I awoke on Saturday morning in my hometown of Lynchburg, Virginia with the anticipation of the day ahead. It wasn’t just that it was my birthday; it wasn’t even the fact that was turning 40 (that’s a subject for a different blog). Specifically, I was looking forward to my morning run. I’ve just begun training for a marathon in November, and this was to be my first official “long” run. Earlier in the week, I mapped out my route on Google. I picked my route according to what would be safe and flat. But as it turns out, I was to encounter much more.
My wife, Tracy, joined me on the early morning run. It was cool and sunny and perfect. As we glided down the sidewalks, I began to point out some sites and the significance each held for me.
We passed a small realty office that used to be a barbershop run by a friend and tennis partner of my Mom, Bill Worley. Bill had an infectious smile and a lively cackle of a laugh. He was very nice to me as a kid.
Almost next door to the barbershop was the home of Paul Litaker, a grade school friend, where I spent many an afternoon playing in the creek and the woods. We used to dig up clay from the creek and play Star Wars in the woods.
Soon, we came to the church my family attended during middle school and high school. It is a small Methodist church. I had some of my first spiritual experiences here: candlelight services on Christmas Eve, playing handbells, following along with the liturgy. In my head, I replayed scenes from youth group. I recalled weddings that I had seen and in which I had sung. On we ran.
Across the golf course recently closed due to the recession, we saw the home of my high school friend, Belinda Washington Anderson. It is a big, beautiful white house. I spent many evenings there with high school friends watching movies and playing games. My college roommate, John, and I once snuck into their backyard to go swimming while they were out of town.
Not too much farther along was Virginia Baptist Hospital. As we ran by, I commented to Tracy that I had been born there 40 years, 4 hours, and 20 minutes earlier. Neil Armstrong and his crew were halfway to the moon. How fitting on my birthday to pass my birthplace.
As we continued on our run, we greeted the other runners and walkers. We savored the cool air and brightening sky. We talked and laughed.
Next we came across the road to the apartment where my family lived when I was born. I don’t remember it: we moved when I was 1 or 2. But apparently we had a Saint Bernard named Mooch. He liked to eat cottage cheese.
A few hundred yards later, we came to the road leading to the home of our family friends, Steve and Susan Cox. Steve was my high school choir director. He taught me almost everything I know about music. He got the most out of my mediocre singing voice. Susan is a very good friend of my Mom who has been there in the bad times. I am thankful for Steve and Susan.
It was almost time to turn around and run back. But I had one more stop on my tour. Just before reaching the downtown area was the road to the house of my old baby-sitter, Eloise (pronounced “E-Lois”). Eloise was a second mom to me from infancy to kindergarten. She took care of several children in her home. She taught me (made me) eat vegetables. She and her husband, Wilfred, taught me to play chess. That’s right, chess. Wilfred introduced me to comic books – the Hulk and Fantastic Four and Thor. I recall drawing superheroes at the dining room table. I recall a wooden paddle wrapped in tape. But most of all, I recall being loved.
As the last of these memories flashed across the screen of my mind, the halfway point had been reached. I was ready to return and contemplate all these remembrances again. But instead, I felt more focused on the present and the future. I wanted to get back to my Mom’s house to see our kids. I wanted to celebrate my birthday. I was looking forward to the trip ahead.
It is useful to understand where you have been and to comprehend how you arrived at your current location and situation. It imparts perspective. But perspective is only truly useful if it is used to look forward.
I wonder what lies ahead in the next 40 years.
