Paul and the Wrong Website

Ever type in a website wrong and get taken to a place you never intended to go? At the bus stop yesterday, I learned I’m not the only the that has done this. A few of us shared sites we’d tried to go to, but ended up somewhere completely different. I talked about the past Christmas, while looking for a Drew Brees jersey for our son, that I was trying to get to Dick’s Sporting Goods. So I just simply typed in dicks.com and hit “enter.” Big mistake. Let’s just say that’s not a sporting goods store I ever want to go to. Another woman said that she was trying to go to BJ’s Wholesale Club, and typed in bjs.com. Once again, huge mistake. We even learned that there’s a huge difference between whitehouse.com and whitehouse.gov, even while Clinton was in office!

Those may seem simple. Why would I expect dicks.com to be anything but what it really was? But it was an honest mistake. I wasn’t thinking that way. I just thought dickssportinggoods.com seemed like a really long domain name. Plus, you have those double “s’s” and double “g’s” that would throw off most people. But my solution wasn’t any better. Just type in what I think it’s going to be and see what happens. Unfortunately there were consequences. Things started “popping” up on my screen, no pun intended, because I just started typing. My internet history showed that I was visiting porn. And by seeing that, it could easily escalate into something addictive for me.

So here’s what I’ve learned. Use Google. If I Google Dick’s Sporting Goods, it’s going to point me to the right place. No risk of ending up somewhere I don’t want to be. The same is true for me in life. I’ve made so many decisions based upon good intentions. Thinking I was doing the right thing, only to find the consequences completely unexpected. Because I wasn’t checking Google. I wasn’t checking my choices with what Scripture has to say. I rely on myself more often than I rely on God’s Word. I assume that I know what He’d want for me. Sometimes I’ve gotten it right. More often than not, I haven’t.

So in 2010, I’ve made an effort to get back into the Bible. I started a reading plan. YouVersion.com has a great number of options, and yes, there’s even an app for that. You can choose to read the whole Bible. Part of the Bible. In a year. Two years. Ninety days. The choices are numerous. I’ve chosen to read the New Testament this year. And 39 days into it, I’m still on track. As I read it, I’m reminded of things that God wants for my life. For me to love others. To be a servant. To not think too highly of myself. That I’m not above menial tasks. That I need to leave my sense of entitlement at the door. That I should be content in all things.

Use Google before typing websites, assuming you know where you’ll end up. And consult Scripture before making decisions, assuming you know where you’ll end up. It’s a good rule of thumb. And never, ever, go to dicks.com. Learn from my mistake.

Paul and the First 12 years

So yesterday was my 12th wedding anniversary. A dozen years. In Krispy Kreme terms, that’s a delightful box! Some of those years have been hot, fresh, now. Especially the early years. I don’t really know what that means, but I’m sure it has something to do with sex. Some of the years have been creme filled; and some, honestly, have been flavors you probably never want to try again. But when you put them all together, you have a dozen donuts. A great aroma. A good feeling carrying it out of the store.

But enough about donuts…this is about 12 years of marriage. Who knew that two simple words, “I do” would really mean so much? Yesterday, we tried to sit down and watch the videotape of our wedding, but our 6 year old just kept yelling out, “Let’s play Mario!” so we kind of fast forwarded through and hit the highlights. As I watched, I noticed a few things. First, I noticed how freakin’ scared I looked. I always had this idea that I was the picture of calm and restraint and peace. Apparently, according to the tape, I looked like I might vomit at any moment. On the other hand, I noticed how calm Jen was. As she was holding her dad’s arm, she looked perfectly perfect. Like it was the most natural thing for her to be doing. Marrying me.

In the Bible, there’s a couple stories I was thinking about. The first was of the disciples, and how they were on a boat with Jesus, and a big storm was brewing and they were scared to death, and Jesus was in the back of the boat just sleeping. How could he sleep at a time like that? Did he know something the disciples didn’t during chaos? Obviously. Did Jen know something that I didn’t on our wedding day? Because I was sweating, sucking on a peppermint, and she was calmly holding onto her father.

But if you fast forward in the Bible a little, to the Book of Acts, you’ll find Peter, one of the disciples that had been freaking out on the boat. And he’s in prison, possibly about to die the next day. And what is he doing? Sleeping. Had he learned something in his time with Jesus? Apparently.

Here I am, 12 years later, about to have another baby, and I’m not freaking out anymore. Being with my wife has taught me a lot about trust and peace and security. They haven’t been easy years. We’ve struggled financially at times. We’ve struggled with infidelity (me, not her). We’ve struggled with my desire to buy a new car every 18 months. We’ve struggled with communication. But for all our struggles, we’ve thrived. We’ve ended every day with an “I love you.” We still snuggle on the couch every night to watch TV. She still plays with my hair. We both know how to make the other smile. We both sleep horribly when we’re alone, and soundly when we’re together. We’ve grown as individuals. As parents. As friends. Twelve years is a pretty good number, but as we joked last night, I wonder how high we can go? Two words have changed my life. For better and worse. For rich and poor. In sickness and in health. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I just hope she feels the same way.

Paul and the Impact of Me

If you were to listen to my 6-year old son, you’d come away thinking he had the most awesome father in the world.  I was playing Super Mario Brothers on the Wii yesterday and he constantly barraged me with compliments as I made my way through one tricky level. “You’re amazing daddy!” he cried out as I double jumped over a series of fireballs. “How are you doing that?” he asked as I defeated Bowser. “That’s okay, you’re still awesome” he said as I fell off a ledge. I gotta admit, it makes a guy feel good.

But it goes deeper than that. I was sitting on the couch last night and my wife mentioned how much Toby enjoyed the song I made up for him the other night. He was upset, crying, and couldn’t calm down. So I started singing to him. “All you need is love.” But then I started changing the words to try and get him to laugh. “All you need is Xbox.” “All you need is clean underwear.” At the time I didn’t think it did much. But a few days later he told his mother about it. And then she told me. And I glowed inside. And probably outside too.

It’s hard for me to think that I have an impact on my son. A positive impact at least. I think of all the times I lose my cool with him. But I don’t think about the times where I give him the security and love he needs. The times we play football in the backyard and hip bump in midair over a great catch he’s made. Those are moments that he knows he’s loved. Moments he knows he’s becoming a man. And that he has his daddy’s approval. I don’t think of those moments nearly enough. I focus on the times I stay at work, convincing myself that what I “do” for a living will somehow leave a greater impact on the world than who I “am” to my family.

My wife has told me many times how badly she sleeps when I’m away, out of town. And then I get back and she falls asleep on the couch while we watch TV. She says it’s because how safe she feels when I’m around. I just tell her that I’m that boring she can’t help but doze off. But once again, it’s the impact of me being around. Making her feel safe. Valued. Loved.

Did you realize that you have that big of an impact on those around you? In my last blog, I wrote about the show “Hoarders,” and how I hoard my inner garbage. But I saw another episode the other night and I realized a new aspect in the show. I saw for the first time how someone’s hoarding affects those around them. Their impact. And I wonder how much my own garbage impacts my family in a negative way. Shouldn’t that be an even bigger motivation to deal with what’s going on inside me?

When it comes down to it, we all have impact. We impact those around us. And I even wonder sometimes if we impact God. I think we do. But that’s a whole different blog entry. For now, I want to concentrate on my impact at home. It’s so easy for me to be selfish when I get home. I ‘ve had a hard day at work. I just want to go for a run or a bike ride. But for Toby, his hero, his daddy is coming home. I need to take that seriously. I need to find time to affirm him. To hip bump in the backyard. To amaze him with my Mario skills. And to sing to him when he’s distraught. That is the best option. Not the easiest. Just the best.

Paul and the Tendency to Hoard

I’ve been watching A&E’s show “Hoarders” for a few months and I just have to ask, “why do people hoard?” When I watch the show, I cringe. My OCD innards go into some sort of shock as I take in the mess that I’m viewing. It’s truly unsanitary. One woman had literally buried herself alive in her home. She had to tie herself to a chair each night as she fell asleep so that she couldn’t fall out of the chair and be buried alive. And not just a chair, but a portable toilet chair. She had a pile of used adult diapers and feces stacked over 4 feet high behind her. As the cleaning crew came in, two cats were found dead, their skeletons flattened underneath all the piles of trash and waste. How does this happen?

And over and over again, each episode, the person in question will always offer some sort of quote like this: “I never knew it was getting out of control….I just didn’t want people to know what my house looked like on the inside….I was embarrassed.”

You’d never know it by looking at my house, but I’m a hoarder. My house is spotless. It’s that OCD thing. But my inner life? Oh, don’t look there. I hold onto things. Grudges. Hurt. Disappointment. Unfulfilled expectations. You name it, you can find it lurking under a pile of my soul. There are people in my life that I can run into at the store and will immediately think of the thing that they did 3 years ago that really pissed me off. I can drive by an exit on the interstate and remember a painful experience that happened there. I can hear a song and be reminded of a promise broken. How does this happen? How have I gotten to points in my life where I’ve had to strap myself in so that I don’t get buried under my own hoarding of hurt and betrayal? Why have I been afraid to ask others for help? Why the embarrassment?

I’ve just come off of two weeks of vacation and they were great, but I’m not good at relaxing. I always have to be doing something. Part of that is because I feel lazy if I’m not working, cleaning, running, playing, or mowing the yard. But there’s a bigger issue going on within me. There’s a part of me that doesn’t like to be still because I see the mess around me. So I keep going. As I watch “Hoarders” each week, I pick up on the same sort of thing. The mess started innocently enough, but as it piled up, it was easier to just keep piling up than to stop and figure out how to clean up the mess. It’s easier for me to keep going going going, than being silent with God. It’s easier for me to keep going going going than to ask for help. It’s easier to just strap myself in and hope I don’t get trampled by my own waste.

If you’ve never seen the show, watch it sometime if you can stomach it. It’s sad and it’s harsh. But for me, I can see so much of myself in the lives of these strangers. The hurt and pride or lack thereof. And I know that I’ve hoarded so many things that I don’t need to hold onto any longer. There are things from elementary school that still hurt my very soul. How long will I continue to hold on? Or will I come to a place where I can ask others to walk alongside me and help? To some degree, I’ve done that, with a group of men that I trust. But there’s still a lot more garbage to clean out. What about you?

Paul and the Loving Parents

As we’re just a few days from Christmas, which is made painfully clear to me by our son that keeps asking when Christmas is and when Santa is coming and when he can open his presents, I wanted to jot down a couple of thoughts. Christmas is the birth of Christ. It’s the very real depth that God would go to restore our relationship with Him. Sending his Son to our world. It’s the father leaving the 99 to find the one. An innocent lamb being sent to slaughter. Would a parent do that now? How far would a parent go to show love for their children?

Last week, I took Toby to his first football game. Not exactly the depth that God went to, but Toby definitely knew he was loved. Saturday night, we were all sitting in bed watching the Saints game, and we just started laughing. Laughing so hard and so long, my chest hurt. And then either Toby or I would “toot” and that would start everything over. Toby even nicknamed our bed “The Laughing Bed,” and everyday since, he has asked if we can get in the laughing bed. Toby knew he was loved. Every night, either Jen or I will rub Toby’s back and snuggle with him as we put him down for the night. A few weeks ago, I was in bed with him, and he looked at me and said, “You know what’s sad? Some kids don’t get snuggle time.” Toby knew he was loved.

I’m not trying to win Parent of the Year status. I’m far far from it. Those are three good examples amongst the hundreds of bad ones that I choose not to write about. But those are pretty tame things. A football game. Laugher. Back rubs. Not really taking me out of my comfort zone. But I have a friend, Jeff, who, along with his wife, Jenn, just made a pilgrimage that shows me the depths that God will and has gone for us. On Thanksgiving Day, they hopped on a plane and flew to China to adopt Reese, an orphan. They had never met her. They had only seen a handful of pictures of her. But when they were asked if they would take her and love her, they wholeheartedly said yes. And when they got the call on a Monday that said they needed to leave for China that Thursday, they flew into action. They dropped everything to go rescue this girl, to give her a home.

There may come a day when Reese fully recognizes what Jeff and Jenn have done. But right now, she doesn’t. How many of us go through life, having little knowledge of what God has done for us? As we celebrate Christmas, remember the Father that loves you so much, that before we were ever born, he had already sent His Son to rescue us. He loved us before knowing us. He loved us before we could ever love Him. And He went much further than just China to rescue us. He went to the cross. Merry Christmas my friends!

To read more about Jeff and Jenn and their new child, Reese, check out their blog here.

Paul and the First Football Game

I’m still flying high from last night. Jen and I had the chance to take Toby, our 6 year old son, to his first NFL football game. And not just any football game either. The Colts vs. the Jags. I guess since I live in Jacksonville, I should say Jags vs. Colts. But we’re Colts fans. Peyton Manning is Toby’s favorite player. He and I spend every evening throwing his NERF football in the living room (yes mom, we throw the ball in the house). And while we throw, we’ll take turns being Peyton Manning or  Reggie Wayne or Dallas Clark. So when Toby came home from school yesterday, we surprised him with tickets to the game. We all put on our jerseys. Toby wore his Peyton jersey. I put on a Reggie Wayne jersey. And my super slim wife was able to wear Toby’s Marvin Harrison jersey. And off to the game we went.

It’s obvious that I’ve lost the innocence of a child. But watching Toby was so much fun. Watching his eyes as the stadium appeared in the distance, lit up with a gazillion bright lights. Watching the smile spread across his face as he handed his ticket to the ticket lady. Watching his gaze dart to the cotton candy that was being sold. And then seeing it all culminate the moment we walked out of the tunnel and into the stadium itself. The majesty and hugeness opening up. The fans. The players. The lights. The fireworks. The music. And to watch him through all that was amazing. I’ve been waiting for 6 years to be able to walk him into his first football game. To cheer with him. To explain what is going on between plays. To answer his questions.

And as I lay down last night, still thinking about it, I just wonder if this is the excitement that Jesus feels for us when he thinks ahead about walking us into heaven. I’ve thought about heaven. I’ve read about it. I’ve read “The Shack” if that counts for anything. But reading about it, or hearing about it can’t possibly be the same thing as experiencing it for myself. Just like Toby has seen football games on TV. We’ve played football together, imagining ourselves and famous stars. But walking into the stadium and experiencing it for himself was completely different. All the questions he had. The larger than life things we saw and heard.

As a father, it was one of the most magical nights of my life. It was a complete joy to share that with my son. I hope Jesus is getting just as excited about sharing eternity with me. Because I know I’m going to have a lot of questions. I know I’m going to be overwhelmed and excited. And I know it’s going to be better than I could possibly imagine.

Paul and the Scared Monkey

I saw this video this morning. My pastor wanted to use it in his sermon today and so he sent me the link. I watched it and wondered what the hizzeck this had anything to do with Advent, Christmas, or God. It was in black and white for goodness sakes! But take a look at it anyways.

First of all, who would do that to a monkey? Monkeys are cute. If you want to torment an animal, use a cat. Cats are worthless and God doesn’t love them. I think that’s Biblical. Somewhere in Second Hezekiah or something. But I watched that video and wondered how Kevin was going to wrap that into his sermon. But boy, did he ever!

When I’m scared, what do I run to? When I’m feeling anxious, what do I do? I read the passage where Jesus tells us not to worry or be afraid, and instead of not worrying, I worry even more, wondering why I can’t not worry. Is there something wrong with me? How come I can see a seemingly innocuous event and somehow interpret it as the end of the world as we know it? Why does my anxiety keep me up at night? Why do I suffer panic attacks? When those things happen, where do I run?

In the video, the monkey ran to his mother. To safety. Buried his head in her chest. But then did something else. Was encouraged, strengthened, renewed, and turned back and faced the monster.

I don’t do that. First, most of the time, I don’t run to safety. I don’t run to God. I run to distractions. Video games. Working long hours. Alcohol. Exercise. Weight loss. Obsessive compulsive acts. Others turn to pornography. Shopping and overspending. Overeating. Affairs. Mid-life crises. I could go on, but the point is this. My first reaction when faced with worry and anxiety is not to turn to Christ, but to turn to other options. Things I can do or buy or occupy my time with so that I don’t have to face the very thing I’m worried about.

I can learn a lot from that monkey. Run to safety. Safety is not to be found in my Xbox or a Starbucks drink. Safety is found when I run to Christ. That monkey had it right. He didn’t think twice about it. He didn’t ponder it. He didn’t blog about it. He didn’t try something else first. His immediate reaction was to jump into the arms of his savior. Mine should be the same.

Paul and the Fear of God

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to go to Little Rock, Arkansas, for a creative conference. I joked in my last blog about finding anything creative in Arkansas. I did find a sign for the Big Dam Bridge, which made me laugh, but I never found the actual Big Dam Bridge, which makes me wonder how damn big it was after all. I also went for a run in Arkansas, which was a mistake. I asked the seemingly nice lady working at our hotel counter if there was a running loop nearby. She proceeded to send me on a trail that snaked along the river….for a few minutes. It then took a turn for the worse and led me by abandoned buildings, under bridges and overpasses where many homeless men were bundled up for the night. And there were no streetlights, so it was near pitch black.  And as I ran by, the smell of urine in my nose (theirs, not mine…I think), I didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want these transients to think I was afraid of them (I was), so I kept running like it was no big deal to be running in a strange state under dark overpasses where I didn’t know what danger lurked. But all in all, it was fun.

The car ride, while long (15 hours each way), gave Jen and I an opportunity to talk, laugh, sing, and listen to a book on CD. We also got to see parts of the country we’d never seen before. Not that we want to go back or anything. The lone rest stop in Mississippi hadn’t been cleaned since the early 70’s. There was a strip club right across the street from a daycare in Memphis (stay classy!). And they’ve yet to learn how to drive in Birmingham.

So why was there a creative conference in Arkansas? As the hosts told us, to prove that if they can do it in Arkansas, it can be done anywhere. This wasn’t a conference to go and leave discouraged because you don’t have the budget or team to pull off what you just saw. During one worship time, they shut down all the screens, lights and fancy gadgetry, and just had one lone light on the worship leader. That might have been more powerful than anything else they did that day. There were still moments where I felt inadequate in my creative abilities, but I met some really nice people, one of whom serves a church right here in Jacksonville. I just had to drive 15 hours across the country to meet him, instead of 15 minutes across town. Go figure.

But it wasn’t all fun and games. I left challenged. Fearfully challenged. One of my favorite speakers in all the world, Anne Jackson, was in attendance, and led one of the main sessions. I’ve liked her since I heard her a year ago, because she has gone through many of the health battles I have, has suffered from depression and anxiety and insomnia, has suffered burnout and a disintegrating marriage. But I see her on the other side, and see hope for myself.

It was during her session, that she asked this question. “Is serving the church interfering with your communion with Christ?” In other words, we’re so busy “doing” for God, that we’ve forgotten how to just “be.” And my answer has to be yes. My job definitely interferes with my time with Christ. I get paid to be very holy. But when it comes to spending time with Christ, one-on-one, I fall short. And the truth is, God wants us to experience Him for ourselves. Not read about Him. Not hear about Him through others. Not spend our time helping others see Him or experience Him. But to experience Him for ourselves. And to be even more honest, that thought frightens me. And that fear has shaped my story in so many ways. The fear to let God lead. The fear of giving up control. My sense of entitlement. All things are wrapped up into one complex package that I spend a lot of energy just stuffing down deep inside me. And as a result, I become more and more numb to what God might be trying to do in my life. I spend hours in front of a computer screen, designing things that will help others experience God…maybe so that I don’t have to do it myself. Because I’m afraid that God won’t accept me the way I am? Because God will try to get me to change careers? Because God is disappointed in my decisions? I’m not sure what it is…but I must fight this. I must experience God for me. That was my prayer as I left the conference. Let me experience You for myself. What about you? Is fear stopping your story? Are you content to let others experience God? What is your fear?

Paul and the Upcoming Conference

In just one short week, me and my lady friend will be hopping in a car and driving to Arkansas for a conference on creativity. Now, my first reaction is to make fun of such a conference. Creativity in Arkansas? Is that even possible? Feel free to make your own jokes, but I’m going to be the bigger man and move on. Okay, just one. I hope their idea of creativity in 2010 is not using flannel boards as a means to bring stories to life. Or that the new trend in social media is that new MySpace phenomenon. And if FinallyFast has a booth in the convention hall, I’m leaving. Alright, I’m done now.

So I’m heading to a conference and I always get a bit nervous about these things. The same thing happened when I was in youth ministry. The same question always pops up. “How big is your church?” “How big is your youth group?” For some reason, our value is attributed to the size of our church or ministry. And I’ve always hated that. Because I don’t have a huge ministry. I don’t work for a mega church. So in the eyes of the world, my value is very low. I’ve been tempted to lie on occasion. “How big is my church? A billion a week. How about yours?” “You ever heard of Starbucks? We started that in our church basement as a small youth fundraiser.” They might be lies, but they’d make me feel better. Better than saying, “You know? My church isn’t big and flashy. My feet are small and narrow and flat. My car needs three new tires. Most everything I know about design I learned from online tutorials. I’ve never won an award or been published. I listen to the “Glee” soundtrack. And I forget to flush most of the time.”

So as I get ready to go to this conference (note to self, you still need to actually register for this conference, find a hotel, and rent a car), I’m trying to go in with a new perspective. A perspective that bigger isn’t better. By the way, this perspective does not work when talking about TV’s or Christmas presents. I’m trying to go into this conference content with who God has created me to be. In Matthew 5, Jesus says, “You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are – no more, no less.” In Romans 12, you read, “Let’s just go ahead and be what we were made to be, without enviously or pridefully comparing ourselves with each other, or trying to be something we aren’t.”

So who am I? Am I a designer? Am I a youth minister that just isn’t youth ministering right now? What is my legacy? I was talking with some men about this a few weeks ago, and it was amazing that we all agreed that we are not our jobs. We are more than that. When we retire or move on or are down sized, people aren’t really going to remember us for long. For what we did for this or that company. But where will we be remembered? At home. Our families. Our children. My son doesn’t care if I ever win a design award. But he does care when I spend more time at work than I do playing with him. Or when I tell him that I can’t pass a football because I have a project I have to finish. My legacy is being formed at home. With my son. With my wife.

So as I go to this conference next week, I will not get drawn into the comparison trap. Yes, other people are better designers than I am. And other people work for bigger, flashier churches. And others have bigger paychecks and budgets. But God has me where He wants me. And my legacy does not lie in what I do, what my job is. My legacy is being made at home. And maybe I need to spend a bit more time worrying about that than about whether people like my designs or not.

Paul and the Struggle to Grow Up

If you’ve read this blog for very long, you know that I’m not perfect. Some of you might think I never do anything right, because I usually write about the many ways I’ve screwed up situations and relationships. And that’s not true. It just makes for better reading and storytelling. I do a lot of things right. Like…umm…you know…things. But it’s easier to look back at the ways I’ve fallen short; the things I struggle with. And there’s probably not anything that I struggle with more than my desire for the latest and greatest.

On 9/9/99, I stood in line for the Sega Dreamcast on the day it came out. I went to a midnight book release for Harry Potter. I had the latest iPhone delivered to my door the day it came out. I’m still eyeing a Kindle. And when my parents came to visit a few weeks ago, driving a new VW Jetta, I was ready to trade my car in for something new. I like the latest. I like the greatest. And when I want it, I want it. And I want it now.

I didn’t want to wait till I got married to have sex. I didn’t want to wait till I was 21 to drink. I didn’t want to wait till I was 16 to drive. I don’t want to wait till I’m 65 to retire. I don’t want to wait till I have the money to make the purchase. I don’t want to wait with one of those little buzzers at restaurants to be seated. I don’t want to wait for test results. I don’t want to watch commercials. I don’t want to wait till Tuesdays for new music to come out. I don’t want to wait till Christmas morning to open the presents. And for the last few weeks, I haven’t wanted to wait for my leg to heal to start running again. I have a goal to attain. I have a race to run.

At the start of the year, I was out of shape and quickly growing to “overweight” status. I’d call myself a skinny husky. I was about 130 pounds when I got married back in 1998. But at the end of 2008, I was about to top the 180 pound mark. I had stopped running. I was eating anything I wanted. And none of my clothes were fitting. So it was time to either lose weight or buy new clothes. I didn’t have the money to go shopping. So that made my decision easier. It was time to lose weight. So I downloaded a free app for my iPhone called LoseIt. It kept track of my calories and exercise. And slowly, the weight started coming off. I started running again and even ran in a race in March. I didn’t win. I didn’t place in my age group. But I finished. And after that race, I set a goal. Continue to lose weight (40 pounds was the goal), and run a marathon by the end of 2009.

So I talked with a friend of mine and we decided to run the Rocket City Marathon on December 12th, in Huntsville, Alabama. All summer, we braved the hot Florida heat, building base mileage. But at the end of June, while on vacation, I pulled a hamstring running. I didn’t want to throw off my training by taking a week off. So I kept running. And the hamstring kept hurting. And finally, about 3 weeks ago, the hamstring got very bad. But I still wouldn’t stop running. So I started compensating with pain by putting more weight on my other leg while running. And within a week, I had strained my achilles tendon. So I now had two bum legs. And after a 13 mile run one night, I decided that I couldn’t keep running. I needed to see a doctor.

I started going to physical therapy. The doctor told me to stop running immediately. I did, but every time I went back, I asked if I could run. I was supposed to run a half marathon that next weekend. I was going to run it and just not tell my doctor about it. But the day before the race, I was talking with some men in my small group. They were both runners and they convinced me that it would be better not to run, and be able to run in the future instead of rupturing my achilles and having to need surgery. I heeded their advice and pulled out of the race. I supplemented my running with cycling and swimming, but hated both.

On Tuesday of this week, I was invited to run with a group of guys the next morning. I decided to do it. Screw the doc. I was gonna run. But that morning, at staff meeting, my pastor led us in a group discussion on this passage from Colossians. And in it, I came across this verse. “Meanwhile, be content with obscurity, like Christ. And that means killing off everything connected with that way of death…doing whatever you feel like whenever you feel like it, and grabbing whatever attracts your fancy. That’s a life shaped by things and feelings instead of by God.” (Colossians 3:4-5 MSG)

That verse stayed in my head all day, and in the end, decided not to run that next morning. The doctor hadn’t cleared me to run. I needed to listen to him. He knew what was going on in my body. If I ignored him, I risked doing damage. The same is true when I choose to ignore Scripture. When I choose to chase after things and feelings. That’s why I’m so grateful for the people in my life that keep me grounded. My small group. My running partner. My wife. My son. My pastor.

My hope for you is that you have a group of people that will help you. Help you listen to God. Steer you back on track. Keep you from doing permanent damage to your life. It’s hard to wait. It’s hard to sit out of the race. But it will be worth it. I don’t know when I’ll finally run my marathon. But it will happen. When my body is ready. And it will be worth the wait!