilities. This opportunity might also be a nudging toward a very fulfilling career opportunity…organizational development with East African ministries. God continues to surprise me each day.

Mission #5: Hospice...Kind of

Mission #5 is to volunteer with Hospice of Michigan. This mission requires four weeks of training and a long-term commitment that will extend beyond My Second Year. I completed the application, participated in an interview, and signed up for the training – four nights once each week during part of September and October – back in May.

Unlike the other mission experiences, I’m not sure why this was to be my fifth and final mission for the year. There is no personal connection, like each of the other missions had, except that it relates to death and grieving. Perhaps I have a subconscious desire to lean into my grief, which could be expressed by helping others through their grief. Although, I sometimes think my grief experience is unique in that there was no trauma, no illness, no unanswered questions, no regret, and no religious meltdown…so why would I even think that I am actually qualified to help others through their grief?

But wait…I think God might have something more planned (of course).

I signed up for Hospice before I went to Uganda. However, I was surprised beyond expectation at how these people spoke to my heart. I was invited to return in September and spoke only tentatively of coming back. I know that sometimes people returning from mission trips lose their passion for a place when they get back to real life. Please don’t misunderstand, I am not saying they stop caring but the urge to return subsides. I knew that I needed to give myself at least a little time to see if my heart would cool. Instead I find myself missing everyone more each day.

As long as I’m being honest, I also know that the love and acceptance I found in Uganda is something I miss with Rick gone. This is not to say that I don’t have friends and family that love me, but there was something deeper that touched me in Uganda. Perhaps this deeper sense of acceptance was situational (small group environment, specific people, they needed me, I’m American). So, is my longing to return based on genuine relationships and mutual compassion? Or, is my longing to return based on filling this emptiness in my heart? I know that I am emotionally vulnerable and that my heart may deceive me. I want to be smart about this decision, the decision about whether or not to return to Uganda, but also wise about discerning God’s will for my life.

Reflections So Far

As I sought God’s will for My Second Year, I knew that my purpose – to break down walls, build compassion, and show grace – would be fulfilled through missions. I really had no idea what that meant – I assumed the missions would be short-term and I assumed there would be three and I assumed they would all be “official” missions. Today I know that my assumptions will almost always be wrong because God never fits into that human paradigm I put him in.

During My Second Year I will have participated in a domestic (Alaska) and international (Uganda) mission trip. I will have volunteered at a local camp (Lake Ann Camp). I will have walked 60 miles for a cause (Susan G. Komen for the Cure). And I will have signed up to be a Hospice volunteer, Mission #5 (more about that later). Together these are very diverse experiences.

What is God preparing me for? This year seems to be so much more than grieving, healing, and missions. It seems to be about acknowledging my place with God and finding my place in the world. It’s about hearing his voice, trusting that feeling inside, and responding with abandon and without fear.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight” (Proverbs 3:5-6).

My Constant Companion

Now that the pressure to walk has been lifted, I feel a sense of freedom related to the time available for other projects. Walking three miles in one hour means that I spent between one and seven hours training for the walk…every day. It almost seemed like a full time job. But…swinging my feet out of bed at 5:00 a.m. knowing that I’ll be walking for five hours that morning is a bit different than getting up to go to a job.

So many benefits come from such a commitment, though. The mental and emotional relief from the stress of Rick’s death was a benefit I enjoyed through walking. I listened to dozens of books on tape, books I would have otherwise never read. Walking is a great activity for physical health, especially if I want sexy legs (haha). Nighttime was particularly welcome as I slept hard on those nights when my walks were longer.

Toward the end of my training time, I began to wonder where the stress from grief had gone. Where was my constant companion? As I am now three days distant from the last walk, I am beginning to feel its presence again. I wondered…am I done grieving? Is there such a thing as done? If there is, I’m not sure I want to be done quite yet…not so much so that I hardly think about this giant part of my life that is now my past.

Instead I think the walking took its place. That constant physical activity relieved the stress of grief as it had when I simply walked around the neighborhood each morning. Yet perhaps there is some magical proportion to relieving this stress. X hours of walking equals X2 less stress. Now that the walking is done, that stress seems to be creeping back in. Good.

I am not a glutton for constant stress or sadness or grief. I am simply acknowledging that there is a sense of comfort in remembering even though doing so brings a sigh. I can’t explain it. I don’t think – although asking my friends may produce a different answer – that I am mopey or that I act like a victim while I carry this grief. Today I simply walk alongside it, my constant and familiar companion.

Perhaps it’s this companion having its proper place is what changes me. This companion may truly be helping me along toward My Second Year purpose. For that, I am so thankful.

Day 3: The Finish

Finally the Ford World Headquarters came into view. Unfortunately we could see it from miles away so it seemed to take forever to actually get there (see the tiny little tents in the distance). I have to admit, the finish line was a bit anti-climactic. There were lots of people there, many of whom were crew. I’m not really sure what I expected, but I do know that I was very glad to be done. All of the sudden my feet weren’t quite so tired.

Then a surprise. My sister and her husband came to watch me cross the finish line. I got word from her on Thursday that they would be coming. I was so excited to see them. I searched the crowd for their faces but remembered I hadn’t given very good information about an approximate finish time. Oh well, once we finally connected on the lawn in front of the stage I hobbled my way over to her and wrapped my smelly, red self around her. Yea, I was SO happy to see her. They drove all the way from Allendale on their wedding anniversary just to see me. I must be special. I thought of how we were next generation sisters just like my Aunts Jean and Jill.

The finish was sweet. I was so glad to be done and I was proud of having participated in such an important event. I know that our small contribution, when added to the contributions of all the other participants, equaled 4.5 million dollars that will go toward breast cancer programs and research. Those programs and that research are the very things that I pray will prevent my aunts, their children, their grandchildren, and all of you from ever having to deal with breast cancer again. Thank you!

Day 3: The Walk

I freely and regrettably admit that I did a very poor job of taking pictures on Day 3, the most important day of all.

Waiting for the 7:00 a.m. start time, a good half hour of additional heat was added to the day as compared to previous day’s starts, I stood next to Jerry. I didn’t know it then, but Jerry and I would walk the entire third day together. As usual the walkers stayed bunched up after we left the gate. A few stop lights later and we were sufficiently spread so as not to be constantly passing one another in the wet grass to the left.

Pit Stops and Grab ‘n’ Gos were plentiful and gave the feeling of making real progress just when my feet were aching to be finished. The blisters, though, seemed not to be bothersome at all. Commando was definitely the right way to go.

Jerry is a 35-year retired Sergeant Major in the United States Air Force. He is married and loves dogs. His walk was for a friend who had breast cancer. I enjoyed Jerry’s company and loved how quickly the walk passed with his conversations. He kept me motivated without even saying a word. He also had a long stride, whew. Thank you Jerry.

Day 3: Pit Stops and Grab ‘n’ Gos

Each walking day was divided by various sections, opportunities to rest and get medical attention if necessary. For example, Day 3 looked like this (there were more stops on Day 3 than on the other days):

• Mile 3.5 Pit Stop
• Mile 5.1 Cheering Station
• Mile 6.1 Pit Stop
• Mile 7.8 Pit Stop
• Mile 9.3 Lunch
• Mile 11.8 Grab ‘n’ Go
• Mile 13.9 Pit Stop
• Mile 16.4 Holding

The Pit Stop was an opportunity for snacks, bathroom breaks, and medical attention. Snacks included these fabulous graham cracker peanut butter and jelly “sandwiches,” fruit, nuts, granola bars, and the like. Water and Gator Aid were always available too. All this food might explain why some folks passed us three or four times. They stopped, I didn’t.

A Grab ‘n’ Go was the opportunity to rest, pee, and get self-help medical attention. There really wasn’t anything to grab at the Grab ‘n’ Go. It seemed that the names were reversed. A Pit Stop should have been a bathroom break and a Grab ‘n’ Go should have been the food. Oh well, I had it figured out and I barely walked through the stops taking time only to stretch and refresh the ice bags for my head.

A Cheering Station was a designated spot where the entire town would come and cheer on the walkers. They offered water, ice, candy, ice pops, fruit, and other yummy food. On Day 1 at just about the time I dared wish for an ice cream sandwich one lady had one, the only ice cream of all three days. The Plymouth cheering station was amazing, a person could bawl their eyes out when the town center is cram packed with people cheering their hearts out just for you – I was the only one passing by at the time. All of them were wonderful as were all the individuals who sat in their yards and passed out treats. Such community support, it was amazing.

Day 3: The Morning

Like the morning of Day 2, we were awakened by floodlights. I stretched my legs and my feet before sitting up and discovered that I didn’t feel half bad. I was kind of glad I moderated the previous day’s walk. Oh the poor souls/soles hobbling around the camp that morning. My blisters were still there but they were easily negotiable. I enjoyed breakfast before packing up my gear and leaving my wet tarp taped to the top of my bag. The trucks would bring our gear to the finish line.

Day 2: The Evening

Returning to camp, showering, waiting for dinner, the evening celebrations…they were all very similar to the previous night. I did have the opportunity to relax, watch “The Naked Man” episode of How I Met Your Mother and play two rounds of Bingo in the New Balance tent. The previous night’s karaoke was replaced with a dance party. A few dances were familiar – the Cupid Shuffle, the Chicken Dance, the Macarana, YMCA, and a couple others. Yep, I danced to what I knew. I figured no one here would ever see me again, although one guy started filming me until I freaked.

At one point during the evening activities, rain sprinkled down. After…a full rainbow covered the sea of pink tents. I couldn’t back up far enough to get the whole thing in one picture but it was certainly a beautiful and very appropriate site.

Back in the super hot tent with a smidge of rain falling and high hopes of sleep. Tomorrow’s walk will be amazing! I am ready.

Day 2: The Walk

Hmm, how honest to be. I'm going for authentic so here is the truth. Okay, I didn’t walk all 21.8 miles, I walked about 12. I spent most of the day berating myself for not having walked the whole thing and then berating myself for not recognizing that the real achievement was raising awareness about breast cancer and raising the funds for research. My logic went something like this…I want to prevent my hot spots from getting worse making it impossible to walk the entire distance on the last day. And then…but this is a once in a lifetime chance to really do something important, I really should push myself regardless of the blisters. Back and forth I argued with myself. I can be quite convincing sometimes.

I am sorry to disappoint you all. Did I do my best? Well…if I weren’t so worried about the blisters getting worse and then not being able to walk the third day… Okay, if I would have just taken each day one at a time and let God manage the rest. Ugh, see how it goes?

P.S. Happy shoes not such a good plan with blisters.

Day 2: The Remembrance Tent

From a distance the approach to the large white remembrance tent could be seen. Lined with smaller pup tents, each represents one of the 15 locations The 3-Day takes place. Those locations that finished the walk before us – Boston, Cleveland, Chicago – had written messages on the outside of the fabric – message addressed to those who lost their battle with breast cancer.

Approaching the big tent, the sound of soft instrumental music reached my ears. Our Detroit pup tent was inside the larger white remembrance tent offering mourners the chance to express themselves. Along with the opportunity to sign the white pup tent, journals lay out on a table containing more messages of grief. Photos line the walls, including birth and death dates, of women who walked The 3-Day before – 1987 to 2006 is just too few years for any one soul. I pray the names of all the women in my family are never written in these places.

Day 2: The Morning

I woke at 3:00 a.m., following my usual six hours of sleep and managed to doze again until 5:00 when the flood lights came on and made all the tents transparent in the dark. So, how would I put myself together in the most efficient manner (hey, every footstep was painful and needed to be saved for the walk itself)? I applied the moleskin to the blister and one other questionable hot spot, put my walking pack together, changed clothes as discretely as possible, and promptly forgot that I walked 21.2 miles the previous day. Oh my aching feet/legs/blisters/lady parts! I went to breakfast thankful that I didn’t have to tear down camp and move.

Day 1: Bedtime

My tent was ready for me and my tent mate never showed up, thank goodness. The tent is just big enough for two twin mattresses side by side. With just me, I have room for my gear bag and a little more spreading out. Camp closes at 9:00 p.m. and we were all warned to “get to bed.” The view from my door was beautiful. A lady in the tent kiddy-corner from me was very loudly giving her condolences to her friend’s husband whose father passed away that day.

Because of the heat, I just lay on the mattress on my back trying to be still and get cool. I kinda like the air mattress approach except for the slow loss of air…very comfortable. Camp did wind down early but because I’m a light sleeper I kept coming back awake. We were told that we “had better” get up and pee during the night or we weren’t drinking enough. Well, I can hold it for quite a while plus I did not want to get up in the middle of the night. However, every other camper did have to pee in the middle of the night so…I finally slept to the sound of tent zippers going up and down all night.

And it was evening and it was morning the first day.

Day 1: The Evening

I’m sitting in the chow tent now just waiting for a decent time of day to actually eat dinner, it’s only 4:30. All the ants I think are crawling all over me occupy my mind. Perhaps I’ll do a little coloring in the Bug Time book.

Dinner was served at 4:00 and around 5:00 I got in line. Steak, potatoes, green beans, and apple pie. Yum to all of it, especially given the mass production approach. More people are here now and the local entertainment started – tap dancers to Michael Jackson songs.

6:00 – 7:00 should be announcements, stretching, and prize drawing awards.
7:00 – 8:00 camp show including announcements and games.
8:00 – 9:00 karaoke (not by me).

Now that a few hours have passed since assessing my physical state, I can affirm that everything does ache. I should also add to the list…sunburn. I could be a heat source for people in Antarctica. Strangers are commenting that I’m “a little red.” Yes, I used sun block. 20 miles tomorrow sounds very unappealing at the moment.

The air is cooling just a bit and the breeze is kicking up. Camp is abuzz with limping walkers. The crew is running errands for campers – getting water, getting dinner, setting up more tents, fetching things, carrying things. They are absolutely amazing servants. One lady saw the look on my face as I gazed longingly at the hydration station 50 feet away. She grabbed my water bottles and filled them, while I stood in place afraid to move (on account of the private blisters).

Day 1: The Finish

I purposely did not wear my watch or check the distance to each pit stop so that I wouldn’t feel hopelessly slow or that there was still soooooo far to go. Shock is the only word to describe the 7.25 hours in which I finished the walk. That equates to exactly a 3 mph pace, the same pace I held all during training. I am surprised given that I felt like I was dragging at some points in the walk. Even more shocking was that I was number 83 to cross the finish line…of 1,900 people. Crazy, how did that happen? This is not a race, this is not a race.

After resting and hydrating, I went in search of my bag and my tent. I had hoped that my tent mate would arrive before me and have the tent all set up. Instead a crew member grabbed my bag out of my hands, took the tent from me, and proceeded to I-36, like in the game Battleship, to set up my contribution to the growing sea of pink tents. A neighbor inflated my mattress and everything was ready for me to crash, except that it was still SO hot. The mattress could hardly be touched.

Finally, I dragged myself to the shower – in the back of a semi truck (in the tent photo, notice the line of trucks on the way back edge of camp). Cool water (my choice), and some pretty smelling body soap left by the SGK folks, made me very happy. It was after this shower, though, that I discovered all the problems. Blisters on my private parts (the medics said I should go commando tomorrow), a huge blister on the side of my right foot (the medics said DO NOT pop it), road rash on my ankles, and a giant vein bulging on the top of my left foot. Why, I would like to know, did I not have these problems while I was training?

P.S. Why the picture of porta potties? They made such a nice pattern and they seemed to follow us everywhere we went. The Medic's mantra "Drink, pee, no IV."

Day 1: The Walk

A 21.2-mile (yes, the 0.2 miles counts) walk was scheduled for the first day and it just happened to be 92 degrees and sunny. The most I’d walked in one day while training was 18 miles and the hottest was something like 88 so I was ready for the heat. Three more miles would be a piece of cake. The first few miles could have been frustrating given the sheer mass of people who started all at the same time. I decided to go with the flow. After the first pit stop, they started spreading out more which allowed me to set my pace a little more easily.

A group of bikers called the Panthers served as our crossing guards when they weren’t busy cheering for us. Burly biker men serving as crew for the breast cancer walk. I have to say, there was something very sweet about all the men who were participating. I particularly appreciated the free breast exam. Stretch, stretch, stretch at every stop light. The dancing lady moved ahead of the pack every so often so that we saw her several times before we finished. Families set up stands of water, food, or cold towels. I enjoyed a cold towel and an ice cream sandwich among a half dozen or so cold water bottles.

Pam’s family was amazing. I have no idea who Pam was, but her husband and many other family members drove around honking for her, they posted signs all along the route, the stopped in various places to cheer, hug, and refresh her. I was particularly struck by the thought that this is exactly what Rick would have done for me.

My crowning achievement was balancing an ice pack on my head the last 11 miles (which I did on day 2 and day 3 also), periodically refilled after having dribbled down my head and soaked into my clothes as the sun beat down. A few people commented on this feat, even the policemen asked, "Did you know there is an ice bag on your head?" (so helpful). Honestly it was probably the part of the walk that saved me. The pack kept the sun off my head, and the slow drip of water and the ice itself kept my body cool. I believe it was so helpful that I probably won’t leave camp tomorrow without a Ziploc full of ice.

Day 1: Opening Ceremony

Although it was still quite dark when I arrived, I could see the camp full of inspirational posters, flags, and banners. A number of opportunities were offered by which to pay tribute to those special people who either survived or succumbed to breast cancer. I wrote my Aunts’ names everywhere I could.

Opening ceremony began promptly at 6:30 as the 1,900 walkers who were dressed all in pink shuffled into the black metal chute. I stepped in near the back so I could get out quickly and easily. Ten minutes of stretching preceded a ceremony that left us all teary eyed. At 7:15 we were given the charge to begin the walk. No, don’t exit out the way we came in, exit out the front through a staged, single-file line. Yes, I was close to last or at least a late middle before I finally crossed through the gate. It’s not a race, right?

The very first song they played to energize the group was Walking on Sunshine, a song popular in the mid 1980s and performed by Katrina and the Waves. I actually saw them in concert back when they were trying to become better known. The song is so motivating to me that first note from the horn is a very familiar signal. I could name that tune in one note. Rick knew how much that song meant to me and recorded it as a single on a CD. He occasionally played it, perhaps to watch me jump around in excitement. That this would be the first song today was very sweet.

The 3-Day: Morning Day #1

4:30 a.m. just slammed me in the face. My bag is packed but surely it weighs more than the 35 pound limit. I only packed what was on their list – I mean, I even almost forgot to bring non-walking clothes. Was it meant to be a trick…getting all this stuff into one bag that weighs less than 35 pounds?

I definitely did not forget to pack my pink happy shoes. They’re so bright I had to name them my “happy shoes” so people wouldn’t think I was weird for buying Crocs of that color. Okay, well, the case for my being weird may not hinge only on these shoes. Everything else I brought to wear is pink too…I’m so original.

The weather is predicted to be 88 degrees and sunny all day. No worries about protecting my gear from the rain, although I did bring lots of plastic. I’m thinking I’d like to add to my already dark complexion by avoiding sun block…but…that little voice in my head says that’s not such a good idea.

I’ll take a cab the 0.8 miles from the hotel to the check-in point at Oakland Community College only because my bag is so stinkin’ heavy. I’ll probably need that 0.8 miles of energy for the walk tomorrow anyhow. I’m leaving my car in the hotel parking lot. I’m thinking I should put a sign on it that says something like “I have 180,000 miles, don’t bother me.”

Let’s see…what else? I did bring my computer but I don’t know if I’ll have access to post. If nothing else I have an 11 hour battery that will let me do the writing I so enjoy so that you can read about and see pictures of the event when I get back. Don’t forget to “Like” Susan G. Komen The 3-Day for the Cure so that you can get updates throughout the day. I know you’re so excited about that.

Thank you to everyone who made a donation and to all the neighbors who did likewise. I would not be doing this without you. You are the awesomist! But mostly, thank you to Aunt Jean and Aunt Jill for being so sweet to me that first year. Okay…here I go…

Part of Something Bigger

Breast cancer is the most frequently diagnosed cancer AND it’s the leading cause of death among women worldwide. If only the cure actually hinged on one person walking 60 miles one time.

As I raised funds for this cause, particularly as I went Knocking for Knockers, I had a growing sense of isolation. The experience was difficult, hot, and sometimes frustrating or sad. I know, though, that once I get to the event there will be more than 1,000 other men and women walking and I imagine there will be no way to feel any kind of isolation even if I wanted to.

Many folks are walking as part of a team (550 teams in Michigan), together those teams and all of us who are walking as individuals are part of something bigger. There are 15 different locations throughout the U.S. where thousands of walkers contribute to the fight against breast cancer. There are dozens of other events – running, biking, mountain climbing, etcetera – that also contribute to the fight.

Just for kicks, here are a few of the team names:

“Bust” A Move
“Nice Rack” Pack
A Coupl’a Boobs
Boobie Brigade
Bustin’ Loose
Healthy Humps
Hope for Hooters
Just for the Mammaries
Long Life the Girls
Save Second Base
The Wonder Twins
The Big & Itty Titty Committee
The Breast Things in Life
The Cleavage Crew
The Pointer Sisters
Treasure Chests

So you see, the sense that that this mission isn’t all about me is starting to sink in. I am a part of something bigger, much bigger…even bigger than a double DD.

Packing for The 3-Day

Packing for three days of walking and camping is no small task. Unlike Packing for Alaska and Packing for Uganda, we’ve been given a three page list of what to bring and what not to bring. Everything on the list must fit into a single duffel and weigh less than 35 pounds, including camping gear. Then we must somehow mark our black duffel so as to distinguish it from all the other black duffels loaded into our assigned transport truck…a pink ribbon is probably not the best idea.

We’re asked to seal everything we bring inside a Ziploc® bag to keep it dry in the event of rain or heavy dew. All of our clothing for all weather, camping gear, first aid, toiletries, and miscellaneous items (the longest part of the list) are all to fit in sealable bags. I don’t know about you but my Ziploc® bags only come in gallon size. How shall I fit the sleeping bag or pillow in that?

I am glad for the list though. I might not have thought to bring shower shoes, clothes pins, an alarm clock, or a bandanna. Seems like duct tape would be a good idea too, and maybe the kitchen sink. I definitely would not have thought to bring tent decorations or any decorations for my body like the lady in the photo. I’d kinda like to be all foo-fooed up though. Any help with that from all my Creative friends would be appreciated. I’m also making a sign for the front yard so all those neighbors that tolerated my “Knocking for Knockers” will know that this is the weekend I walk.

The dilemma of today, though, is this. A Chicago walker’s blog post said that AT&T was in camp with an internet café. If that’s true, I want to bring my computer so I can write about all my experiences each day and post on the blog, but they say not to bring any valuables. I find that I need to unload my brain regularly to maintain emotional/mental balance (no jokes). What should I do?

God Loves to Feel

I listened to Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert during one of my extended walks and heard this line: “God loves to feel things through our hands” (Gilbert, 2006, p. 187).

While I don’t agree with her religious theology, the comment made me think. Initially I thought about tactile “feelings” such as the sharp crystals of orange sherbet scraping my tongue when I lick, or the silky soft petal of a flower slipping between my fingers. I wondered whether God really liked the feel of my feet pressing the pavement as I walked or my slick skin drenched with sweat.

Next I thought about emotional “feelings” and about the day I opened the door to the police chaplain, and about how excited I was when all the little children of Kyamagemule swarmed on me. Does God love to feel both the good and the bad?

Finally I thought about how our hands (heads, and hearts) are one way God experiences the world. The indwelling of Christ is a mystery but his loving to feel things through my hands means that my relationships with other people are experienced by him. How I love others, how I serve them, how I long to be with them…these are all feelings God has through my hands. Does that change the way I respond to people? I sure hope so.

We know that he lives in us by the Spirit he gave us (1 John 3:24).

Inspirational The 3-Day Videos

I know in my head that the experience of walking 60 miles in 3 days will be something close to magical once I join forces with thousands of other men and women who are also walking. I just needed a little inspirational boost to get me to that opening ceremony. Watch these short videos to get an idea of the kind of people I’ll be meeting and why walking 60 miles is so important.


My Mom’s Shoes
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtgRvAUjrLE


Kept Promises
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXbLbRz3BQw&feature=related


Why Walk 60 Miles?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kCKEogKBp1c&feature=related


Southern AZ Commercial
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b85Z7SFmqE8


Donate to The 3-Day 2010
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWU-dDdJ1yM&feature=related

Opening and Closing Ceremony Locations

For safety reasons, the locations of these ceremonies and the walking route for each day are kept relatively quiet until close to the event time. The ceremony locations have just been announced:

Opening Ceremony
• 6:30 a.m. Friday, August 13
• Oakland Community College in Farmington Hills

Closing Ceremony
• 4:30 p.m. Sunday, August 15
• Ford Motor Company World Headquarters in Dearborn

A number of public cheering stations along the route are disclosed to someone, but I don’t know where they are. Via the regular email updates I hear stories about crew members who serve as cheer leaders for specific people, which means they watch for a number to pass by at each station and cheer their little hearts out. Then they go to the next station and cheer for that same number again. They do this all along the route. I also heard there is one lady who gives a hug to every walker as they cross the finish line. I so want that job!

Will you come cheer for me when I cross the finish line?

Exhausted

My bed is dimpled by the two bodies that formerly slept there. The hump in the middle is the only place where I can lay flat on my stomach following a long walk. My body aches too much to lie on my side. My arms are down and tucked under me to keep me from rolling in either direction. The pillow is under my face and another covers my eyes to keep the sun from lighting on them.

There’s very little left of me physically and all I can do is take a nap. I cry a little. “Why am I crying,” I wonder before I slip away. I’m tired, I feel hopeless, I wonder what the point of all this walking has been. And then I remember…I’m alone and my beautiful Aunts have comforted me tirelessly (so unlike the complaining I am doing now).

I must go on, I will go on. And then all I want is for Rick to slip onto the bed next to me and comfort me. I can almost feel him lying by my side with his head propped up on one arm and the other arm soothing me by gently rubbing my back…by touching me. He whispers, “You’re doing a great job honey. I’ll be there at the end to welcome you in. Just watch, I’ll be there.” I drift away.

Walker Registration

Registering for The 3 Day requires:
• Providing health insurance information
• Watching a health and safety video
• Choosing a tent mate
• Opting in/out for towel service
• Taking a quiz

The top two health problems walkers experience during The 3 Day are dehydration and blisters. As my walking distances increased, I became more sensitive to the need to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. Even so, I still have a feeling that I don’t hydrate enough. My main concern is the depletion of salt. Sports drinks are nasty so I’ll be mindful about selectively choosing salty snacks en route. I’ve not had a problem with blisters on my feet thanks to the super expensive, super ugly, Smart Wool socks Rick left behind. Blisters on my…um, I got some Body Glide.

Some of the safety rules include no iPods or mp3 players. What ever will I do with my brain while walking 20 miles (7+ hours) if I can’t listen to books on tape? I hope to make some new friends while on the trail. Another rule is no running. Seriously? Thanks, but this won’t be a problem for me. Put your arms above your head in an X to signal the sweep van to stop. A sweep van takes “injured” walkers either to the next pit stop or to camp. I really want to walk the WHOLE 60 miles, anything less would not be my best effort.

I’m getting really excited about participating. Seven days, $640, and a few more details to go.

First Walk With New Shoes

(Sunday, July 12) My first walk in my new shoes was somewhat adventurous. I’d mapped out a 14 mile course (about 5 hours) that began at Knapp and Grand River, on the way home from church. About four miles in (just past the Carl Creek Bridge) the sky got dark and the rain poured down. I’m not generally one to care much if it rains because once you’re wet no amount of finishing faster will make you any less wet.

The ear splitting peel of thunder, on the other hand, had me running for cover…literally. I ran to this lady’s porch and asked if I could wait it out. About 10 minutes later I started off jogging toward home. I passed a poor dad and his little boy in a stroller, and their dog. The dad was swearing up a storm of his own because of the rain.

My brand spanking new $100 shoes were completely water logged! Between the shoes and my Smart Wool socks, my feet felt like jelly sponges just holding tight to that precious water. Usually when something is wet there is a sort of wet squish and a release of the water. But this pair seemed like my feet were encased in a gel type liquid. Eeeww.

I ended up running home in a very soggy condition, and with an even stronger desire to just be done with the walk. Instead I changed my clothes and shoes and finished the walk, which in total ended up being 15 miles.

New Shoes

(Saturday, July 10) If I walk a minimum of 10 miles every day (which I have been doing) between now and August 13, the first day of The 3 Day, I will have walked 333 miles. Knowing I will walk closer to 500 miles before the walk, I decided I could not put off getting some new walking shoes. I hated to give up my Ugandan dusty shoes so they’ve been relegated to the everyday shoe position and the everyday shoes have been moved to the lawn mowing position.

The lady at Gazelle Sports, Rick’s favorite store for buying his running shoes, measured my feet and tried to console me about how huge they are. She blamed having kids and walking so much, bless her. She brought out five different pair to try and I ended up choosing the Asics, just like the ones I already had. Fit like a glove.

She informed me that this particular shoe was on sale. Whew, I know how expensive good shoes can be. I was pretty happy about the sale. “How much,” I asked. “$100,” she replied. Gasp! $100 for a pair of shoes? Okay…that’s $0.20 per mile. That’s $0.0001 per step with an average of 2,000 steps per mile. Maybe I can justify this expense. Plus, I know how bad my feet can feel after walking in worn out shoes. But $100? Oh me, oh my…what that could do for breast cancer research instead.

Lake Ann Camp Hike

(Wednesday, July 7) What must I have looked like walking around the trails of this camp all dressed in pink? Easily identifiable is probably the most correct answer. All pink is not so common among young campers, even the girls. I stuck out like cotton candy. Given the humidity on this 90-degree day, I’m sure I looked like cotton candy does when you lick it – you know, it gets dark pink and kind of beady and melty and sticky.

Another oddity was that I not with a camper group. This pink woman walking around the grounds of the camp was probably something to laugh about. Here is where age has its benefits. I don’t think they dared laugh or tease because I’m a full grown adult (most of the time). Lots of counselors said “hello,” as did many campers when spoken to first. No one asked who I was or what I was doing here with any sort of security-like undertones.

Trudging up and down two tracks until the track ended usually at a road or at a cabin, I then returned to take the next trail. I found the giant blow up ball that kids get into and ride to the bottom of a hill. I wanted to ask if I could try, and I’m sure they would have let me, but I didn’t. I found tent-cabins named after constellations. I found horses. I found teen girl and teen guy cabins facing one another – I’m not thinking that was such a good idea.

Eventually I came back to the Three-Mile Hike trail where I met up with the persistent fly once again. Seriously, I wasn’t even thinking about that companion…until he showed up again. Ugh! I just left the trail and didn’t even bother trying to find a compromise with that guy.

I was out for about an hour and a half which means I walked about five miles. Not much but it was good to keep up the exercise. I’m getting to need new shoes pretty seriously.

White Pine Trail

(Sunday, July 4) Here is what I posted on Facebook that morning: Walking the White Pine Trail today from Cedar Springs to Riverside Park - 17+ miles (5+ hours) - in preparation for walking 60 miles over three days to help fight breast cancer. Make a donation to Susan G. Komen on my Facebook page…

When I go away from home, I always look for the opportunity to walk so that I have the chance to experience new terrain and new scenery. The temperature reached 88 degrees at its peak today and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Why walk in such conditions? I’ll be walking in Detroit in mid August and the conditions may very well be exactly the same as today – or hotter. I need to learn how my body reacts to these conditions and to be prepared to meet its needs along the way.

I learned that two bottles of water isn’t nearly enough. I also learned that, even though I was probably the most goofy looking person around, the cowboy hat my father-in-law gave me to keep the sun off my head did the trick. Yep, bright pink athletic shorts and shirt and a cowboy hat.

I found this trail particularly difficult for two reasons. First, it was long and straight. Except when walking through Rockford, there was nothing much to look at. Trees, path, where the trees shaded the path, where the trees didn’t shade the path. Second, there was no way to get off the trail and shorten the walk if I lacked energy. I did okay and am glad I walked the whole thing, but not having the choice of shortening the walk was a bit claustrophobic. Happily, I finished the trail in exactly the amount of time I anticipated. Yea me!

African Rain

(Friday, June 18) The second of three early morning Uganda walks took Gabriel and me back to Lutembe Beach. I’d not had batteries in my camera (duh) the first time and wanted to return for some pictures. The skies were dark and cloudy even in the early hours. After pausing at a covered table, the rain started coming down. Even though the weather was dark, we still enjoyed the view over Lake Victoria.

On the way back from the beach, it poured…hard. I learned later that for the past four years Africa had been in a drought. No rain or at least very little of it. This year the rains returned and the landscape was thick, lush, and very green. This was the only day while I was in Uganda where the morning time stars weren’t big and bright the day time skies weren’t a brilliant blue. The rain continued to pour down on us for the rest of the one and a half hour walk. The heavy rain washed the red dust from the foliage revealing a brilliant, sparkling green.

At one point Gabriel asked how I liked walking in the rain. I actually thought I was privileged to experience the African rains up close and personal. I think Gabriel was freezing, though he never complained.

Once closer to town we took some back roads to when returning to Lauren’s duplex. Those roads were tricky. The canyons were brimming with water for lack of any sewer system. Rock was exposed in some places but in other places the ground was covered with the slick red clay making footing unstable. Even though we walked past Gabriel’s apartment, he refused to do anything other than walk me all the way to the door of Lauren’s duplex.

My shoes are covered with the thick red dust of Uganda that I’ll never shake off.