Bits for Sunday, July 26, 2009

I told you a while back that I’ve taken up running. I was told I would grow to love it. Well…that sort of warm fuzzy feeling has yet to arrive. Granted there are many moments where I feel both warm and fuzzy while out running, but it has more to do with sweat and dehydration than any sort of endearment.

My running time can be, as they say, a “come to Jesus” time. Sometimes I pray for the sick and those in need. Sometimes I pray to make it to the next light pole. It was in one such moment last week that I realized an important truth about my life…maybe about life itself.

I admit to experiencing a moment of anxiety when I enter my running path each day. I look at that stretch of road and think fondly of Snickers bars…caramel frappuccinos…moose tracks ice cream…an assortment of other life-joys that landed me in the place where I need to run at all. I think of all the things I could be doing with that hour of my day. And then I take a deep breath and go.

The first steps are great. I breeze through the first few hundred yards, take in the scenery, do some deep thinking. Then, in just about the same spot every time, my ankles start to ache, I find that oxygen isn’t as plentiful as it was at the start (and unfortunately I cannot blame the elevation, because it didn’t change), and I make the sad discovery that my legs instantly gained 20 pounds each, making them much harder to drag around the path.

It’s at that point that I look at the remaining distance to cover…remember that I have two more rounds of this same thing yet to go…and I want to just curl up in the grass and wait for someone to find me, toss me in a golf cart, and take me home.

Last week, in a moment of that sort of realization, I wanted to just quit running. (In case you didn’t know, I run a while, walk a while, run a while, walk a while.) I wanted to walk the rest of the path, and I wanted to start the switch right then. But I could see that I was just a few parking places away from the spot where I normally switch from running to walking. If I’d run that far, I could run a few more spaces. So I said to myself, “Just make it to that yellow line and you can stop.” And somehow, I did. And after I caught my breath, I started again. And again I said, “Just make it to that crack in the pavement and you can stop.” And I did. And then a few hundred yards later… “Just make it to the fire hydrant and you can stop.” For the rest of my run that night, I made it, cheering myself on to the next crack in the pavement.

It was this same week that I felt overwhelmed in my time with God. I felt like I wasn’t making any progress, I wasn’t learning anything, I wasn’t trying hard enough (and that part was very true!)…and I just wanted to give up. Quit. Eat a Snickers bar. But even while gasping for air on my run, God managed to squeeze in a lesson. He reminded me (rightfully so!) that I approach that relationship in too-big-chunks sometimes. I needed to break it down….make it to the next “crack in the pavement.” Just through tonight’s devotions. Not through the whole next Bible study I’m trying to write. Just through a chapter – maybe even a verse for a few minutes before bed.

So that night, that’s exactly what I did. I sat down with my pile of Bibles, books, and journals, and purposed to get through that night. Just like I didn’t need four miles worth of oxygen to get to the next crack in the pavement, I didn’t need enough spiritual “a-ha” moments to write a best-seller. I just needed enough to last me through my sleep and into the morning (preferably after coffee).

It’s great to have “big picture” focus. That’s what drives us forward. But just as important is making it to the next crack in the pavement.