Hebrews tells every runner to fix their eyes on Jesus - but every runner has to run their own race.
You see this when racers run the mile. For most of the race, the fastest runners stay off the pace - behind the leader. They are saving their "kick" for the end, keeping enough wind and strength to burst in front and leave the other runners behind.
We saw this in horse racing this year too. Take a look at this video of the Kentucky Derby and pay close attention to the race as it rounds the first turn. There is a horse that is four or five lengths back of the pack, seemingly out of the race. The horse's name is Mine That Bird. www.youtube.com/user/kentuckyderby
To all appearances, Mine That Bird was out the race. In fact, the announcer seemed to count him out, mentioning him only once before Mine That Bird was three lengths in front. NBC's camera men did likewise - the horse was left out of the picture until the home stretch.
Several weeks later at the Preakness, NBC handled the camera work differently. Mine That Bird again ran the first half of the race at the back of the pack. He finished with another spectacular burst and placed second that day, though few doubted he'd have won had the race been longer. But for most of the race - back of the pack or not - NBC kept him in the picture. Everyone knew Mine That Bird was running his race.
Running your own race means keeping your pace and your cool. Through the years, I've learned that the hard way to the point where I now run my races by myself. I find it throws me off my pace to run with others. That was true at the 2009 Winter Park 10K. I started the race with my brother in law and nephew. We all had a similar time in mind for the end of the race. But both wanted to run faster earlier in the race than my wind and legs would allow. I could have pushed ahead with them, but eventually I'd have broken down. Instead, I had to slowly let them drift ahead. With 3/4 of a mile to go, I caught up to my brother in law and we finished together. In the process, I passed my nephew but did not even know it.
Running my own race was key to my success in this friendly race. It's even more important in serious competition. In lacrosse, we continuously preach to our players to "play our game." We do that because our game is pretty good - and because it will ride our guys through the opponent's runs.
Good opponent or not, we always expect them to make a run on us. By a run, I mean that they seize the momentum with a flurry of goals or hard-nosed play. When the run comes, the tendency can be to panic - to throw the ball away, or play undisciplined defense, or generally unravel. The opposite of this is to keep our heads, do the things we know to do and to "play our game."
I think Kipling spoke of this in his poem "If." In fact, his first 'if' is "if you can keep your head while all about you others are losing theirs..." If our guys do keep their heads, we often find that momentum eventually swings back our way and we find we're close enough to make a run of our own and maybe to win the game.
In the grander scheme, this is true of our lives. In fact, circumstances - even Satan himself - periodically makes runs at us. These runs are more than just the periodic bad day. Instead, they are like a swing of the tide against us when when suddenly our lives are pushing upstream against a powerful current. Suddenly the opponent has the initiative. It can come in the form of financial reversal, or serious illness, or discord with those around us. Whatever it is, the runs are brutal. They are for keeps.
Caroline Beebe had one of these runs against her when, as a teen just months from her prom, she contracted polio. No one can get in her head to learn how it must have devastated her, a young attractive athletic gal, to find her limbs painfully bending and her fortunes suddenly so changed. The story that my mother tells is that while she couldn't attend the prom, her friends dressed her in taffita and silk then came to her house after the big dance where Caroline received her guests as if she was royalty. One of many displays of guts and style that would define her life.
As she entered her 75th year, the hobbling of polio still barely slowed her down. But life had one more run to make at her. Cancer struck hard and throughout her. She was given less than a year to live. It seemed like life saying one more time that it would finish on top. But that would not be the case.
Cancer cut her life short, but she went out on her own terms. There is no better story of this than the following. On the same day that Caroline Beebe told friends that she had decided to discontinue her chemo, she also renewed her driver's license. Some of those closest to her were horrified - not because she'd discontinued medication, but because they knew what a horrible driver she was. But you cannot miss the fact that once again she was saying to life, you dealt the cards, but I decide how we'll play them. She was running her own race. And when it was through, we could only ask along with Paul, Where O death is thy sting? Where O pain is thy victory?
As Christians, the challenge for us is to run our own race - and keep our eyes on the author and perfector of our faith. If we do that, we'll have a taste of how it feels to be the miler, and Mine That Bird and Caroline Beebe. If we do, we'll find there is nothing life can take away from us.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
you're ready for God when...
There was a time years ago, when I felt as if God was encouraging me to run distances - it's like meditation. There has proven to be something to that. The long runs are hard work, but there is a rhythm to them that lends itself to a sweep-down of my mind.
The sweep-down uncovers diverse stuff - to-do lists, filth, needy family and friends, logic, prejudice, jokes, curses...
It is one thing to be alone with those thoughts and to let them find their way in and out of my awareness. It's another thing to acknowledge the reality that God is along for the run (and there in every other part of my life!) and to observe those thoughts as if turning the pages of a catalog.
Doing so shines a different light on the to-do lists, those in need, my prejudices...
It's not that my thoughts are constantly on Him or that my train of thought is under constant joint-scrutiny. But as things come to mind and standout when I run, I have a sense that He has shined a light on them and I can see them for what they are and respond accordingly - shake my head in confession, or throw my arms out in prayer, or just keep chugging and mulling.
Iget to this place more easily while running than in anything else I do.
I'm not sure why, but it might have something to do with getting to the bottom of something inside myself. On a grand scale, there are a number of great examples of this in the Bible. Moses remained on the mountain forty days without food or drink as he received the law from God. Elijah walked forty days in the wilderness before he heard the still small voice of God. Jesus fasted in the wilderness for forty days before He began His ministry.
The sweep-down uncovers diverse stuff - to-do lists, filth, needy family and friends, logic, prejudice, jokes, curses...
It is one thing to be alone with those thoughts and to let them find their way in and out of my awareness. It's another thing to acknowledge the reality that God is along for the run (and there in every other part of my life!) and to observe those thoughts as if turning the pages of a catalog.
Doing so shines a different light on the to-do lists, those in need, my prejudices...
It's not that my thoughts are constantly on Him or that my train of thought is under constant joint-scrutiny. But as things come to mind and standout when I run, I have a sense that He has shined a light on them and I can see them for what they are and respond accordingly - shake my head in confession, or throw my arms out in prayer, or just keep chugging and mulling.
Iget to this place more easily while running than in anything else I do.
I'm not sure why, but it might have something to do with getting to the bottom of something inside myself. On a grand scale, there are a number of great examples of this in the Bible. Moses remained on the mountain forty days without food or drink as he received the law from God. Elijah walked forty days in the wilderness before he heard the still small voice of God. Jesus fasted in the wilderness for forty days before He began His ministry.
I don't mean to put a forty minute run in the same league with their forty days. But I think there is a parallel. That is, Moses, Elijah and Jesus drained themselves to be filled. I can only guess that there was an aspect of reaching the bottom of their human reserves but being buoyed with a new and different sort of filling up. I wonder if we get a small taste of that when we run.
Here's an example. I have recently been taking Jon and Betsy Hughes' (http://www.trackshack.com/) advice in trying to lengthen my runs. Last Tuesday, I ventured 2 1/4 miles from home before turning back. It had been months since I ran 4.5 miles. It felt good to be going the distance, but it was taking close to everything I had. I was churning along but about at the end of my stamina when I was about five minutes from home. It was at that time, that I was reminded of my children and all the question marks that remain in their future. There on the sidewalk beside Par Street, I could do nothing but throw out my arms and turn my face up to heaven and shout, "Lord - my family!"I had a sense that He knew exactly what I meant - I didn't have to explain or elaborate the prayer. I also had a sense of being naked to the world - traffic was passing me in both directions and there I was running with my arms out, eyes closed, shouting at the sky (and no Bluetooth to blame it on).
For whatever reason, I don't pray that way - at the top of my lungs and from the bottom of my soul - in my quiet time (good thing, my family might say). Why is that? Perhaps it has something to do with reaching the end of my strength.Peter Lord said, you're ready for Jesus when your desperation factor exceeds your embarassment factor. AA says the first two steps to change are to realize where your power ends and that a higher power can help. There is something about reaching the end of our strength that makes us ready for God.
I think I see this in a friend and co-worker. The other day, he stopped by my office to talk about our jobs and the question of how secure they are in this economy. Then he got quite emotional and asked me, "How do you..." But he couldn't finish the question for fear he would break down. "Do you mind if we step outside?" he asked. So we did.The question he'd been trying to ask me was, how do you be strong for your family when your own inner strength is used up. He showed all the signs of a guy who is spent. You could tell he'd poured tremendous energy into his wife and two young kids to the point that he felt he didn't have any more to give. He thought he was showing weakness to reach this point - and worse to admit it. He couldn't believe that he himself was breaking down - as if to say, this sort of thing happens to other guys but not to him. And I think he thought that I had never reached that point myself.
I probably did a lousy job of it, but I tried to explain that he was ready for God. That if he had poured his energy out for his family then Jesus was probably proud of him. That if we keep our eyes on the author and perfector of our faith, then we will love our wives "as Christ loved the church, pouring Himself out for her." We will reach the end of our strength - and that's when we can and should turn to God.
The character of Eric Liddell said it better than I can in Chariots of Fire. In one of the great short sermons, he says that the strength to run "a straight race" is found within. If we look for Jesus there, He promises, "Ye shall ever surely find Me."
Monday, November 16, 2009
Looking down the road
Just the two of us - my 4 year old son and I - flew up to the DC area to visit my mom. On the first drizzley morning there, I rose early for my run. My boy lay sleeping in the other bed as I pulled on my running gear and stepped out into the twilight.
Mom's apartment looks down the Potomac along a shallow bend in the river. There is good running and biking all the way down to Mt. Vernon (and up to Cumberland, Md.). On this morning, I ran down along the river to a little marina, then turned around and headed for home.
I had felt uneasy about leaving my boy - afraid it would upset him waking up in a place that he didn't know. I also knew that my mom would be there for him and probably take him to the window to track my progress running back up toward them. We call that looking down the road.
Looking down the road is sort of a family tradition. I became aware of it as a boy when I realized that my grandfather stationed himself at his desk early in the day when we were coming to see him. His desk looked down the road so that he could see us rounding the turn and coming down the homestretch to his house.
In turn, I had looked down the road for him when we went to the small airport into which he flew home. I would stand quietly with my grandmother and listen for the whistle of turboprops hoping to see his plane on the horizon, then watch him all the way in to the ramp where we waited.
Years later, my family looked down the road for me when I ran the Disney Marathon. They positioned themselves at every possible viewing station. Through the long miles, I imagined them up ahead of me. Knowing they were there helped pull me along.
And when we buried our beloved great aunt, the last of her generation, I imagined her finally in the embrace of her brothers and sisters after they had looked down the road for her these last years of her life.
Now, as I ran the last solitary mile in the drizzle along the Potomac I imagined my mother and my son looking down the road for me. With every clearing of the trees, I waved so that if he was watching, he'd know I was thinking of him and getting closer to a reunion with every step. In the last quarter mile, I could see that my mom had opened the window and stood my boy up on a chair to see me. "Dada!" he yelled clear as a bell from 8-stories up. "Elijah!" I returned, just as clear.
After we flew home, I continued to dwell on the runs by the Potomac and the idea of looking down the road. I found myself longing to see my own father at a distance and to hear his voice. He is gone now almost seven years. Yet I imagined him waving at me across the gulf of eternity getting closer to reunion each moment. Yet it seemed like fantasy to imagine such a connection and I despaired over that realizing my son would despair too one day.
But on subsequent runs, I kept mulling this and something occured to me. My father does wave at me across eternity. Not literally, but when people do the things that I know he would have done, it is as if it's him. It's the same with his words. When people speak words to me that I know he would have spoken, it is as if he has spoken to me. My own mother, my wife, my brother and sister, my pastor, a trusted mentor, my godmother - many people have done this for me. By their actions and words, he is there.
I thought I'd had a major realization when it occurred to me that Jesus does the same for us and the heavenly father. It turns out, the author of Hebrews has been explaining this to people for nearly 2000 years. In chapter one, in the first three verses, he tells us God has spoken to us in His son who is the radiance of God's glory and the exact representation of His being. God becomes alive to us in the actions and words of Jesus.
And it turns out that people do the same for Jesus. He said that when we care for the lowest, we've cared for Him. Jesus is alive in the people who need us most.
I have heard it said that children have difficulty conceiving of God as loving, just and upright if they don't experience those traits in their own dads. My own dad's life and words would still speak to me if he'd been less of a man. But they would not speak well of him or God. I suppose that's one reason it's important - for the sake of our children - to remember who we are and who we represent.
But no matter how our dads lived their lives, Jesus' life and words can speak to us across eternity of loving, just and upright God - just as I spoke to my son who was looking down the road.
Mom's apartment looks down the Potomac along a shallow bend in the river. There is good running and biking all the way down to Mt. Vernon (and up to Cumberland, Md.). On this morning, I ran down along the river to a little marina, then turned around and headed for home.
I had felt uneasy about leaving my boy - afraid it would upset him waking up in a place that he didn't know. I also knew that my mom would be there for him and probably take him to the window to track my progress running back up toward them. We call that looking down the road.
Looking down the road is sort of a family tradition. I became aware of it as a boy when I realized that my grandfather stationed himself at his desk early in the day when we were coming to see him. His desk looked down the road so that he could see us rounding the turn and coming down the homestretch to his house.
In turn, I had looked down the road for him when we went to the small airport into which he flew home. I would stand quietly with my grandmother and listen for the whistle of turboprops hoping to see his plane on the horizon, then watch him all the way in to the ramp where we waited.
Years later, my family looked down the road for me when I ran the Disney Marathon. They positioned themselves at every possible viewing station. Through the long miles, I imagined them up ahead of me. Knowing they were there helped pull me along.
And when we buried our beloved great aunt, the last of her generation, I imagined her finally in the embrace of her brothers and sisters after they had looked down the road for her these last years of her life.
Now, as I ran the last solitary mile in the drizzle along the Potomac I imagined my mother and my son looking down the road for me. With every clearing of the trees, I waved so that if he was watching, he'd know I was thinking of him and getting closer to a reunion with every step. In the last quarter mile, I could see that my mom had opened the window and stood my boy up on a chair to see me. "Dada!" he yelled clear as a bell from 8-stories up. "Elijah!" I returned, just as clear.
After we flew home, I continued to dwell on the runs by the Potomac and the idea of looking down the road. I found myself longing to see my own father at a distance and to hear his voice. He is gone now almost seven years. Yet I imagined him waving at me across the gulf of eternity getting closer to reunion each moment. Yet it seemed like fantasy to imagine such a connection and I despaired over that realizing my son would despair too one day.
But on subsequent runs, I kept mulling this and something occured to me. My father does wave at me across eternity. Not literally, but when people do the things that I know he would have done, it is as if it's him. It's the same with his words. When people speak words to me that I know he would have spoken, it is as if he has spoken to me. My own mother, my wife, my brother and sister, my pastor, a trusted mentor, my godmother - many people have done this for me. By their actions and words, he is there.
I thought I'd had a major realization when it occurred to me that Jesus does the same for us and the heavenly father. It turns out, the author of Hebrews has been explaining this to people for nearly 2000 years. In chapter one, in the first three verses, he tells us God has spoken to us in His son who is the radiance of God's glory and the exact representation of His being. God becomes alive to us in the actions and words of Jesus.
And it turns out that people do the same for Jesus. He said that when we care for the lowest, we've cared for Him. Jesus is alive in the people who need us most.
I have heard it said that children have difficulty conceiving of God as loving, just and upright if they don't experience those traits in their own dads. My own dad's life and words would still speak to me if he'd been less of a man. But they would not speak well of him or God. I suppose that's one reason it's important - for the sake of our children - to remember who we are and who we represent.
But no matter how our dads lived their lives, Jesus' life and words can speak to us across eternity of loving, just and upright God - just as I spoke to my son who was looking down the road.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
The pursuit of peace
Hebrews 12:14 says, “Pursue peace with all…”
We learned Sunday that we are to pursue peace – follow it – the idea of chasing something – go after it. (www.orlandocommunitychurch.org)
God does grant us peace – the sense of peace – to be at peace – Moses had it when he came down from the mountain – it shown on his face so brightly, people had a hard time looking at him. But the peace was shortlived and he still had about 40 years of tough sledding ahead of him in the wilderness.
Throughout that time, he had to wrestle with being God’s man seeking peace with his disgruntled nation. I can only guess that his wilderness recollections of that peace must have been confusing – everything from strengthening (remembering God’s presence and promises) to doubt (if it was fleeting, perhaps it wasn’t real).
My wife had a mountaintop experience with her breast cancer. It was Moses like. I recall visiting her for the first time in the recovery room – her face had a look to it that surprised me – peaceful, alert – remarkably so and so different from what you’d expect of a woman who’d just had a breast removed.
Afterward, she told me the experience changed the way she saw everything and everyone around her. It was so transforming she thought she’d be changed forever. But the other night she described her frustration at finding herself once again struggling - she wanted to yell at the kids and throttle her neighbor. The Moses-type glow on her face was gone and she was now in the wilderness where peace with those around her was hard to come by.
Hebrews says we are to pursue peace with others. Not sit still and have peace, but to pursue it. To draw an analogy from running, there is no peace at the end of the race if we don’t empty ourselves on the course. Empty your lungs of wind, empty your legs of strength – give it your all. It is the same on the athletic field – losing only REALLY hurts if you quit and winning never feels that good if you didn’t give your best.
So peace is something to go after. While the mountaintop experience is what we all want, we are defined as Christians by how we perform in the wilderness. This is different from yoga and the eastern religions (or at least my understanding of them) in which peace is something to be attained for oneself. While those religions are about us being at peace with ourselves, Christianity is about going after it with others.
I think that means we are supposed to get in the mix. Recall the cleansing peace of the mountain, but get down and dirty with those around us in the wilderness.
We learned Sunday that we are to pursue peace – follow it – the idea of chasing something – go after it. (www.orlandocommunitychurch.org)
God does grant us peace – the sense of peace – to be at peace – Moses had it when he came down from the mountain – it shown on his face so brightly, people had a hard time looking at him. But the peace was shortlived and he still had about 40 years of tough sledding ahead of him in the wilderness.
Throughout that time, he had to wrestle with being God’s man seeking peace with his disgruntled nation. I can only guess that his wilderness recollections of that peace must have been confusing – everything from strengthening (remembering God’s presence and promises) to doubt (if it was fleeting, perhaps it wasn’t real).
My wife had a mountaintop experience with her breast cancer. It was Moses like. I recall visiting her for the first time in the recovery room – her face had a look to it that surprised me – peaceful, alert – remarkably so and so different from what you’d expect of a woman who’d just had a breast removed.
Afterward, she told me the experience changed the way she saw everything and everyone around her. It was so transforming she thought she’d be changed forever. But the other night she described her frustration at finding herself once again struggling - she wanted to yell at the kids and throttle her neighbor. The Moses-type glow on her face was gone and she was now in the wilderness where peace with those around her was hard to come by.
Hebrews says we are to pursue peace with others. Not sit still and have peace, but to pursue it. To draw an analogy from running, there is no peace at the end of the race if we don’t empty ourselves on the course. Empty your lungs of wind, empty your legs of strength – give it your all. It is the same on the athletic field – losing only REALLY hurts if you quit and winning never feels that good if you didn’t give your best.
So peace is something to go after. While the mountaintop experience is what we all want, we are defined as Christians by how we perform in the wilderness. This is different from yoga and the eastern religions (or at least my understanding of them) in which peace is something to be attained for oneself. While those religions are about us being at peace with ourselves, Christianity is about going after it with others.
I think that means we are supposed to get in the mix. Recall the cleansing peace of the mountain, but get down and dirty with those around us in the wilderness.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
The Daylight Savings Time Challenge
On Sunday the clocks fell back an hour with eastern savings time. The clock on my computer made the adjustment automatically. But all the clocks in our house were off by an hour. That included the internal clocks that drive the awakenings of my family and me.
With the time change, and by rising early, I had expected to have an hour to myself that morning. It did not work out that way. Before I could get anywhere, my son emerged for breakfast, one daughter wandered in for a warm snuggle and even my self-described "not a morning person" wife was up and at 'em.
Rising an hour earlier than the rest of my house is what I now call, "The Daylight Savings Time Challenge." The challenge is to leave my alarm clock on last week's time and rise when it chimes. Last Saturday, that would have been 6:05. Sunday, with the time change, it was 5:05.
In large part, the challenge is owed to a conversation between Bob Edwards and Garrison Keillor during an interview on XM radio’s XMPR. Edwards asked how Keillor, an incredibly busy man could ever find time to write so prolifically. Keillor responded that he rises an hour earlier than the rest of his house - "If you get up an hour early, you can write a book."
The Edwards' question and Keillor's answer can be plugged into any number of conversations:
Q: Where do you find time to work on your masters? A: I get up an hour early.
Q: Where do you find time to run? A: I get up an hour early.
Q: Where do you find time to pray for your children? A: I get up an hour early.
The changing of the clocks seemed a good time to ease into it. I would just leave my watch set to Daylight Savings Time and let my body take advantage of that extra hour in the morning.
I find it’s natural to stay up late doing unimportant things (Sudoku, fantasy baseball). But, I won’t get up early unless it’s important. When I was a boy, I would rise well before first light on bitter mornings to hunt. But rarely would I ever do the same to study. Hunting was important to me. Studying not so much. These days, I’d fallen into a similar dilemma in my quiet times with God. I would rise early to run or workout. Exercise was important to me. But what about time with God?
On Sunday, Pastor Josh Christiansen (http://www.orlandocommunitychurch.org/) described how we fall into a devil's trap when we let a good thing (like running) be done to the exclusion of the most important thing. Early in Mark's gospel, we learn of something that was important to Jesus.
Mark 1:35 In the early morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house, and went away to a secluded place, and was praying there.
So the changing of the clocks seems like a good time to put some things back in order – the Daylight Savings Time Challenge.
With the time change, and by rising early, I had expected to have an hour to myself that morning. It did not work out that way. Before I could get anywhere, my son emerged for breakfast, one daughter wandered in for a warm snuggle and even my self-described "not a morning person" wife was up and at 'em.
Rising an hour earlier than the rest of my house is what I now call, "The Daylight Savings Time Challenge." The challenge is to leave my alarm clock on last week's time and rise when it chimes. Last Saturday, that would have been 6:05. Sunday, with the time change, it was 5:05.
In large part, the challenge is owed to a conversation between Bob Edwards and Garrison Keillor during an interview on XM radio’s XMPR. Edwards asked how Keillor, an incredibly busy man could ever find time to write so prolifically. Keillor responded that he rises an hour earlier than the rest of his house - "If you get up an hour early, you can write a book."
The Edwards' question and Keillor's answer can be plugged into any number of conversations:
Q: Where do you find time to work on your masters? A: I get up an hour early.
Q: Where do you find time to run? A: I get up an hour early.
Q: Where do you find time to pray for your children? A: I get up an hour early.
The changing of the clocks seemed a good time to ease into it. I would just leave my watch set to Daylight Savings Time and let my body take advantage of that extra hour in the morning.
I find it’s natural to stay up late doing unimportant things (Sudoku, fantasy baseball). But, I won’t get up early unless it’s important. When I was a boy, I would rise well before first light on bitter mornings to hunt. But rarely would I ever do the same to study. Hunting was important to me. Studying not so much. These days, I’d fallen into a similar dilemma in my quiet times with God. I would rise early to run or workout. Exercise was important to me. But what about time with God?
On Sunday, Pastor Josh Christiansen (http://www.orlandocommunitychurch.org/) described how we fall into a devil's trap when we let a good thing (like running) be done to the exclusion of the most important thing. Early in Mark's gospel, we learn of something that was important to Jesus.
Mark 1:35 In the early morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house, and went away to a secluded place, and was praying there.
So the changing of the clocks seems like a good time to put some things back in order – the Daylight Savings Time Challenge.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
my wife the model
From notes written June 23, 2009...
Today, a run will be hard to come by. Slate grey clouds roll in from the northwest dropping rain so heavy that I heard it well before I saw it. Thunder rattles my windows.
Why run, anyway?
There are good reasons. It cleans me out. I wind up thanking God for the motion and the heat – such a contrast to the sedentary way I spend my work day fastened to a desk breathing conditioned air. It’s good to do something tough. Running hurts, but the pain lasts just a few minutes and the pain gives way to endorphins (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Endorphin).
Not always true for some of the tough hands life deals us. We had one of those hands dealt to us last week.
I had come home at midday to watch the kids so my wife of 20 years could make a followup visit regarding a mammogram. The test results had not been good. But when she came home with news from the doctor, I was shocked. The doctor prescribed a mastectomy. My bones and muscles practically liquefied. We discussed it for a long time – even mourned. But amid all of this, I had to get back to work.
After quitting time, when I returned home, I expected the worst. Instead, my wife astonished me. The house was tidy. The kids were quiet. She was on the phone putting together a grocery list for a family that has bigger problems than we have.
No one would have blamed her if she’d retired with her news, closed the bedroom door, shut off the world and holed up with her feelings. But when I arrived, there she sat working on someone else’s problems.
What a model.
Hebrews talks about Jesus running up ahead of us and how we should keep our eyes on Him to teach us how we should go. But Jesus came in first and many of us aren’t running at that pace yet. But back in the pack, every race has other runners to follow - runners who are not as fast as the winner, but who nonetheless run with their eyes on the prize - runners who, for the joy of what awaits them at the finish, run with purpose and even laughter - runners in whom others can see bits of the victor - runners who we can tuck-in behind and hang on as they pull us to the finish.
On that day, I tucked in behind my wife who was one of those runners to me.
Later that day, I ran 3.6 miles. It felt like 10K. My Nikes felt like weighted diving boots (http://www.divingmachines.com/dates2.JPG). But, I ran. When I finished, I felt relieved and cleansed (endorphins!). Gradually that feeling went away.But days later, the feeling of amazement that I felt from watching my wife still lingers. The bad news remains, but it doesn’t hang from me like it did before I saw her thinking of others. If she could think of others at a time like that, then I guess I can handle what life has in store for me, too.
Today, a run will be hard to come by. Slate grey clouds roll in from the northwest dropping rain so heavy that I heard it well before I saw it. Thunder rattles my windows.
Why run, anyway?
There are good reasons. It cleans me out. I wind up thanking God for the motion and the heat – such a contrast to the sedentary way I spend my work day fastened to a desk breathing conditioned air. It’s good to do something tough. Running hurts, but the pain lasts just a few minutes and the pain gives way to endorphins (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Endorphin).
Not always true for some of the tough hands life deals us. We had one of those hands dealt to us last week.
I had come home at midday to watch the kids so my wife of 20 years could make a followup visit regarding a mammogram. The test results had not been good. But when she came home with news from the doctor, I was shocked. The doctor prescribed a mastectomy. My bones and muscles practically liquefied. We discussed it for a long time – even mourned. But amid all of this, I had to get back to work.
After quitting time, when I returned home, I expected the worst. Instead, my wife astonished me. The house was tidy. The kids were quiet. She was on the phone putting together a grocery list for a family that has bigger problems than we have.
No one would have blamed her if she’d retired with her news, closed the bedroom door, shut off the world and holed up with her feelings. But when I arrived, there she sat working on someone else’s problems.
What a model.
Hebrews talks about Jesus running up ahead of us and how we should keep our eyes on Him to teach us how we should go. But Jesus came in first and many of us aren’t running at that pace yet. But back in the pack, every race has other runners to follow - runners who are not as fast as the winner, but who nonetheless run with their eyes on the prize - runners who, for the joy of what awaits them at the finish, run with purpose and even laughter - runners in whom others can see bits of the victor - runners who we can tuck-in behind and hang on as they pull us to the finish.
On that day, I tucked in behind my wife who was one of those runners to me.
Later that day, I ran 3.6 miles. It felt like 10K. My Nikes felt like weighted diving boots (http://www.divingmachines.com/dates2.JPG). But, I ran. When I finished, I felt relieved and cleansed (endorphins!). Gradually that feeling went away.But days later, the feeling of amazement that I felt from watching my wife still lingers. The bad news remains, but it doesn’t hang from me like it did before I saw her thinking of others. If she could think of others at a time like that, then I guess I can handle what life has in store for me, too.
The spiritual side of running
Years ago, I learned that there is a spiritual aspect to running. The lesson came courtesy of old-friend Paul Emery. Paul has always been off on one adventure or another and he always tries to drag others along with him. Somehow, Paul dragged me into his adventure de jour - training with John Christiansen to run a marathon.
Training with them began a pattern that lasted for about 9 months - rise before first light every other Saturday then wait under the street lamp in front of my house for John and Paul to run by. They'd come into view and I'd clamp-in and hold on for the trip. I soon learned that when these guys said they were going to run around town, they meant they were going to run AROUND town.
I also learned that it was natural through the hours and miles to talk about our lives and the people we touch. And every so often, John would respond by beginning to pray. We'd be huffing along, having just spoken about some problem or loved one and John would start, "Oh Lord Jesus, we ask..."
For me, prayer had always been either whisper or thought - rarely ever louder than a murmur. But these prayers were preceded by the heavy inhales of a 12 or 14 mile run and they were issued on the heavy exhales that followed. These prayers came from the diaphragm and most began with that "Oh" that comes from deep in the lungs and perhaps from deep in the soul. We prayed, not in our Sunday best, but in our sweatty mess. The rhythm of the prayers was not from a piano or pipe organ, but from the pounding of our feet and the punctuation came courtesy of the measure of our breath.
I learned from these guys that long runs lend themselves to thought and introspection. And I soon found it natural, while training by myself, to ponder and sometimes to pray. In the intervening years, my training has waxed and waned.
There have been times when I have sensed God encourage me to "run distances - it's like meditation." I have acted on that only in rare stretches.
But I was brought back to it again about two weeks ago. It was after church and dressed in my Sunday best, when I could feel my midsection pressing out against my belt. In the previous months, I had run consistently, but in short bursts of about 20 -25 minutes. I was in good shape, but not keeping the weight off. So I grabbed our friends, Jon and Betsy Hughes (http://www.trackshack.com/) and asked them if there was anything about my running that I might tweak for the sake of my waist line.
They basically encourage me to do the I'd sensed from God - run distances. So I've begun once again to build up my distance.
Once again, I find that when the run's uneven and frenetic start is behind me, and when the finish is still way out there, and when there is nothing to do but settle in with pace and patience, then the thinking begins in earnest. It IS like meditation. Perhaps, as with yoga, it's all in the breathing. Whatever it is, people come to mind - a cloud of witnesses - and it is natural to pray for them or praise Him with an "Oh" that begins from deep down inside.
Training with them began a pattern that lasted for about 9 months - rise before first light every other Saturday then wait under the street lamp in front of my house for John and Paul to run by. They'd come into view and I'd clamp-in and hold on for the trip. I soon learned that when these guys said they were going to run around town, they meant they were going to run AROUND town.
I also learned that it was natural through the hours and miles to talk about our lives and the people we touch. And every so often, John would respond by beginning to pray. We'd be huffing along, having just spoken about some problem or loved one and John would start, "Oh Lord Jesus, we ask..."
For me, prayer had always been either whisper or thought - rarely ever louder than a murmur. But these prayers were preceded by the heavy inhales of a 12 or 14 mile run and they were issued on the heavy exhales that followed. These prayers came from the diaphragm and most began with that "Oh" that comes from deep in the lungs and perhaps from deep in the soul. We prayed, not in our Sunday best, but in our sweatty mess. The rhythm of the prayers was not from a piano or pipe organ, but from the pounding of our feet and the punctuation came courtesy of the measure of our breath.
I learned from these guys that long runs lend themselves to thought and introspection. And I soon found it natural, while training by myself, to ponder and sometimes to pray. In the intervening years, my training has waxed and waned.
There have been times when I have sensed God encourage me to "run distances - it's like meditation." I have acted on that only in rare stretches.
But I was brought back to it again about two weeks ago. It was after church and dressed in my Sunday best, when I could feel my midsection pressing out against my belt. In the previous months, I had run consistently, but in short bursts of about 20 -25 minutes. I was in good shape, but not keeping the weight off. So I grabbed our friends, Jon and Betsy Hughes (http://www.trackshack.com/) and asked them if there was anything about my running that I might tweak for the sake of my waist line.
They basically encourage me to do the I'd sensed from God - run distances. So I've begun once again to build up my distance.
Once again, I find that when the run's uneven and frenetic start is behind me, and when the finish is still way out there, and when there is nothing to do but settle in with pace and patience, then the thinking begins in earnest. It IS like meditation. Perhaps, as with yoga, it's all in the breathing. Whatever it is, people come to mind - a cloud of witnesses - and it is natural to pray for them or praise Him with an "Oh" that begins from deep down inside.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
breathing, running, and believing
You’d think that running starts in your legs. But really it’s in your lungs. In fact, the first key to running the race may be measured breathing. Let breathing get out whack or get away from you, and you’re lost. But concentrate on it – pace yourself with it – and you may be off to the races. That’s what Pastor John Christiansen said on Sunday as he discussed the parallels of trying to run marathons and trying to run the race God sets before us. His words rung true to me.
I can remember about twenty years ago, when I was first trying to learn to run distances. A good friend, a veteran of many races and long runs, ran beside me. He was older and under control. I was younger and struggling to keep up. So, he explained how he pushed and paced himself. He said he did it with his breathing – inhale on two steps, exhale on four. Over and over, he kept his feet moving in pace with his breath and metered his breath according to the rhythm of his feet. I tried that and found it worked – I could settle in to a pace that was a push, but measured and tolerable – and faster than when I’d just flail along. Perhaps it was because my body “knew” that air was taken care of and it could concentrate on other things.
I recall another conversation from ten years before that. I was trying to learn to walk with God and a good friend was coming alongside. School was almost over and we’d soon go our own ways. He knew I was going to need help if I was going to run the race and He wanted me to know I didn’t need to run alone. So, he told me about the Holy Spirit and how God had sent Him as my helper. Then my friend told me that I could “breathe in the Holy Spirit.” I have never forgotten that. I later learned that God “breathed life into Adam’s nostrils,” and that when God first sent the Holy Spirit to help the disciples, it arrived as “a mighty rushing wind.”
I have never taken this idea literally – that I can inhale the Holy Spirit. But I have often remembered that I could breathe God in like a prayer even at times that I couldn’t utter one. And just as paced breathing quickened my running, breathing in the Spirit quickened my spirit. I have since found that it is a little like a prayer - I breathe in a full deep breath, hoping God will fill me like my lungs. And it is a little like an attitude adjustment – as getting on my knees reminds me of where I stand with God, breathing Him in reminds me that He is as close as the air I breathe. And it is a little bit of faith – that if he breathed life into Adam’s nostrils and sent the Holy Spirit like a might rushing wind, then perhaps with this breath, He will come into me.
I can remember about twenty years ago, when I was first trying to learn to run distances. A good friend, a veteran of many races and long runs, ran beside me. He was older and under control. I was younger and struggling to keep up. So, he explained how he pushed and paced himself. He said he did it with his breathing – inhale on two steps, exhale on four. Over and over, he kept his feet moving in pace with his breath and metered his breath according to the rhythm of his feet. I tried that and found it worked – I could settle in to a pace that was a push, but measured and tolerable – and faster than when I’d just flail along. Perhaps it was because my body “knew” that air was taken care of and it could concentrate on other things.
I recall another conversation from ten years before that. I was trying to learn to walk with God and a good friend was coming alongside. School was almost over and we’d soon go our own ways. He knew I was going to need help if I was going to run the race and He wanted me to know I didn’t need to run alone. So, he told me about the Holy Spirit and how God had sent Him as my helper. Then my friend told me that I could “breathe in the Holy Spirit.” I have never forgotten that. I later learned that God “breathed life into Adam’s nostrils,” and that when God first sent the Holy Spirit to help the disciples, it arrived as “a mighty rushing wind.”
I have never taken this idea literally – that I can inhale the Holy Spirit. But I have often remembered that I could breathe God in like a prayer even at times that I couldn’t utter one. And just as paced breathing quickened my running, breathing in the Spirit quickened my spirit. I have since found that it is a little like a prayer - I breathe in a full deep breath, hoping God will fill me like my lungs. And it is a little like an attitude adjustment – as getting on my knees reminds me of where I stand with God, breathing Him in reminds me that He is as close as the air I breathe. And it is a little bit of faith – that if he breathed life into Adam’s nostrils and sent the Holy Spirit like a might rushing wind, then perhaps with this breath, He will come into me.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
RUNNING CONSPICUOSLY
I want my children to grow up thinking of me (and themselves) as runners – for running to be woven into their fabric. Athleticism is something that can be passed along. My father did that for me.
When I was a little boy on summer vacation, Dad would play hours of tennis in a pair of knee-length cutoff jeans and Sperry deck shoes until the sweat poured off of him in sheets. He reveled in the effort, even in the perspiration.
My father was quite a man and quite a forerunner. He was conspicuous about it and he rubbed off on me. I am six years removed from my father’s death and I am 40 years removed from those summer days. But his exertion remains a thread woven into my fabric and it is visible every afternoon when I step out into the heat and sweat pours from me as I run.
Now it is my turn to be conspicuous.
Recently, while tying on my sneaks on a Sunday afternoon, my oldest asked if she could ride along with me. My first inclination was to go alone -- running is practically meditation for me. But I hope to rub off on her too, so I said, “Sure.” She left behind a friend with our youngest daughter, put on her helmet, climbed aboard her pink flowered bike with the wide, knobby tires and off we went, just we two.
Along the way, she remarked on things I see silently so often – Lee Middle School getting rebuilt, the tidy houses on the right that were once so rundown, the vegetable garden that I always stop to look at, the clean scent of the lake…
She’d see and remark, then we’d talk – new things to her, but to me, things I see so often. The conversation flowed from her, though I labored to speak as I huffed/puffed and the sweat poured... and a hope kindled - that perhaps many years removed from now, she will recall that this is what we do. Perhaps someday, she and some little follower of her own will run and that they will both accrue all the benefits.
There is a spiritual parallel…
Recently when I was headed out the door with my journal (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moleskine) and our Labrador for a morning walk and quiet time when my youngest daughter asked if she could walk along with me. My first inclination was to go alone – the morning walk is often the only meditation time that I take to focus on God. But I hope to rub off on her. So I grabbed my daughter and my Moleskine and my dog and off we went.
Along the way, we remarked on things I silently journal every so often as a sort of prayer to God – the names of people with problems, the things for which I’m thankful, the circumstances that scare me, the fresh morning…
It was hard to talk about these things – these things are so familiar to me as I silently journal, but hard to put into words. Still the conversation did flow. I hoped I was being conspicuous enough. That perhaps she and some little follower of her own will one day walk and talk about their prayers and that they will both accrue all the benefits.
When I was a little boy on summer vacation, Dad would play hours of tennis in a pair of knee-length cutoff jeans and Sperry deck shoes until the sweat poured off of him in sheets. He reveled in the effort, even in the perspiration.
My father was quite a man and quite a forerunner. He was conspicuous about it and he rubbed off on me. I am six years removed from my father’s death and I am 40 years removed from those summer days. But his exertion remains a thread woven into my fabric and it is visible every afternoon when I step out into the heat and sweat pours from me as I run.
Now it is my turn to be conspicuous.
Recently, while tying on my sneaks on a Sunday afternoon, my oldest asked if she could ride along with me. My first inclination was to go alone -- running is practically meditation for me. But I hope to rub off on her too, so I said, “Sure.” She left behind a friend with our youngest daughter, put on her helmet, climbed aboard her pink flowered bike with the wide, knobby tires and off we went, just we two.
Along the way, she remarked on things I see silently so often – Lee Middle School getting rebuilt, the tidy houses on the right that were once so rundown, the vegetable garden that I always stop to look at, the clean scent of the lake…
She’d see and remark, then we’d talk – new things to her, but to me, things I see so often. The conversation flowed from her, though I labored to speak as I huffed/puffed and the sweat poured... and a hope kindled - that perhaps many years removed from now, she will recall that this is what we do. Perhaps someday, she and some little follower of her own will run and that they will both accrue all the benefits.
There is a spiritual parallel…
Recently when I was headed out the door with my journal (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moleskine) and our Labrador for a morning walk and quiet time when my youngest daughter asked if she could walk along with me. My first inclination was to go alone – the morning walk is often the only meditation time that I take to focus on God. But I hope to rub off on her. So I grabbed my daughter and my Moleskine and my dog and off we went.
Along the way, we remarked on things I silently journal every so often as a sort of prayer to God – the names of people with problems, the things for which I’m thankful, the circumstances that scare me, the fresh morning…
It was hard to talk about these things – these things are so familiar to me as I silently journal, but hard to put into words. Still the conversation did flow. I hoped I was being conspicuous enough. That perhaps she and some little follower of her own will one day walk and talk about their prayers and that they will both accrue all the benefits.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
on running the race
When the little kids start the race, there is joy on their faces. They're young and it's all fresh.
When the big kids start the race, faces are grim. They are ready to pour it all out. They know it's going to burn.
Not that they shy from the race because of that. I find with the high school age boys that I coach in lacrosse, they want to pour it out. The grim aspect is almost attractive. They burn to do something great - to take on some great endeavor. It's what draws people to run marathons and to test themselves in efforts like those offered by Outward Bound.
Now, imagine Jesus as He started his race. Imagine the joy He must have felt with His first miracle -- turning water to wine to honor His Father and on behalf of His mother at the wedding in Cana of Galilee. Imagine Him a little like those little kids in their first race. Exhilarated. Even smiling.
It wouldn't always be like that. In fact, we find Isaiah says of Jesus, He would be a man of sorrows. And anyone that has ever gone deep into their reserves, deep in a race has a little understanding of what Isaiah means. It's why, at the end of a race, a runner is often tempted to just sit down on the nearest curb and have a good cry rather than exult.
But for now, imagine Him at the outset - the pain at the end is out there looming, but it's still low on the horizon. For the moment, there is the exultation of sensing He's begun the run He was born to make. As Eric Liddell said in Chariots of Fire, "I feel His pleasure."
Video of Eric Liddell:
http://danziebarth.blogspot.com/2008/01/and-when-i-run-i-feel-his-pleasure.html
When the big kids start the race, faces are grim. They are ready to pour it all out. They know it's going to burn.
Not that they shy from the race because of that. I find with the high school age boys that I coach in lacrosse, they want to pour it out. The grim aspect is almost attractive. They burn to do something great - to take on some great endeavor. It's what draws people to run marathons and to test themselves in efforts like those offered by Outward Bound.
Now, imagine Jesus as He started his race. Imagine the joy He must have felt with His first miracle -- turning water to wine to honor His Father and on behalf of His mother at the wedding in Cana of Galilee. Imagine Him a little like those little kids in their first race. Exhilarated. Even smiling.
It wouldn't always be like that. In fact, we find Isaiah says of Jesus, He would be a man of sorrows. And anyone that has ever gone deep into their reserves, deep in a race has a little understanding of what Isaiah means. It's why, at the end of a race, a runner is often tempted to just sit down on the nearest curb and have a good cry rather than exult.
But for now, imagine Him at the outset - the pain at the end is out there looming, but it's still low on the horizon. For the moment, there is the exultation of sensing He's begun the run He was born to make. As Eric Liddell said in Chariots of Fire, "I feel His pleasure."
Video of Eric Liddell:
http://danziebarth.blogspot.com/2008/01/and-when-i-run-i-feel-his-pleasure.html
Sunday, March 15, 2009
the joy of the race
I attended field day at my daughters' school last Friday. and I got to watch countless kids race the 50 yard dash.
Hebrews 12 tells us to run with endurance the race marked out for us by fixing our eyes on the one that ran it before us (Christ) who for the sake of joy that waited for Him at the finish, despite the pain.
Well, you watch kids and you see the joy of racing.
Hebrews 12 tells us to run with endurance the race marked out for us by fixing our eyes on the one that ran it before us (Christ) who for the sake of joy that waited for Him at the finish, despite the pain.
Well, you watch kids and you see the joy of racing.
When the race begins, two or three of them get silly grins on their faces. A few others get this very determined look that suggests some sort of fire burning inside them. Most of them at one time or another look down at their own feet wondering if they're fast. And fast or slow, they all churn to the finish line. But three quarters of the way there, the legs and lungs start burning and these little guys have to trudge on to reach the finish. From start to finish, along the entire stretch, parents, teachers, administrators and kids from other grades (a great cloud of witnesses) cheer them on.
You realize that God put something in the heart of each of these kids to run the race. That for the sake of whatever joy awaited them on the other side of that finish line, they'd endure the burn in the lungs and legs. On a micro-scale - like Jesus did.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
on being a daily runner and Christian
I find that I feel a lot more like a runner when I try to run every day.
For years, I’ve subscribed to the idea that you take a day off between your runs. But recently, while coming off the flu and an enforced hiatus from my roadwork, I read a book by Haruki Murakami (http://www.amazon.co.uk/What-Talk-About-When-Running/dp/1846552206). In that book, he talks about running daily and it struck a chord with me.
So I thought I’d try it. I started slow and short (about 11 minutes a mile and about 3 miles per run per day). After about four of these, I found I wasn’t overly fatigued. My times were improving. Plus I found that my legs and hips were tightening up in a good way. Like I was tightening the strings on an old baseball glove or tuning up an old banjo. Even my lower back and abs were ‘tautening up.’
For now, the daily runs are my approach. They’ve been a pleasant surprise. Before this, I’d scheduled one and two day breaks into my running schedule because my bones and joints are older now (I just turned 50). But I didn’t see the weight loss I’d sought and my body hadn’t tautened up – and I didn’t really feel like a runner. But going daily changes that.
I think there’s a parallel in this with trying to be a “Christian.” I think it's what Josh Christiansen (Associate Pastor at Orlando Community Church http://www.orlandocommunitychurch.org/index.htm) hit on when he coined the term, "daily Christian."
If you’re going to see the strings of your spiritual life "tautened," being a Christian, it has to be more than a Sunday morning thing. Like the difference between reading my Bible and praying daily versus sporadically. And I know that there are other places where being a daily Christian would show too.
Like running daily, it becomes part of what I am. It seeps into my thoughts and my conversation. And like the changes to my waistline and musculature, I find my life slowly tightening up in a good way.
For years, I’ve subscribed to the idea that you take a day off between your runs. But recently, while coming off the flu and an enforced hiatus from my roadwork, I read a book by Haruki Murakami (http://www.amazon.co.uk/What-Talk-About-When-Running/dp/1846552206). In that book, he talks about running daily and it struck a chord with me.
So I thought I’d try it. I started slow and short (about 11 minutes a mile and about 3 miles per run per day). After about four of these, I found I wasn’t overly fatigued. My times were improving. Plus I found that my legs and hips were tightening up in a good way. Like I was tightening the strings on an old baseball glove or tuning up an old banjo. Even my lower back and abs were ‘tautening up.’
For now, the daily runs are my approach. They’ve been a pleasant surprise. Before this, I’d scheduled one and two day breaks into my running schedule because my bones and joints are older now (I just turned 50). But I didn’t see the weight loss I’d sought and my body hadn’t tautened up – and I didn’t really feel like a runner. But going daily changes that.
I think there’s a parallel in this with trying to be a “Christian.” I think it's what Josh Christiansen (Associate Pastor at Orlando Community Church http://www.orlandocommunitychurch.org/index.htm) hit on when he coined the term, "daily Christian."
If you’re going to see the strings of your spiritual life "tautened," being a Christian, it has to be more than a Sunday morning thing. Like the difference between reading my Bible and praying daily versus sporadically. And I know that there are other places where being a daily Christian would show too.
Like running daily, it becomes part of what I am. It seeps into my thoughts and my conversation. And like the changes to my waistline and musculature, I find my life slowly tightening up in a good way.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
on training
My nephew recently went to Tampa and ran the Gasparilla 15K with his dad. “Nine miles,” I said, impressed. “Had you been training to run that distance?”
“No,” he said. “My dad called me the day before and said come run this with me. So I did.”
He’d never run nine miles in his life, and he hadn’t done any running recently.
All things considered, he’d done really well – ran 10 minute miles and beat his dad to the finish by 6 seconds. But think how he might have done if he’d trained (and how much better he’d have felt the next day).
My nephew showed, if you want to race at your best, you’ve got to train. Hebrews exorts us to run the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on the One who perfected it. To do that well, we need to train – to log the daily miles in which we push ourselves over and over so that on race day, we’re primed and ready to go.
How do we prime ourselves for race day in following Jeses? There are plenty of ways, but I’d guess few are better than daily time reading the bible and praying. They are a little like the training runs we make getting ready to race. In those training runs, we repeatedly discipline ourselves, exploring – and shoring up - our weaknesses. In the process we grow stronger.
A solid time of reading and prayer does something similar. It’s an act of discipline in which we learn what God says via the Bible. We consider our weaknesses and grow stronger in our knowledge of Him and ourselves.
“No,” he said. “My dad called me the day before and said come run this with me. So I did.”
He’d never run nine miles in his life, and he hadn’t done any running recently.
All things considered, he’d done really well – ran 10 minute miles and beat his dad to the finish by 6 seconds. But think how he might have done if he’d trained (and how much better he’d have felt the next day).
My nephew showed, if you want to race at your best, you’ve got to train. Hebrews exorts us to run the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on the One who perfected it. To do that well, we need to train – to log the daily miles in which we push ourselves over and over so that on race day, we’re primed and ready to go.
How do we prime ourselves for race day in following Jeses? There are plenty of ways, but I’d guess few are better than daily time reading the bible and praying. They are a little like the training runs we make getting ready to race. In those training runs, we repeatedly discipline ourselves, exploring – and shoring up - our weaknesses. In the process we grow stronger.
A solid time of reading and prayer does something similar. It’s an act of discipline in which we learn what God says via the Bible. We consider our weaknesses and grow stronger in our knowledge of Him and ourselves.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
in the cloud
Today, I got to be in the cloud of witnesses as my youngest daughter ran her first organized running event, The Smile Mile.
What a treat.
What a treat.
She had a serious case of the jitters but by race time, she'd accepted the jitters as part of the whole deal.
We walked and jogged together in the minutes leading up to the race and she listened closely to what I said. She settled on a goal - to finish the mile. While she could have shut me out - "Dad, shut up - I'm too nervous to talk" - instead, she listened and asked questions and treated me like her forerunner. Treating me that way gave me a little window into how Jesus might feel when we realize we need Him and listen for His counsel.
When the race began, I got a second window into how He may feel when we listen and act on His word. Just as she and I had discussed, she started the race at her race pace - an easy lope (click 'play' button below).
The rest of the girls dashed out in front. Some of them would only be "heels and elbows" to my daughter's eyes. But others soon had to stop and catch their breath - she found herself passing a few of them.
In the end, she crossed the finish line at 12 minutes, 4 seconds. A respectable time, even for an adult. And she received the medal that awaited her in the chute.
I got to step from the cloud of witnesses that saw her finish, give her a hug and tell her how proud I was - that she'd "kept her eyes on the prize" (see below).
And perhaps one day, she will remember the Smile Mile as a window into how it may feel to finish the race of life and hear, "Well done, good and faithful one."
Monday, February 9, 2009
a pair of quotes
No matter how hard I try, I find my way into the same old jam.
Led Zepplin
Running with Christ, like running in life, is about overcoming.
Josh Christiansen
Led Zepplin
Running with Christ, like running in life, is about overcoming.
Josh Christiansen
Thursday, February 5, 2009
more on the forerunner
There was another interesting fact about Amundsen’s race to the South Pole and it has stayed with me for almost 25 years.
He and his men found their dog teams ran faster and further if they had a forerunner. One of Amundsen’s men would get out in front of the team on cross country skis. The skier set the pace and the dogs responded.
You can imagine why. Ahead of them was a vast plain of ice and snow – though great mountains rose from the horizon, the near-miles may have offered few landmarks or milestones. No doubt, the sled dogs would have pushed ahead despite the landscape. But having a forerunner ahead gave the dogs someone to focus on keeping them on pace and on course.
Hebrews 12 reminds us to do likewise – to run the race marked out for us keeping our eyes fix on Jesus. Sometimes our lives can seem like a trek through a vast, trackless plain with few landmarks. But Jesus has gone ahead to help us stay on course.
He and his men found their dog teams ran faster and further if they had a forerunner. One of Amundsen’s men would get out in front of the team on cross country skis. The skier set the pace and the dogs responded.
You can imagine why. Ahead of them was a vast plain of ice and snow – though great mountains rose from the horizon, the near-miles may have offered few landmarks or milestones. No doubt, the sled dogs would have pushed ahead despite the landscape. But having a forerunner ahead gave the dogs someone to focus on keeping them on pace and on course.
Hebrews 12 reminds us to do likewise – to run the race marked out for us keeping our eyes fix on Jesus. Sometimes our lives can seem like a trek through a vast, trackless plain with few landmarks. But Jesus has gone ahead to help us stay on course.
Monday, February 2, 2009
on dog sleds
In the early 20th Century, two teams of men raced to be first ever to the South Pole. The race was between a team of Norwegians led by Raold Amundsen and a team of Englishmen led by Robert Falcon Scott. Both teams took diferent paths to the pole. The wisdom under which they travelled was different too. A few differences made a big difference -- so big that Amundsen's team reached the pole first and returned safely while Scott and his team did not return alive.
In this blog, we talk often about the race of life and following Jesus and how we can't go it alone. I believe Amundsen and Scott proved that, too. Both teams brought dog sleds to Antarctica. But at a key point, Scott's team abandoned the dogs and pushed ahead without the dogs. It was a heroic effort -- they "man-hauled" their gear and reached the pole. But a combination of weather and exhaustion doomed them. They did not return.
Amundsen's team rode the sleds pretty much to the pole and back. It was considered at the time, somehow less heroic. But it was far more effective and realistic -- Amundsen knew they'd likely not make it on their own. Understanding that, they emerged with the prize and their lives.
The same principle that separated Amundsen and Scott holds true in the spiritual race we run in this life. In this life, it is tempting - even heroic - to go it alone. But I have heard it said that Satan wants us alone - separated - then he has us where he wants us. Jesus said He would send the Holy Spirit as a helper inside of us to guide us and so we wouldn't be alone. And I believe he sends people to run alongside of us to help us in the race.
In this blog, we talk often about the race of life and following Jesus and how we can't go it alone. I believe Amundsen and Scott proved that, too. Both teams brought dog sleds to Antarctica. But at a key point, Scott's team abandoned the dogs and pushed ahead without the dogs. It was a heroic effort -- they "man-hauled" their gear and reached the pole. But a combination of weather and exhaustion doomed them. They did not return.
Amundsen's team rode the sleds pretty much to the pole and back. It was considered at the time, somehow less heroic. But it was far more effective and realistic -- Amundsen knew they'd likely not make it on their own. Understanding that, they emerged with the prize and their lives.
The same principle that separated Amundsen and Scott holds true in the spiritual race we run in this life. In this life, it is tempting - even heroic - to go it alone. But I have heard it said that Satan wants us alone - separated - then he has us where he wants us. Jesus said He would send the Holy Spirit as a helper inside of us to guide us and so we wouldn't be alone. And I believe he sends people to run alongside of us to help us in the race.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
on the forerunner
Today I went for my long run (up to five miles now).
Met my running buddy at mile 1.5. Fortunate for me, that 1.5 had been a good warmup -- I ws able to tuck in a step behind Dennis and planned to just hold on for about two miles. After that Dennis usually turned for home and I would pull back the pace a little.
Dennis didn't push me through that portion - more like he pulled me. We talked a little about just about everything - from Hebrews to Socrates to giving enough time to our families to our struggles in high school.
The time passed easier listening to Dennis, but I was glad when we approached the corner where he turned for home. In fact, I was huffing pretty good when we got there. I patted him on the back (gave him a push toward home?), and said, "See you later."
He said, "No, I'll stay with you."
"Great," I said on the outside. Groan, I said on the inside.
So we stayed at that pace and I turned in five miles I am now proud of. I just had to focus on the back of Dennis' near shoulder and keep going.
Dennis said that his old running buddy had pulled him along many times. That he never talked much because he was always too out of breath. And that he knew every hair on the back of that running buddy's neck from all the miles he'd followed him through.
He had to focus on the forerunner. By doing that, he got fast enough to qualify for Boston. He'd tuck in and hold on behind a more perfect runner.
The same thing worked for me this morning. I focused on the guy ahead of me and went farther and faster than I could have gone myself. Without him, I'd likely not have even rolled out of bed.
Met my running buddy at mile 1.5. Fortunate for me, that 1.5 had been a good warmup -- I ws able to tuck in a step behind Dennis and planned to just hold on for about two miles. After that Dennis usually turned for home and I would pull back the pace a little.
Dennis didn't push me through that portion - more like he pulled me. We talked a little about just about everything - from Hebrews to Socrates to giving enough time to our families to our struggles in high school.
The time passed easier listening to Dennis, but I was glad when we approached the corner where he turned for home. In fact, I was huffing pretty good when we got there. I patted him on the back (gave him a push toward home?), and said, "See you later."
He said, "No, I'll stay with you."
"Great," I said on the outside. Groan, I said on the inside.
So we stayed at that pace and I turned in five miles I am now proud of. I just had to focus on the back of Dennis' near shoulder and keep going.
Dennis said that his old running buddy had pulled him along many times. That he never talked much because he was always too out of breath. And that he knew every hair on the back of that running buddy's neck from all the miles he'd followed him through.
He had to focus on the forerunner. By doing that, he got fast enough to qualify for Boston. He'd tuck in and hold on behind a more perfect runner.
The same thing worked for me this morning. I focused on the guy ahead of me and went farther and faster than I could have gone myself. Without him, I'd likely not have even rolled out of bed.
running the race vs. training for it
If Paul wrote a book on running, his words on racing in Hebrews would have been one of the later chapters. Before that would have come all the chapters on training and preparing.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
more on the cloud of witnesses
On most morning runs, I return toward home on the same street. One reason for that is I find that two people walk that same street at the same hour most days.
I know them both to have run back in the day. In fact, the man was a dedicated runner - he ran more than a few marathons and valued his running over his a few of his toe nails (his Birkenstocks revealed that the second toe nail always looked ready to fall off and in a perpetual state of black and blue).
I know them both to have run back in the day. In fact, the man was a dedicated runner - he ran more than a few marathons and valued his running over his a few of his toe nails (his Birkenstocks revealed that the second toe nail always looked ready to fall off and in a perpetual state of black and blue).
He had quite a bit to do with the running thread that runs through the sermons these days at our church (he pastors that church http://orlandocommunitychurch.org/). On Tuesday, as I ran past him and his wife, we slapped hands and he said "good for you young man."
I cringed at that a little - I hardly pass for young anymore, but more important I sensed that he pined to turn in a few miles at a trot himself.
At the same time, his words and the slap of hands gave me a burst of adrenaline that got me a little high for the next quarter mile or so. I knew he 'd already run and that he knew how hard it was and that he recalled it with joy. That gave me a boost that furthered me down the road.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
a runner runs - a Christian reads
It is cold this morning - and windy.
I lay in bed last night listening to the cold front blow in - it rattled the porch roof and made the blinds of our drafty house sway.
It is the sort of morning when one decides whether or not they are a runner. A runner runs. It sounds obvious, but it's true. It's not the clothes they wear, or the music they listen to, or the friends they have, or the car they drive... You know a runner because they run.
On Sunday, Josh pointed out that a Christian reads - the Bible that is. It's the center of the training program. Some take on the marathon-training of reading through the Bible in a year. Others are just trying to finish that 5K - reading the sermon scriptures daily.
Either way, you can tell a Christian by their time in God's Word - just like you can tell a runner by their time on the road.
I lay in bed last night listening to the cold front blow in - it rattled the porch roof and made the blinds of our drafty house sway.
It is the sort of morning when one decides whether or not they are a runner. A runner runs. It sounds obvious, but it's true. It's not the clothes they wear, or the music they listen to, or the friends they have, or the car they drive... You know a runner because they run.
On Sunday, Josh pointed out that a Christian reads - the Bible that is. It's the center of the training program. Some take on the marathon-training of reading through the Bible in a year. Others are just trying to finish that 5K - reading the sermon scriptures daily.
Either way, you can tell a Christian by their time in God's Word - just like you can tell a runner by their time on the road.
Monday, January 19, 2009
CLOUD OF WITNESSES
So who is this cloud of witnesses that surrounds us?
In a 5K race, they're the ones that finish before us. They line the 50 or so yards that are roped off before the finish line. 99% of them don't even know you. But if you run hard at the finish, they cheer you in. They cheer you in because they've already run the race - they know how hard it was.
The cloud of witnesses Hebrews refers to are also those who finished before us. Family members, friends and saints we never knew in this lifetime, cheering us on in the race of life. They've already run it - they know how hard it was. Now they urge us to make the right the choices.
In a 5K race, they're the ones that finish before us. They line the 50 or so yards that are roped off before the finish line. 99% of them don't even know you. But if you run hard at the finish, they cheer you in. They cheer you in because they've already run the race - they know how hard it was.
The cloud of witnesses Hebrews refers to are also those who finished before us. Family members, friends and saints we never knew in this lifetime, cheering us on in the race of life. They've already run it - they know how hard it was. Now they urge us to make the right the choices.
one more thought on running buddies
You can't understand grace until you understand you can't make it alone.
Josh Christiansen
I had a sense of that grace Friday. Beneath an orange twilight sky, I setout to run.
For 8 weeks. I'd gotten out to run. On this evening, finally my stride came easily and I felt light footed. Had to thank my running buddy for that - knowing he was out there had motivated me to run.
As I write this, my daughter Marielle just asked, "Come jog with me." Maddie wants to jog the Smile Mile with her. They don't want to run alone.
Josh Christiansen
I had a sense of that grace Friday. Beneath an orange twilight sky, I setout to run.
For 8 weeks. I'd gotten out to run. On this evening, finally my stride came easily and I felt light footed. Had to thank my running buddy for that - knowing he was out there had motivated me to run.
As I write this, my daughter Marielle just asked, "Come jog with me." Maddie wants to jog the Smile Mile with her. They don't want to run alone.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
false starts
Plenty of false starts. On my own, I'd start to run for a week or two on my own, then get encumbered - tough to get out of bed, or busy at work, or obligated around the house. Good intentions weren't enough to ride me through that.
Right now, it's different. It takes will to roll out early and hit the pavement - and wife and kids have been supportive. But even with will and support, I'd have quit by now if not for a running buddy.
I've proven I can't do it alone.
The bible says that about running the race of life. We can't do it alone. We need Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, out front setting the pace. And Jesus knew we'd need someone alongside - a running buddy of sorts - to help us through the miles. So He promised to send one - the Holy Spirit.
Right now, it's different. It takes will to roll out early and hit the pavement - and wife and kids have been supportive. But even with will and support, I'd have quit by now if not for a running buddy.
I've proven I can't do it alone.
The bible says that about running the race of life. We can't do it alone. We need Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, out front setting the pace. And Jesus knew we'd need someone alongside - a running buddy of sorts - to help us through the miles. So He promised to send one - the Holy Spirit.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Run the race - and share what we learn!
On Sunday, it occurred to me while I ran with my running buddy that I wouldn't be out there if it weren't for him. I'd be home snug in my bed. Snug, but not pushing myself. Snug, but not having the occasional laugh. Snug, but not getting stronger.
I realized my running buddy was a little like the Holy Spirit - he was the helper. He'd affected my conscience so that I had to get out of bed, lace up the sneaks and pound the pavement - because I knew he'd be waiting.
I also realized that running would reveal all kinds of similar insights about following God. And we're supposed to follow -- to "fix our eyes on Jesus" and "run with perseverance the race marked out for us." (Hebrews 12:1-3)
And that's the theme of this blog - to discuss what we learn about fixing our eyes on Him and running the race appointed - whether that race is figurative or literal.
I can't wait to see what God shows.
I realized my running buddy was a little like the Holy Spirit - he was the helper. He'd affected my conscience so that I had to get out of bed, lace up the sneaks and pound the pavement - because I knew he'd be waiting.
I also realized that running would reveal all kinds of similar insights about following God. And we're supposed to follow -- to "fix our eyes on Jesus" and "run with perseverance the race marked out for us." (Hebrews 12:1-3)
And that's the theme of this blog - to discuss what we learn about fixing our eyes on Him and running the race appointed - whether that race is figurative or literal.
I can't wait to see what God shows.
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