The Other Side of the Marathon

I had the honor and privilege yesterday of standing on the sidelines and watching 45,000 runners participate in the Chicago marathon.   Our third daughter was running her first marathon.  Yes, it was the same marathon that derailed me last year (see Oct 2011 blog entry “Woman Hit By Train.”)   But this year, I stood along the road, cheering on the runners, all of them strangers to me.  Some of the runners had their names written on their shirts in dark thick letters of a permanent marker.  We cheerfully called them out by name, “Go Luis!” “Good job, Gabby.”  And as they passed, just hearing their name called out by a total stranger was enough to bring out a smile and fill them with another mile of strength.  At mile 20, I jumped in and ran with our daughter for a few miles, coming alongside, to encourage with words and just being there for her.  She was awesome, finishing strong a long hard race.

And while cheering on the roadside and observing others who cheered while I was running with her, I was reminded of the verse,

       Therefore, since we are surrounded

       by so great a cloud of witnesses,

       let us also lay aside every weight,

       and sin which clings so closely,

                    and let us run with perseverance

             the race that is set before us…”

                           Hebrews 12. 1

Both sides of the road were jammed with cheering spectators, at times three deep, “a great cloud of witnesses,” a great crowd of witnesses, calling out to “take courage”  to those who were tired, hurting and faint-hearted.  And I imagined angels lining my own path when I am going through a tough 26.2 miles of life, urging me to keep going and stay the course, even that which I may not understand.  Our course map in life is rarely what we expect.  The audible voices of the angel cheerleaders come in many dimensions.  Sometimes in verses of Scripture that we carry with us, the very Word of God memorized and tucked in our hearts and minds. 

And sometimes, those audible voices of angels come through us.  As I was running that last hard stretch with my daughter, I was convicted about encouraging those around me who are going through a tough and tearful stretch in life.  I pray that there will be those who are faithfully coming alongside and cheering my family in the barren landscapes.  And that I would do the same for those around me.

I was also compelled to encourage those I know who are faithful and pouring out themselves in good works and ministry to others.  Because works that are good take resolve and energy and resources down to the very last drop.  When was the last time I called or sent an email to thank someone for their faithfulness in God’s kingdom?  All faithful work is sacred, no matter what, no matter where.   And they too need to hear their name called out on the course, “Thank you for what you do.  Keep up the good work.”

I have seen the other side of marathoning.  And for that we ALL need to participate.

 

…that I may know

        how to sustain with a word

  him who is weary.

                  Isaiah 50.4

From The Land of Captivity

 

The little chipmunk sat on the back porch for a long time the other morning, like a dog waiting to come inside.  He looked so forlorn, overlooking the trap that had captured so many of his extended family.  “He’s the last one!” said our youngest daughter when I emailed her the adorable picture.  Those who have been following this blog know of our adventures in trying to keep our patio from caving in entirely because of a chipmunk condo development dug out beneath the paving stones.  Last year, I stopped counting at 38.  This year, I did not keep track at all, and I didn’t even bait the trap.  Set the trap and they will come.  And they hurried on into the trap, like bargain hunters at a sale, sometimes as many as three a day.

I imagined the chipmunk saying to himself as he sat on the porch, “Where did they all go?  I want to go too.”   My husband reset the trap, and within two minutes, there he was, ready to go on a field trip to the forest preserve with the others.

 

I  thought of capturing chipmunks today, one at a time.  And I also mused about capturing rogue thoughts, one by one, as they wander through my mind, little destructive critters like criticism, fear, a cynical mindset, bad attitudes, jealousy, discontent, grumbling, anxiety, and pride.  They scramble about and dig around the foundations of my soul, distracting me from what I should really focus on like joy and kindness, thankfulness, concern for others, love, truth and grace.  I have learned this summer to nab those destructive thoughts before they take up residence and intentionally replace them with their opposite, one by one.  Trap a complaint and replace it with a praise.  Capture envy and replace it with a prayer for that person.  And as I capture those rascals one by one, God has enabled me to see others through different eyes, deeply healing some relationships, not necessarily changing my situation but how I respond to it, giving me peace where anxiety used to reign supreme.  Set the trap and be ready to “take every thought captive” (2 Corinthians 10.5)   Daily intentional choices, one by one. 

I am a work in progress and so I am very aware that I will not ever entirely rid my mind of misbehaving thoughts, but I know that God can provide me the discernment to recognize them for what they are and the strength to keep them from taking over and running rampant.  They don’t have to dominate my life anymore.

Let me be different on what I dwell.

 

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

and renew a right spirit within me.

                            Psalm 51.10

Another Adventure With The Armchair Physician

When teaching any group of children, beware of taking notice of a scrape on a single knee, because EVERY child in the class will then want to show you their very own “boo-boo,” creating a deeply competitive situation of “my scraped knee is bigger than yours.”  Even among adults, stories emerge about gruesome accidents, huge scars from surgeries, and of course, among moms, the horrific accounts of childbirth.

For the past month and a half, I have struggled with itchy, red, watery eyes.  And, it seems, everyone had a diagnosis and a cure for me.  Many advised me of their own battles with ongoing allergies, infections of various types were pointed out, and one person even suggested  a possible fungus (ugh!)  I tried everything from over-the-counter ointments and antihistamines (“that’s ragweed, for sure,” one pharmacist insisted, “it’s really bad this year,” as she sold me a $15 bottle of tablets).  I tried buying some new eye makeup in case the old stuff was contaminated, occasionally ceasing to wear makeup at all, using a different cleanser and moisturizer for my face, and purchasing non-allergenic laundry detergent.  All to no avail.  My eyelids continued to grow worse.  Last Sunday I could no longer wear my contacts.  I had tried everything.

I sat in church, wearing glasses with an obsolete prescription, trying to look natural while I could not decipher the words of the hymns and  trying to focus on the platform.  Oh, LORD, what can I do about my eyes?  I prayed. 

Almost immediately, I felt God impressing upon my heart, “Did you ask Me to heal them?”  I had heard the well-meaning advice of others, I had researched rare eye diseases on the internet, but I had not done what would seem obvious.  I had not laid this situation before the LORD.

And so, I did.  I prayed that God would heal my eyes.  Needless to say, there was not a lightning bolt from the ceiling nor a sudden choir of angels in the aisle visible only to me, but on the way home, my husband said out of the blue, “did you try changing to a different contact solution?”  It seemed a simple and obvious fix, but one we had not even thought of before.  That’s it, I thought, the answer to my prayer.

But the next morning I woke up, thinking that my eyes felt so much better …until I caught a glimpse of them in the mirror.  “Who are you kidding?” I said out loud to no one but myself.  I humbly called the eye clinic and within two hours I had seen the doctor and had a prescription in hand.  As I was leaving the clinic, holding open the door for an elderly woman, a banner in the foyer caught my eye.  I had to read it twice, before I realized that the words were woven together in an effort to make sure it was taken as a complete single thought. 

                                      The

                                     GOD

                                  Physician

                                    HEALS

                                    Works

The Physician Works, God Heals.  I prayed and God nudged me to see a doctor who could help me.  I just should have prayed about it weeks ago.  Within hours, my eyes found relief.  Just a couple of days later, no problem at all.  Going to God should always be my first response, not my last resort.

We just need to cry out to Him, lay our difficulties – physical and otherwise - before Him, and be sensitive to His leading.   He cares more than we can know. He heals sore eyes and broken hearts.  He restores in ways we cannot fathom.

 

For I will restore health to you,

and your wounds I will heal,

               says the LORD.

                   Jeremiah 30.17

No Longer A Spectator

Few people even noticed her, so small and quiet.  She was dressed in a toddler-sized Northwestern University cheerleading outfit, a long-sleeved white t-shirt underneath, fuzzy white cotton tights sagging at the knees, and a pair of grey and hot pink velcro sneakers that looked like an afterthought.  Her dark brown hair was loosely pulled back in an attempted limp ponytail, a purple ribbon holding on for dear life.  She sat between two large hulks of men, one of whom was her dad.  Her name was Mattie, a tiny waif of a girl, no more than four years old.  When I first noticed her, her dad was eating a disgusting foot-long hotdog and she was huddled over a small box of chicken strips, eating them quickly and deliberately as if in her short life she had already fended off an older brother or two.  The other man, who appeared to be her dad’s friend, was awkwardly trying to make the little girl laugh by occasionally putting her shiny purple pompoms on his head.  She looked at him quizzically as if she knew she was supposed to laugh to be polite, her eyes big and smile forced. 

With nary a word, she quietly watched the pageantry of the game, the bands moving in sync, the football players scrimmaging, and the real cheerleaders flitting cluelessly around.  But when the crowd rose to their feet to cheer the hometeam through a narrow squeak, she moved into action, grasping those pompoms tightly in her hands, her cherubic face now fierce and intense.  She was no longer a spectator but the most valuable player, part of the team, furiously pumping the pompoms as hard as she could, as if the entire outcome of the game was dependent on how hard she could shake them.

Pray like that.  Pray like you mean it. 

 

The prayer of the righteous

has great power in its effects.

                         James 5.17

A Different Kind of Fast

As a runner, I have two different speeds:  slow and slower.  I love to run, but I was not particularly blessed with the gift of a gazelle, the ability to move swiftly.  I love watching the elite runners who dash along without seemingly breaking a sweat.  God-given DNA is part of their swiftness, but I have yet to see or read about a world-class runner who does not also train hard and fulltime for those events, urgent and deliberate.  “However fast you are running, run faster,” yells Joe Newton, the old coach in the classic running movie The Long Green Line.  Being fast takes effort. 

But the Bible refers to a different kind of fast that takes effort on our part, one of which most people like to avoid.  Most Christians see fasting as going hungry for a period of time to somehow signal God’s attention.  It is a giving up of something good, a type of sacrifice that somehow makes them more holy and gets God to act.   I feel awkward even writing those words.  Getting God to act?  The LORD God, Creator of all, who set the universe in motion with a word?  THAT God?  Not what He had in mind at all.

Early on Saturday morning, a friend called with a dilemma.  She had heard Eric Metaxes last week in a Breakpoint commentary challenge Americans to a 40-day pre-election fast, not for particular candidates, but for the direction of our country.  My friend asked me, “How can I fast, what can I fast, that will be more meaningful than giving up something mundane like chocolate?”

I was astonished.  Moments before her call, I had just finished reading Isaiah 58.6:

      Is not this the fast that I choose:

      to loose the bonds of wickedness,

      to undo the thongs of the yoke,

      to let the oppressed go free,

      and to break every yoke?

It is a fast of righteousness and justice, a time not of turning within but in reaching outward, a sacrifice of doing what is good and right even when you are standing alone in it, going out of your way to be kind to a stranger or a neighbor, providing for others on your path particularly when undeserved, not grumbling or complaining, deliberately loving someone who is invisible or irritating, giving sacrificially, healing strained relationships, swallowing your pride in pursuing peace and reconciliation, seeking out need in all its forms and doing something about it. 

It is not a giving up something, but a time of giving of yourself.  It is not a time of saying “no,” but a time of saying “yes.”  It is about time we DID something with the sole purpose of pleasing God, not to gain His favor, but to pray earnestly and humble ourselves before Him.  It is far too easy to point fingers at others for what is happening in our world.  It is something again to lay before Him our own repentance.  God knows that when our hearts are right with Him, we can’t help but do.  That is what this kind of fast is all about. 

Being fast takes effort.  Be that kind of fast -- urgent and deliberate. 

Would you join me?  I would love to hear how God leads you in this.