We
attended the Institute graduation for our youngest daughter at the
University of Washington a few days ago. The Institute director,
Todd Knowles, spoke of the process of graduation, which is going on
in many, many places this month, as also being termed “commencement.”
Though it is the completion of one stage of life, one set of goals,
it is also the beginning of another: to enter into, or commence, the
next part of our progress.
He
told a personal story. He likes to run. He runs marathons, and
trains thoroughly and hard. There is a challenge with that, because
he has an inflammatory intestinal disease, and the two do not go well
together. When his illness is quiet, he can push himself, but when
it flares he’s in trouble.
There
is a marathon in central Washington, going around Lake Chelan. It’s
a beautiful setting, a gorgeous place, and last September about 400
runners participated. He didn’t say what year this was, but
Brother Knowles wanted to win it, as he had won this race one of the
years before. He knew that he could push the last five-mile stretch,
which he described, and he trained for the terrain. He had a plan
and a time that he needed to beat for a personal best. As the kids
would say, he was pumped!
He
allowed that he becomes very competitive. He drilled, he focused, he
trained, and he was feeling pretty good about his chances when the
all-too familiar early warning signs hit him the night before the
race, that his body was going to be fighting him. His illness was
asserting itself, and its timing was lousy.
Brother
Knowles talked with his son, who was going with him. He talked with
the Lord, who knew how much he wanted to run. He wasn’t ill,
actually — yet — but he would be. The only question was
how badly, and how quickly. It was hard to give up on all the
preparation and anticipation, and he finally decided that he just
wanted to try. He couldn’t bear not to.
He
did everything possible to be safe, to stay fed and hydrated, and to
be able to endure the distance. At the halfway point he told his
son, who was running with him to that point as a half marathon, that
he wanted to continue. His son wished him the best, but he wasn’t
going any farther himself. Dad would be on his own.
Brother
Knowles had managed to pull out ahead of the other runners, except
for a very few. As he hit that last five mile stretch, the piece of
terrain he had planned for and trained for, there was only one other
runner with him, and he was confident that he could pull out a burst
of momentum and take the lead. This was exactly what he was ready
for! Victory was in sight if he could just keep it up.
But
as he began to gain ground on the other runner, his vision started to
go dark on the periphery and pull in towards the center until he
realized that he would black out. Worse to him than the prospect of
passing out and falling, possibly being injured, was the realization
that if he passed out they wouldn’t let him finish the race.
He
slowed to a walk for a few moments and his vision cleared, so he
tried to speed up again. The same thing happened, and again a third
time, and he knew he could not sustain the speed he needed to win.
It wasn’t a matter of will or gumption or determination or
choice. It simply couldn’t be done.
He
did finish, running a little, then walking a little through those
last five miles. The runners he had left behind did not overtake
him; only the one runner he was neck and neck with came in ahead of
him, pulling out steadily. Even with all this, he did beat his
target time for a personal best. But he didn’t win.
He
told us that he wondered what the lesson was that he was supposed to
learn in this experience. He pondered several possibilities, as he
endured the flare-up of his illness, which did set in, as it receded,
and as life settled back to normal. He said his answer came a little
later:
You
can’t run today’s race on yesterday’s nourishment.
Now,
he knew it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have the
nourishment he needed for that race. He was conscientiously taking
it in, and his body was not able to absorb it because of his illness.
But the fact remained that his body couldn’t sustain the
demands of the marathon without having what it needed, now.
Yesterday’s nourishment was not sufficient, when his system was
working better. He had to have today’s nourishment today.
This
was Brother Knowles’s parting counsel to the students he had
taught, shepherded, and loved for four years, who were departing this
richly nourishing spiritual environment. Don’t neglect to
nourish your souls as you leave here for work or other pursuits which
may try to absorb all of your attention as you make the next
transitions of life.
You
can’t run today’s race on yesterday’s nourishment.
We all have our own versions of the race, we all run our own course.
What are we counseled when we are having a tough time? Pray and read
your scriptures. Maybe we feel like we could just chant that
automatically while thinking that’s not the point. Don’t
want a formula, you say, you want some help?
Prayer
and scripture study, that’s what we always hear — for a
reason. As counsel, it’s always true. It always makes a
difference. If we realize that it’s more than a formula, if we
make it a searching, heartfelt process, we will find food for our
spirits and stamina for our race, whatever it may be. Then as
answers are offered to us, we will be better able to hear them. He
promises that he will speak to us in our need, but we have to draw
near through the means he has given us.
Thank
you, Brother Knowles, for the testimony and example that have sunk
deep into the hearts of your Institute students. Thank you for
nourishing their souls.
Marian J. Stoddard was born in Washington, D.C., and grew up in its Maryland suburbs. Her
father grew up in Carson City, Nevada, and her mother in Salt Lake City, so she was always
partly a Westerner at heart, and she ended up raising her family in Washington State. Her family
took road trips all over the United States and Canada, so there were lots of adventures.
The adventures of music, literature, and art were also valued and pursued. Playing tourist always
included the local museums as well as historical sites and places of natural beauty. Discussions
at home, around the dinner table or working in the kitchen, could cover politics, philosophy, or
poetry, with the perspective of the gospel underlying all. Words and ideas, and testimony and
service, were the family currency.
Marian graduated from Winston Churchill High School in Potomac, Maryland, and attended the
University of Utah as the recipient of the Ralph Hardy Memorial Scholarship, where she was
graduated with honors, receiving a B.A. in English. She also met the love of her life, a law
student, three weeks after her arrival; she jokes that she had to marry him because her mother
always wanted a tenor in the family. (She sings second soprano.) They were married two years
later and have six children and six grandchildren (so far). She treasures her family, her friends,
and her opportunities to serve.
Visit Marian at her blog, greaterthansparrows. You can contact her at
bloggermarian@gmail.com.
Marian and her husband live in Tacoma, Washington. Together they teach those who are
preparing to go to the temple for the first time, and she also teaches a Stake Relief Society
Institute class.