On Saturday after a long busy two days I had the amazing opportunity to have dinner, fellowship, and Gospel-Mission conversation with a community of believers taking great risk and faith to bring Christ to their world. I went because I what I heard about what they were doing it echoed in my soul and stirred old passions had settled to rest dormant in the depths of my heart. What I saw was a reminder of that I still desire to be a part of more than just the things that I can see, touch, plan, and control. It was a creative, multigenerational, multiracial, economically diverse group of people uniting in faith to bring hope to our neighbors that are easy to forget. The Holy Spirit was beginning to oil my rusty soul and imagination.
Then yesterday I got home from work and Christina and Brylie were still out and about so I decided to lace up the shoes, throw on an old jersey, and make tracks. It was the first time I’d gone on a run without Brylie in the jogging stroller in over a year. Man did it feel good! Don’t get me wrong, I love running with my daughter knowing that someday she’ll be running beside (or in front of me!) as we adventure together. But there was something about being free to take unexpected turns, run up tough hills, and run longer than planned that was freeing, challenging, and reminiscent of days that seem to be long in my past. It was good to remember that even though my legs were throbbing and my stomach was turning, I still had what it took to push on and run another mile. It was good to be reminded that as a follower of Christ – we are called to live in the extra mile.
It’s been a month since I’ve written a post because as I write I think, “These sentences and paragraphs are getting harder to write. I’ll just tweet my ideas quickly instead of flesh them out richly.” It’s easier. It requires less. But at no point did I aspire to be someone who was known for their witty, inspirational, and most-retweeted 120 character jumbles. When I’ve chose to be done with my old life (at age 15 for Christ, age 22 for community, and age 25 for my wife) I didn’t do so aspiring to be a follower, friend, and husband who lived average, easily forgettable days. Nope. I walked into those times believing that my days were going to be remembered either by the enormity of their successes and victories or by their colossal defeats and apologies.Every day won’t be one for the record books but they can all be the words on a page that speak of a great story written by the Author of Life.
Uncomfortable Middle 