Pilgrims' Feet

I climb stones

which, having born the weight of

prayers

Stairs at the Church of the Nativity

hopes

     tragedies

     dreams

     celebrations

     sorrows

     longings

     memories

are worn smooth, concave

by generations of pilgrimage

Three Traditions

I got to travel to Israel and Palestine recently. In fact, I'm writing this from Palestine. Unless you completely don't pay attention at all, you'll know that this part of the world is a holy place for at least three religious traditions and billions of people. I was lucky enough to be there during significant religious holidays. 

Easter Celebration in Bethlehem

Since I'm a Lutheran pastor, I wasn't really able to travel before Easter Sunday - so my son and I planned our travel to visit my daughter just after Easter Sunday in the Western Church. This happens to be a year when Passover and Ramadan and Orthodox Easter celebrations all overlap with each other.

There certainly is significant inter-religious conflict and strife. Still, and not to take away from the problematic realities of this holy place, to my perception it's a beautiful thing to know that while Passover is being celebrated, and while Muslims spend the days of Ramadan fasting before they gather together at sundown for a communal meal, Christians are bustling about preparing for Easter festivities. The way I see it, the reality that each group is practicing the disciplines of their faith alongside one another is beautiful.

Of course I know that there are undeniable conflicts between these religious groups; the sociopolitical realities of Israel and Palestine are more complex than this simplistic reflection can address.

And still, I think that there are worse things in the world than different traditions practicing their own disciplines alongside one another.

$0.02

I Count Myself Lucky

I count myself lucky. 

I will likely never regain the physical capacity that I lost three and a half years ago. Once in a while, it really bums me out. 

This morning, for instance, I remembered some of the jobs I’ve had. I’ve worked on a construction site, I’ve had a couple of jobs in restaurants, I’ve hauled hay (the old school way from 35 years ago, where you walk through the field picking up 75 lb bales one at a time and throwing them onto the trailer that’s driving through the field). 

I realized this morning that during the time I’ve been a pastor, I always had in the back of my mind the idea that if the church ever decides that they don’t want me in this role any longer, I could go get another physical job like I used to do. 

Except that this morning while I was thinking about those jobs, I realized that I probably wouldn’t be able to do them now, because I haven’t regained enough mobility. 

The truth is that I probably won’t ever need to get a physically demanding job again. And I can get around well enough to do everything that I need to do without any accommodation - two truths for which I count myself lucky.

Nobody Cares: Train Harder and Ride Faster

I sewed a patch on my gym bag a couple months ago. It says, “Nobody Cares: Train Harder”. Not too long after that, I saw an advertisement for customizable headset caps to go on bicycles. I ordered one that echoes the gym bag patch - “Nobody Cares: Ride Faster”.

I look at these when I start to slow down during a workout or on a training ride. They remind me that I’m in charge of my own fitness. I could come up with lots of excuses to go easier in training. However, the excuse won’t make me any fitter. Putting in the work will. 

I’ve spent the past couple of years getting used to being resigned to the truth that I’ll never have the physical capacity that I used to have. Not too long after I was released from Craig Hospital (one of the premier Spinal Cord Injury rehabilitation facilities), folks asked me if I was 100% recovered. I replied that I was not, and never would be, back to full capacity. 

And I’ve repeated that statement plenty of times over the past three years. I repeated it enough that I started to internalize the message. It was a slow and subtle attitudinal shift, but I went from:

* working diligently to regain as much of what I had lost in the aftermath of the accident as possible, to

* working some, but writing off my limited capacity to the accident.  

The other day I was riding my bike home from work. As I started up the one significant hill on that route, I started to slow down. My subconscious mind allowed me to slow down, because I wasn’t in shape like I had been before the accident. Then my conscious mind remembered the headset cap, ignored the excuse, and rode faster for the rest of the climb up and over the crest of the hill. 

As gravity started to help me out on the downhill, I passed by a bus stop at a wide spot in the road. I remembered that spot as being a place where I had to stop to rest when I first started commuting to work by bicycle after the accident. 

I will likely never regain the physical capacity that I lost three and a half years ago. I’ve decided, though, to ignore that reality - and to train harder and ride faster. 

$0.02

Annual 14er climb

I have a tradition. Every year, on or near my birthday, I climb (or attempt to climb) one of the Colorado 14ers - mountains that reach to higher than 14,000 feet above sea level. I missed attempting a climb three years ago, because at that time I was still using crutches to walk down the sidewalk. 

These days even though I don’t need to use crutches to walk down the sidewalk, I still use trekking poles when I go hiking. They help me keep my balance when I’m navigating tricky parts of the trail, and they help me keep my balance on the simple and straightforward parts of the trail. 

The view from high on Huron Peak

This year we climbed Huron Peak. It’s one of the mountains that barely rises high enough to qualify as a 14er, topping out at 14,006 (according to 14ers.com). It’s one of the mountains that has a really straightforward and simple (but not necessarily easy) trail to the top. 

And I struggled. I struggled with (a lack of) fitness. I struggled with breathing at that elevation (related, at least in part, to the previously-mentioned lack of fitness). I struggled, like I do regularly, with making sure my foot ended up where I intended it to end up for almost every step of the 9.6 mile round trip. I struggled with lack of stamina, ending the hike completely worn out and stumbling over flat ground in the final two miles to the car. 

I continue to deal with the effects of a spinal cord injury that I sustained a few years ago, and I continue to deal with (relatively minor) mobility issues as a result of that spinal cord injury. The injury slows me down a little bit, especially compared to how much I might have been slowed down, if the effects from the injury were more significant. Basically, it slows me down enough that I’m frustrated by how I move, especially because I remember how I was able to move through the high country before the accident. 

And at the same time, even though I walk slowly and carefully and sometimes awkwardly, I actually am able to walk - not only down the sidewalk, but also through the high country. 

I’m continually back and forth - always thankful that I can move as well as I can, and always frustrated at what I’ve lost. 

Here’s the thing, at least for right now. Even though I am able to walk, I still wish I could still leap between boulders, and hop down steep trails, and bound down the smooth trail. I can continue to work on stamina and fitness. But I still lament that I might never have the ability to move through the mountains, or anywhere, the way I used to.

Advertisement for CrossFit

 It was three years ago yesterday when I was allowed to walk around the world without continuing to wear a brace which kept my neck and torso from twisting. In other words, three years ago, I got out of the turtle shell. 

PT in the turtle shell three years ago

One of the computer algorithms reminded me of that anniversary while I was working out yesterday. When I checked my phone after the workout, I saw the reminder - so I scrolled back to a few days prior to that anniversary in my photos, and found one of me doing a workout (aka, outpatient Physical Therapy) while I was still in the turtle shell. 

Being reminded just after a workout yesterday of where I was three years ago felt like a pretty good advertisement for CrossFit, especially because the post-workout conversation I was involved in had us looking up best times for one of the named CrossFit workouts (Nancy, if you’re curious - my best time is 15:07). 

At a competition six years ago

I was fitter before the accident than I am now. I was stronger, faster, more mobile, more agile, and generally more capable. And the fact that I was relatively fit is likely a significant reason that I’m currently not either in a wheelchair or walking with crutches. 

Part of the reason that I can move around as much as I can now is luck. If my spinal cord injury had been complete, I’d be in a wheelchair no matter how fit I would have been before. But my spinal cord injury was incomplete, which means that I did not lose all sensation and muscle control. So I’m lucky because my injury could have been more significant. 

And also, part of the reason I can move around as much as I can now is because I had spent seven years working out in a CrossFit gym trying hard to improve my fitness - strength and mobility and agility and capability and persistence and resilience. 

I believe that the fact that I’m able to walk without assistance, that I’m able to move around the world in a way such that most people likely wouldn’t notice that I have a physio-neurological impairment, is (I believe) a huge nod to the effectiveness of CrossFit. 

$0.02

God is Good?

 "God is Good", he said to me. We had talked very briefly about the accident a few years ago; I had mentioned that even though I currently have some mobility limitations and some muscles that don't work like they're supposed to, I had started recovery in a wheelchair. 

"God is Good" was the reply. 

While I certainly believe that statement to be true, I find the context to be problematic. I don't remember much about the time I was in the ICU, but I do remember the doctors and nurses asking me to squeeze their fingers with my hand, to push down and pull up with my toes. I vaguely remember unsuccessfully willing those squeezing and pushing and pulling muscles to work. 

At that moment, I had use of my left hand; my right arm and both legs didn't work. It was a significant and real possibility that I was facing the prospect of learning how to move through the world in a wheelchair. 

What if I hadn't regained my ability to walk? What if my right arm was still useless, and I'd'a had to learn to be left-handed? Is God still good? 

I absolutely do feel fortunate that I've regained as much mobility as I have. I absolutely do believe that God is good. I don't necessarily believe that those two things are directly related to one another. I can't believe in a God whose benevolence is so directly tied to one individual's physical mobility.