Running Toward the Fire

I’ve always been intrigued (or impressed, or curious) about a particular element in the training and philosophy of the military regarding combat. It goes like this: When you hear or see enemy fire, you run toward the fire. This counterintuitive approach is incredibly brave and inspiring to me and it’s a philosophy I’m attempting to live by as I face my own enemy fire of grief---run toward the pain and embrace it. I found myself in a coffee shop last week with a U.S. Marine. When I saw this soldier it crossed my mind that if I’m going to base my entire approach to grief on this military philosophy, I should confirm that this is indeed a real philosophy. So I invited him over to my table and asked if I could ask him a military question. He replied “yes sir” and stood in his “at ease” posture. I asked him about the “run toward the fire” approach. He confirmed that it was “absolutely” a building block in combat training, and added: “When you hear enemy fire, if you turn and run, it won’t get any easier. In fact, it will only get harder if you don’t run toward the fire.”

That’s all I needed.

And with that, that is what I’m attempting to do. When I know something will bring pain, or hurt, or cause me to cry, I will not avoid it. I will embrace it. I will embrace the pain, which will in turn, remind me of the beauty.

At least today, I say that.

This doesn’t mean that I’m cleaning out closets (unless it’s my own; I do find myself obsessed with organization these days, which is helping to fill my task-oriented brain with…well, tasks) or looking at scrapbooks every night. But it does mean that I will go on a ski trip in late February to Big Mountain in Montana---a trip that Dana and I had planned to do together. And I will do the moonlight ski that week (a full-moon activity on Big Mountain) with some of the greatest friends in the world. Dana did the moonlight ski a couple years ago on a girl’s (Flamingo!) retreat and has wanted to take me ever since.

I will run toward and embrace the pain.

And I will read my Bible. I will ski in and hike through mountains. I will smell lilacs in the spring. I will walk on the beach. I will cry. I will let it hurt. I’m learning that the pain of loss is directly proportional to the beauty of the relationship. That means I have a lot of pain to go. And I can resolutely say, it’s worth it.

Running toward the fire,
Barry