Patriot's Day

Yesterday was of course Patriots Day, a day in Massachusetts to commemorate the Battles of Lexington and Concord; the beginning of the revolutionary war. Growing up on a bordering town, I used to arise early with my Dad to attend some of the reenactments. There were commemorative events right there in my town as we saw the Sudbury Militia gather and march towards Concord. We sometimes headed over to Old North Bridge in Concord as well. Other years, we headed in closer to Boston to cheer on the marathoners. Looking back, I realize how fortunate I was to have grown up in an area with a wealth of history and significance.

One year when I was older, my Dad ran the Boston Marathon. He was not offically a qualifer, but he did run it and that in my opinion is quite an accomplishment. He wrote the following poem as a reflection upon his run.

Musings
on the
Marathon Metaphor

Our lives, truly are like a marathon
We cannot see the end from the beginning,
nor from points along the way.
We rely on mile markers to tell us we're on course,
and on cheering throngs to help us bear the pain.
The end of the race is clearly marked;
so too, the end of life.
There is no doubt when you cross the line;
or cross the veil;
there is only relief, again.
But some will say life is NOT like that race;
there are no crowds to cheer us on.
The cheers were there only for those others that before us passed,
the worthy ones,
not such as we.
It is only us,
on our own;
battling the "Heartbreak Hills" of life.
Hoping that the next step,
the next breath
won't be quite as painful as the last.

The crowds ARE there,
we just don't see;
they are all who have gone before, or who are yet to be.
We may not see them as we run;
but when the film of our life is shown,
we'll clearly see them all along the way.
Our parents,
our family,
those for whom we've done the work,
and those we've helped along the way.
They will all be there, with a cup of water, a word of cheer,
or just a smile to help us through that next long mile.

But wait, who is that we finally see?
Someone to help us? Someone to care?
Or just the other; the one who whispers in our ear,
"Foolish child, YOU can't do that!"
His presence is always there.
Reminding us we're too frail;
or too slow;
or just not worthy enough to seek that goal.
He plants the seed;
we tend it well,
for we know he's right, that we can’t succeed.

But wait,
suddenly there's a flash of something not quite seen.
Something felt;
something known.
The sure knowledge that we CAN do this thing!
Perhaps not fast;
perhaps not fancy;
but does that matter?
We were never told there was a time limit;
only a course to run; a life to lead.

Some, swifter by far than we,
will be done long before we're even half way.
But that matters not to those that wait along the route.
They know we're on the course,
and that we'll need their strength and support.
That faith, that "living water"
is all we'll need to stay the course;
to do the miles, and endure the pain.

Will we be victorious?
Every spirit that endures to the end
will reap the prize that Father promised
when first that earthly challenge we accepted.
And, for each that achieves the goal will be the phrase,
"Well done, thou true and faithful servant."
And the loving embrace of our Elder Brother;
and the peace that comes from returning home.
And the best part of all is just to know,
His love is there for me;
for me;
yes, even for ME!


April 17, 1995