Lost Boys, Lost Girl

Tonight did not go as I had planned.

A few weeks ago, I found out about a 5K (or a run that is 3.1 miles). I had just begun exercising, and I considered doing the race. I talked to Mike about it, and he thought I could do it. I started jogging a little further each time I went out. I told myself,"You can do this!"

What made me most excited about the race was the cause. This 5K was to raise money for the non-profit organization Friends of the Lost Boys-DFW. You may know this already, but in case you don't, the Lost Boys are young men, actually, from Sudan, who are some of the survivors of devastating events in both Sudan and Ethiopia decades ago. Simply put, almost fifteen years later,  the U.S. intervened (after these boys had run for their lives from Sudan to Ethiopia, back to Sudan, and then to refugee camps in Kenya, totaling over 1000 miles in the span of a bit over 4 years), and brought almost 4000 young men to the United States, in order to resettle them in many cities around the country (some of the cities are Seattle, Chicago, Jacksonville, and Dallas). From what I've read, some were able to have foster parents and older ones were given aid (helped to find jobs and a place to live with other refugees, given food stamps and clothes, etc.) for the first several months they were here. These young men are, from everything that I have read and heard, diligent workers who do not take anything for granted, and who have a strong faith and a love for their homeland. They seem highly motivated, and strive to excel in whatever they do; they are seeking college degrees and full-time employment. I could go on for a long time about both what they have been through in Africa as well as the difficulties they are overcoming as they seek to establish themselves in a new country; there are many places on the web where you can read about these amazing men.

It seems like (from what I have gathered from the internet) there is an organization in many of the cities that is committed to helping these guys get on their feet. In their own words, the Friends of the Lost Boys-DFW "is a non-profit, volunteer-based, interdenominational effort between several churches and groups based in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area...working together to help assist these young men in their quest to become productive, contributing members of their new country. Our mission is to 'step into the gap' and become the friends, mentors, and extended family that the Lost Boys of Sudan do not have. Our vision is for every Sudanese Lost Boy to achieve his dream of obtaining an education, become a self-sufficient individual and reach the point where each day is not a struggle." 

The more I read (and I have been reading bits and snippets while writing this post, in order to learn more about the "boys" [they are in their 20s and 30s now] and the Friends organization) the more moved I am, by the spirit and strength that is in these men and by the efforts being made to help them live well. Now I'm crying. Okay. Deep breath.

So, I decided that I would run the race. I talked to Mike about it again, and he realized that he had a prior committment on his calendar; if I were to do the 5K, I was going to need someone to watch the kids. I called our family friend and she said she might be able to watch the kids, but she needed to figure something else out. She told me she would get back to me. She did let me know yesterday that she and her husband could watch the kids, which I thought was great. I, for some unknown reason, still hesitated to register. I figured I could do it today.

I think I was still trying to convince myself that I could actually accomplish the goal.

I continued to think about all that the boys went through, when they really were boys (some as young as six years old), all the miles they trekked and all the hostile things they encountered. It was very humbling to go over these things in my head as I ran (bounced) around my fairly safe neighborhood getting exercise (not running for my life) (there was one night that I went out later than I usually do, and all I could think about was coyotes; I ran pretty quickly that night). They were running for their lives. Every day.

I finally once and for all for sure and for certain decided that I would do the race. I went to register online, and discovered that online registration had ended. I would have to do it at the race. This got me all panicky again. I didn't really want to do that. I missed the packet pick-up times. What if there was info that was really important? I called a couple of people, but didn't get much more information than I already had. The last woman I spoke with told me it would be a casual, fun race, and that I should just come on a little early and register and things would be just fine.

Allll righty, then.

Later in the afternoon, I picked the kids' dinner up and dropped them off at our friends' house. I headed over to the church (the race was supposed to start a few blocks from the church, on a college campus) to go to the bathroom one last time. (I drink a lot of water these days. I use the bathroom a lot these days. It's as bad as being pregnant.) I said one last hello and goodbye to Mike before the run (he hadn't left for his Bible study yet), and then headed to the car. As I was getting in my car, I saw a couple from the church drive by in their van; I knew they were both planning on running so I thought to myself,"I'm following them!" (Actually, I think I said it out loud. I talk to myself. A lot.) I backed out and took off after them. I saw that they had pulled up in front of another church staff member's house (our church owns many houses, and many staff live in them...we used to, but then we moved way far away) (it was much more convenient to live close to the church...that is another story) and the wife had gotten out and was talking to the woman who lives in that house. I didn't want to be weird and stop behind them (Why? Why? I don't know! I'm weird for not wanting to seem weird! It doesn't even make sense!) so I just kept driving and thought,"I'll just follow the signs."

Because, surely, they are going to have signs, right? Signs for parking? For the people who are going to be on the college campus for the race? The race that had advertised signs all over the neighborhood for weeks?

NO. NO THEY DID NOT. And don't call me Shirley.

I drove around and around. I followed detour signs. I saw the signs advertising the race. There were construction signs. There were "Campus/University/Resident Only" signs. But never did I see a sign about where I was supposed to park. I drove in circles for thirty minutes; by then it was almost 6:15 and the race was to start at 6:30. I had not registered. I did not have a running number. I did have a big minivan without a parking space. This would not do. 

I headed home.

I wanted very badly to cry. The Lost Boys of Sudan can make their way in Dallas better than I can. I felt so defeated. It's silly, really, but...I was so frustrated that I, a 37-year-old woman, could not figure out where to park so that I could participate in a fund-raiser race for some fellows who have survived war, lions, crocodiles, raging rivers, enemy gunfire, starvation, dehydration, and finally acclimation to a new culture, speaking a new language, far from family. Frustration is not even the word. I felt so stupid.

On the way home, I passed many fast-food places. I wanted to stop and order a giant Whataburger meal. I didn't. I pulled up in front of our house, dropped off my wallet, locked the door back up, and went for a jog here. I did a short loop tonight (mostly because I was so mad when I started that I went too fast and ran out of steam before I got to my first big hill). I got back home, got the car keys, and went to pick up the kids. When our friend came to the door, she opened it with a huge grin and said,"Well, that was fast!" She looked mighty impressed! I had to laugh, and then explain that I never did find a parking space, and I missed the race. She and her husband were sympathetic, and let me carry on and vent my frustration. I stayed for a few minutes, then gathered the kids up and came on home.

I am sad that I missed this race. I read on a blog a few minutes ago that many of the Lost Boys themselves would be running, one of whom is training for the Olympics this summer. Can you imagine what it means to them to run now? Freely, without fear, and yet a memorial to that from which they escaped, from what they endured, and to their perseverance and triumph. 

As I wrote this post, I tried to think of God's providence. This race, for whatever reason, was not meant for me. But there is a race which I am running, and I am called to run in spite of obstacles. I am encouraged to fix my eyes on the One who has run and has been victorious. I'll keep running. Sometimes I might get lost myself, but this lost girl will continue to pray for the Lost Boys, and I will try "not to grow weary and lose heart." The men from Sudan have not; may I pursue the goal as well.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross,scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.   Hebrews 12:1-3

Comments

[Wendy]

Oh, Christina. I'm so sorry that the race didn't work out (this time). Stay strong, keep training, and keep your eyes open for the next opportunity.

[Mindee@ourfrontdoor]

I'm sorry you missed the official race but am so glad you dealt with your disappointment constructively. That was a "win" in itself.