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Proof of god

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A while back ago I wrote a post railing against the Almighty.  It was a dark time in the Luau household.

I was angry.

Bitter.

Lost.

Since then, I think I may have come around to the idea that god exists.

How else does one explain the phenomenon simply known as Tebow.

Here is a young man who, by all accounts, is exactly what he presents himself to be – a devout follower of Jesus who doesn’t seem to have a mean bone in his body.  For those who somehow have missed Tebow-mania, he is the 2nd year quarterback of the Denver Broncos, who, against all odds and lack of sound throwing mechanics, has managed to save the season of his team – the team started the football season 1 – 4; since taking over the starting job in Denver, he has led them an 8 – 5 record and has his team sitting in first place of their division.

That’s 7 – 1 as a starter – with poor throwing skills and a simplified offense.  His performance during the first three quarters of each of his games has been dismal, I mean “you should bench this guy” dismal.  Yet, somehow, at the end of almost each of these games, during the last minutes of regulation, Tebow is simply magic, dare I say, divine – enough so that his mid-contest prayers have led the Global Language Monitor (the online equivalent to Webster’s) to acknowledge Tebowing as a word – Tebowing, the act of  ’taking a knee’  in prayerful reflection in the midst of an athletic activity.

But it hasn’t only been what Tebow does on the field – it’s the weird things that are happening to the opposing teams late in games.  Defenses that were tight vises though 58 minutes, suddenly loosen over the final two minutes; offenses that simply need to kneel on the ball, run plays that leave time on the clock for Tebow to work his magic; fumbles; interceptions – all unlikely happenings in the final minutes of a game played by supposed professionals.

Yes, there are angels in the backfield and they are being led by the Mile High Messiah.

The thing is though, this doesn’t help me in my rant from so many weeks ago.  The fact that “g”od is helping the Broncos win and propelling one of his favorite sons to victory only goes to solidify my doubt in “G”od.

While god lifts Tim Tebow, He continues to allow autism to torment my little girl and millions like her.  While god helped Franco Harris catch the immaculate reception, He continues to allow savage acts of violence against the fairer sex, all in the name of religion.  While god led Curt Shilling and his bloody sock to victory in game 6 of the 2004 ALCS, He allows disaster upon disaster to kill hundreds of thousands of innocents.

Maybe god really did make us in his image – sports fans who think the Red Sox winning the World Series after 86 years was a bigger event in 2004 than the election of our first African-American President.

And so Tim Tebow and god face their first real test this weekend when Tom Brady, Bill Belichick and the New England Patriots travel to Mile High Stadium.

A win for the Broncos will only go to further Tebow’s messianic following, but a loss will, in my opinion, do him no damage – everybody knows that Tom Brady and Bill Belichick are football deities in their own right.

Maybe the Greeks and Romans had it right.

What does this have to do with running? I’m not sure, except for maybe the fact that before my next race and maybe at one of the water stations of my next marathon, I’m going to Tebow and pray to Ryan Hall and Kara Goucher.

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Why do you run?

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Check out the new page I created for all those looking for a Race Pace Buddy:

https://runluaurun.com/race-pace-buddy/

 

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I Am

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There are all kinds of different reasons to run – health, sanity, competition, escape…

One of the reason I run is because I am a stay-at-home dad. No, I don’t run a business from home. I am not a dad who lost his job and is temporarily at home. No. I am a homemaker, I AM a stay at home dad.

Years ago, Jess and I decided that we wanted to have one of the two of us taking care of our children during the day. Fortunately, one of us made a salary that would allow us to do that. It wasn’t me – my salary at that time would have put us in a studio apartment in a bad neighborhood.

And so my journey as a homemaker and stay-at-home parent began.

That was over 10 years ago.

In very short order, I gained a new respect for the millions of women who had given up careers (voluntarily or not) to raise their children and take care of their homes. Homemaking is not an easy gig. I was quickly accepted among the moms I would regularly cross paths with – for which I was grateful. Not every stay at home dad is readily accepted into the stay at home community.

Still, despite the acceptance of the moms, and the feigned/ignorant jealousy of my male friends, I knew I was still a strange man in a strange land, an oddity, a curiosity (years ago, a store clerk, unable to wrap her brain around the fact that I was a stay at home dad insisted, INSISTED, that I must be a nanny).

To the moms, I am a nice guy who works hard (and isn’t it sweet), but I can’t ever share what they share. I didn’t carry Katie or Brooke inside me for 9 month. I can never know the emotional ups and downs nor the emotional bond mothers have with their kids. I can’t share in the more intimate conversations they will have with each other because, well, I’m a guy.

To the dads, I am an enigma, a riddle. How does this guy do that? But I don’t share the burdens of salary and employment that they do. I cannot know what it means to be the sole bread-winner – “the man” of the house.

It is a lonely place – a toe, if that, in each world, but not fully accepted, respected nor understood by anyone in either.

The truth is, as a stay at home dad, the economy scares me as much as the next man, but I have the added insult of knowing that my skill set is over 10 years out of date. I cannot suddenly be “the man” should Jess lose her job. Go back to school, you say? When, is my response. Were Brooke your typical child, I might be willing to bring in a baby sitter or a nanny or put her in after school care, but she is not. Move, you say? So that we don’t have to depend on Jess’ sizable salary to live in this neighborhood? Where, is my response. Were Brooke typical, we might have moved long ago, but, as much as we complain about the school system, unfortunately, it is still one of the best in the nation, IN THE NATION, for children like Brooke. No, we cannot move without putting Brooke’s future at stake.

It is depressing to know that I cannot cleave the chains that bind us to our situation and location. Despite all the good I know I do – and believe me, I know – I know my chosen vocation raises eyebrows, and at times leaves me feeling powerless…

***

Which is why running is so important to me. Through running I can exert my strength. I can look at 80 – 90% of the men on the planet and say, “I am stronger, I am faster, I am better at something than you.”

It is a male thing. A man thing.

But it is not for them, those other men, that I run.

No, it is for me.

It is to remind myself that I am still a man…still strong…still capable…still powerful…

I am…

…still a man.

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[tweetmeme source=”luau” only_single=false http://www.URL.com]

26.2 miles.

It should make a person nervous. No, seriously. It’s not a distance to take lightly – whether it’s your first, your eighth or your fiftieth.

I have always been nervous going into a marathon.

Truth is though, I’ve got nothing this time around. Oh, I’m sure I will have a rush of “nervous energy” minutes before the start, but right now? 24 hours before the start of the 2011 New York City Marathon? Sitting on a train heading from Boston to New York?

Nothing.

Zip.

Nada.

The only thing stressing me out right now is whether I’m gonna manage to pick up my bib at the Javits Center, pick up a key to my cousin’s apartment AND make it to Grandpa DD’s birthday party in Connecticut on time or not this afternoon…and THEN make back into the City this evening to get a decent night’s sleep before tomorrow’s run.

But the race?

The marathon?

No nerves. No stress.

Nothing.

I’m just looking forward to a fun four to five hours – planning on completing my run in 3:45 – 3:55 and then heading back to mile 23 to run in my dear friend Jersey who is running her first marathon and starting an hour after I do (if you haven’t donated to Autism Speaks yet and want to, you should support her run —>HERE<—).

And I think that’s why there are no nerves this time around. It’s pure fun. Pure joy. I am not gunning to re-BQ. I am not shooting for a PR. For the first time ever, I am simply running 26.2 miles for the pure, simple joy of running a marathon. Sure there will be moments of doubt. Yes, there will be miles where I wonder what I am doing. There will be some pain. That is inevitable when you run this distance.

But the bottom line is, I get to enjoy every mile, every step, every inch as I travel through one of the greatest cities in the world.

As a runner, I cannot ask for anything more.

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Labels

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Sometimes people see only what they want to see, unable to see beyond their narrow, pre-conceived notions.  As a species, we like to label things – it makes it easier for us when we can say that, “this is this and that is that.”

We (Jess, Katie, Brooke and I) are a family greatly affected by autism. We do a lot to raise funds for autism research and, as evidenced by my blue hair for the past month, go to great lengths to spread autism awareness.

BUT…

WE do not define ourselves as advocates for families dealing with autism only. In fact, if you read Jess’ or my blog regularly, one would realize that she (and by extension we) fight for fair treatment of ALL children, of ALL people…whether they be neuro-typical or not, whether they be from “around here” or not, whether they speak English or not, whether they eat the same food as the majority or not, whether they are adult or child – it has always been about inclusion – inclusion of every man, woman and child – because we know that together we are stronger; as a whole we are better when we accept and include everyone.

By that token, we try (not always successfully) not to define anyone into one and only one “category”. Do we advocate autism awareness? Absolutely. But the end goal is that we all treat each other with the respect and courtesy we ALL deserve by simply being born into this world.

That someone can’t see past his or her limited perspective shouldn’t be my problem – but it IS – because very often that same person makes a difference in people’s lives.

Understand that the collective “we” should be sitting at a round table, exchanging views, sharing, TRULY sharing, different perspectives.

“We” shouldn’t be sitting across from each other, as if we are in a board room during a hostile takeover.

You say you want inclusion? Then live it.  Words mean nothing when actions contradict them.

The day will not be won by making the world better for just the priviledged…those victories are small, meaningless.

True victory only comes when the world becomes a better place for ALL of us.

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how do you see yourself?

Running is/isn’t easy.

Running a 5K is/isn’t easy.

Running a marathon is/isn’t easy.

***

Over the last three years I’ve made many friends in the running community – runners of all shapes and sizes, skills and experience.  Physically, for some, running is a natural gift; for others, it is a concerted daily effort.  For some, running is easy; for others, not so much – but surprisingly, it doesn’t always break down along the “physically gifted/not so gifted” lines.

Running is a physical activity that taxes your muscles, heart and lungs.  The faster you go, the harder your body must work – your muscles burn, your heart beats faster and your lungs strain to keep up with the demand for oxygen.

But what if I told you that running is more mental than anything else.  What if I told you that being a “good runner” was more about what’s between your ears instead of how strong your legs are or how much blood your heart pumps or how much air your lungs can take it.

Running comes down to two things – discipline and joy.  Do you have the mental discipline to put one foot in front of the other and can you find the joy in each one of those steps.

If you can consistently do both, happiness, particularly in how you see/feel about yourself, is not too far behind.

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[tweetmeme source=”luau” only_single=false http://www.URL.com]

Yesterday afternoon, while at school pick up, a mother tracked me down…

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she started, “your blue hair…”

She went on to tell me how she had been sitting watching a group of kids.  The topic of Brooke’s dad with the blue hair spontaneously came up in conversation which started a discussion about autism, autism awareness and what autism is…among the kids…with no adults!

She wasn’t close enough to hear every detail, but she was impressed that the kids carried on the conversation for some time and that the topic had been brought up because of my blue hair.

“I thought you would want to know your blue hair is doing its job,” she said.  She was absolutely right.

I told her maybe I should think about keeping my hair blue all year.

“No, no,” she replied, “then they’d get used to it.  Every once in a while, it’s good to shock them and make them think.”

Even though I’m getting my marathon out of the way with NYCM next weekend, maybe I should consider going blue again next year.  I feel like each conversation Brooke’s peers have about autism is one more kid who is aware that different is okay.

Thank you to the mom who let me know that I was making a difference even when I wasn’t around.

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RIP Dear Friend

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Last night was the first night I really missed him.

May he rest in peace.

No, no, no. Nobody has died, not yet anyway.

I am in mourning not for a person nor pet. No, I am in mourning for my treadmill. After many years of service, the last three being fairly intense, my familiar friend TM has become injured beyond repair.

Like a horse with a broken leg, it may be time to put TM down.

His first injury was actually a little over a year ago when the elevation motor died. At the time I wasn’t too worried because I was training for an incredibly flat marathon (Smuttynose).

But it finally happened.

A few weeks ago, while trying to get myself back into the groove of running, I hopped on TM for a quick 8-miler.

You may ask, why didn’t you just go outside?  Honestly, as much as I love running outside, there is something very zen about hopping on a treadmill and being able to turn the brain completely off – plus, I find it a good opportunity to catch up on shows Jess doesn’t like on my DVR.

But I digress…

About 4 miles in I heard a loud “CRACK” and suddenly the ride got a little bouncy – not overly so, but I definitely felt like I was running on a small trampoline. As long as I didn’t run down the center of TM, it didn’t get too bad.  He had essentially split down the middle.  I was determined to get my 8 miles in, but I now had to run with my feet slightly apart.  The zen running was no longer very zen.  I did manage to zone out a little but as I passed 7 miles I started to hear a flap! flap! flap!.  I looked down in horror to see that the tread of the treadmill was coming apart at the seams.

It was time to stop.

At this point, I realized that TM was probably beyond repair, or that at the very least, the cost of fixing him would be more than simply replacing him.  Unfortunately, these are tough economic times, so a replacement will have to be held off for quite a while – as much as running is a necessity to me, a treadmill is a luxury.  Ultimately, outside running is better for you anyway, and I do enjoy time in the fresh air.

But last night, as I contemplated going out for a late-night run,  I realized just how much I will miss my dear friend TM.  We got our first snow of the year last night, and it wasn’t a children’s storybook gentle snow – it was a cold, hard, unpleasant snow.  As I walked the dog, I quickly decided that my run could wait another day.  As much as I needed a run, I didn’t need to be running in miserable weather.

And so I mourn.

Rest in peace dear friend.  You served me well.  Hopefully you are up in Heaven keeping the angels in shape.

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I cannot put into words how overwhelmed and supported I felt from your responses (both on and off line) to my #FAIL post.  Whether it was from those who felt the same way as me, those who had made their way back to God or those who had never left Him/Her, I felt the love and compassion from each and every one of you…thank you.

Last weekend Jess and Brooke went to New York City to see Brooke’s favorite movie on the stage – Godspell.  To really understand how Godspell has intertwined itself into our lives would take several blog posts – wait! —>there are several blogpost about that over on Jess’ blog<— (I suggest going to the beginning).  Suffice it to say, if you don’t have the time to read them all, Godspell is big, BIG in our home.  We knew she really wanted to see the show, but when you have a child with autism, you just never know how they are going to react to a new environment.  The experience could be a big hit or could end in disaster…

So it was with bated breath that I waited, here in Boston, to see how Jess & Brooke’s trip went…

*on a side note and a nod to the late Steve Jobs, the pictures, video and editing were all done on an iPhone.

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#FAIL

Dear Lord,

If You did this to test me, then I believe I have failed.

Not because I have given up on my daughter.

Not because I have given up on doing what is right.

Unlike You, I will never stop doing those things.

I failed because I have given up on You as an all-powerful, all-loving God.

You are cruel. You are sadistic. You are uncaring. You are vain.

How else do You explain what we see in the world?

A test?

Your test is flawed.  It tests those who do not carry love in their hearts at the expense of those who do.

How many mothers do You make cry themselves to sleep at night? How many fathers do You leave powerless to comfort their wives? How many little children, the very essence of purity, do You make suffer by chasing them with demons and dragons – those innocent children who have no weapon to defend themselves but the love of their parents?  How many Brooke’s do you torment with unyielding anxiety?  What did she do to deserve her fate?  I may not have walked the righteous path all of my life, but that gives you no right to punish Brooke, and in turn Jess and Katie.  If you have a problem with me, then you should take it out on me, not them.

I am angry at You.

I choose no longer to believe in You.

And don’t give me the “that’s the point of Faith” crap again. It’s crap and You know it. If You really cared, You would make the wicked suffer and comfort and heal to good.

You wouldn’t send the world preachers who tell the poor and the sick and the hurting that they just aren’t praying hard enough, they just aren’t giving enough, they just don’t believe enough.

Shame on You, Lord!

Maybe You did make us in Your image. That would explain why we have people like politicians and bank presidents – masters of the universe that don’t care about the poor, the needy, those in pain. Just like You, they say they care, that they want to help, but in the end, all they care about is their glory, their wealth, their fortune, their comfort.

Maybe You are deaf.

I think You just don’t care anymore.

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