The Intentional Donut

For as long as I can remember, I have played outside and gone to church. As a kid, both were routine and safe. Jailbreak and backyard baseball had elements of danger, but my childhood neighborhood was a playful paradise. One hour or so a week was dedicated to Sunday church. Paradise lost for the school boy sportsman. 

Now, as a father, I find myself believing in the power of both - the great outdoors and community faith and fellowship known as church. It was a bit of an adventure getting to this point. Before I was "Dad" - before I was "Husband" -  I myself was a bit lost. After surviving teenage life, I zig-zagged my way into my 20s. Somewhere in the middle, I met a girl and built a career. 

When we packed the Subaru this Saturday, the girl, now "Wife", sat shotgun. Directly behind her was a 3-year-old blonde bomber. Directly behind me was a 1-year-old redheaded rascal. To the Indiana County Donut Dash, we go. 

In the 2017 edition of the 5K race, my oldest daughter and I claimed the fastest stroller trophy. Since our victory, the hardware has stood tall on her dresser. Out to defend our title, we arrived early to size up our competition and eat donuts. She had a glazed sprinkled donut pre-race and a glazed sprinkled donut as I took off strolling. I wait until after the glory to consume the sugary sensation that is the donut. 

This year's Dash was a new circuit, weaving through IUP's campus. After Mile 1, my daughter politely passed me one remaining bite of her donut. She proceeded to pass out a few minutes later. I zoomed around the college town while she caught some Zs. When the finish line was in sight, I made a dramatic surge from pavement to green grass. Darting downhill, I would have to thrust over a curb to get over this final hump. Of course, I could have stopped and smoothly made the transition, but that's no fun. 

So, my daughter awoke to the jolt of an almost airborne stroller and the cheers of the crowd. I could not see my precious daughter's reaction, but I did not sense she was thrilled or terrified. She has always been a stoic stroller athlete. In our peripheral, my wife and youngest daughter screamed and babbled as we crossed the finish line. Back-to-back stroller championships. Time for a donut. 

Later that evening, our foursome went to St. Michael's church. Mass is often more exhausting than stroller running 3.1 miles; it takes twice as long and both girls are in play. To top it off, my wife served as lector, creating confusion and chaos in the brain of my youngest. "Why is Mommy sitting by the throne?" "When will she return?"  "Feed me all the snacks we have." She cannot speak full sentences, but I translate her cute face. We ran out of snacks. I was ready to run 3.1 more miles. 

As a Catholic, I know the order of events of a mass. As a father, I have absolutely no idea what is going to happen in that pew. As a runner, I love running for the known exercise I will get and the unknown amount of energy it will take to finish strong. All 3 are part of my identity - Catholic, father, runner. Saturday was a beautiful fusion of all three. 

I digested Saturday's homily like that trophy donut - quickly and surrounded by noise coming out of my children. The message - be an intentional disciple of Jesus. That message and the noise were striking. Mid-homily, I escaped the pew with my youngest daughter, who was chatterboxing the air. I left my oldest with her grandparents- they were fully capable of surviving without me. I had to get to the stained-glass windows in the back of the church. The colors have an all-too-temporary hallucinogenic effect on her. 

Staring at all those reds, blues, purples, and greens, I appreciated how colorful my life had become - blessed with good health, healthy kids, and a best friend in my wife; exceptional grandparents who dedicate time,energy, and survival skills; a rejuvenated faith fueled by experience - in the church I grew up in, in a fellowship called Cafe Sundays, in a course called Alpha, in watching two girls grow up. It is not always peaceful, but it surely has been positive. 

I'm going to keep following Jesus. I'm going to keep running. I'll keep trying to be the best Dad I can be. Hopefully, my girls will one day understand it is not about mass once a week or trophies on the dresser. It's about doing your best and believing - in yourself, in your community, in your faith. 

A day will come when the blonde bomber won't fit in the stroller anymore. The redheaded rascal will be called up. I'll be grateful for each and every finish line. 

Take care of each other, Johnstown. It's not paradise, but let's make it the best it can be.