In the Image of God

I've written more than one paper about the truth that we humans are created in the image of God and what that might mean about us. Every once in a while I have a wave of realization regarding this truth...like I see it so clearly for a few seconds. God is clearly a God of compassion and a God who values relationship...because we humans, in the image of God, need relationship so desperately. We need to be loved and to love, to have compassion poured out on us in our grief and to pour that compassion out on others.

Seven days from the start of the Iditarod, a dog named Snickers, who was beloved by musher Karen Ramstead, died at the Grayling checkpoint. Here are some particularly poignant things Karen said about the people of Grayling and the Iditarod race (http://www.northwapiti.com/indexSnickers.html):

"I was also very touched by the compassion and genuine sympathy from the Iditarod volunteers and the residents of Grayling. They made a horrible time somewhat more bearable. And warm thanks to fellow mushers Cindy Gallea and Bryan Mills. Cindy graciously offered her skills to help hold off veins during Snickers transfusion - and Bryan Mills, in a move so kind it makes my heart ache, offered to travel to Nome with me should I decide to stay in the Race, so I wouldn't have to be alone.

That's one of the things about Iditarod, it often strips you bare and shows you for what you really are - and in the case of the folks in Grayling it showed what remarkable people they all really are."

A race is a competition, by nature. What a beautiful show of compassion for Bryan Mills to offer to give up his place in the race, whatever it might be, to accompany a fellow human being in grief. Again, I see how this is a race that is about finishing, not necessarily about where you place. He knew that Karen might wish to continue and he offered to be a companion. For Karen, the grief was too much, and she went home where she could be cared for by family and friends. Yet, the offer sticks with her, a balm in the midst of grief.

The stories of kindness along the trail are trickling in as the mushers come trickling in under the finish line banner. People call this the Last Great Race on Earth. I think I'm hooked on it, and I think I would have to agree. I love it when sports are about more than the game. ...not about whether you win or lose but how you play the game... Because that, after all, is how we run the race of life - certainly not to get to the finish line first, but to play hard and to play well.

The Red Lantern

Mane and I talked today about the Red Lantern Award. The Red Lantern is awarded to the last person to complete the Iditarod each year. It started out as a joke, but it has come to represent persistence, perseverance. More good words. The last person to finish the race has stuck to it through the same things everyone else went through without the glory of winning, or coming in 2nd or 10th or 22nd.

This year that person will be the 60th person to complete the race. The race began with 82 mushers and their dogs. Some "scratched" for injuries. Some crashed their sled and could not continue. At least one person had ill dogs. Completing the Iditarod, no matter how slowly, means you have met a challenge and prevailed. No easy task. Not something just anyone is up for.

It's a beautiful object lesson in perseverance. Races are often used as an analogy for living the Christian life. Paul, in the New Testament, admonishes believers to run with perseverance the race marked out for us. I love the Iditarod as a particular analogy, though, because it isn't short. It isn't a sprint. It isn't even the 26-mile Grandma's Marathon. It's over a week long...through wind and snow and dark of night. The mushers go alone most of the way, with checkpoints to stop and rest and markers along the way. They are expected to help each other in trouble, though, and they are expected to make wise choices about their dogs, their team.

And a lantern is lit at the beginning of the race that is not blown out until the last musher has finished the race...thus, the Red Lantern awarded to the final musher to cross the finish line. There is something about this that speaks of the way you aren't really alone in the race. People know you're out there, and they are waiting for you, with the lantern light still shining. And there's no ridicule for finishing last, only a welcome embrace congratulating you for your persistence.