But I have to admit, I was having a hard time doing all the watching. In fact, I intentionally got to the race after it had started because I was afraid if I didn’t, I might jump in and run it. I’m competitive. But more than that, I didn’t want people to look at me and think I wasn’t a runner. I am. I just wasn’t running this race because I had run a marathon a couple weeks earlier. But how do I let people know that without just telling every person I pass, “I’m a runner. I’m just not running this weekend?” Wear a race t-shirt.

A lot of times I only wear one of my race t-shirts that I get at every race while I’m doing yard work, or painting or after I’ve finished a run and need a fresh shirt to put on. But I decided that if I wear a marathon t-shirt, people would think, “Wow! Look at that guy! He’s a real runner!”

And so as I was walking around the race finish area looking for my friend, I knew that people wouldn’t be looking down on me for not running that half-marathon. Why? Because I was wearing a full marathon shirt. It made me feel better about myself.

A few days later, I had finished running with my friend Jeff, and I was telling him what I had done and we were both laughing about it. Because when you put words to it, it’s kind of silly. I wasn’t running a race but I wanted people to know that I could have if I had wanted to. Why did I care so much about what others thought?

The same reason I care what people think of me at work. At church. At Target. In my neighborhood. A desire to have purpose. A desire to be important. A desire to leave a legacy. A desire for validation. A desire that what I do means something. The idea that I matter.

I’ve always struggled with the concept that my value comes from my life in Christ. My head gets it. My heart gets it. But my actions don’t. I still want the credit on projects at work. I yearn for the limelight. I like to see my designs in important places. In short, I wear the t-shirt. The shirt that says, “Look at me! Aren’t I important?” I know that I don’t need to do that. It doesn’t make me a better father or husband. But it’s a struggle for me. It’s hard to be content with who I am no matter what. I seem to be content with who I am if….

The race had started. Whether I liked it or not, bib 911 was pinned to my shirt. Whether I liked it or not, the sun was climbing above the downtown skyline. And with that, I knew it was a matter of time before the temperatures began rising as well. As the throngs of people headed down the streets of Pittsburgh, I tried to settle into a gentle stride. But it was easier said than done. The first mile was a lot of starts and near-stops. I could only run as fast as the pack ahead of me allowed. I made the decision that I wasn’t going to waste energy in the opening miles dodging people or side stepping or weaving to try to get around slow shufflers. I had to do everything in my power to hold onto that claim.

Near the end of mile 1 I felt the first trickle of sweat on my forehead. I remember looking around at the people around me, squinting to see if I saw sweat on them. Was I already dehydrating? Luckily, there was a man near me that had small spot of sweat on his lower back. I was okay. No reason to panic. Calm down and settle into a pace.

That led me to my first dilemma of the race. What the heck should my pace be? I had been training for a 3:30 marathon. But that was under ideal conditions. I knew that it wasn’t going to be ideal. So I was trying to figure out if I could stick with the 3:30 pace group, or drop to the 3:40 group. I didn’t know there was a 3:35 group too (until they passed me 19 miles later). I made the decision to try and stay with the 3:30 group. Of course, I wasn’t actually with them at the time. They were 200 yards ahead of me, little sign bobbing up and down. I just couldn’t get through the crowds. So I kept the sign in my sights and settled in. Refusing to bob or weave.

Mile 1: 7:55; Mile 2: 7:53; Mile 3: 7:55

When we hit the first of 5 bridges there was a large gathering of people cheering everyone on. That’s one of the best parts of a marathon. Hitting sections of a race course that is full of spectators. I remember the thrill of running downtown in the Philadelphia Marathon, with thousands of fans on either side of the road screaming and cheering. It was a rush. Or running through a narrow pack of fans in Richmond that reminded me of what it must feel like to be a bike ride in the Tour de France when they ride through towns and there’s barely enough room for two bikes to fit through. Another adrenaline rush.

In Pittsburgh, there were a number of those moments. More so than any other race I’ve run so far. Coming off the 9th street bridge was a blast. Not only were there people lining both sides and around the turn we made at the end, but there was a giant banner hanging from the bridge, reminding 25,000 runner why we were doing this. I could have used another banner at mile 18. Going through the West End was another adrenaline moment. People were out in droves. I even saw and definitely heard someone using one of those vuvzela’s that were made famous at the last World Cup. Very loud. A bit abrasive. I might have peed a little.

I tried to relax and “be present” in the moment. I knew it was a long race. I wanted to take in as many of the sights and sounds as I could. Part of me wished I didn’t have my iPod so that I could have really honed in. But I loved the signs. Especially the boy in the West End with the “Worst. Parade. Ever” sign. Or the woman at the first relay exchange area that had just finished her leg of the race and was jumping up and down yelling for her teammate that was nowhere to be found. Or the sight of my wife at mile 11.

Mile 4: 8:02; Mile 5: 7:46; Mile 6: 7:55; Mile 7: 7:56; Mile 8: 7:52; Mile 9: 7:58, Mile 10: 8:05; Mile 11: 7:49

The plan was to have Jen at the end of the final bridge, between mile 11 and 12. She had two water bottles for me and 3 Gu’s. I knew that if I didn’t find her or ran past her, I was effed to the nth degree. I started looking for her at mile 9. Just in case. Where I didn’t look for her was on the middle of the bridge. Why would she be there? She was. Luckily, out of the corner of my eye, I saw this arm waving frantically. I happened to look over and there was Jen. I veered quickly and came to a stop. We tried to change out everything as quickly as we could, but it took a good 60-90 seconds and I saw the pace group make their way out of sight. I would never see them again.

Jen asked me how I was doing and I think I said some stuff back to her. About it being hot but that I was drinking and eating okay. She asked me if I was going to keep going. As I trudged off on the last 15 miles, I said proudly and somewhat stupidly, “I’m going to finish this damn race!” For something that was supposed to be fun I was treating it like a dentist visit that I just had to get through. But I took off, fully stocked for anything Pittsburgh would throw my way.

The next portion of the race was tough but I knew it was coming. The hills. The whole course was hilly. It was rolling. The bridges were up and down. And all but downtown had sections of climbing. It’s funny that they advertise it as a flat course. It’s cumulatively flat. That’s a big difference from being flat. Huge difference. But as I began the hill section between miles 12-14, I put my head down and shortened my stride and just started climbing.

Amazingly, I started picking people off. That was the first section that I encountered walkers. People with hands on hips or above their heads. The heat was setting in, but most of the big climb was shaded  which was fantastic. I made my way up the climb and received a big cheer when I made the turn at the halfway point which happened to be at a Starbucks. Talk about temptation to quit and go get a cold Frap. But on I went.

Mile 12: 9:12 (gear change with Jen); Mile 13: 8:14; Mile 14: 8:14

From here to the end, the story gets fuzzy. Here’s the highlights and lowlights. My body started shutting down. My stomach started acting up and wasn’t taking hydration well. I was still drinking, but it was just gurgling and sloshing and I wasn’t feeling good at all. I stopped to walk for the first time at mile 19. Not because my legs were tired but because I felt like I would throw up if I kept drinking or eating. I ate about half a Gu at mile 17 and it felt like paste in my mouth. It was miserable and I was rethinking my exclamation to Jen about finishing.

I started walking though every aid station at that point, pouring cups of water on my head. Anything to cool off. I took a couple of orange slices. I knew there was no choice but to finish. Even if I had to walk the rest of the way. And walk I did. A lot. The 3:35 pace team passed me. And a few minutes later the 3:40 group went by. I was starting to feel even worse.

Mile 15: 8:13; Mile 16: 8:11; Mile 17: 8:15; Mile 18: 8:23; Mile 19: 9:27; Mile 20: 11:20; Mile 21: 9:58

But then the weirdest thing happened and I can’t explain it. My stomach settled. I was able to drink a little more. I took my final Gu without any problem. And since my legs never really got tired or cramped, the pace picked up a little. And then I could see it. The skyline of Pittsburgh. I was coming back into town. My pace picked up some more. I started passing people. And the miles started ticking by. Kelly Clarkson was singing “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” and I couldn’t help but smile.

I hate to say this, but there was one person I wanted to beat. She passed me with the 3:35 pace group. I don’t know her name. She was short. She was pudgy. She didn’t look like a runner. And she was beating me. When I caught a glimpse of her off in the distance at mile 25, it was “game on!” I wanted to catch her. I wanted to pass her. And I wanted to put enough distance between us so that she wouldn’t be in my finishers photo. It’s not one of my prouder moments, but it was a goal. And I achieved it.

Mile 22: 8:37; Mile 23: 8:30; Mile 24: 8:24; Mile 25: 7:40; Mile 26: 7:09

The sun was high. The heat was coming off the asphalt. But I crossed the finish line. My slowest marathon ever. But as I found Jen at the end of the finishers chute, and she asked me how I was, I burst into tears. It was the hardest thing I had ever done. Running a marathon in near 80 degree weather. But I did it. And I was still sweating. Two of my worst fears overcome. Not finishing. And dehydration. I was a Runner of Steel.

The big thing I was scared of going into this race was the weather and my stomach. I’ve never run a spring marathon before. And after having watched my buddy Jeff struggle through the Boston Marathon three weeks earlier, I was definitely anxious. So I started watching weather patterns 10 days out. I had three different weather apps on my phone, all pulling different numbers. It was looking cool. It was looking warm. It was cloudy. It was sunny. I was checking the apps every couple of hours, praying for any kind of cold spell or snowstorm. As the weekend approached I knew it was going to be warm. But I thought it was at least going to be cloudy. Two of the apps said cloudy. Those stupid apps were wrong. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was going to be a long race.

When we arrived in Pittsburgh the day before the race, we made our way to the expo to pick up my packet. Of all the things we had carefully packed the night before, socks, shoes, chafing rub, nipple guards, etc, the one thing we forgot? My race confirmation card. Luckily, it was easy to still get registered and I was presented with bib number 911. Really? 911? Was this a joke? Could I refuse the number? As worried as I was about the weather and my health, I didn’t find it funny. My wife did. And my running buddy. And my coworkers. And anyone else that knows me and knows my anxieties. But I didn’t find it funny at all. It just fed into my worst fear that I was probably going to die the next day.

Before this race, I had entered 4 marathons. My first, Philly, in 2003, I pulled out at 17 miles. I was inexperienced and was really over my head. In 2010, I ran Philly again and found redemption and finished in 3:39. In 2011, I ran Myrtle Beach and lowered my time to 3:37 and thought I had conquered the marathon beast. But later that year I ran Richmond, and pulled out at 13 miles. So going into Pittsburgh my marathon completion rate was 50%. I didn’t want to drop below 50%. Not finishing was not an option. Even if I had to walk the last 10 miles I was going to finish.

The morning of the race, I got ready in our hotel room and started watching the people 16 stories below, making their way to their starting corral. They recommended getting there 2 hours early. There was no way I was going to stand around that long. Even though I knew it would be pushing it a little, I left the hotel room 20 minutes before the gun fired. Oops. I forgot two important things. The elevator. And getting into my corral.

I forgot to add some time waiting for the elevator and the fact that every one that came by was already full of runners from higher floors. Jen suggested we take the stairs. I told her I was about to run 26.2 miles. 16 flights of stairs wasn’t an option at this point. So we waited.

We got down to street level and tried to make our way to Corral B. But since there was security making sure everyone entered their proper corrals, there was a traffic jam trying to get in. And once I did finally get in, I couldn’t make my way up the side street to the actual starting chute. I’m not a pusher and shover, so I tried to “think small” and started bobbing and weaving. The crazy thing is that once I got past the masses and got up closer to the front everyone had tons of elbow room and room to stretch. But further back people were stacked like sardines.

There’s certain moments that I remember vividly about the day. Even though I had my iPod nano on for the entire race, the music was simply noise for the most part. But I do remember a few songs at certain junctions of the race. For example, I remember that while someone was singing the National Anthem, my headphones were blaring Katy Perry’s “Peacock” which was completely inappropriate for the moment. But my iPod was locked and tucked into my shorts and I couldn’t pause it or turn it off. So while I was honoring my country I was also hearing Katy encourage me to let my Peacock out. Like I said, completely inappropriate.

The race finally began and people began making their way to the starting mat. As I crossed the mat and started my watch for the long journey, Chris Tomlin’s anthem “Our God” began and as the chorus of “Our God is greater, Our God is stronger…” was sung, I headed out with 25,000 runners, through downtown Pittsburgh. Fans and family were lining the roads with cowbells and signs and cheers and yells. I was jazzed. This was it.

…To be continued

Personally, I’m not a weather nut. I figure if the weather is really bad, I will either figure it out on the fly, or my mother will call to let me know impending death is on its way. I just figure, no matter what day it is, there’s going to be weather. If there’s not we have a bigger problem.

But when it comes to running, weather can make or break my run. For some reason God has given me the spiritual gift of “sweat.” It can be 20 degrees outside and I’ll be sweating profusely walking to the mailbox. And while running, I have a virtual and literal fountain pouring off me. If you’re behind me, it’s like running through a salty mister. My socks and shoes will soak through. I’ll chafe in places I didn’t know were anatomically possible. It’s not pretty.

So while others can run miles and miles without taking a drink of water, I have to be fully equipped to handle dehydration. I have to run with either a hydration belt for shorter runs or a full-on hydration vest for longer runs. And once I start overheating, it’s game over for me. I spend most of the run worrying more about my sweat volume than I do anything else.

The last two weekends I had to run long to prepare for the Pittsburgh marathon that I’m running in May. Last weekend it was a 20 miler. This past weekend, 17 miles. Last weekend it was 75 degrees and sunny. This past weekend it was 60 degrees and overcast. Last weekend my body quit on me and I spent most of the last 7 miles alternating between shuffling and walking. This past weekend I only stopped at traffic lights. Last weekend it took me 2 hours and 40 minutes to cover 18 miles (I walked 2). This past weekend I ran 17.5 miles in 2 hours 18 minutes. Fifteen degrees cost me about 22 minutes.

I changed one constant in my run (temperature) and it completely altered the results. Obviously, as I approach the marathon I’m hoping for a cloudy, cool day. If not, I have to change my expectations. I can’t run the same pace in heat and sun that I can in shade and cool. I have to drink more the warmer it gets. I have to take more walk breaks when it gets warm. I have to struggle with the inner demons when it gets warm. The ones that tell me to quit. The ones that tell me I can’t finish. The ones that tell me I’m the only one struggling.

I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say that life is like this as well. That things can turn drastically when we change one constant in our life. When we change our job. When our marriage hits a rough patch. When our kids are sick. When the car breaks down and needs new tires. When a friend moves away. When a parent dies. When Starbucks messes up our order. When the IRS comes calling. When Apple releases a new iPad and you have to be content with the one you have. 

When your life changes by 15 degrees, are you able to alter your expectations? Are you able to handle the stress of the extra heat or do you wither?

[http://www.flickr.com/photos/potomacriverrunning/6953938319/in/photostream]

And so I’m a little upset that no one has been honest enough to talk to me about this. To suggest that I wear a bag on my head when I run. Or only enter nighttime runs. Although this does help explain why when I go through aid stations or cheering areas that people have very concerned looks on their faces and say things like, “are you okay?” and “good job grandpa!” and why mothers hide their children’s faces in their bosoms.

Well yesterday, I got out there and ran the Reston 10-miler. It came at a good time in my training schedule leading up to the Pittsburgh Marathon in May. It was going to be a good opportunity to test my endurance and speed up to this point. The problem is that I didn’t know anything about the race other than what the website told me. And here is the description I read: “Join us for this early spring event on a scenic course through picturesque Reston, Virginia.” Well, that just sounds delightful!

What I was met with though was a course, that may or may not have been scenic but I can guarantee you was hilly. Very hilly. Relentlessly hilly. In fact, I’ve never run a hillier race in my life. It was just nonstop. The moment you climbed one long hill, there was a slight downhill and then you were climbing again. Mile after mile of this. In fact, I remember taking one turn around mile 8 and being met with yet another hill and I said to myself, or possibly out loud, “you’ve got to be effin’ kidding me!” It was tough physically. And it was even tougher mentally.

And after I crossed the finish line and was cooling down with a friend I was telling him that I wasn’t sure I could run this race again next year, now that I know what the course is like. I know I’d spend the entire time dreading what was coming next. At least this time, in the first running, I didn’t know what was coming next. All I could do was take it one hill at a time, one mile at a time, and whatever the course threw at me, I could respond by running through it or quitting. If I sign up again next year, I’ll over think it. I’ll over analyze each hill and grade instead of just running the course. I’ll probably run a slower and less consistent time because I “know” so much about the course. There’s an advantage to running a course sight unseen.

And I wonder if that’s what Jesus was getting at in Matthew 6:34 when he was in the midst of telling a crowd of people how foolish worry is, saying, “Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

Don’t worry about the next hill. Deal with the hill you’re climbing now. Don’t worry about the next mile. Finish the one you’re running now. That’s the easy application. I have a lot harder time really applying that text to my life. Don’t worry about tomorrow. Live today. Handle what today is throwing at me. I spend countless hours worrying about tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. I lay in bed at night intimidated by an upcoming meeting, or deadline or conversation that needs to take place. I lose sight of what I should be doing in the here and now because I’m obsessed with the tomorrows and not yets of the world.

The next hill is the next hill. The next day is the next day. Take them as they come. It’s the thing that if I could really do, if I could really trust God with, that I would get a glimpse of peace.

The premise of the game is simple although I don’t really understand it. You play the role of Guy Dangerous, just your average explorer. But on this day, he’s more than average. Apparently he’s taken something. An idol? A jewel? He went through the “12 items or less” checkout aisle with 15 items? You never really know because they never tell you. The first thing you see in the game is your hero emerging from an underground temple being chased by demon monkeys. Yes, demon monkeys. Why? Once again, you’re not told. I’m not sure what happened to the monkeys to make them angry at you. I’m not sure why the monkeys are so invested in what you stole. The only thing you do know is if you stop running, they will catch you. And so you run. And you jump. And you slide. And you lean side to side. But you never stop running. If you trip on a branch, the monkeys will be inches from you. You’ll feel their hot demonic breath on the back of your neck. So you run.

But here’s the thing about the game. There’s no way to win. You don’t clear a level and move on. There’s no save points. There’s no finish line. You just keep running. And at some point you will fail and die. You will forget to slide under the fire. You’ll fall off a cliff. You’ll teeter off a ledge. You’ll make a wrong jump or badly timed turn and you will die. It’s inevitable. You can keep running and jumping and sliding, but eventually you’re going to make a mistake and you’re going to die. Game over. The question isn’t “whether” you’re going to make a mistake and slip up. The question is “when.”

And then you start the next game. And for some reason you believe that you can go further this time. You believe that you can collect more coins this time. You believe that you can go a few meters past your record. That you can beat your friends’ marks. And so off you go. Running towards the inevitable.

I wish I could say I wasn’t Guy Dangerous. But if you looked at my life, you wouldn’t see much difference. I may not be running from demon monkeys, but I am running from things. Past sins. Past regrets. Past failures. And somewhere in my mind I’ve convinced myself that “this time” I can outrun the consequences. And each time I’m proven wrong. My actions have consequences, and eventually, those consequences catch up to me. 

Believe me, I’ve run. I’ve worn myself out running. I’ve run from broken relationships, lost jobs, and empty dreams. And I’ll probably do it again. Because this time I can run further. Or that’s what I tell myself. 

I push pixels. Tiny dots that make up a picture. I move them. Sometimes I add to them. Sometimes I take away from them. Sometimes I remove them completely. I attempt to tell a story with images. And I do this for a church. Which then somehow moves back to the original question since many people believe that if you work for a church you only work on Sundays. Oh, silly, naive people that make way more money than me!

One of my primary roles is to create key art for our sermon series. This is probably where I put most of my creative juices. When other ministries come to me for art, they have a vague idea of what they want. But the sermon series really and truly starts as a blank slate. I work on a great team of creatives and we sit and we brainstorm ideas based off a few paragraphs of text given to us by our head pastor. For the series we’re in now, he already had a title he wanted to use. “Restore.” It was our role to come up with an idea that could tell that story. We thought about the image of restoring a car. Or a piece of furniture. But we knew that the series was going to be about so much more than that. It was about restoring our world. So we threw out movies like “I am Legend” and “The Book of Eli” and the TV show “The Walking Dead” and even the video game “Fallout.” Scenes that show total destruction and hopelessness. What if we were to somehow merge that with the beauty originally found in the Garden of Eden? Could it work? Could that paint a picture?

I contacted a photographer, Eric Spiegel, and asked him to take some pictures downtown that I could then destroy in Photoshop. At first he came back with some images of the Lincoln Monument, which, while I could destroy, I could probably also be labeled a traitor and an anarchist. So I asked him to go back and find something that wasn’t political in nature. This is the picture he came back with.

The next step was to start transforming that image into something ugly. Something destroyed. Something devoid of life. So I had to remove the people from the image. I had to remove all light from the streetlights and headlamps and brake lights on the cars and vehicles in the shot. I needed to break some windows in the buildings. Dirty them up. Replace the flags with tattered versions. Add some graffiti. Deaden the trees and foliage. Add some trash to the ground. Crack the pavement and add grass coming up from it. Remove the existing sky and replace it with something dark and ominous.

But how could I do that while still showing the beauty that was the original picture? I decided to take a hand holding a polaroid picture. I removed the existing image in the polaroid and replaced it with my own. Throw some text on the frame and we’re done!

How long did it take to make from start to finish? About 1 week of working time. I used a piece of software that took a screenshot of whatever was on my screen every 5 seconds. At the end it created a movie. So here’s the time-lapse movie of the creation of “Restore.” And that, my friends, is what a designer does all day.

I’m not a big fan of waiting. Whether it’s traffic jams or restaurants or Starbucks, I just don’t have a lot of patience for waiting. Which is really tricky when the Bible tells us to “wait on the Lord.” I, like most people, would rather have the Lord wait on us. Of course, we don’t actually say that. That would show weakness. People might talk. It might tarnish our “Super Christian” badge.

The problem is that a big part of our life is made up of waiting. We want to start driving when we’re 11 but have to wait 5 more years. We want to drink but have to wait till we’re 21…or have a good friend that hit puberty early and can grow a full beard in 8th grade. We want to get married but have to wait till someone says “yes.” We want that job but have to wait to go through the interview process. And then wait while they interview others even though we know that there couldn’t possibly be anyone more qualified. Then we get the job and immediately want to retire.

We do a lot of waiting. Some of it is natural. Some of it is hard. Some of it keeps us up at night. And then we get the answer to our waiting. And sometimes it’s great. And obviously, sometimes it’s not. But the problem I face is that sometimes that answer defines me. Sometimes a “no” destroys my self esteem. And at the same time, a “yes” inflates my ego.

I’m in a period of waiting right now. And as strange as it may seem, I’m okay with not knowing the answer. Because the situation is so important to me, I’m afraid of what the answer might do. I’m afraid that if I hear the word “no,” that I will slip into a default mode of, “well, that makes sense. I’m no good. I’ll never be good enough to do that. I’m a failure.” A negative answer could easily define the way I think about myself and my ministry and my purpose. And that’s not good. But at the same time, a “yes” could also affect me negatively. If I hear “yes” and think that I have it all together, that the monkey is off my back, that I deserve this in some way, then I’ve still let the answer define me in an unhealthy way.

I believe that God wants me to see myself the same way no matter what the answer is. No matter what the circumstances are. Only then am I seeing myself the way God does. If I let situations dictate my self esteem then I will always just be one situation away from a Xanax. No matter how many “yes” answers I receive, eventually someone is going to say “no.” What then? It’s a roller coaster ride and it’s not one that God intends for me. Or for you.

What are the things you’re waiting on? And will your self esteem be defined by the answer? If so, you’re on a slippery path. I’m on a slippery path. I’m training for yet another marathon, and I know without a doubt that I will look back on this race as a success or failure based simply on whether I do or don’t hit a certain time. That’s not healthy. It’s also not healthy for my to overlook all the hard work I’m putting in just because I’m not as fast as so and so.

Waiting is tough. But waiting can also be a time that we allow God to assure us of who we are regardless of the answer. The waiting can be a forming and transforming time for us if we allow it. If you don’t get the job you so richly covet, will you walk away feeling worthless? What about if you don’t get a raise when those around you do? What if you’re still single while all your friends are planning weddings? These moments of waiting can stress us out. We can hinge our worth on the outcome. I have so many times. And I wish I hadn’t. I’d be in such a better place if I hadn’t. But I did. And the only thing I can do is to learn from those mistakes and to use the next period of waiting as a time to let God speak into my life. “Regardless of the outcome, you are loved.”

I think the same can be said when we use Christianese with people that aren’t Christ followers. And there are three statements we use that especially drive me nuts. I got thinking about it the other day when I heard someone talking at a meeting and they dropped a Christianese bomb, a C-bomb. I wanted to laugh but it wouldn’t have been appropriate.

Christianese Phrase O’ Frustration #1: “I’ll pray for you.” We throw that one out a lot. We hear a someone tell us a story of woe and that seems to be our go to response. I refuse to use it. It’s not that I won’t pray for them. But maybe that’s not what they’re looking for. Maybe they just want to be heard. Maybe they don’t understand the power of prayer and makes no sense that they just laid out their pain and we give a trite answer. If I’m going to pray for someone, I’m not going to say, “I’ll pray for you.” Why should I wait till later? If I feel that’s the step I need to take, I’ll offer to pray right then. Right there. If I’m not willing to do that, I will listen and keep my mouth shut.

Christianese Phrase O’ Frustration #2: Ending my emails in “In Him” or some other spiritual ending. Once again, there are times when that salutation might be appropriate, but to set that as my default signature is just plain silly. Because now when I forward you YouTube cat videos I somehow am trying to let you know that I’m sending this to you “In Him.” I think God loves cats. I’m not sure why, but I’m sure He does. But I’m also sure I’m not sending you the cat video in Christ’s name. Or responding to your lunch invitation. Or bulk emailing pictures of my children.

Christianese Phrase O’ Frustration #3: Referring to pre-marital sex, homosexuality, or any other complexity of sexuality as “living in sin.” This one really irks me on so many levels. It escalates sex to a level of sinfulness that is somehow ranked higher than other sins. When someone doesn’t pay taxes; when someone cheats to get ahead; when someone takes out another credit card to go further in debt…we don’t refer to these situations as “living in sin.” We just refer to them as situations. But somehow when sex is involved, all of a sudden “they’re in sin.” Aren’t these other situations sinful? Aren’t we all living in sin? So why do we assign a label to these sexual situations? All we do is alienate and confuse. Do I believe these are sinful situations? Absolutely. Do I think we need to escalate them and make people less valuable because of the decisions they’ve made? Absolutely not.

I know that I need to watch what I say to people. How I say it. How it might be perceived. I need to make sure I don’t write emails when I’m angry or can’t sleep. Nothing good can come of that. But I also need to watch what I say as a follower of Christ. How I use language when talking with others that aren’t Christians. I need to make sure I use language that is understandable. That isn’t trite. That doesn’t label. If I don’t, I’ll lose the opportunity to share the most amazing stories ever because they will walk away confused and frustrated. So if you’ll just pray for me as I navigate this, I’d appreciate it!