Hardest Race Yet

Saturday I ran the hardest race of my life.  No, it wasn't the distance; in fact it was shorter than my short runs.  The difficulty lay in my attitude.

In the beginning of August, I signed up for another half marathon.  I was stoked, and began training hard core.  And then school started, and my schedule began backed; I was getting up at 4:30 in order to balance training, school, work, and relationship responsibilities.  Needless to say, I was tired most of the time.  When I began getting sick, I realized I was repeated what I'd done last year.  Not wanting to be ridiculously sick for 2 months again, I decided not to do the half.  This was a hard decision, especially since it couldn't be refunded.  When I learned that they offered a 5k as well, I decided to switch to that, knowing it'd be an easy race for me even if I didn't train (which I didn't).

I didn't think much about the race until I went to pick up my packet Friday.  As I stood in line for the 5k information, I starred longingly at the half line, wishing I were in that one instead.  Shame, discouragement, and guilt all hit.  Walking away from the booth, I fought back tears as thoughts flooded my mind: I felt like I'd failed, felt like I could have made it work it I really had tried; after all, I'd gotten to 11 miles before school had started.  I felt foolish for running such an easy distance.  I couldn't get excited about the race; it wasn't a fun run or for a cause I was directly connected to like other 5's I've done.  I felt disappointed that I couldn't do the half, felt like running the 5k was pointless.  Yeah, to say my attitude was bad is an understatement.

This morning it was worse.  When my fiance picked me up for the race, I tried to put on a good face, tried to convince myself that I was excited about it.  And when that didn't work...

  When I left my finance for the starting line, I again fought tears.  The first 2 miles were miserable thanks to my attitude.  I was angry and bitter and myself and other runners, quietly judging them in my head for being inferior to the halfers, then judging myself for not being able to keep up with them.  It took me 2 miles of frustration, anger, and watery eyes to try to put my thoughts elsewhere.  I tried singing, a normal running routine for me, which helped get my mind off of myself and onto God where it belongs.  At about 2.5 miles, I began to pray about it.  In my head, I knew I'd done the right thing, but in my heart I wasn't feeling it.

Here's what makes it hard: the reason that I decided to do the shorter race was because I knew it'd be healthier for me over all; there will be other halfs (and fulls!) when I'm done with school; more important than racing, I needed to take care of myself, God's baby, and the things that He's entrusted to me during this season of life.    I KNOW that, but the stubborn/perfectionist in me wants to say screw it, I can take on the world!   Basically,  I had to do the hard thing of saying no.  Yeah, that's way more challenging than running miles upon miles.  But I did it!  And I'm trying to be proud of that, trying to realize that that's really what matters right now. Trying being the key word there.  Baby steps.  =)

To God be the glory, now and forever.

Hell and other fine things

Hell is not a popular concept among... well... anyone really.  We like to deny the existence of Hell, like to make it out to be not as bad as it truly is.  We justify that we're really not that bad, that a loving God won't really punish people eternally for temporary sins.  We've deceived ourselves to believe that at our core we're good people who mess up every once in a while.

The truth is we are an awful brute.  In fact, we have gone so far as to kill God, to crucify Him on a Roman cross.

In reality, we shouldn't focus on the injustice of Hell but the injustice of grace; we should praise God for not giving us what we deserve.  Once we're truly understand the weight and depth of our sinfulness, we're able to understand the incredible gift that He's given us in Christ Jesus.  In response to this gift, we can't help but do good works, showing others the grace of God.

Yup, someone's been paying attention in theology class.  Kudos to Dr. Wittmer for the inspiration for the above.

Familiar

This morning as I read through Acts 9, the passages were familiar.  I've heard the story of Saul's conversion dozens of time, read and heard about God raising people from the dead more than I can remember.  Yet as I read the second half of this chapter, I was hit by the oddity and wonder of it: how incredible are the words on this page!  If some woman was proclaimed dead, then a traveling preacher prayed over her and said, "Tabitha, get up", and she did, why, it would be all over the news!  Everyone and their brother would know of this event.

Same with the previous story.  If there was an extremist person who was crashing planes into buildings or committing genocide in order to do away with Christianity, then suddenly became the next Billy Graham, we'd take notice.  We'd likely respond with wonder and awe, perhaps some skepticism as well.  

And yet I find myself reading unbelievable tales like this in my Bible as if they were as normal as the weather.  Oh yeah, God raised another person to life.  That's like the 12 time this week, right?  Oh, another person's life been completely transformed by the Gospel?  That's legit, but old hat; heard it a hundred times.  As we plunge into our Bibles, the stories become familiar; we forget the wonder of God's tale, loss the awe of holding in our hands the very Word of God.

LORD, please forgive us for not taking Your Word seriously.  Forgive us for allowing Your miraculous work in the world, both in ancient times and now, both globally and personally, from becoming routine.  Open our eyes again, Papa!  Give us eyes to see the world as You do.  Give us a passion for Your truth.  Send us with fire to go love the world, to see Your kingdom come and Your will be done.  Amen.