So Many Lessons

So yesterday during my long run, I "bonked." This is when a runner physically runs out of reserves. Like a car running out of gas, just past mile 12 I began to sputter on my way to a stop. I didn't meet my expectation to run 17 miles, and I couldn't keep up with my friends who ran the rest of the remaining 5 miles. Of course, that parental loop was running through my head: "Don't be a quitter!" "Why can't you be like your friends?" Among other messages.

Did it matter that December 1, 2011, I had not run for 30 years, and here I was on March 17, 2012 churning out miles? No. Of course not. Ego says it's black or white, finish or don't finish. Just do it! Not try, do!

Maybe Yoda and Mr. Miyagi are not always right.

Wow! That feels blasphemous to say. Or maybe we need to keep it in context.

There is a wonderful line in the movie Top Gun: "Your ego is writing checks your body can't cash." I never really understood that line until I began running again. Now it's beginning to sink in.

I laughed with four friends tonight as I described my journey from bonk to blessing. There are so many gifts that have emerged that I know I am yet to find them all.

I thought of the recent hospital visits I had made as a priest, called in to somehow say the right thing to strangers who had emotionally and spiritually bonked because of their own or a loved one's illness, or a sudden death in the family. God's little reminder: "Remember, Fr. David, that this is what it feels like to run out of reserves."

I thought about what it means to be a disciple. It means to follow a discipline. In the Gospel according to Mark, chapter 9, verses 14-29, there is a story of a possessed boy who is brought to Jesus to be delivered from a demon. Jesus casts out the demon, healing the boy. His disciples go to Jesus privately, and ask, "Why couldn't we do that?" You see, just a bit earlier in chapter 6, Jesus had sent the disciples out two by two, and gave them authority over unclean spirits. So, why is it just a page or two later that they fail at what He told them to do?
Jesus responds, "This kind can only come out by prayer." Some manuscripts read, "...by prayer and fasting."

Jesus was telling His disciples they couldn't do it because they were not prepared for what was required to do it. Their earlier successes gave them confidence, but confidence alone is not sufficient.

To be a disciple is to follow a discipline. And in running, the disciple would ask, "Why couldn't I do that?" And the Coach may respond, "This distance requires patience and pacing."

Whatever the answer, the wise choice is to listen to it rather than to keep repeating the question to myself. For 28 hours. Nonstop.

Some people question Jesus' humanity and some His divinity. I believe without doubt that Jesus is fully human and fully divine. My problem is that sometimes I forget I am fully human. I expect to function in the realm of the divine, and while I am always in the presence of God, I do God a disservice when I ignore my humanity. It is a gift given to my soul.

One of my theological heroes, Fr. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, wrote about the divinization of our diminishment. My simple application of his profound thought is that when we crack, when something gives and our ego develops a splintering gap, we have an opportunity for God to be allowed to enter more deeply into our consciousness and fill that part with divinity where before we had filled it with, or more accurately, buried it beneath, our ego.

Thus, when we are diminished, we are in a deep state of blessing. Those painful fissures are open doors through which we can choose to admit God. They are opportunities to abandon the artificial loneliness in which we choose to live, and instead live in The Divine Milieu. Simply put, to abandon our lonely estate in favor of living in a state of grace.

So I didn't run for 17 miles in a row. My coach told me "the day delivered to me what it was supposed to." Apparently it was supposed to deliver by the truckload, and it's all good.

Human after all

This humanity thing is not always simple. Or fun.

Today, I joined my team for a training run of 17 miles. However, I only made it for about 13 of them before I had to stop. Last week, on a 15 mile run, I made it to 11, then had to stop, but that time I was able to continue and finish the distance. Not today.

Yesterday was a difficult day for me, and it made today's results feel like a failure. I could have used some success today, but apparently God didn't get that memo.

I left the training session feeling very down about what happened.

You see, I felt like I had lost hope. I had hoped I would not encounter a day like yesterday, but I did. I had hoped I would finish 17 miles and be celebrating it, but I didn't. And I hoped this week's run would redeem last week's, but that was not the case.

I thought perhaps a nap would refresh my body and spirit, but I laid awake, physically sore and emotionally uncomfortable.

The phone rang. It was a friend of mine who was excited by some news she got. An unexpected, slim possibility had come to pass and her faith was rewarded right when things looked the darkest for her in a very difficult situation.

I went out to my car with a Sharpie permanent marker. On the back of my car is a "13.1" sticker marking the first day I ran a half-marathon (13.1 miles). Underneath the numbers, I printed the words "and counting."

Hope is an elusive thing, sometimes. I'm disappointed and embarrassed that I could not go the distance my friends were able to go. It will probably still take some more time to work through those feelings. They seem to be running deep. But, some wee, defiant part of me has begun to rise up, some part willing to add that "and counting," some part that refuses not to believe no matter how the rest of me feels.

Though it may be in the minority at this moment, I am grateful for that wee, defiant part. It is the spark of hope.

Living the Creative Life

We are wonderfully and awesomely made in the image and likeness of God, according to Scripture. No where is that more clearly evidenced than in the natural creativity of human beings.

While God originated the sunset, artists reinterpret it; songwriters use it metaphorically; westerns use it to represent the end of the story, and so on.

God invites us to create together, and those who respond with "Yes!" begin adventures that change their lives and the lives of others for the better. Some become well-known, others remain anonymous, but their influence is felt in both cases.

You and I are invited to co-create our lives with God. Because we have free will, we can choose to co-create without God, but no one creates alone. We are all influenced by some source, perhaps the opinions of our parents, or the perspectives of our friends, or the influence of unexamined feelings, or the stimulus of chemicals, or the directions of a person we have positioned as our superior.

In other words, if we don't choose to co-create with God, our life will be co-created by someone else. If we don't understand our role is to participate in that creation, then we will wind up living someone else's life as our own.

I prefer to co-create with God. That sounds idealistic and rosy, but it means there are times when we (God and I) have to dismantle the work others have done in my life, and rebuild according to the original blueprints, not by the shortcuts or alterations someone else created.

Simply put, it requires work and dedication and willingness. When I discover I am not on-track, I need to notice it and get back on-track.

If I see this effort as a part-time job, and I only work with God when I punch the clock and then leave God's influence behind at the end of my work day, it will take a lot longer to get things done. On the other hand, if I pray and meditate and stay centered on God, it is much easier.

In my training as an endurance athlete learning how to run long distances, my focus is on a variety of checkpoints. How is my posture? How is my stride? How is my foot strike? Are my shoulders relaxed? Are my IT bands flexible? Am I breathing well? Am I leaning into the hills? Am I letting myself recover on the downhill runs? The more I pay attention to these things, the better and farther I can run. I learned them from the Coach who is helping to co-create me as a runner. From spending time with him, the lessons become intuitive. To those around me, I look like a runner now.

Likewise, from spending time with God, the lessons become intuitive. As I internalize the guidance and directions that God gives me, I look more and more to those around me like someone who is co-creating a life with God.

How is my posture? Is it humble and grateful? How is my stride? Is it joyous and confident? How is my foot strike? Is it sure and directed? Are my shoulders relaxed, or am I too preoccupied with carrying my burdens and not giving them to God? Are my IT bands flexible? Am I ready to go in the direction I am told? Am I breathing well? Am I inhaling Spirit and allowing it to generate life within me? Am I leaning into the hills? Am I willing to take on the parts of this road that climb and offer challenges? Am I letting myself recover on the downhill runs? Am I laughing with God and offering praise?

Someone or something is going to co-create your life with you. Will it be God?

Crucifixion and Resurrection

The past week has been challenging on every level. It culminated Friday night in a 10:00 p.m. trip to the emergency veterinary clinic with my beloved cat, where she was left overnight with an uncertain fate, and then a 3:00 a.m. call to the hospital to comfort a family dealing with an unexpected death.

After that, I drove down to the clinic where the cat was improved somewhat, then went home and grabbed two hours of sleep before rising to join my marathon team on a 15-mile training run over hills and trails.

I started strong, keeping up with the better runners on our team for the first five miles, which is a big improvement for me. I knew eventually they would pull away. About 10 or 11 miles into the run, I ran out of steam. I was dizzy, wobbling, and thoroughly exhausted, facing the main hill climb for the second loop and feeling 100% empty and hollow.

Our assistant coach came down the hill toward me, like an angel descending, and asked how I was doing. We went through the checklist. Pain? No. Exhaustion? Yes. She suggested I call it a day, since the coaches knew I was beginning already depleted from lack of sleep. I asked if it was all right for me to just sit down for a minute, and she said yes. I was an emotional wreck.

I sat on the grass beside the trail. It was the softest, coolest grass I have ever felt. She sat beside me, helping me think things through.

Our coach came up at that point and asked what was happening, and he agreed with her assessment that I call it a day. After a bit, I stood up and looked at Coach and tried to say, "I don't want to fail." However, I only got the "I don't" part out before I was wracked with tears, and for about two minutes I sobbed like a baby while they hugged and supported me.

And then it was done. The tears had passed. I stood erect, and it was as if someone had poured strength into me. The assistant coach said I looked a lot better. I said to her, "Let's conquer this hill."

They allowed me to continue, and continue I did. After some distance, they had me check-in again. We were at a point where I could pack it in, or finish the last four or so miles. I said I would obey their direction, but I wanted to finish the distance.

After a little more examination, they gave me the permission to finish and Coach ran beside me, allowing me to set the pace. In a mix of running, jogging and walking, I completed the 15 miles.

As I did, I noticed the depth of the blue sky, the intensity of the green hills, the song of the waves of the lake lapping at the shore, all as if I were seeing it for the first time.

Somewhere around mile 10 or 11, a part of me died and a new part rose up, more alive than I have ever felt in my life. Completely alive.

When I arrived to run this morning, our team chaplain said a prayer that included a familiar passage from Isaiah 40:30-31: "But those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

Sometimes we have to be willing to endure the crucifixion in order to understand resurrection. When we do, the LORD renews our strength. We run and not grow weary, and we walk and not be faint.

When All Else Fails

I spent some time at a hospital tonight at the bedside of a man who had no answers, only questions. Sometimes, there are no answers. But that does not mean there IS no answer. There is an answer, and it is love.

If we trust love, we have an answer.

I know it's very 1960's of me to say, "Love is the answer," but I have yet to find it isn't, so I'm sticking with it.