Surprise Gifts

Merry Christmas to all! Today is Christmas Eve and I am pondering the wonderful Christmas surprises that I have received over the years. Without divulging the contents of these gifts or the givers of these gifts, I will write briefly about the joy in surprises. Christmas can be extremely stressful for people with the need to buy gifts for everyone in their immediate circle so that no one is left out. Often we give only when others are going to give back to us. However, this seems to defeat the purpose of gift giving. The heart of Christmas giving is to give without receiving anything in return. Now that we have children Christmas is a whole different experience. We want our children to not simply be consumed by the consumption that takes place around the Holiday season. The gift that we were given in the birth of Christ was certainly the largest surprise and gift that Mary and the world had ever received. Without unpacking all that is wrapped up in the gift of the incarnation, I want us to ponder the joy that is represented in surprise gifts taht people are not expecting. The best gifts are often the unexpected ones. This fact is exentuated when we are in a particular difficult spot financially or in the circumstances of life. I want to encourage people to think about who has blessed them in their life through surprise gifts with no intent of receiving anything in return. Maybe you can think of someone in your life who would be blessed by an unexpected gift? This Christmas think of your attitude and posture in gift receiving. Allow for the giver to be blessed simply through the giving and not put off by your belief that they are giving in hopes of getting something else in return. Thank you to those of you who have blessed my life through unexpected gifts at crucial spots in my life. I cannot tell you how much you have touched my life. This Christmas I think of you and the surprise gift we all received that first Christmas night.

Snow vs. Sand

I discovered yesterday that I enjoy creating objects out of snow much more than creating things out of sand. I know, I know, sand equals warm beach, but thirty degrees is really not that cold. So hear me out. Snow lends itself to ease of sculpting while also allowing you to roll it up like a piece of carpet. You can create a MASSIVE snowball in a short period of time by simply packing a snowball and then rolling it over other wet snow. In addition, your sand creations do not last much beyond a day, but if it is cold enough your snow sculptures can last for days and even weeks. Snow is lighter than sand which lends itself to shoveling without breaking ones back. I would like to see you scoop an equivalent amount of sand and snow and see how you feel. Snow means Christmas, which means family, friends, and food. I love the snow and have discovered that it is a far superior medium than sand when it comes to sculpting. Did I mention that snow doesn't chafe when it gets down your pants?

The agony of the edge.

ABC's Wide World of Sports coined the phrase, "The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat."  Yesterday I finished my second marathon and experienced the agony of the edge.  I had my eyes set on running a 3:45 marathon and trained all summer with that goal in mind.  When the gun sounded at the start of the race my ego took over and I was convinced that I could catch up and run with the 3:40 group.  I mean really, what is five minutes faster over 26.2 miles?  A LOT!  I caught up to the group at mile five and felt amazing.  Here I was running out of my mind and feeling like a champ.  The rain had started to move in and began to pick up over the next few miles.  By mile eight we were running in the middle of a Minnesota monsoon with small rivers gushing down the gutters of the Parkway.  The rain really was an afterthought to the blistering pace 

that I had was maintaining.  

The superstar running bubble that I was living in began to deflate as the 3:40 pace group slowly inched away from me.  At the halfway mark I had turned in my fastest half marathon by over four minutes, but came face to face with the consequences from my previous actions.  If you have ever been driving too fast on a snowy/icy road and began to slide you experience the "UH OH" of terror.  You know you are going into the ditch, and there is nothing you can do but hold on and hope you are not injured.  I knew I had gone out WAY too fast and had pushed beyond my lactic threshold with 13 miles left to run.  As I reached the 19 mile mark and crossed over the Mississippi river, I was still on my 3:45 pace, but was running on fumes.  

The train derailed at mile 20 when my right quad knotted up tighter than a fishing line on a Bass Masters pole.  I had no choice but to pull over and try to massage/stretch out the cramp.  As I raised my leg to stretch my quad my hamstring balled up like a frightened armadillo.  In order to stretch my quads I had to stretch my hamstrings.  This process continued over the next six miles of the race.  Every half a mile I couldn't bear the pain any longer and was forced to stop and massage/stretch if I wanted to continue moving forward.  Spectators would try to encourage me as I stopped, but what they did not realize was that no amount of encouragement could overcome my cramping muscles.  Physiologically I was SPENT.  All I could think about was the eighteen months of getting up before the sun to log miles was all for naught.  I had wasted all of my training by allowing my ego to get me out of my race plan.  In the words of Napolean Dynamite, "You IDIOT!"

My pace had decreased from 8 minute miles to a 16 minute mile and I was broken.  Quit?  NEVER!  There was no way I was ever going to quit this race.  I had just watched "Touching the Void," a documentary about a European climber who broke his leg atop a peak in Peru, fell into a cravass and was left for dead by his partner.  He didn't quit.  He spent four days sliding himself down this mountain with a broken leg back to his camp so that he could live.  I was NOT going to quit.  As I crossed the finish line I was wrecked physically and emotionally.  All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball along the grass, but I knew I had to eat and keep moving.

  Once I saw Nikki and the kids I was brought back to reality.  I had just ran a marathon!  Nikki wanted to hug me, and the kids, in their costumes, just wanted their daddy to hold them.  They could have cared less if I had ran a 2:30 marathon of a 5:30 marathon.  They love me for who I am and are proud of what I had just accomplished, and that is what it is all about.  I tell people all the time that the marathon experience is far more about the journey than the destination.  It is about getting up at 4:30 to go run 24 miles on your day off.  It is about soaking in 55 degree ice baths to try to recover so you can run more tomorrow.  It is about doing something that you want to do and have to earn.  So I sit here one day removed from my train wreck and ask myself one thing, what marathon will I run next?

House and home.

This past weekend I went to visit my mom (and Ben, Kim, Isaiah, Dom, and Lincoln) in Ames Iowa. My mom recently moved to Ames and purchased a new house that she now calls home. As we drove to Ames my wife and I wondered what it would be like to be in my mom's new house and in a town that was home to a portion of my family, but not me. I have often wondered about the question, "Where are you from?" and the saying, "Home is where the heart is." Well, this weekend I was able to fully understand those two simple, yet complex sentences.

As we pulled into my mom's new driveway I did not know how I would feel upon stepping through her front door. Would it feel like my home or would it feel strange and foreign to me? Entering through the front porch I realized that my mother's home will always feel like home to me. The same old couch my brothers and I used to wrestle on placed securely behind the cedar chest that Ben spent days refinishing in the garage at 404 East 15th street. The white house that is deemed the residence of my mom is not my home, my home exists wherever my mom and her things are located. Looking around the new house I was drawn back to our old house in Yankton and the memories of vaccumming under the dining room table, and trying not to brake the white wash basin in the bathroom. I am certain that my mom will move away from Ames soon and buy a new house, but she will never need to buy a new home.

As for the answer to where I am from...well, lets just say I will always be the Displaced Dakotan from Yankton. I have lived numerous places around the country, but will always be from the first capital of the Dakota Territory that is nestled along the Missouri river.