The Illusion of Final

I had a tough training run today. The first three or four miles were all right, but after that, I was struggling. I've run the distance and the terrain before, but you would never know that from today's experience. In fact, I've often run further. I was slightly over eight miles into my 10 mile run when I began to weave back and forth and realized I was "bonking." I didn't have the reserves to continue. I felt physically spent. I sat down, exhausted. My running partner Warren was having a strong day, and was well up the final hill when I sat at the foot of it. My other running partner Jessi came back to where I was and asked if I was all right. I said I was; I just had bonked and felt wasted. She said, "Are you sure? You're almost there." I asked for help standing up, and made my way to a nearby bench in the shade. I knew I would be OK, and encouraged her to finish her run. She left and I recovered in the shade for a few minutes with her question echoing in my head. Am I sure I'm finished? Am I OK with stopping this close to my goal? Am I sure I'm finished? Did I really want to end this run at this point? Am I sure I'm finished? As I regained my strength, I realized the answer was, "No. I'm not finished. I only have a mile and three-quarters left. I don't need to run it at top speed, but I need to finish it because I can." I dialed Warren on my cell phone to let him know of my decision and the route I would be taking. I topped the hill and a little at a time began to run toward my goal. No one would have mistaken me for Usain Bolt during that last segment. My best pace was a lively jog. But it was not my intention to set a speed record. It was my intention to finish. Warren and Jessi doubled back and ran with me while I finished the last mile. I told Jessi that it was her comment, "Are you sure? You're almost there," that made the difference. As teammates, we encourage each other and affirm each other's success. I knew I was supported 100% whether I continued or stopped short. I also knew if I could finish, I must finish. This is not some macho code of honor; this is simply having integrity and learning what the day and the trail want to teach. I have learned over the past 10 months of endurance running training that I have not come close to completely tapping my reserves. I have learned more and more that I have reserves to tap. I have learned that I am loved and supported, not just by my friends, but by strangers in the running community who call out encouragement as they pass. At the end of the run, I had gone 10.25 miles before I switched off my performance tracker. After that, I probably walked another 1/3 of a mile. What mattered was not that I did not do so well as a trail runner, or that I had to regroup a couple of times physically along the way. What mattered was that when I was almost there, and no one was going to judge me for the decision I made, the only decision I could make was to finish. Today, I learned there is a difference between giving all and giving up.

Keeping Faith When Expectations And Experiences Disagree

I don't know why some things don't play out the way I expect. The fact is, they often don't.

Sometimes, things turn out to be far grander, richer and joyous than I expected. Sometimes, they turn out to be more meager, painful and disappointing.

My experience is not so different from that of anyone else I know. After all, we say, "Life has its ups and downs."

I'm in one of those passages at present. Things were not as I expected in a certain situation, and I'm confused by the muddying of what seemed so clear. I also don't have any idea what the next right thing to do might be. In the meantime, I am questioning my decisions leading up to this situation.

I have learned a big lesson already involving my personal journey into living with authenticity and how that might look a lot different for me than the way some other people would like it to look. I am made in God's image, not anyone else's. My life should look the way God envisions it. Even I can be confused about what THAT looks like, but I can see what fits and what doesn't.

I'd really appreciate some clarity here, but this remodeling of my life is right on time. A spiritual director told me, when I was in my 20s, that God sends along a crisis of some sort every 7 years, and that it happens so that God can clear up our misunderstandings and lead us into a deeper knowledge of what is true for us. Well, I'm turning 56 in a couple of months, so I'm ending my 8th cycle of 7-year periods with a bang!

And you know what? It's all right. It's all perfect. Even if it is embarrassing, even if it is confusing, even if it is unclear or makes no sense at all. It's all right.

I am 8 cycles closer to living my life fully than I was when I started! There are things I have learned that have held true. I welcome this new season. I'm not sure what my life will look like, but I am sure it doesn't look like it once did, and that's a good thing.

I'll just keep faith and hope to coast for a year or so after this latest shake-up is done.

Blessings,
David

Return to the Quiet

Sometimes life seems overwhelming.

How do I get back to the center when there is so much swirling and confusion inside me? Demands on time, expectations, emergencies, who needs sleep?

I snuck away to my church office tonight and in blissful solitude listened to some spiritual music CDs while I did some straightening and organizing that required no intensive thought.

In the process, God has returned me to the Quiet.

This is the place where I am loved and experience it, where I am reassured and believe it, where I am serene and safe and embraced in timeless rest.

I'm not sure when the transition happened from feeling overwhelmed to feeling received. I didn't notice it. I only realized my neediness was gone, evaporated like a shallow icy puddle on a warm spring day. I just know I have been received by God into the Quiet; restored, renewed, and relaxed.

Now I'm ready to go home and sleep. God is so good.

Blessings,
David