rule no. 1: comfort in, dump out

latimes.com

Talking about the miscarriage has meant opening myself up for comment. Ninety-five percent of it has been comforting, even sometimes helpful. Talking about it and not suffering in silence has opened up the door for burden sharing in the form of flower deliveries, sympathy cards, hugs, milkshakes, cups of coffee, encouraging texts and emails. Sharing the intimate details allowed others to share their intimate details in moments of solidarity. I don't regret sharing about such an oddly taboo topic.

When I read this article in the LA Times sent to me by a friend who suffered from infertility for years, I found myself nodding emphatically. "When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you're going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn't, don't say it."

Oh sister, preach it. Like I said, 95 percent of the comments and actions we've received are comforting, such as:

• "I am sad with you."
• "What can I do?"
• "Here's some dinner for your fridge because I know you don't feel like cooking right now and a home cooked meal is going to sustain your body when your heart is hurting."
• "We'll babysit so you two can have time together to grieve."
• "Let me bring you junk food and sit and listen to you talk about how life is unfair."

Also:

• Calling our baby by its name. Or even just acknowledging he or she is a baby.
•  Listening. Holding. Hugging. Wiping tears away. Crying with me.
• Texting two weeks later to let us know you haven't forgotten. Because we sure haven't.
• Deliveries of flowers. Cards. Chocolate Milk.

The other five percent, I try to give grace knowing that it's hard to know what to say when others are grieving.  Especially for things like miscarriage. I've also found that when using the ring theory, my expectations are higher of those I place in the more center rings. When the outer ring people do more than I would ever have expected, the lack of support from the inner ring is more apparent and hurtful. That might be unfair. I am doing my very best to use these experiences to educate and show grace, rather than breed anger.

If you find yourself in any ring for someone going through a miscarriage, here is what was not helpful, at least to me:

• "This reminds me of my pain/stress/grief when..."
• "God doesn't give you anything you can't handle." Or similarly, "this was God's plan." This actually doesn't jive with my theology. I do think God knew this would happen and had the power to change it, and didn't. But I also don't think he brought my baby into this world to teach me a lesson or as part of some bigger plan. I think He can see the past, present and future and will use it for His glory.
   
• "I know exactly how you feel."
•  Not talking to me at all, like I have become the miscarriage. I also work, have a son, husband that I will be happy to talk about if you don't know what to say about the elephant in the room.
• Looking for a reason why this happened. *Unless you have access to my medical chart.

Like the article said, I get it if my miscarriage makes you nervous about your pregnancy or makes you sad again about someone you've lost in the past. That's a totally normal response. 

Just dump it out, not in.

praying for anapra

Tomorrow, my mom heads to Mexico. Not the part where there is turquoise water, white sand beaches and overflowing fruit platters. But the part you read about in the news.

We first went to Anapra in 2000 with my youth group. Back then it was just sand, cinder block houses with no electricity or running water. We came to help build a new school in a Juarez neighborhood where parents locked their kids at home so they wouldn't get into trouble while they rode a bus to a factory and worked for $1/hour. Along came a pastor, Antonio, who saw a need and moved his family to Juraez so he could teach adults to read and write in this room made of palettes and cardboard.

And then we arrived and helped pour the concrete for a new building. It took a week to build just the floor - mixing concrete by hand, twisting metal into rebar. At the end of the week, a bunch of teenagers stood in a circle around our concrete slab. We listened to prayers in Spanish and a man talk tearfully about how he'd found God that week.

"Asi alumbre vuestra luz delante de los hombres, para que vean vuestros buenos trabajos y glorifiquen a vuestro Padre que esta en los cielos." Mateo 5:16

And then other churches came. Buildings were built. Tile laid. Chalkboards hung. The Colegio Susana Wesley was born.

Four years ago, my family went back for Thanksgiving. And that little slab of concrete is now many buildings. It's a beautiful, vibrant school. 

And the kids are amazing. 

But as the situation in Juarez has deteriorated so has Anapra.The volunteers don't come as often. Antonio and his wife, Dina, are at risk for extortion or kidnapping because of their local status. The funding sources, who are also struggling to maintain their own budgets, aren't giving as much away.

So my mom and a team of people will go back this week to help out with repairs around the school. They will deliver supplies and a lot of love. It's the least they can do for the two people and their staff who give their lives in service in the face of violence because they believe in education and in God's love.

This week I'm praying. For my mom and the team's safety. For the kids of Anapra who grow up with the odds stacked against them. For the families who can look outside their cardboard houses and see the lights of the El Paso gated communities where there is enough food, enough education, enough jobs and enough safety. For our hearts to be moved - whether it's risking our comfort and safety to serve, collecting school supplies and clothing to give away because we have more than enough or simply signing up for the school's newsletter and praying.

And as we eat ourselves into a food coma next Thursday, make a list of all the stuff we want for Christmas, attend holiday parties and complain about the burden of our jobs, car repairs, the cost of decorations or the stress of family get-togethers, I hope we pause.

what I've learned from running

My running really started two years ago at a gym - always an hour of treadmill running; the same thing every day. I've gone from that to running 20-30 miles a week on asphalt with a doctor-ordered ban on treadmills. Treadmills taught me to watch a TV show intensely, ignoring the fact that my legs were moving. Training for a half marathon has taught me a lot about myself.

I have to plan ahead to accomplish my goals.
Running for two hours on a weekend requires planning - planning in what I eat the night before, the amount of water I drink and freeing up my schedule. I check the weather forecast more than the meteorologist. I had to become more creative when it got dark - learning how to run on my lunch break, avoiding side stitches that were inevitable with my evening runs. Without planning and adjusting priorities, runs didn't happen.

My body is capable of more than I thought possible.
In high school, I thought it was amazing that I ran a mile after school on an indoor track. A 5k race seemed out of reach. Running more than five miles? Impossible. I'd get side cramps, sore legs, be unable to breathe. But my body caught up fast. The more I ran, the better I got. During my training, my longest run has been 12.5 miles. I actually enjoyed it. My lung capacity has increased. My legs are strong. 


Pain is sometimes the reward.
There were some runs when I did not feel good. I didn't get a runner's high, and I ended my run feeling dehydrated, tired and crabby. But feeling the stretch in my quads, the achy calves and the sensitive feet made me feel alive. And the pain was a reminder of my effort. (note: this does not include my current knee pain. There is absolutely no reward in that.)

I need to work on mental toughness.
There's always an excuse for me to not run. It's too hot, too windy. I'm too busy. I didn't drink enough water or didn't eat the right foods. I deserve another day off. I gave in to these excuses way too often during my training. I still have logged over 250 miles since I started tracking on Daily Mile. 250! But, toward the last third of my training plan I got lazy. As the race approaches, I think of how much better I could do if I had stayed focused and motivated.


Eating with purpose
Before running I counted calories to make sure I didn't go over. I felt guilty when I had more than one cookie. Running long distance has taught me that eating is an act of fueling my body. The kinds of food (and amount) I eat depend on my running schedule. I listen to my body. When I am full, I stop. When it told me dairy and running don't mix, I changed my diet. When I am starving, I eat. I pay attention to protein and carbs. I am not trying to lose weight, I'm trying to get my body strong enough to run for two hours.

Bad things happen.
I followed my plan. I warned my runner father that he should be careful about adding mileage too quickly. I was the one limping and crying in pain and frustration due to an overuse injury. My last long run was two and half weeks ago with a few shorter runs mixed in. I could have stretched more, avoided that one rainy night on the treadmill or done more core workouts. But really, it just happened and with extremely bad timing. If I do run, it won't be fast. It won't be an accurate picture of what I can run. More incentive to keep training for the next one!