conversations from the couch

arrrrrgh. There are days the details kill me. It’s Valentine’s day, I’m working from home with a sick child, still in my pj’s at 6 pm, have not showered in 2 days and our team is working like mad to do all of those “little” things. From name badges, evaluation forms, participant manuals, signs, and logistics, logistics, logistics. My email is making that “new email noise” (is there a word for that?) so often it’s actually comical.

Amidst the chaos of it all, there is a certain excitement that comes with this pace. Maybe its a touch of hysteria mixed with sleep deprivation and adrenaline, but I like to think I smell God in this. (or maybe that’s my “earthy” scent, not sure.) Anyway, despite dozens upon dozens of emails back and forth with speakers, staff, volunteers–and even attendees…there is a common thread in it. We’re all in the final stretch–it’s in full view…we’re almost here.

It reminds me of the time I ran a half marathon. It started out down the mountains, which was so thrilling–running fast with the pack, completely energized. Towards mile five we’d all thinned out, the sun was blasting, and I was getting grouchy. By mile 7, I was running down an empty stretch of back country road, and not a person was in sight. (except for a larger middle-aged woman lumbering along about 50 yards in FRONT of me) I had to turn off my mp3 player–I’d filled it entirely with worship music–as this was going to be 13 miles of running, prayer and worship, and my newfound cursing felt akward amidst praise-filled lyrics. By mile 9 I was so numb I didn’t realize I’d lost bladder control until I felt my shoes sloshing with every step. (unfortunate overuse of B vitamins was also apparent.)

I was actually sobbing into mile 11, but reduced it to a whimper as I noticed that there were suddenly a lot more runners along the road (the big 10K race merged into the marathon course for the final leg, and the really good full-marathon runners were now overrunning us.) An older gentleman ran up along beside me and just said 3 simple words, “stay with me.” I’m not sure what happened then, but I got stronger. He and I stepped up a hearty pace, the course turned into the city and the crowds were cheering. It was a sea of faces–all yelling, encouraging, clapping, and there was a huge pack of us running until the finish line.

There was kinship in the humanity of that last mile. I feel that this week. The co-runners in this journey to Cincinnati are all of us who have strived to get here. I’ve talked to youth workers who are making this journey despite incredible hardships and sacrifices, and speakers who have endured some of the most gut-wrenching months of their lives. It’s heart-breaking and inspiring.

We’re in the merging zone now…it’s where we all run this last mile in together. I love this part.