A Savoring Pace

If you’ve ever watched a 10K or marathon, you can pick out the runners that look comfortable at the pace they’re running…and those who are about to toss their cookies. The discipline of running has taught me how to pace myself – to run at a strong, consistent pace for long periods of time. There are also moments in races for which energy must be saved – an upcoming hill or for sprinting the final 400 yards. The more you run, the more you know your capabilities and how much energy to exert to maximize your running efficiency.

In his book Rest in the Storm, author Kirk Jones introduces the concept of a “Savoring Pace.” Just like those runners who seem to be enjoying their pace, he urges us to monitor our pace of life. “The violence of overload and hurry…is a socially acceptable form of brutality.” In the name of progress many of us push the limits of what our bodies are designed for. We end up missing out on important conversations, our kids’ landmarks, and people in need. Is that really progress? He himself had to slowdown over 10 years ago. He adjusted his brutal schedule, implementing the art of saying, “No.” Since then he has been able to live at a savoring pace. He works hard; then he rests and plays. In slowing down, his quality of life has improved and he now savors the little things in life.

What is your pace? Are you on a treadmill without an off button? Do you look like the person in the marathon who’s running too fast, about to hit the proverbial wall? Or are you running the race talking with the runners next to you, waving to the fans, and picking up those who fall? The clock on the finish line may not be as low as you’d hoped, but don’t miss the enjoyment of the race itself and the opportunities it provides.

Big Voice, Small Audience

Have you ever heard of John M. Perkins? Probably not. At the least, I’d call him a prophet: announcing God’s desires to the people. He has been on the forefront of racial reconciliation and inner city development among other things. Today I had the last minute opportunity to hear him speak at a small church in Seattle.

He’s almost 80 years old, but a powerful speaker. He preaches the Gospel: God’s desire and plan to reconcile with humanity. And he speaks to the 21st century American. “How can we pray for another expensive car when 30,000 children die everyday across the world? We pray for our ‘cups to overflow’ but we’re carrying around cups larger than we need.”

“We have to civilize our leaders.” The politicians have lost touch. They’re in it for themselves. And we’re too afraid to give up our slice of the pie – even though others hardly have crumbs. How can we object to more taxes when 40 million people don’t have healthcare? Will we have to apologize to God for letting people die and spending our time accumulating? He is so passionate about the poor and marginalized, as evidenced in his tearfully closing.

After his talk I went to my car and took the 40 minute drive home. I couldn’t listen to the radio. I couldn’t fill my mind with anything else. He wants me to give away more of my money, to live less comfortably? He wants me to spend my life for others? No wonder the audience was so small. Anyone who hears that message probably isn’t going to return to his next speaking engagement, let alone bring their friends. Besides, the NFL draft is on tonight. I’ve got other things to think about.

Love the Celtics?

So Meris was watching basketball with me the other night – “Which team do you like, Dad?” It was the National Championship. I didn’t much care, but it was fun to watch the game. For a few years now our kids have tried to jump on the bandwagon of whatever team Dad’s watching. Five years ago I taught Meris to yell, “Touchdown!” while watching USC in the Rose Bowl. Last year it was, “Hook ‘em Horns” in Austin (of course not rooting too hard for the team that beat USC four years ago). This year you could hear my then 3 year old yell, “Go Theahawks!” That’s Seahawks for those of you who don’t have a child with a lisp.

Even this weekend we watched the Masters. “Who’s that?” That’s Phil. “Who’s that?” It’s Ernie (Els). “Who’s that?” It’s Tiger.

Rewinding to last week in the college basketball game. “Which team do you like?” Hmmm. Butler? I’ve never even heard of Butler. Duke? They always win. Oh, I don’t care. I don’t like either team. I just like to watch.

15 minutes later, my smug daughter comes downstairs with a 3 by 3 inch post it. I read the words she has written: “Jesus says like one another.” I glare at her. She thinks she’s a comedian. She can’t stop laughing. Do as I say, not as I do is a common parental excuse. I guess I have to like Butler and Duke. I guess as a Dodger fan (and a bandwagon Mariner fan) I have to like the Yankees. I guess I have to like…the (gulp) Celtics. Really? I don’t think so. I’ll take my chances here.

Easter Road Trip

Easter road trip

Weekly blog hiatus

Three days long

Three word entry

Texas' Sonic reunion

Tator tot madness

Large cherry limeade

Kids in frenzy

Tacoma Narrows Bridge

incredible Crescent Lake

Forks - Twilight home

Teenage girl hysteria

My wife too

Where is Edward?

Where is Bella?

Filmed in Oregon?

Stop crying, dear

Resume trip, please?

Miniature log cabin

Ocean side trip

LaPush sans vampires

No werewolves either

Breathtaking rugged coast

45 degrees max

No suntan possible

Swimming? Death wish!

MTV parties absent

Impromptu sand castle
Olympic National Park

Beautiful nature hike

Trees with moss

Crystal clear streams

Actual direct sunlight

Week sans naps

Lots of lattes

Pizza dining disaster

Ticked off Ethiopian

Publicly humiliated parents

Back to motel

Insult to injury

Eldest child vomits

Youngest's diaper explosion

Cabin needs Febreze

Hot springs swim

Stinky sulfur water

Time to return

DVD player rescues

Loudest child sleeps

Sarcastic entry birthed

Home sweet home

Need a vacation

Where are grandparents?

Making A Difference

I quickly changed the channel last Sunday. 60 Minutes was doing a report from Haiti. The suffering is unimaginable. Not for long though. I quickly changed the channel and found a game or a House Hunters episode or something like that. I’ve really been struggling with my purpose and if I’m really making a contribution to our world. I concurrently look at half million dollar homes while 29,000 children die of starvation each day.

My newly adopted city that I call home is not much different than other places I’ve lived: nice suburb, a Starbucks on each corner (which is where I currently am blogging), 2.6 kids per house, and everyone walks their dogs on clean, trouble-free sidewalks. I justify my moderate greed by pointing to corrupt third world leaders and a high cost of living in the U.S.

Am I really making a difference? After a new friend bought my coffee the other day (a cool story in itself), I had a meeting with a woman who has dedicated her life to the Lost Boys of Sudan. She’s looking for U.S. Americans to join with her to invest in these young men, using one of our greatest resources – money!

Five hours later I had coffee with a man who has become so concerned with social justice that he hopes to begin his own company with the intention of giving as much of his profits as possible to the needy.

The difference between the two? One is a follower of Jesus, the other is not. This is not surprising. You could say that both are “good” people who understand that life is not all about having as much fun as possible. Though one pursues God and the other one’s church is perhaps NPR and the EPA, I would say both have been living out the convictions of the Holy Spirit to varying degrees. Hear me out.

The mark of God is on every human being – some more than others, though you’d have to question that statement upon watching many people in action. The Bible tells us “God is love” and that Jesus is the “creator and sustainer of life.” Romans 2 says that we all have God’s imprint: our hearts and our consciences. So whether it be merely someone’s breath, showing an act of love, or making sacrifices for the poor – all humans reveal God’s fingerprint.

In Luke 4 Jesus announces that He is God’s anointed one who will temporarily and eternally free the oppressed and poor. His Jewish audience is amazed. Then he relates that his Father is seeking faith from all people, not just Jews. Then he gives two examples of extreme faith displayed by two Gentiles (non-Jews) from the Old Testament. The congregation becomes furious at his suggestion and proceeds to try to kill him.

For any Christians reading this entry, I submit that I haven’t lost my conviction that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. He is the narrow gate we must walk to and through for reconciliation with God. But it’s time to see God’s hand at work not only in our lives, but also in the lives of those who haven’t fully understood or embraced him – especially if they’re surpassing our own selflessness.

Northwest Barbecue

It don’t mean compared to “Texas Barbecue” or “St. Louis Barbecue.” And this isn’t a debate over Brisket (ho-hum), Tri-Tip (oh how I love thee), or Ribeyes (mmhmm).

We Frasers love our Barbecue. But truth be told, we haven’t barbecued in over 6 months. The obvious reason: the elements. You know the drill: a bit cold, a bit wet, and we don’t have a covered patio. But last night when Jana announced that she’d be barbecuing, I became giddy. I picked up all the good stuff at the store: ground beef, avocado, Swiss Cheese (for me), and potato buns. We lit matches in the wind and flipped burgers in the rain. The reward was great. That woman can cook!

Adaptability. In what ways have you adjusted to your surroundings? Maybe you too have moved across the country. There’s a deep mourning involved in the loss of friends and all that’s familiar. Or perhaps you’ve experienced a deeper mourning; divorce and the death of a family member come to mind.

Because change is constant, we’d all be better to take one day at a time (preaching to myself as well here). Tomorrow isn’t promised and suffering is part of life. Think about what you were doing five years ago. Did you ever think you’d be in this situation? Maybe unemployed, maybe married, maybe driving a minivan instead of a Jeep (insert sigh here)? But somehow most of us can roll with the changes. Sure, the changes can be uncomfortable (like fewer trips to Nordstrom’s) or possibly shocking (like a 70% disappearance of your retirement).

I’ve learned much through my jolt of 2009 and I’m sure many of you have wild stories as well. It has become easier to enjoy the simple things and to relish each day. I’ve also been humbled and forced to acknowledge my reliance upon God. As much as we try to prep for change, there’s only so much we can do. Only God remains unchanged. Only God never gets distracted from pursuing us, while we often forget to pursue him. We worry too much and become selfish. We hold on to the insignificant while the important things are often neglected.

So whether the Mariners win the World Series in 2010 or another shocking event occurs more personal to you, remember to flip those burgers in the rain and to place your hope in Him who is without change.

“Every good and perfect gift comes from above, coming down from the Father of heavenly lights who does not change like shifting shadows.” – James 1:17

Fear the Sweaty Hug!

What will my kids remember when they grow up? Is it the life lessons we teach them? What will the faith we pass on translate to? Will they remember the road trips? The multiple times we repeated "put your shoes on"? Will counseling be needed?

One tradition they’ll remember for sure: sweaty hugs. When mom or dad prepares to go on a run there are usually two questions from the kids. 1) Why? (which is often a question many people ask) 2) Are you going to give me a sweaty hug? A confident “Yes” is the promise.

I can’t remember exactly when my eldest stopped loving me unconditionally. As a toddler, she would hug me no matter what. At some point she put two and two together, deciding that sweat is gross and that exercising makes one sweaty. When daddy comes home from a run, he can get as much attention as he wants by asking, “Who wants a sweaty hug?” At that point, she would run and hide, giggling and screaming.

Now with 3 kids, two of them run and hide with true fear. Only one family loves me unconditionally: Junior! What about my wife you ask? The one I’ve been faithfully married to for 14 years? The one who was an ER nurse contacting blood, guts, and any number of grotesque fluids? Apparently sweat is the worst of all! She does NOT love me unconditionally. In fact she’ll scream and run with the girls after a run of mine. But she inflicts bodily harm. She can dislocate fingers and quickly find the knife drawer.

So avoiding pain, I go on the hunt for the girls. When I find them – it’s parenthood at its finest – one of a few opportunities to get even. For all those sleepless nights and whining, here’s your payback. With a diabolical laugh, I give a quick hug. Or if the mood strikes, I give a hug and methodically wipe my arms and hair all over their arms and faces which are paralyzed with disbelief. At that point, it’s just me and my son. He sits in my lap and gives me a hug. He’s blissfully unaware of the transferring perspiration and stink. He is the only human in the world who truly loves me…that is until he catches on.