The Birthing of a Man

Wet, warm, slimy babe in your arms, new from the world of wombs. Only God could have planned this moment. Skin to skin, breathing in new life, new joy, hopes and dreams for both today and tomorrow. Pull the wobbly, too heavy, head up for a kiss and feel the warmth of new blood rushing, oxygenated now by something other than you. Your role is a little less crucial than it was yesterday. But you don’t feel that right now, you just bask in the new mommy, joy moment. And do, for it passes too quickly. All of life is letting go. 

 The way he ripped through your body, the burning pain with the tightenings and the forceful entry into the world – that’s the way he’ll rip through your life as he strives to be birthed into a man. Many painful contractions of love, breathe, readjust, try to cope in the moment – if you look at the whole, it’s overwhelming. Then a break, a breather, a moment of reprieve, and you still feel the tiny pushes from within. 

The transition hits and you don’t know where to go. You try to catch your breath, but it seems elusive. “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.” And that’s what it feels like, the ends of the world caving in and pulling you apart at the same moment. You’ve been stretched, stretched to where your body can handle, but it’s still try to stretch a little more. Tears, groans, and gasps. They all come. Did you picture it this way? Did you know the pain of birthing a man?

Pushing brings a little relief, but adds with it a stinging sensation you may have never known. At least you and your body are working together now. In a moment you want to hold back, hold back from the burning, but holding back hurts all the worse and you give in to the urges of your body. God knows best. For if a child remained inside forever, he would never be a man, and he would wind up eating you alive. The ring of fire, appropriately named, as your skin stretches and sometimes breaks open at the sheer force of his head, and in one gigantic effort, it emerges. A moment, or maybe two, and you bear down again unable to hold back any more. He twists and turns and struggles his shoulders out, and in one swift motion, he slides into the waiting hands. He’s born.

That first breath brings air to parts of his lungs that have never experienced air before. He wiggles and screeches. No longer safe in the darkness of your womb, but now exposed to the light. Breathing now depends on him. Life, depends on him; his body has been preparing for this moment. Your body has been preparing for this moment. They clamp the cord – his former life source – and within ten days, the evidence of such will also fall away. 

But now that he’s here, you don’t remember the birth pangs, they are the former thing and are no more for you are overwhelmed at the joy of who is here now. 

For when your son becomes a man, it is then that you truly become a momma!

Hannah Norton 2014

 

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Getting Back on the Horse...er, um, The Treadmill

I've been asked by several people recently how my recovery is coming along - well, here is where I found myself yesterday...

I went running for the first time since the race yesterday. I mean really running – not just these recovery jogs. And I faced some real demons along the way. Sometimes getting back up on the horse that bucked you off can be the most frightening thing. 

Mentally, I was so much farther along than what my body would allow, and as I watched the time and distance slowly tick up on the display of the treadmill, the doubts started to creep in. “Could you even run a 5k anymore, Hannah? You pace, akin to what you were running nearly a year ago when you first started out. Yep, you’re weak. You’re out of breath at a 5.2? Are you even sure you should be doing this? Maybe you’re not cut out for running. Maybe you never were a runner. Maybe you should just give up.” As my breathing labored and my leg once again tightened down, I slowed to a walk around mile 2.2. 

Over the past year, I had seen so many changes in my body, in my mind, and even in my spirit as I trained my body for the races. I felt healthier and stronger than I ever had before, and I was definitely smaller than I had been in a long time. I found it easy to like my body when it was this way. The results of the hard work excited me and pushed me to keep going. And I found that I really liked working out hard for an hour and then enjoying food rather than not working out and having to really count calories. 

My runs were my time – my time to connect with my heart, to connect with God – to allow him to enlarge my heart amidst the struggle and press on through the pain, coming to the end and finishing victoriously. Kind of an image of the Christian walk I want to lead. All of that changed when I got injured.

I loved being able to go into a store, know what size I was, pull something off the rack and know that it would fit. I loved how I was finally comfortable in my own skin, and I was no longer concerned about what others' thought. I had reached the climax. I was where I wanted to be, and I was content. Crazy how fitness doesn’t stay when you can’t train at the same level.

Running our neighborhood was all well and good, and I had set several PRs for my time as I trained for the marathon. I was excited about setting a PR at a spring race for a 5k distance. I wanted it recorded. I wanted it official and something more than just on my stopwatch. I wanted to feel good about my time, I wanted to find my identity there – to finally call myself a runner. And yesterday, as I was running, I saw the reality of where I am now – having lost nearly 40% of my performance in just three short weeks.

As I walked, I was ready to throw in the towel. What was I thinking? If I’m just going to “fail” anyway (at least fail in my eyes…), why even try? And God started cultivating my heart in that moment. I cried out to him and told him all my fears and frustrations. He turned like a mirror and showed me the reality of my heart in the midst of this. 

Hannah, you may not have seen it. It may have been subtle, but running has become an idol to you. The feelings of endorphins, addictive. The results of your size and fitness something that you cannot let go of. Your speed and distance, your pride. And some sort of title as “runner” your pursued identity. That’s not who you are. And my grace has allowed this injury to bring you to this point – for you never would have realized the depths of this stronghold without being pulled away from it for a time. You’re not a failure. You’re walking in my sovereign allowed grace. Accept this as a gift. Learn to run in Me, by Me, for Me.

Up to this moment now, I had not even considered my injury something good – much less a gift and something to be grateful for. But that’s what it is. And today, I thank God for his grace in allowing me to be pulled away from my idolatry. I’m still in process as to what this all means. Am I going to give up running? No. Am I going to change some goals and perspective? Yes. What does this next year look like? What does my new training look like? All of that is still in the works….

Where is my heart right now? Trying to break down what it looks like to have been crucified with Christ, therefore it is no long I who live, but Christ who lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the son of God who loves me and who gave himself for me. (Galatians 2:20)

 



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Groundhog Marathon 2014

It’s come, and it’s gone – Groundhog day, that is, and the Groundhog Marathon in Grand Rapids with it. The questions have started rolling in – as I figured they would. “So, how did it go?” “What was your time?” “How was the course, the weather, etc..?” Long story, short……I didn’t finish. I withdrew after only one loop on the course (4.4 miles.) For some of you that may be enough information, for others (who want more details) keep reading.

To say that yesterday wasn’t what I expected would be an understatement. J and I followed a traditional marathon training schedule with our 20 miler happening three weeks ago with a gradual taper afterward. We had been running both indoors and out in order to prepare our bodies/mind for the cold. The temps didn’t seem to be too much of an issue, and we had run in snow (with Yak Tracks) several times.

The groundhog day course was described as a 4.4 mile paved park path with beautiful scenery. They were hoping for some snow to add an element of fun. Sounded all well and good to us…..Needless to say, this winter has blessed us with more than a “little” snow, and with a snowstorm that rolled in on Saturday, the path was adequately covered Sunday morning – and not just covered, the snow drifts were up to 18 inches in some places! They did not plow the path at all, yet, being at the back of the pack, most times, we were only running through 4-10 inches of snow at any given moment. 

Having heard some of the pre-race comments, I had prepared myself mentally for a more grueling course than expected, so as thoughts of doubts came up, I pushed them away, refocusing my mind on the prayer cards in my hands. 

Unfortunately, the amount of snow slowed our pace so much so that we were being passed up by other runners quite frequently. (And because the trodden path was so narrow, we got pushed into the snow banks when they wanted to get by quickly as their shoes slipped on the slush and many nearly lost balance – there was much bumping into one another….) The repetitive motion of being pushed up onto the right side of the trail and my leg sliding back down under me from off the uneven elevation caused a pull in my outer quad before the first mile marker. I attempted to compensate by keeping my legs more evenly under my body, but this caused more intense effort on the part of my calves as my ankles twisted and tugged with the sliding motion. We hit mile 1 after 20 minutes, Mile 2 after 45. My body ached, and I was seriously starting to deal with some self-doubt. This is not what I had signed up for!

I was starting to notice that my right calf was aching each time it slipped off the edge and back onto the path, and by mile 3 (after 1 hour 15 minutes), I was experiencing sharp pain with nearly every step (yes, by this point, we had slowed to a hiking pace). I couldn’t stand the thought of quitting! I hated that it was even becoming an option. To quit is to fail, I don’t care how much pain I am in! 

At the beginning of the race, the director had announced that anyone could drop down to a half-marathon distance if they decided they wanted to. This thought also crossed my mind. At our current pace (which I couldn’t really go faster without risking even more damage to my already injured calf) we would never finish the 26.2 miles in the time allotted. So even if I pushed to finish the mileage, I may still not finish. Should I drop down to 13.1? What would people think? How would I describe what I did? And that was still failing to me. 

J noticed that I was in pain. I asked him what we should do. We talked. We prayed. The thought of having to explain this all to everyone was overwhelming. By this point (mile 3.5) many of the racers were now walking. Elite runners were making comments about the course, about their time (one runner stated that she wouldn’t finish the first loop in the time she finished her last half marathon). Many were considering dropping down to the half or dropping the race all together. We plodded on while we considered our options. As I prayed, I realized that my focus should not be on what other people would think of me, but what would God think? Would I let him down if I didn’t finish? Would I disappoint him if I withdrew from the race? What was our ultimate purpose in this marathon, anyway? Was it not to lift other people up to the throne of grace? Grace: undeserved favor…. I definitely wouldn’t be deserving if I didn’t finish. 

It only took a couple more times of the sheering force on my ankle and calf to make the decision for me. I asked J if I could be honest with him. At mile 4, I made the decision that I should not try to complete another loop for the risk of a more permanent injury. This was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make. If you know anything about me, you know that not completing a goal is one of the worst violations of my personality. My heart was breaking. I knew at the same time, I still wanted to be there for my husband, and I didn’t want my injury to hold him back. So I gave him the freedom to complete what he felt like he should. As we crossed the lap line, (at 1 hour 48 minutes) I informed the director that I would be withdrawing, and J decided to cut back to the half marathon. 

J crossed the finish of the half at 4 hours 22 minutes (He finished his last half in 2 hours 27 minutes – if that tells you anything about the course) . During that time that J was continuing to push through the race, I was continuing to push through in prayer. I still accomplished the purpose we started out with – everyone who made it on my prayer list was lifted up to God despite the circumstances.

I struggle now, even as I write this – all I really wanted to do, post-race, was to crawl right down in that hole with that groundhog and hide out for the next six weeks. I’m embarrassed. I’m hurt. I’m frustrated at the circumstances. I deal with questions, and tears come. Sure, I could have taken a “shrug it off” approach… “It’s all good. I’m fine.” But that’s not being real. Or I could have taken a “woe is me” approach and just sulked about the conditions. Both would have been easier than admitting the truth. But this is what I’m called to, and in the midst of this, I realize another truth……

God is still sovereign. He knew exactly how this race was going to play out before we even signed up for it. He knew how difficult the training would be. He knew the weather conditions (he controls them, go figure). And he knew about my injury before I even knew I’d fall in love with running. And I can rest in the fact that he is in control, he is not surprised, and his grace is sufficient. And I am convinced – even if I cannot see it right now – God is cultivating my heart even through my perceived failures. 

If you have made it this far, you are a true friend! I thank you. Thank you for listening. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for opening your heart to mine. And I ask for your prayers now – pray for me as I go forward. Pray for wisdom. Pray that God would be glorified. And pray that I would ever pursue Him more fully! Soli Deo Gloria!

 
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