Lessons for the Race

“Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.” Hebrews 12:1b

It seemed like a good idea at the time. My step-daughter and her husband suggested we run the Kiawah Island half marathon, and I said yes without thinking. Although I’ve run marathons before, full and half, it had been a while, and I wasn’t sure my 64-year-old body was up to the challenge. That was several months ago, and now the race is less than a week away. Through it all, I learned some important truths about more than running that I will carry with me long after this half marathon is over.

The first is, I need to put in the work. With December 9th months away, it was tempting to put off training. Instead, I started with small distances and let my legs remember what it was like to run. Slowly, the distances increased, but I was as intentional about resting my body as pushing it. What mattered was that I showed up when I wanted to and when I didn’t, when it was sunny and warm and rainy and cold.

After the initial efforts, the distances made me pay attention, and I seriously thought about quitting. “If this is hard, how can you do the whole race?” I asked myself. Now that I’ve reached the age when people add, “at your age,” to every complement, I knew I was pushing things by trying to run 13.1 miles. Rather than quit, though, I lowered my eyes from the overall distance and focused on putting one foot in front of another. If I can just do that for a few hours, I kept telling myself, eventually I’ll reach the finish line.

At some point during one of my longer training runs, I got an idea that has made all the difference. I thought about running for a purpose. It was an ambitious goal to run such a distance at my age, but to do so for a reason transformed my perspective. I thought about my 19th anniversary of getting sober, which is next month, and I thought about the many people who were not as fortunate as I to have insurance to pay for rehab. I wondered if I could run to raise enough money to fund one person’s 28-day rehab experience. It was a big number, but I thought raising any money would be appreciated. As of writing this, my generous friends have joined me and almost donated the complete amount.

Through this experience, I’ve learned three important truths about running races, particularly the important one called “life”: put in the work, take it one step at a time, and do it for a meaningful purpose. Looking back and forward, I can see how important these three truths could have been for what I’ve tried and can still be for what lies ahead.

I wanted to pass them along in case they can help you in your “races,” too.

If you would like to join in the effort to change someone’s life, please send a gift to: Fellowship Hall, 5140 Dunstan Rd, Greensboro, NC 27405, marked “Bristol Challenge.”

Thanksgiving 2023: A two-sided harvest

“All the world is God's own field,
fruit as praise to God we yield;
wheat and tares together sown
are to joy or sorrow grown;”

The images and memories surrounding Thanksgiving abound. Regardless of our histories, when we think about this holiday it usually conjures memories of tables surrounded, and food overflowing. As a child, I always loved Thanksgiving. It was a more relaxed holiday than others, and it was easy to see all the reasons I should be grateful.

But this year I find myself looking beyond the Norman Rockwell images to the shadow made visible because of Thanksgiving’s light. With all the people assembled, there are people missing. With all the food, people are still hungry:

A family gathers without their son. He was sent to rehab to address his life-long problem with addiction.

A woman tries to create a happy Thanksgiving for her children on this first year since the divorce was final.

A daughter, whose father died two years ago, tries not to hear her father’s voice when someone new says grace.

A couple eats at a table in their retirement home knowing their children have lives too busy to visit.

A father doesn’t look over at the empty seat where his son used to sit. Seems he’d rather be elsewhere this Thanksgiving.

A widower offers a grateful smile to the neighbors who included him in their Thanksgiving feast, but it isn’t the same since his wife died.

Every harvest includes grain and chaff. To every happy celebration, there’s an echo of sadness. The hopeless romantic, the tender child, within me wishes it were not so, but, somehow, I know I need to look not only into the light but also the shadows. When I do, my gratitude finds greater depth, my song of praise, a richer tone.

Leaf Removal

The last remnants of Fall clung to the trees while the other leaves blanketed the ground. Yellows and reds had yielded to shades of crispy brown, and despite the wonderful sound of my shoes shuffling through the dry leaves, it was clear a new season was on its way.

Walking on a favorite trail, I found it hard to see the path. Although a familiar route, the leaves shrouded the trail, making me have to guess which way to go. Fortunately, there were trail markings sporadically placed on the trees, but the leaves still made the journey difficult.

It reminded me of the spiritual walk I’m on, the way I’m trying to follow, and all the “leaves” that cover my path. Like the ones covering my shoes, there are leaves on my spiritual path which hide which way I should go. Once bright with promise, they now lie crumpled and colorless on the ground. Exciting creative ventures, vibrant friendships, and glistening dreams of one sort or another . . . leaves come in all shapes and sizes. Now they lie scattered before me, hiding the way forward. I’m left guessing which way to go.

Unlike my walk, the solution is to remove the leaves, push them aside and unearth the trail that lies beneath. It takes work to remove leaves, and mental and spiritual discipline to find the path again. It’s where it’s always been, but the leaves need to be cleared so we can commit to the way forward.

Soon, it will be Advent, the season before Christmas when we are invited to refocus on the way and commit, once again, our lives to a particular direction. If you’re like me, there are leaves of all kinds hiding the path. We just need to push them aside and get walking again.