How do you stand the hills?

About twenty years ago now when I first started to run, I pushed myself to my absolute limit.  I ran to the end of the block.

And then, I walked a block.

I kept up that pattern for an endless number of weeks, one block at a time, one day at a time, and then very gradually, I ran a little more.  One of our daughters set the timer on my watch to buzz every two minutes.  Run two minutes, walk two minutes.  Repeat.  I was not sure that it qualified as "running," but it was a huge first step for me.

I pulled on my running clothes first thing in the morning to get ahead of any flimsy excuses.  I walked our youngest daughter to the corner to catch the bus.  As soon as the bus passed out of sight around the corner, I began running. In the deepest part of those cold Ohio winters, it was still  barely light, and early enough that there was not much traffic. I liked the anonymity of that time.  There was no one around to question what exactly I was doing.

As my route became a little longer, one more block, one extra telephone pole, and then after many long weeks, I veered out of our immediate neighborhood and over to a nearby park.  Eventually, I followed the sidewalk around to the stoplight a mile away.  My turnaround point was the drive-through at McDonald's.

Outside our neighborhood, I encountered the dreaded hills, when often it felt like I was running in place and not moving at all.  At the time, one of our daughters was running cross country for her high school team.  "How do you stand the hills?" I asked her.  "What is your trick?"

"It all depends on what you are thinking about," she laughed.  "Sometimes I don't even notice them."

We all have steep hills in our lives
                in one form or another.
 How do we face them?

It all depends on what we are thinking about.
It all depends on what we are praying about.

Yet
    I will rejoice in the LORD,
    I will joy in the God of my salvation.
GOD, the Lord, is my strength;
He makes my feet like hind's feet,
He makes me tread upon my high places.

                      Habakkuk 3. 18-19

The word "tread" is commonly defined as "to walk," but it can also be translated "to dance."  I like the vision of dancing upon the steep places in my life.

Don't just slog uphill,
                            dance upon it.

It's not just how we view it,
     but the reality of His Presence even in the hard stuff. 

What is His way in this steep situation?
What is His way in this difficult task or relationship?

Teach me Your way, O LORD,
and lead me on a level path...

                            Psalm 27. 11
 

Lead me on the hills, O LORD.








  

Because it doesn't last forever. It just feels that way.

Over the weekend, I attended my grandson's elementary school cross country state meet.  When it came time for his race, I bypassed the beginning of the race with all 330 boys lined up, each one vying for a faster time.  I also avoided standing in the screaming crowd by the finish line, so many phones trying to capture those last historic moments.

Instead I scurried to the back of the course, where a long gradual downward slope ended with a steep ascent, climbing to a ridge that overlooked the finish line.  

That is where he needed me.  It is the hills where gravity pulls at their confidence and the long upward slog makes the runners wonder why in the world they ever signed up for this.

I saw him coming in that colorful river of boys.  I called out to him to pass yet another runner on the hill.  And he flew past, his face flushed, his mouth set.  He didn't even look.  He was unaware I was even there.  But somehow I think he knew I was.

I started walking back up the hill to return to where this race both started and finished.

I walked alongside the course, approaching a small copse of trees that hid the top of the ridge.  The dusty trail still headed uphill, marked by small plastic flags, and seemed to never end.  

As I was walking, I happened to glance over to the course, just a few feet away.  A young boy, appearing about nine years old, dressed in his team's red tank top and shorts, had stopped running. The hill was conquering him. He was sweating.  He began walking.  Others were slowly passing him by.  He had given up on this race.  I could see defeat written on his face and in his dragging feet.

I turned to him and said quietly, only to him, "You know, you are almost done."

A mere few seconds passed, the words soaking in, and suddenly he was gone, pulling out of nowhere his last remaining ounce of strength, running up that final vanquishing part of the hill.  And then, flying down to the crowds at the finish line where hundreds of people were cheering for their boys with shouts of acclamation that could be physically felt.  

I thought about that race this morning when I was trying to encourage a young mom at church who was so discouraged and weary.  Because this season, this hard task, this difficult day, week, year, that long steep hill doesn't last forever.

It just feels that way.

God puts people on each of our paths those who need encouragement through the miry bogs of life.  We can't do everything to help, assist and support, but we can always hand out kindness, hope and an good energizing word along the way.  And sing over them the psalms of ascent.

And then, we look back and see God's faithfulness all the way through.

I know.  I have been a recipient of those affirming words from the sideline over and over again.  On countless and strategic moments, God has placed many saints, strangers, friends and family literally and figuratively on my own marathon route through life.  And it always surprises me the incredible strength embedded in just a few encouraging words that all of us are able to bring, helping someone run the course set before them.  Even today.  Even in this.

The Lord GOD has given me

   the tongue of those who are taught,

that I may know how to sustain

                   with a word

      him who is weary.

                               Isaiah 50. 4

When Dreams Don't Tell the Whole Story

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She was not expected to be crossing the finish line when she did.  I mean, get real.  She is from Wisconsin.  Only two other American women have medaled in the women's Olympic marathon since its onset in 1984. 

But 27-year-old Molly Seidel stubbornly held on to the famed Kenyans in last week's women's Olympic marathon, side by side with world record holders, those women who were expected to win hands down.  When it became obvious in the last couple miles of the 26.2 mile blisteringly-fast race that this young unexpected Molly from Wisconsin was going to win the bronze medal, the commentator incredulously exclaimed, "She was born for this."

No, I said outloud, she trained for this.

It was not at all about talent or destiny or the wornout "believe in yourself" bookmark with all the glitter falling off.  

It was not even about Molly's school project, when she wrote as an eight year old that she wanted to go to the Olympics and win a medal.  Molly had not yet even started running.  She had no idea what that statement meant.  Just dreaming about something is not going to get you even to the starting line.

The hardest part of the competition is not the actual race, but those lonely days of sweat and sacrifice and hard work and unending practice, the failures, the falling down and getting back up again, the discouragement, when it hurts and you are so tired and you keep going, the hard stuff that changes us.

Sometimes the most difficult part is the actual race, when you are suddenly running with the Kenyans and it surprises you.  Or you are one of the last survivors and you just have to complete what you came for. 

While all that hard work might mean an Olympic medal or success in an recognizable field, or not, it does mean you have gained skills and endurance for the other more significant things in your life...and as a blessing to others.

I once heard a YMCA fitness instructor say at the end of a workout class, "When you leave this room, you are a little bit stronger than when you came through that door."

What am I doing today to build not just my physical strength, but God's strength in me?  Praying, meditating on His Word, listening attentively to His voice and responding.  What does that take?  What does that look like today?

Faithfulness to God and His strength are built into little daily choices, and not necessarily easy ones.  The build-up of endurance is revealed when we need it most.  "If we don't do the running in the little ways, we will do nothing in the crisis," states Oswald Chambers in My Utmost for His Highest.

The ability, the capacity, the willingness to respond does not suddenly appear, by merely thinking, wishing or dreaming about it.  Not always fun.  But working toward it.

"The proof of desire is in the pursuit," says pastor Chris Davis.

The result is not hung up strictly on performance and achievement, but on my heart.  Not just what I want to do "when I grow up," but "who do I want to be like?"  To do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God (Micah 6. 8)

That kind of heart does not just happen.  It does not arrive like an unordered FedEx package.  Not what do I dream about, but what am I working toward?  What am I willing to work toward?  

In his ageless book The Pursuit of God, author A. W. Tozer points out that the faithful believers throughout the ages were just ordinary people, "But they differed from the average person in that when they felt the inward longing they did something about it.  They acquired the lifelong habit of spiritual response."   

They sought God, listened for His way, prayed expectantly, read Scriptures with intention, not just taking a passage with them into their day, but living the Word into what was before them.  Not just underlining in their Bibles, but engraving His Word in their hearts.

 

Train yourself for godliness;

for while bodily training

    is of some value,

godliness is of value

    in every way,

as it holds promise for the present life

and also for the life to come.

                 1 Timothy 4. 7

Because We Are Changed By It

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We have all been told through the years in a parental kind of way that exercise is good for us.  And there is no quicker way to make exercise into something gruesome.  No quicker way to drain the fun out of it.  Just let me run and enjoy it.

But whether exercise is fun or a chore, we are changed by it in incremental ways.  In a New York Times article last weekend, author Gretchen Reynolds expounded on the physiology of physical exercise.  In all of its forms -- cycling, walking, running, hiking, swimming, whatever-- exercise is not just what we do, but what it does to us, cell by cell, minute by minute, step by step.

"But we still know surprisingly little about just how exercise changes us for the better," wrote Reynolds. "What are the many, interconnected biological steps and transmutations that allow a walk today to add to our life span decades from now?"

And it made me think how even more we are changed too by intentional and interconnected spiritual habits, transformed by God day by day, minute by minute, step by step, even when we don't realize what God is doing in our deepening intimacy with Him.

When I read that article about exercise, I immediately thought about a friend of mine long ago who battled cancer for a number of years.  Instead of being defeated by her dire circumstances, she was instead an immense blessing to everyone around her.  I heard that when she went to the hospital for her treatments, nurses would fight over who got to be assigned to her.  She was that kind of a joyful person caring for others, even as others cared for her.  Even as she lay on the gurney receiving her painful radiation treatments, she did not grumble.  She sang hymns as she lay there, thinking she was singing only to herself, but the melodies infiltrated down the hallway.  Her strong resolve could not be explained away as if she was just naturally strong and cheerful.  She had been trained for this hard place through the every days --years of seeking and serving God, praying, marinating in His Word, and loving others well. 

And those things can't help but do something to you.  She was changed by God in tangible ways. 

In his classic devotional My Utmost for His Highest, Oswald Chambers points out:

"If we do not do the running steadily in the little ways, we shall do nothing in the crisis."

God changes us, day by day, step by step, verse by verse, prayer by prayer, grace by grace, even in ways we are not aware.  Strength does not come suddenly, but built over time in layers.

Every time we exercise, our cells change a little bit more.  We don't "just" exercise.  Every day, we follow God into what He lays before us, He strengthens us not just for today, but building His strength in us for decades from now.  Not just for the finish line, not just for ourselves, but the strength to help others along the way, for His glory in every step.

 

Train yourselves in godliness.

For while bodily training is of some value,

godliness is of value

             in every way,

as it holds promise for the present life

   and also for the life to come.

                         1 Timothy 4. 7-8

 

Long Slow Distance

I had run this loop before, the stiff steep rolling hills that seem to go on forever.  As I approached another slope last Saturday morning, I could not even contemplate the whole hill.  But I've been here in this impossible place before.  I knew to put my head down and take one step at a time.  I knew if I looked up and saw how endless the hill appeared, I would stop.  And so I watched only the pavement immediately before my feet, following the cracks, the rough places, a pothole or two, the slightest turning of its edges, and took one step and then another.  I reached the ridge and kept on going.

It was not endless after all.

That is what endurance does.  It does not level the elevation and make it easier, but breaks up the mileage into steps, holding on just a little longer.  When it gets too much, well, I can reach that next curve or tree.  And then, well another, a little bit more.

When I resumed running, now some 20 years ago, I could barely reach the end of the block without stopping.  "Do you think you can run for two minutes?" one of our daughters asked me.  Sure.  That seemed do-able.  And so, she set my watch to beep at two minute intervals.  I would run two minutes, beep, walk two minutes, beep, and start running again.  Gradually, I was able to go a longer distance.

Each day a little stronger.  Even now, even in the midst of this crisis.  Every day is a story of God's faithfulness.  Every hour. Even in this very moment.

Last Saturday, as I faced that final daunting hill on my run,  I knew I just had to get up to the next slightly level spot, that landing of sorts, the next curve, that next tree, keep going, keep going.  Put  my head down and pace myself.

What we all face right now is not a race.  This difficulty is not a sprint, but a long slow distance.  It will not be over tomorrow.  Not even next week.  We are in this for the long haul.  That is what builds strength, endurance and resilience, even for what we are not yet aware.

It is time for different patterns.  It is time for a different pace.  The days at home may seem endless, but we can do something.  That one thing to get us going -- even emptying the dishwasher -- will lead to another.  There are no insignificant things.  No small steps.

And God will provide for the next.

One of my favorite books is Darlene Deibler Rose's memoir Evidence Not Seen in which as a very young woman, she endured solitary confinement in a Japanese prison camp during World War 2.  I was reminded of her remarkable story this morning.  In the course of the book, she wrote:

Deep in my heart He whispered, “I’m here.  Even when you don’t see Me, I’m here.  Never for a moment are you out of My sight.”

I am reminded too of God's promises written thousands of years ago in the Psalms, inscribed even for us, even for today.  

Blessed be the Lord,

   who daily bears us up.

God is our salvation.

   

               Psalm 68. 19

Because it looks different

The world watches the Olympics for more than the gold medals.  It is not just the back stories of defying the odds to get there, the long hard road these athletes have chosen, but something that looks very different.   Every four years, a situation transcends the races, the games, and the competition.  It is often called the "Olympic spirit," that which reveals what God's grace looks like, that which is honorable and kind and simply the right thing to do.

And like night lights in the darkness:

So also good deeds are conspicuous, 
and even when they are not, 
they cannot remain hidden. 

                      1 Timothy 5. 25 

In a qualifying heat of the women's 5k race, runner Abbey D'Agostino of Team USA and New Zealand's Nikki Hamblin collided on the course.  Both women fell.  And as she rose, Abbey leaned over and helped Nikki get to her feet and encouraged her to finish the race.

You can view it by clicking here.

What would I do?  


Be imitators of me,

    as I am of Christ.

           1 Corinthians 11. 1

Seek out godly people whom to emulate.  Watch them carefully, not that they are perfect, but transformed.  And realize, it is not just that they are "nice people," but this is what the indwelling of the Holy Spirit does to a person.
 

How they follow Jesus into their day?  Into their difficulties? What do they do?  How do they respond to need?  They don't just do different. They don't just look different. They are different.

How do they live out the gospel?

It is never the platform that we imagine
that God uses us the most.
And it is usually times we never expect,
      and may never know.

And suddenly, as in this preliminary heat,

    someone is watching you
--indeed the world may be watching--

to see the transformation

Jesus makes in you.

For who sees anything different in you?

                     1 Corinthians 3. 7

Looks a lot like Jesus to me.

Just keeping on

There are times in life,
seasons in being,
days when I am not quite sure where I am heading,
even what I am doing
       of any significance
       if at all.
But I can be assured
    that God works much deeper
   than what appears on the surface,
        beyond my own myopic eyes.

When I follow God just one little step,
what He places in front of me
         or that which sneaks into my heart,
He takes care of the outcome.
Take one little step of obedience,
    and the next step rises to the surface.

I read in the Wall Street Journal yesterday morning
about 85 year old Ed Whitlock who runs
and sets incredible records in his races,
faster than I could ever dream of running.

His training secret?
"Small loops for hours on end,"
             he revealed.

Endurance is established
           in our own lives,
God's strength in us,
through small obediences day by day,
sometimes a delight,
sometimes as Whitlock admits about training,
"...kind of a drudge."

But God uses
   even those drudge days.
God redeems
even what we cannot yet understand.

Faithfulness to God
       always bears fruit,
and through it,
God increases strength.

It is not the big events,
the marathons,
the crowds,
that bring Him glory,
but the small loops of faithfulness
      for hours on end.

There are no ordinary days
        in His sight.

And the LORD
    made His people very fruitful,
and made them stronger
               than their foes.

                        Psalm 105. 24

Surprise endings

Bill devoured a novel this week, reading as he does at the speed of light.  But as the plot unfolded into a good story but a fairly predictable one, suddenly at the conclusion, the narrative took a sharp turn, and all the elements converged into a surprise ending. "I didn't see that coming," he said.

I came to my own surprise ending this week. I have been training now for a marathon for about four months, steadily building up my mileage, going a little farther each week, inching toward the event with long runs, hill workouts, and pounding it out on the treadmill. The marathon is tomorrow.  I arranged and rearranged my schedule to accommodate it, but God had something different in mind.

I will not be at the starting line in the morning.  All the elements converged into a completely different story that I didn't see coming.

And if my tweaked hip muscle was not enough, God affirmed my decision with the weather.  Earlier in the week, there was a possibility of rain. No big deal.  A couple of days later, the forecast was mid-30s with an accumulation of snow.  Well, I've run in worse conditions.  And then, to close the door completely, it is now predicted to be a bone-chilling 29 degrees at the start of the race, high of 41, and 80 percent chance of snow and rain.  How bad did God have to make the weather before I would click "cancel?"

Even early this morning as I arose, I contemplated the 12 hour round trip of driving for a four and a half hour run in the cold rain.  And then, I hobbled a little bit across the bedroom floor.  Case dismissed.

I thought that God was leading one way, but here at the end of the training, I find myself in a different place.  And it might not have anything to do with running at all.

And strangely, I do not feel defeated by this sudden change of plans, but feel released, moving freely within this alteration, another time, a different season, other purposes in it yet to come.  My upbringing has taught me to stubbornly stay the course, dig in your heels, and never quit.  But my faith has taught me to follow God into the very details, be faithful on the long paths in the wilderness, and always be ready to turn on a dime for that which God has prepared -- even that which takes us unexpected and unaware.

I am not giving up anything at all.

It may be a surprise ending to me,
                            but not to God.
The richest part of this story
         was not at the finish line
but in the adventure itself
                 in the getting there.

We focus too dearly,
cling too tightly to a prescribed course of action
               a logical outcome,
 an obvious path,
even a vision of God waiting at the finish line
                             when all is said and done,
          but instead I find that He walks me through.
God is faithful.
Beyond what I can ask or fear,
                     He is there,
beyond all things,
                          He is.

"Do you trust Me in this?"
Absolutely.

When we are open to His leading
      and heeding His voice,
even when we can't see where we are going,
          we are on the way. 

It's not the end at all,
     but just ready for so much more ahead.

Surely the LORD is in this place,
and I did not know it.

                         Genesis 28. 16

Another proverbial race...or a completely different course

I am a few days from the starting line.  I have done the legwork.  I have run long lonely miles of training when the only ones who cheered me on were an occasional dog barking in the distance or a horse raising its head as I passed by.

There were days when training was a joy.  There were days when a run was the last thing I wanted to do.  There were days when I reminded myself not that I have to, but I get to.  Two and a half years ago, my days of running had come to an end, or so I thought, one race too much, concluding with an injury that didn't seem to go away, the end of a running adventure that lasted a decade at an impossible age and for a most improbable athlete.  I was thankful to God for what He had given.  It was time to move on to something else.

But God slowly brought healing about a year ago.   

And now, each run, I am thankful to God that I get to run again.

And on a lark, one warm afternoon last September, I signed up for another marathon.  

The marathon is this Sunday.  The training is done.  And as I have seen in the past and I see now again, the LORD saves, sustains, strengthens and changes me in the process.  On the outside, it appears as training for a race.  On the inside, it is training for life, that which sanctification looks like.  It is not just the discipline itself that transforms, but the wide open conversations with God that change me on those rough stretches of trail and ribbons of country asphalt roads when I can pray outloud, listen without distraction, and feel His indwelling taking over and rearranging my thoughts and attitudes like so many pieces of furniture.  I come back from a run, and I see things differently.  I am thirsty for Him.

A couple of weeks ago, at a small group supper, not even on a run, I felt a little twinge in my hip.  A tight muscle, perhaps, but it put a little wrinkle in my thoughts.  Do I finish this thing out.... or do I walk away from it?  Run through the pain like I did last time...or call it a day?

I know that I don't have to have an excuse to pull the plug on this marathon.  I don't have to prove anything.  I just need to be faithful to God.  He will work the rest.

I just want to make sure that I am not seeking the easy way out in this, nor make a decision out of fear or timidity, but to look to His way, to look on the other side, even in this, what seems so trivial, a few hours on a measured course.

I can hear one of our daughters saying, "Mom, don't overthink this."  I can hear one of the others saying, "Get a new hobby."  Our youngest said, "This doesn't have to be the last time."  And our other daughter just looks at me and asks, "Why wouldn't you want to?"

Am I asking for advice and prayer because I want someone else to make the decision for me?  Am I seeking God in this because I just don't want to make a mistake?  Decide for me, O LORD.

He doesn't work that way.

I have every reason to race this weekend.  I have every reason not to.  Guide me, O LORD, in this.

It seems a rather insignificant thing to ask God about.  But God reminds me, "Pray about everything."  (Philippians 4. 6)

And I realized this morning, whether I run this marathon or not, He may have prepared me through it for something else entirely.  "No effort is for naught," my grandmother used to say.  God doesn't waste anything done for His glory.

I realize that my seeking may have nothing at all to do about a marathon, but instead, coming to know a little bit more about God's faithfulness, a deeper relationship with Him, another dimension, another course for next week that I cannot possibly imagine.

I'll keep you posted.

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,
looking to Jesus...

                      Hebrews 12. 1-2

Planes, trains and lemonade

It was not the week I had expected.  There are always incidents and people and turns in the road that I cannot foresee.  There are things I cannot possibly know.  There are even things for which I don't even know how to pray. But I can trust God even in what appears to be an unfolding mystery.

My trip this week was scheduled for one night away, a business meeting in the evening and a quick flight home the next day.  That was my plan.  But God appeared to have something different in mind.  I flew to Chicago.  I attended my meeting. The next morning, I jumped on an early train to the airport when I received a phone call that my flight was cancelled.  Actually, all flights had been cancelled due to impending weather.  And it hadn't even started snowing yet.

Change of plans.  I chuckled.  I thought of my mom and her proverbial, "If you have a lemon, make a lemonade."  Throughout her life, she showed me how to turn on a dime.  Just do something different with it. God is faithful.  Even in this.  And as I rescheduled my flight and got off one train and back on another, I realized that it was the anniversary of her passing away.

I had no idea how God was leading me in this situation.  But that is usually how God leads, not a weird event or a random detail, not even an odd piece of the puzzle that does not seem to fit, but a strategic positioning and purpose. It is not for me to dictate.  I have only to trust God and follow Him into it.

I am often reminded of the character Jayber Crow in Wendell Berry's classic novel, who says:  "I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley.  And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led..."

This disruption in my schedule was not a change of plans to God, not a cancellation, not a delay, but just redirecting my heart to something else.  May God fulfill His purposes in it.  May I be sensitive to His leading.  And may I realize that it might not be about me at all, His mighty designs unfolding, even in what I may never know.  God's purposes are so much deeper than the response "there's a reason for it." 

God is not bringing it. He already has it firmly in place.

It is not a matter of "roll with it,"
                 but run with Him. 

...and let us run with perseverance
the race that is set before us,
        looking to Jesus...

              Hebrews 12. 1-2

The fourth plague of Pharoah and the worst run ever

I didn't see it coming.  It was an unseasonably warm late afternoon, a deep blue sky and all the trees of the forest still clung to the last leaves of the season.  I couldn't wait to run one of my all-time favorite routes.

My husband Bill dropped me off where the asphalt ended and the gravel road began, a way which meandered back to the trail head where he would be fishing and where we would meet up in a half hour or so.

That narrow primitive road trespasses through God's creation like a gallery of fine art, winding alongside a scenic mountain stream.  I rarely pay attention to the fact that it is a continual and gradual three miles uphill.  The ascent is negated by breathtaking views around every bend.

But this time, there was something else that was breathtaking in quite a different sense.

I had been running for maybe a mile, delighting in the warm air and the quietness of hearing only my shoes crunching the gravel underneath and the occasional song of a passing bird.  I felt something on my neck.  I brushed it away, not slackening my pace.  And then, I felt pinpricks on my upper left arm.  I turned to look, expecting to see the same pesky fly.  But I saw four creeping black flies, not just landing on my arm, but biting me.  I hit my arm with my other hand.  They fled.  Ewwwww, enough of that, I thought.

And then, I felt biting on my other arm.  Six attended a buffet there.  I looked down.  My running pants were crawling with flies.  My exposed lower legs had a party going on.  One buzzed my ear.  A fraternity had congregated on the brim of my cap.  I could see them lined up like a string of lights along the edge.

I slapped right and left.  For every one I hit, four took its place. Right arm, left arm, like an invasion. I ran faster, trying to outpace this cloud of flies.  I had no where to turn... or to turn back to.  There was nothing behind me for two miles.  There was no place to hide.  I had to run on. My arms were red from slapping at the flies.  My hands felt bruised.  And still, the siege continued.

And I thought, "This is what desperation looks like."  If the wildest-looking, weirdest stranger had come driving by, I would have jumped in his pick-up truck.  Desperate people do desperate things, I often say.  And I was living it.

This was no longer an idyllic place, but a nightmare happening in 3-D.  Run, run, run.  I focused on "God will get you through this."

And then when they began buzzing my ears and eyes, I repeated outloud, "The LORD will get you through this."

And for the last mile of that desperate run, as I drew closer to where our old truck was parked, God impressed on my heart, "I will get you through."

I rounded the last bend.  Our truck appeared, few other cars joined it in the primitive parking area.  Flies bombarded my legs like kamikaze pilots as I pulled out my heavy fleece shirt from the truck, something, anything to protect my arms.  I was sweating like a race horse, but my arms were covered.  I zipped it all the way up my neck.

I took off in a sprint, up the trail towards the fishing hole.  And by the time I reached my husband, there was nary a fly in sight.

He looked up, standing amidst an incredible place of beauty, water splashing over rocks in an idyllic mountain stream, an entirely different world than I had just experienced. 

 "How was your run?" he asked.

"Worst run ever," I cried out.

"Really?"  He raised one eyebrow.

Even worse than when you fell and had to get stitches in your knee?

Even worse than when you tripped, dislocated your finger and had to run 2 1/2 miles back to the car?

Even worse than when it was 36 degrees and sleeting and you had to run eight miles?

Yes, even worse than that.

And as I followed him downstream, greatly relieved that my plague of flies was over, I remembered that time in the sleet was when Bill most encouraged me, "If you can run in that, nothing in the marathon can throw you."
 
Everyone struggles with something in life.  Everyone.  There are tough places, there are hard places, there are dark places, there are biting flies, and all through the Bible, God says, "Look to Me.  Do not fear.  I am with you."

That is not positive thinking.  That is the reality of God.

What kept me going through that desperation
was realizing,
"There will be things in life
                         a lot harder than this."

And God says,
         "I will strengthen you in it, through it, from it."
Learn perseverance from this.

For runners who are training for a race, training programs include short sprints, long slow distance runs, days of rest or cross-training, and grueling hill workouts.

That, indeed, was one of those grueling hill workouts.

Whatever course you are on,
       keep running, my friend.
You are not running alone.

Things and circumstances may not be any different on the outside of what you face,  but the invisible made visible is the power of God.

...let us run with perseverance
the race that is set before us,
            looking to Jesus...

                 Hebrews 12. 1-2

It's all in how you spell it

Earlier this week, I posted a blog entry entitled "A Year of New Trails." And as the days of the new year come before me, I am making a conscious effort to choose the trail of trusting God.

Yesterday, as I copied that blog posting into my files, I quickly retyped the title onto the file folder.  Right before I filed it away into my archives, I noticed a huge typo.  Instead of typing, "A Year of New Trails," I had typed "A Year of New Trials."  And oh, what a difference not only in spelling, but in perspective.

My typo -- the mere accidental swapping of two letters -- changed the viewpoint entirely, transforming it from fresh beginnings to the miry bog of despair.

This year may not look like what we expect.  There WILL be hard places, no doubt.  But God will walk with me through them. God will use them incredibly. God is at work.  I can view them as trials.  Or I can trust God with these new trails.

Do I view this day, this difficulty, this mystery as a trial or as a trail?

While I run, there are flat courses, rolling hills, and wooded pathways to enjoy.  But as in life, sometimes there are steep ascents when I just need to put my head down, rely on God's strength and plow ahead.  The other day when I was out of town and running on an unfamiliar course through a wooded area, the trail headed up a long hill.  Halfway up the slope, I said out loud, "This is HARD!"  As I ran that uphill trail, tempted to slow down to a crawl, I began to pray for a friend who is starting a grueling cancer treatment.  He is navigating up a far tougher hill than this.  He has no choice to walk.  I prayed for him as I ran.  And then at the bottom, I ran it again, praying God's strength for him.

There are hard places in life, but that is when He strengthens me.  That is when I know that God is real.  

And that "trial" indeed becomes a "trail" after all.  God leads me to a new dimension, a renewed strength in Him, a fresh way of seeing, and sometimes a correction in how I am even spelling it.

"Let Me carry that for you," God says in His Word.

Have no anxiety about anything,
but in everything
by prayer and supplication
          with thanksgiving,
let your requests be made known
                              to God.
And the peace of God
which passes all understanding
will keep your hearts and minds
             in Christ Jesus.

                         Philippians 4. 6-7

About anything,
           in everything.
It is all how you spell it.
And that would be
                   God's way.

A Year of New Trails

One of my favorite trails begins at the far end of a mountain road.  It is beyond where the pavement disintegrates into a gravel lane which is rarely frequented by cars and barely passable when two vehicles meet one another.

At the trailhead, the main trail surges ahead to the left.  This trail is a popular, highlighted on maps as a favored destination for hikers.  The sign for it details the mileage to other adjoining trails.  One trail leads to another.  You know where you are going.  Running alongside a meandering stream, this familiar trail has been a place of enjoyment for me over the years..  "He leads me besides still waters; He restores my soul." (Psalm 23. 2-3)

To the right of the trail sign, a narrow pathway appears, unnamed and unmarked on any map.  It doesn't look like it heads anywhere at all, but just wanders a bit, perhaps only to a dead end, I surmised.  I had never gone that way before.

One day, while my husband Bill was fishing alongside the gravel road, I headed for a short hike on my favorite trail.  As I began, my eye spotted that overgrown unmarked path to the right.  "I wonder where it leads," I thought.  No harm in checking it out, no shame in finding it goes nowhere at all.  At least I would know then.

I took the unnamed fork in the trail, instead of the familiar one.

The trail was initially flat, and I ran the first quarter mile through a collection of trees and brush, not too sure that this was a good idea after all.  Had I taken a trail to nowhere?

About the time I was ready to return to more familiar terrain, a narrow footbridge appeared ahead of me.  It was not sixteen inches wide and spanned over a whitewater creek, splashing against huge boulders.  It was an unexpected place of beauty.

My dismal attitude of "what if it doesn't lead anywhere?" had become a joyous discovery of "what I have been missing all these years!"

I couldn't wait to bring Bill here to this secret spot, bypassed by the throngs of hikers, a perfect place for him to fish and for me to relish in its beauty.  When he came with me later that afternoon, we traversed the bridge and found that on the other side, the trail continued.  We hiked even further into the forest about another mile or so.  The trail finally ended at a rushing waterfall that looked like laughter pouring down a rocky slope.

I have been thinking about that fork on the trail at the beginning of this fresh new year.  This year, do I follow God on an unmarked passage, or just stick to the comfortable, convenient trail with no surprises?

And even if it doesn't appear to lead anywhere at all, God uses that too.

God grants me that choice every day and every new year, a trail that is not even on the map, or not even a consideration on my radar.  Sometimes that trail emerges not on a frontier, but right where I am.

Am I willing to trust Him even when I don't know where He is leading? 

Where is the adventure in that?

If I want things to be different, something has to change.  And that would be me.

How can this new year be different?  What if I laid this year (or even this day) before the LORD and see where He takes me in it?

And as I encounter old familiar speed bumps and impossible mountains, I can choose which trail to take:  trust God or wrestle with anxiety.  Which trail do I choose in this situation or relationship or problem?  Trust or fear?

What may look like a wilderness is really a place of His faithfulness, the beginning of astonishing things I never even knew existed before.

Therefore I tell you,
    do not be anxious about your life...

              Matthew 6. 25

How am I going to do this?

I woke in the early darkness that day, reluctant to face what was quite literally on my course for the morning.  I slipped out of bed a little earlier than I needed to because of what I really needed.

I pulled on my clothes, already set out the night before.  I headed up to the attic space where I would stretch out my legs and let the LORD lay out His day before me by reading His Word.

And there at the end of one chapter, right at the end of my reading, my heart was caught by a verse.

Our help is in the name of the LORD,
who made heaven and earth.
 
                           Psalm 124. 8

Running through my thoughts on a repeated loop had been the question, "How am I going to do this?"

And it was as if God had replied to me through His Word, "Not by yourself."

I was running a marathon that morning.  And over and over throughout those hours, those words came to the surface of my thoughts and gave me His strength as I repeated them.

We all face a lot of things much harder than a marathon.  And in the course of my life since that day, God reminds me of His Presence.  Don't even try to do this on your own.

No need to.

On Whom do I call, to Whom I pray, on Whom I rely, not just for this day, but on Whom I can stake my life.

Don't ever forget it.

This verse should be my first response in time of trouble, my daily prayer at the break of day, no matter what is set before me. How am I going to do this?

Not by myself.

Our help is in the name of the LORD,
who made heaven and earth.

                           Psalm 124. 8

Engrave on your heart.
Repeat as needed.

I thought it was over

Two years ago today, I thought my running was over.

I had trained for four months for that Chicago marathon in October 2013, through late spring rains and summer humidity, on long lonely stretches on suburban trails, darting along paths through the Lincoln Park Zoo, and the great delight of running for miles on the breezy shores of Lake Michigan.

One September morning just several weeks before the race, I felt a creaky place in my right foot.  I didn't think anything about it at first.  Aches are part of a runner's life. But as it persisted, I tried doing something different to hold off injury. "Just a few weeks more," I begged my foot.

I changed to a new pair of shoes.  I tried icing my foot after a run.  I took Ibruprophen to reduce inflammation.  I kept running, knowing full well that this could be my last marathon.  The last weeks of any training program involves a "taper," when a runner gradually decreases mileage to be fully charged for a physically challenging event.  About two weeks before the marathon, I didn't just taper, but I completely stopped running to give my now-injured foot every advantage to heal ...and in my mind, to save up anything that was left for the big run.

I knew that I didn't have to run the marathon.  I didn't have to go through with it.  But I decided to show up and run even a token amount.  If my foot hurt even in the first mile, that would be enough.  I would stop at the nearest coffee shop and call Bill to come and get me.

You can read about what happened in that race in Finishing the race set before me posted on October 14, 2013. 

The race was followed by months of rest and physical therapy.  And still, no matter what I did or didn't do, my foot still hurt.  I hobbled.  I hung up my running hat, thankful for that unexpected decade of running that God had given me.

"Time to take up a new hobby," one of our daughters recommended.  "Like knitting."

A lot of life has unfolded since that race two years ago -- new locations for every member of our family, new jobs for most of them, two new grandbabies, and a lot of driving miles.  No more running, but no regrets either.

And something happened along the way.  God healed my foot.

One morning last spring, as I walked in the city park near our house, I ran from one big tree along the path to the next.  The following morning, I tried a little bit further.  No pain, no cramping, no little cringes.  I went out and bought a new pair of running shoes, the absolutely most important first step in any running endeavor. I was not sure what was going to happen after eighteen months of not running.  I ran a bit.  I walked a bit.  Each day, a little further.  Just like I did when I first began running fifteen years ago.

And each day, God brought running back a step at a time.

I am not keeping time any more, or pace, or measuring distance, nor following any kind of training program.  I am just running, some days on the public greenway along the river, some days through the woods at the city park, some days not at all.  Will I ever race again?  I don't know about that.

There is just joy in being able to run again, praying outloud, meditating on Scripture, and thankful for every step God has given me.

As I found in all those years of running, God redeemed every mile with what I learned not about running or myself or life, but about Him.

I will close with what I had posted in this blog right before that last race:


First place or last.  God works something deeper than we can behold.  There are always bigger things to conquer than what appears on the surface.  I don't want to wear a bib number in this race.  I want to bear the name of Jesus.

And in whatever we do,
      in whatever "place" we are,
not just what we run
                   but in how we do it,
we can bring Him glory.


...but this one thing I do,
forgetting what lies behind
and straining forward to what lies ahead,
I press on
    toward the goal
for the prize
of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

                              Philippians 3. 13-14

Go ahead and put on your shoes

There are days when it seems like it is mapped out already.  There are others when we don't realize it. It has become my habit to ask the LORD in the morning to lay His day before me, because even in what I think is on my schedule for the day, God brings His deeper purposes into it.

Last weekend, I dropped my husband off to go on a hike with a friend.  After they left and I chatted with my sweet friend for a few minutes, I headed out.  Even as I was driving down the big hill out of her neighborhood, I thought about going for a run in one of my favorite places.  I had my running stuff in the backseat.  I had a few hours before the men would be back.

But it is going to rain, I lamented.

You are already half-way there, another voice within me seemed to interrupt the course of my thoughts.  Don't miss out because you are afraid that it might rain.

When I came to the main road, I hesitated just a moment, and then turned, not right toward home, but left towards the park.

When I came to the first intersection in the park, I glanced at the restroom facilities. I ought to stop here and get changed, I thought.  It made sense. The restroom where my running route began was nearly always crowded.  And so I stopped quite briefly, pulling on my shorts and tank top.  As I was throwing my street clothes into the back seat, it was almost like I heard an audible instruction, "Go ahead and put on your shoes."

At this point, I felt like I was being led.  Well, you never know, I thought.  Maybe that would be a good idea to go ahead and change shoes.

It didn't make much sense, but I did it anyway.

I slipped off my sandals and into my shoes, and quickly tied the laces.  A very few moments later, I was back on the road, heading to my destination.  No time lost, I surmised.  And now, I am ready to roll.

There was not much traffic on the road, surprising as it was the Fourth of July holiday weekend.  But just two miles down the the road, I saw brake lights ahead of me.  I came to a dead stop behind a line of four or five cars in front of me, wondering what was going on.

A man ahead of me was turning around on the narrow road.  As he passed, he called out, "A tree just fell across the road."  I could only see green ahead as if the cars were being swallowed up by the huge branches.

And as I too turned around, I realized that if I hadn't stopped to tie on my shoes, that car with the tree on it would have been me.  In my openness to God's direction and my heeding His nudges, He protected me with His split second timing. Even when it didn't make sense to me at the time.

God's timing and direction are always split second.  Sometimes it doesn't seem to make sense from my perspective, but always from His.

As I drove, I wondered how many times a day, I don't even realize God's hand in it.  I don't have to choreograph the design.  I just need to trust Him in it.  My day or His?  I know which I would choose.

And so before I rush into a day's plans, I stop to pray, "O LORD, guide me into Your day for me.  Help me navigate through what is before me, even those things I will never realize."

I had not planned to run that day.  But God had a different agenda for me.  The reality was that I had not been able to run that loop for almost two years because of a foot injury.  I never thought I would be able to run it again. Not only did God provide me the opportunity to run, He allowed me to see His hand in it.

Yes, it rained.  And somehow, I didn't mind it a bit :)

Lead me, O LORD in Your righteousness
because of my enemies;
make Your way straight before me.

                             Psalm 5.8

What does God lay before each one of us today?
                  "Just follow Me."

Not all who wander are lost

I went for a little run this morning, taking advantage of a cool breeze and a surprising lack of humidity.  On the tail of a longer run yesterday, I just wanted a short jog through the woods. I chose a new trail, basing my route on seeing a couple of runners ahead of me and a woman with an enormous dog. I would not be alone. It was a shaded crushed gravel pathway that traveled past the back of a high school, grazed along a greenbelt area, and headed toward the local nature center.

Where the trail went after that landmark, I was not quite sure, but I was not planning on going any further than that. 

I didn't have a map, but I knew the general direction.  No big deal.  I had observed runners on this stretch many times as I drove past on my way to Kroger.

As I headed out, I pushed my pace a bit as I was already running a little bit late in my morning schedule.  I jogged past the landmarks and fell into a comfortable stride.  It was a beautiful morning.  Wildflowers decorated both sides of the path.  A small brook meandered alongside the trail.  A man and his dog were running a little bit ahead of me.  I followed them toward an intersection, where I had decided to turn around.

But on the other side of that intersection, a path through an open field beckoned me.  A driver stopped to let me cross the road.  I felt obligated.  "Just a little bit further," I decided.  I should know by now that those are words of trouble.

I passed two separate groups of cross country runners on the ground stretching after their practice.  I followed the trail around a bend and saw a paved pedestrian road up ahead.  It appeared to be traveling back to where the runners were stretching.

As I started up that road, a verse came to the surface of my thoughts, "There is a way that seems right to a man..." (Proverbs 14.12)  And I knew where that verse was headed.  Never a good ending.  But I kept running. "I know where I am going," I lied to myself.  About a hundred feet ahead, that road in "the right direction" suddenly veered a sharp left, heading into unknown territory, definitely not where I wanted to be.

I remembered my friend Maria saying that she once hiked twelve miles before she found her way out of the maze of trails in this park.

I took the next available path to the right and hoped that it would come out in a familiar place.  I looked for indications of those who had gone before me, a groomed trail, a path worn in the grass, and today, the sound of cross country girls laughing up ahead.

Several detours later, a couple of other trails diverging, a signpost that made no sense at all, and I found my way back to my car.

In the Fellowship of the Ring, author J.R.R. Tolkien notes, "Not all who wander are lost."

But today, I was.  No doubt about it.

In my life, I have found myself many times in uncharted lands, in places of wilderness, and on paths that didn't quite turn out as I had thought.  But one thing I know, God goes with me, guiding my way, even into places I may never quite understand.

It is not that God calls me to a certain place,
        or to do a specific task,
but to be faithful.

I just need to follow God into His good purposes and into a closer fellowship with Him.

...that He may teach us His ways
     and we may walk in His paths.

                             Micah 4.2

Limited Vision

I didn't see it coming.

When I ran yesterday, I decided on a whim to go a little further on the path, to go past the two familiar wooden posts where I always turn around.  I am new in this city. And I am newly back to running after an eighteen month hiatus to heal my foot.

And as in most things, I am almost always shy about pressing into unknown territory.  "What if's"  keep me tethered to what is safe and known.

But yesterday, I ventured another quarter mile in the same direction, daringly going past those sentry posts and into the wild.

The path wandered through tall prairie grass and wild flowers dancing to the music of a gentle breeze.  A chorus of birds cheered me onward.  I could see a highway bridge coming up ahead, a good landmark where to return to the familiar.

And suddenly, alongside the path was a sign warning, "Slow. Blind curve ahead."  I did not know where I was going, nor what was ahead, but I continued with caution.

Not stop, turn around, beware of danger!  Not headlong and heedless!  But slow, careful, and aware of what may be ahead.  And as God would encourage, "Trust Me into it."

Seek Him out,
follow Him in.

As it is, whether in a comfortable familiar place or one entirely foreign, there are blind curves in our day.  We cannot know what the day may bring, but we can know the God who brings us through it.

And how much do we miss out on because we are so intent in our fear?  How much do we miss knowing God more into those blind curves?

I intended all along to turn around at that bridge.  But I followed the path under the bridge with its cars rushing overhead and through to the other side of limited vision.

The significant difference is not the other side of my fear
but that God is with me through it.

What emerged before me
         was not suddenly safe and familiar
but a beautiful new terrain
                         of trusting God.

This morning,
     I will go even further
into that strength,
even into that which I do not know
                but God does.

...but God was with him...

                   Acts 7. 9

And that changes everything.
God changes my story
through blind curves and wilderness places
for His purposes
       and for His glory.
It is only my vision
              that is limited and small.

What is beyond that blind curve of mine?
        God is.

What I didn't see coming
 was not my need for Jesus to be with me,
    but for me to run with Him.

"Be not afraid."
Watch what God does 
when I leave my fear behind
for what is before me,
      curves blind only to me.

Am I forgetting something?

Before any trip or excursion -- or before the day at hand -- I say outloud, "What am I forgetting?" as I pack the car and peruse my appointments and errands.  A box to take, a bag to return, and my running shoes, in case there is time for a run.  There have been far too many occasions that I have found myself at the entrance of Kroger, wondering outloud, "what is it I need to get?" My list forgotten on the counter at home and my mind a blank.

But what is most significant of all is not a list, nor a bag, but a realization that I am not alone in this.  It is not that I leave God behind.  It is not that I forget to take God along, stuffed in my purse for a desperate moment.

It is that I simply forget God.  "I am with you," He reminds me throughout Scripture.  God is not along for the ride; He is navigating me through this -- through victory and defeat, through the mountains, through the miry bog, big decisions, and the daily choices that are even more life-changing.

God has not forgotten me, but quite the opposite.  I have forgotten Him.  It is not that God needs to show up. God does not suddenly appear when I call. He is there all along, waiting for me to realize that.

In the early darkness the day of a marathon a few years ago, I read my Scripture for the day, before I left for that daunting task.  And God highlighted a verse for me that morning that I carried with me all 26.2 miles and engraved in my heart for even bigger tasks.

Our help is in the name of the LORD,
who made heaven and earth.

                          Psalm 124.8

God reminded me of that reality every mile of that journey.  The verse did not make the marathon suddenly shorter or less painful.  But it reminded me of His Presence.  And that made the significant difference. I wrote in the margin of my Bible right next to that verse:  "I need to say this ten times a day. And repeat as needed."

And so, as I head into this day, what am I forgetting?

I am not alone.

That of which we are unaware

Two hikers were near the end of the trail, about just a quarter mile from the parking lot, thinking perhaps about eating supper and taking off dusty hiking boots.  I came upon them as I was heading up the trail for an early evening run, looking forward to the familiar gravel path that meanders alongside a rocky stream.  I have learned that when I take the time and make the effort to let God lead me beside still waters, He restores my soul, both literally and figuratively.  (Psalm 23. 2-3)

He heals the broken places, He redeems the gaps, He reveals Himself to me.  There is no greater refreshment.

When I am sensitive to God moving and working within me, He changes my vision for what is all around me. And I realize what I have been missing, those wonders I have just scurried by, lost in my own imaginings, distracted and preoccupied by an unending list of cares.

As I came up the trail, the sound of rushing water surrounding me, that hiking couple was standing quietly just beyond a bend in the road. I slowed down to a walk and came up silently beside them.

They were observing a large black bear foraging on the hillside beside the trail, paying no attention to us, intent on gathering the young tender greens that surrounded her.

The woman whispered to me, "We almost missed it! We started to walk past without even noticing her.  We have been hiking our whole lives and have never seen a bear in the wild."  It was a majestic sight, but what could have been easily missed, focused on other things and minding our own business.

Instead, God gave each of us a new story for our day, a time of His great revealing.

Your Word is a lamp to my feet
and a light to my path.

                  Psalm 119.105

God's Word is not a list of impersonal directions,
do this, turn here, don't go there,
but an intimate "walk with Me,"
     that which enlarges my vision
                            and my heart.
I am no longer just concerned about my route
and my own doings,
    but aware of everything around me
    and everyone God has put on my path.

Even a bear.

That I might not just believe,
      but know that the LORD is God.

I don't want to miss
    even a bit of His goodness.
"Oh, did you see that?"

Help us, O LORD,
to not just scurry by Your wonders,
unaware of Your majesty,
Your goodness,
Your divine appointments,
              even in our wilderness,
              even in this,
for Your great glory
                     this very day.