Striding over Striving
When my son Levi was a toddler he was famous for saying many things, but the one zinger that always made us chuckle was “I don’t like that…I like it the OLD way.” He wasn’t old enough to like the old things but what he knew was what he wanted! The way he had done it before was his desire for the future!
Do you know what you want? Of course you do! How will you get there? If you were to say, “I want to ______.” You would probably have a good idea of how to get there. There’s a template, a prior experience, or an app for that! All you have to do is work at it. The word “Strive” comes to mind. If I just reach a little further. Try one more time. Work harder. Work smarter. My time will come if I just strive more. When I’m tired I’ll rest just a second and strive some more! This is all about me, my effort, and my goal!
I was given an opportunity to go to Swizerland in 2004. I was 26 and extremely motivated to ride my bike and run. I had completed a year of cycling professionally and while that was an amazing experience I wanted a bit more control over my schedule. To quote Levi I wanted it the “old way”! I decided to pursue duathlon, which is kinda the stepsister to triathlon. It’s running and cycling and it’s wonderfully difficult!
The pinnacle of that sport is a race in Zofingen, Switzerland. I knew the terrain would be hilly and I needed to be ready. So I trained hard. I did crazy bike rides followed up by big runs. I strived. And I came down with a bad case of mononucleosis in May. Cue the sad music.
May passed. June passed. July came and went. August rolled around and I was still sitting, sleeping, and fretting about the race that was just weeks away. My case of mono vanished in just enough time to get a few weeks of riding and running under me. We set off for Switzerland with a whole lot of eagerness and even more nervousness. I hadn’t prepared in any way like I wanted to. My striving was held back…and probably for the better!
That year I finished 16th overall, which was shocking to me because I had maybe 1/3 of the miles in my legs that I thought I needed. I hadn’t run anywhere close to the race distance and there I was, trotting around the Swiss countryside like I belonged there. My striding was more sufficient than my striving.
My success at our first trip to Switzerland ignited a fire in me; we had to go back! If I finished 16th the first time what would happen if I actually worked all summer at my goal? You can tell that striving entered the scene again…striding wasn’t enough. I had resorted to my old ways again.
The miles piled up and our plane took off for Switzerland for year number two. I was eager. Ambitious. I was going to make this happen! And as I rode my bike on the course the day before the race it did happen; I tagged a curb and launched myself into a farmers field, sliding across a Swiss sidewalk, and striving into a sea of doubt.
I plucked myself up, tried to pull my shredded spandex over my behind and soft-pedaled 15 miles back to our homestay family’s house to get patched up and smoothed over. My race was over in my mind but I was still going to toe the line the next day in bandages and a shattered ego. I would try to just finish the race since we came the whole way to Switzerland for me to do this silly race. Keep striving I guess.
Then I was re-introduced to striding. The first run I kept pace with the pack and watched as others ran off the front and into the lead. My strides were quick, but they weren’t in anger, rage, or even at the hardest effort I could muster. I just ran my race.
The same thing continued on the bike and for miles I had many riders around me. As time passed I noticed more riders coming back to me. My striding wasn’t any faster or at a harder effort, it was just steady and consistent. Even when I thought I wasn’t “racing” like in my striving state of mind I was on the move!
I entered the second run in 9th place and hit my stride. Over the hills and throughout the next 2 hours I was placed into the 3rd position overall. It was amazing at how in my prior way of thinking my effort would not have even allowed me to even sniff a result so high up on the standings. My perceived outcome of my plight effort didn’t match up! The battle really wasn’t mine to win on my own.
In the years that followed Jan and I went back 6 more times. There were a lot of great times to be had but I will admit my mindset always naturally resorted back to striving. I experienced the grace and ease of striding but I always went back to owning my result with sheer willpower and determination. I never finished on the podium again but I sure gave it my best effort!
Levi’s little toddler voice declaring how he liked the “old way” makes me think of all the striving I’ve done. Have you spent your life striving? It’s almost comfortable because if our effort is constantly high and we are consistently bouncing off the bottom then we must be doing something right! The old way isn’t the right way, it’s just the way we know the best. Striding is the opposite, it’s a way that focuses on someone else that’s in control. And They can be trusted! Striding is the act of joining what God’s doing rather than asking Him to jump in with your plans. There’s a peace and ease to striding, even when the circumstances look dire. It sure seems like our world embraces those that promote themselves the best but I find the stories where ordinary people are placed into podium spots simply by striding the most captivating. There is something authentic and real about the humble and ordinary being placed in positions through God’s providence and power.
Striding versus striving. Striving relies on inner strength to conquer an outer world. Striding is less about your strength and more about moving through a battle that has already been won. I won’t say I’m a natural strider but I’m learning to hold on and be held, all the while striding along in a world of craziness. Give it a shot, it’s a change of perspective that might just change your life!
Be a Tool
We’ve all heard that you must have the right tool for the job, right? Want to drive some nails into a board? I’d recommend a hammer. Looking to cut a tree down? Chainsaw my friend! Need to scoop some rock-hard ice cream from a half gallon container? That is one job that I have not found a sufficient tool for other than massive forearm strength!
To do tangible work you need the right tool for the job. Doctors use specialized instruments along with years of education to perform surgery. Farmers use land, tractors, and the weather to produce crops and work the land. Whatever you do I’m sure that there is a tool that allows you to be effective at your work.
My Dad taught me a lot about tools as well as how to be one. Yes! You read that right! My Dad is a tool and he taught me how to be one as well. Now that might sound like a corny middle school joke but allow me to explain.
My Dad left the business world when I was young and went to seminary. My family sold the house with the swimming pool and we set up a new home in a tiny apartment in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. We made it through his schooling with far less money than we previously had but we never lacked. We eventually moved to a one red-light town when I was 7 and he started his pastoring career. I knew my Dad as my Dad but he taught from the Bible and did a lot of things that you would maybe expect Pastors to do. But over a few months my Dad showed me that it’s not just ok to be a tool...it’s what we are called to do!
During the winter I had a buddy over to hang out. I’m guessing we were 8 or 9 years old and there was snow on the ground. It was inevitable that a snowball would commence and we went outside and lobbed snowballs at each other. Then my Dad jumped in and he showed his spaghetti-for-arms son just how strong his Dad strength was by firing a frozen snowball across the yard and right into the face of my friend.
Immediately after contact there was silence. Then the footsteps of my Dad running towards my friend. Then the accurate comment from my buddy, “You aren’t very nice for being a pastor Mr. Beck!”. It’s pretty funny to remember that and it still brings a smile to my Dad’s face but I do recall that my Dad made it up to ol’ David and he is still a friend. For as much as my Dad taught from the Bible and is a natural teacher he still messes up. We all do that! But standing in front of a crowd with a microphone every Sunday never meant he was above anyone or above fault. I would never wish a frozen snowball to the face of a 9-year old but in that moment there was a practical moment for my Dad to show empathy, apologize, and care for someone that needed it. It was biblical teaching in action. My Dad was a tool for faith in action.
Even we when are the perpetrator of an accident there is a pathway to restore relationships. It’s applying faith to our everyday steps and misteps.
Months later I had a hankering to go to the town basketball courts. I had a basketball hoop in the driveway where I honed my skills but it was lacking a bit. It was on a gravel driveway and it was sloped. It was a giant guessing game to dribble on that surface and I longed for pavement and a regulation court. I was also a wee bit intimidated by the prospect of heading to the playground because I could often hear the language being used and the music blasting from boomboxes in my own driveway. But to get to the real court I’d have to venture into that arena.
With my dad by my side we walked down to the courts. I simply wanted to fit in and play basketball. I wasn’t sure how my Dad would take to fitting in…I mean the last time I wanted him to “fit in” he clocked my friend with a snowball. Plus I had a preconceived notion in my head that as a Pastor he would come down on the music, language, or the teens smoking on the side of the court. I wasn’t allowed to do any of that so in my mind I figured that there would be some discussion. Ugh.
The Beastie Boys blasted from the boombox as we entered the court and started shooting. It didn’t take long but the next thing I know we were being summoned to play in a pickup game. I was excited by that prospect because it would give me a chance to show off whatever skills I had as a 9-year old. I was also a bit nervous because even as a 9-year old I just wanted to fit in. And having a pastor Dad come down on the behavior of some seemingly led-astray teens was not going to help.
The teams were selected and we started running the court. I launched jump shots when given the chance and my Dad reached way back to his glory days and unleashed hook shots that actually went in the basket. We played a long time while the Beastie Boys continued to Fight For Their Right to Party.
I remember some of the language was poor but the defense on my Dad was also poor as he backed some helpless teen in the paint only to take an easy layup for a bucket. There were things that I thought were contrary to my Dad’s career choice like rap music with not-so-wholesome lyrics and kids that smoked, swore, and were a bit rough around the edges. But the reality is that is exactly where my Dad was supposed to be. He was a tool.
The old church he pastored at had a wrought iron fence that surrounded the property with little spikes at the top of each post. Some may call it art but to me it looked like a great deterrant for anyone thinking of attending the church. It almost looked like a way for the church goers to keep the non-church goers away! But my basketball game with my Dad showed a different story. If you proclaim to follow Jesus and have him in your heart do you know where you need to go? You need to be out with the people!
The kids at the game certainly had a different home life than I did. There were guidelines and expectations that I was expected to follow. I’m not so sure the town kids had that. But there is something to meeting others where they are and building relationships slowly and through experiences. I think my Dad showed that if you are going to share Jesus you need to know where others are coming from first; and leading with condemnation of behavior usually cuts off any further friendship.
There’s a big difference between being an available tool for God to use versus thinking we need to manipulate and use others as tools. One points back to our Creator and the other points back to us…at the expense of others. One is rooted in humility while the other is promoting a perceived perfection.
My Dad showed me at a young age it’s ok to be a tool. If you ask me he still is! Haha! But that’s a good thing. There are a lot of tools in the toolbox and we all have a gift, a talent, and a mission. It’s not until we let go and be held in the hand of a master craftsman that will we let the world see His handiwork. Go ahead, be a tool!
Go Back to Go Forward
The metallic sound caught my attention. I knew it wasn’t good but I couldn’t quite think of what it could be. My brakes still worked, my shifters still clicked the gears, and it appeared like I was still on two wheels! What in the world could it be?
I was in the lead of a bike race in northern Pennsylvania, jockeying for position with 4 other riders when I heard the metallic sound of my recently applied wedding band bouncing off my bike frame. A month earlier that was placed on my finger by my bride and we vowed, literally, to take each other for better and for worse. For richer or for poorer. As I freewheeled down a Williamsport hill I had to decide if Jan would take me for poorer and for worse! It was a gamble early in our marriage!
I grabbed two handfuls of brake and slowed my breakaway to a crawl. Then a U-turn. Then an off-road ride as I scavenged the median of a divided highway, looking for a now weathered and certainly scratched ring. The race and all of the glory went up the road and I was on my knees looking for my wedding band among Marlboro wrappers.
Amazingly enough I found it. It slipped on my finger and I hopped back on my bike, fingers clenched of course, and moseyed towards the finish line. The race had been won and the last rider had finished. But I was returning, I just needed to go back for something important. More important than the sprint to be on the podium.
At the finish line my teammates rolled their eyes at what happened while their girlfriends or wives swooned. I missed out on winning our months rent but I did gain the nice guy award from strangers. And Jan is with me to this day, 19 years later!
Have you ever had to go backwards to go forward? Losing my wedding band gave me a little crisis…go back and I honor my word and commitment. Go forward and win some cash to pay the bills and soak in the momentary cool status of a high placing at a race. Life is always full of these predicaments. It seems like to win in our world we are to not only press forward, but to go as hard and fast forward as we can. Win at all costs. Map out a plan, push hard, step over the dead bodies in the way, and conquer your dream! Except I think to win you need to have that moment where maybe going back will ultimately give you a win. Let me tell you, this is a weird way of thinking!
For 10 years I pushed very hard in my business. The business ran on my blood, sweat, and tears. I was pushing. While I tried to be a good husband and father it was painfully obvious that my family got what was left of me rather than the best of me. Eventually a door opened and I had to make a decision; go “backwards” and connect with my family, or go “forward” and keep pursuing whatever the business was going to produce. I had my identity and an income in the business. I had a family that wanted my time and energy. It was an easy decision but one that flew in the face of normal! It was like revisiting my wedding band in the median story from years ago.
It’s ok to go backwards when all the world wants is to go forward fast. It truly is. Going backwards means you are valuing relationships. It’s fun to have company. It’s fun to make memories. It’s meaningful to show love even without saying “I love you”.
The world will always have the allure of pressing forward to make your own way. To find success through sheer willpower, ego-power, or following someone else’s instructions for success. It took courage to watch others go for the glory in that bike race while I wallowed in Williamsport’s litter looking for something shiny that wasn’t formally wrapping cigarettes. It will take courage for you to watch an opportunity to go on ahead of you without you participating. It won’t seem fair. It might hurt. But the ones you go back for are worth it. It could be your wife, your kids, or a friend. The world will make you think you build a legacy by pressing forward despite people and their opposition. I kinda think that a legacy is built by the people you are willing to go back for when the world is going forward! Don’t be afraid to go backwards in your quest to move forward.
Embrace the Wait
There are two important parts of a running race, regardless of the distance or terrain. There is a place the race STARTS and a place the race STOPS. Easy! Every racer must start the race at a designated place or time and continue until the finish, at which point they stop. There are many decisions to be made along the way, but a race always starts with a decision to START and a decision to STOP.
Races are similar to our everyday life decisions. We decide to start something. Start exercising. Start getting up earlier. Start hanging out with people that make us feel good. On the other hand, we can decide to stop too. Stop a career. Stop unhealthy eating. Stop staying up so late. Stop wearing shoes too small! With two decisions to make it seems like life should be easy! We start or stop, that’s it!
Except it’s not. There’s something else. WAIT. Ugh, this is my least favorite! Waiting, at least to me, means spinning my wheels. It means uncertainty. It means it’s out of my control! In a world of making decisions based on start and stop it means we are neither. It’s a gray area. Do you know where I learned to embrace WAIT as a viable decision? From a race!
At 8:30am I toed the starting line at my 6th appareance at the Powerman World Championships. The run went off and I started the race. The next 7 hours would be spent running, cycling, and running some more. Eventually I would cross the finish line and stop. I hoped to be in the top 10, but I knew I could possibly get to the top 3.
The other American in the elite wave was a good friend. We found ourselves in a bit of a deficit after the first 6 mile run but together on the bike. Although we could not draft on the bike we could pace each other and we spent the next 20 or so miles working at chipping away the time we lost on the first run.
We would each take turn driving the pace at the front. The lines on the road started to pass more frequently and we were really motoring! The gap started to shrink but the fun we were experiencing started to build. We were like a big ‘ol American train barreling down the tracks, chasing the glory that surely awaited us at the the finish line!
Everything changed in a flash when a car pulled out in front of my friend. At 30 miles per hour I watched all 6 foot 4 inch of John hit a car broadside, fly over the trunk, slide on the road, and under a guardrail into a culvert. With amazing instincts he even ducked as he went under the guardrail! I grabbed as much brake as I could without crashing myself and ran over to him, cycling shoes sliding on the asphalt and my mind wondering what condition I would see my friend in.
With his face bloody, road rash everywhere, and guttural groans coming from John’s mouth I made my least favorite decision. WAIT. I had to wait. It was the right thing to do. The race continued and wouldn’t stop. I had seen a terrible accident with my friend and racer. Others would continue but I opted to wait. Within minutes there was a crowd tending to John, our poor Swiss driver man, and directing the other racers around the scene.
After everyone was tended to and John gave me a pep talk to resume racing I slung my leg over my bike and reluctantly started to peddle into the foothills of the Alps. On paper, my waiting decision seemed like a disaster for a top finishing place. Everyone else was well on their way towards that finishing line and I was prancing around the roadside in spandex, pulling my friend out of a ditch and trying to communicate in German to a slightly hysterical elderly man that just hit a cyclist.
The funny thing about a WAIT decision is that it buys you time. As I found over the next 5 hours, my strength was renewed. Others had steadily burnt up all their energy. I had a break. A chance to regroup. A chance to not think about the stresses of racing. A top placing wasn’t in my thoughts as I rejoined the racers. Finishing well was. As the other racers withered away and succumbed to the relentless hills and attrition of a 130 mile race, I found myself creeping towards the pointy end of the race.
By the time the finish line rolled around I was in 8th position. My WAIT decision brought me the result I had hoped for. Waiting didn’t ruin the race for me, rather it prepared me, focused me, and created a place for me to have the maximum effect on the day. It worked better than I could ever imagine!
You have 3 decisions to make today. Start, Stop, and Wait. I am naturally a starter and finisher; not a waiter! I never embraced the wait until I saw what it could do. It was worth the wait! Things happen even when you aren’t aware. Positioning happens even when you are not part of it. Do you have a decision to make where START and STOP are not the best options? Don’t settle for second best; Embrace the WAIT and see what happens!
Let the Air Out
I’ve written about my affinity for tires and my son’s diehard convictions of who makes the best tire. As part of my daily routine, nearly as common as a shower or breakfast, is the checking of some tire and its pressure. There’s a lot of tires rolling around this place!
In the garage I check the vehicle tires. Proper pressure gets long life and handles loads safely. Then there’s my bike tires; those get a quick shot of air before swinging a leg over the bike. Theres 4-wheeler tires, which always need air due to the shenanigans that the boys do on them. Hook up a trailer? Check the tires!
With all of that tire checking there’s always that thought that I should just chuck a bunch of air in the tire so I don’t have to deal with it again. Pump it to the max and forget it! If it’s as hard as a rock you won’t notice the loss of a little bit of air. More is more better!
Back in the day that was the recipe for speed in bike racing. Buy a tire with super-high capacity and pump it up to the maximum. The more it felt like a brick the better and faster it would go! It was pretty common to hear exploding tires before races!
What I’ve learned about pressure is that it’s important to adapt. The amount of pressure precisely predicts one’s ability to progress! Say that 10 times fast! More pressure doesn’t mean that it will be able to tackle the terrain ahead successfully. Some situations don’t call for maximum pressure.
When we take our Jeep into the woods I actually let air out of the tires. Its daily driven pressure is far too much for rocks, roots, and mud. I drop the pressure down to 10 pounds in order for the tire to conform to the rocks, grip the roots, and increase the tires contact patch. Letting air out actually makes the Jeep more stable and surefooted. It’s amazing what letting go of something can do to allow us to creep forward down the trail.
On the two-wheeled side I can relay a similar message. With modern wheels engineers have found out that lowering a tires pressure can provide a smoother ride and increase efficiency. Its seems like absorbing road vibration is actually faster than pumping our tires up to the max and barreling down the road. As an added benefit I get far, far fewer flat tires with the wider wheels and lower tire pressures. And if I do get a flat it’s not nearly as loud or catastrophic as those early bike racing days.
Pressure. You and I have felt it! It’s woven into our lives; get up, drink coffee and go out and crush the day! When we feel tired listen to something, dig a little deeper, and pound an energy drink! Go hard and fast because that’s what we perceive works. Work harder than anyone else and success and our desired outcome will come. A day without pressure is no day at all in America! The more we push the better we’ll be in the end, right? Right?!
Maybe it’s time to lower the pressure. Be more supple. More flexible. More absorbent and less harsh. Harder is one way to go but is it the best way to go? Maybe the way forward is to adapt and be moldable. Instead of pounding things into submission maybe we are to take a page from a 4-wheeling Jeep. Slow down, get flexible, moldable, and spread out. I’d even say to not lose your grip on the road and the driver that’s taking you! High pressure is more common but it doesn’t mean it’s the best way to go down the road.
I will no-doubt be challenged on this very theory tomorrow. I bet you will too. Will we let a little pressure out? Can we try to go with a little less harsh and a little more “give”? Or will we go with the maximum pressure to bounce, grind, and crush the day and ourselves? Let’s see if less is more!
Squinty Eyes
Dogs can be pretty expressive. Our rescue mutt, Kobe, has quite the personality and way of showing his feelings. He can convey when he’s hungry, which is seemingly every hour of the day, when he’s cold, when he wants to play, and when he’s ready for another nap. He is amazingly loyal and if left alone he usually greets his family at the top of the stair with a vigorous tail wag and groans of joy.
But there are times that he greets his family with a different expression. Gone is the rapid tail thump, replaced by a tail “wiggle”. Instead of standing tall at the top of the stairs he gently sits in the center of the living room. His eyelids appear to weigh a massive amount of weight because his eyes are tiny slits in his sullen, drooping head. It’s the opposite of an eager homecoming of joy and jubilation. The dance of joy is replaced by the sullenness of shame.
Kobe is not a perfect dog. But what canine is? He was a rescue and the term “hot mess” would be an accurate way to describe the first few months with him. His first night at our house I found him headfirst in the trash can at 2am. He was anxious, athletic, and energetic…which sounds wonderful as a dog for me but we ran so much together that I was doubting my own ability to keep up with this dog. We logged many, many miles together in an effort to bond and forge a healthy relationship.
Kobe’s first year is a mystery but judging by his response to the times he knows he messes up I’m sure there was plenty of abusive “correction” in his life. His “squinty eyes” and body language tell that story! The shame he feels is palpable and quite honestly, it’s debilitating. He can’t move on until he’s talked down off the shame ledge. He had a nervous energy when we adopted him and I’m sure it stemmed from many hours alone and the shame cast on him with his “not so endearing” actions.
Part of dealing with a dog with a mystery past is to let them know it’s going to be ok. We learned that it’s good to show Kobe what he did wrong but that there will be food in his bowl, a walk up the road, and a spot on our bed later. We want him to make good decisions but those stem from him knowing, and believing, that he will always be a part of his forever family. His actions are forgiven and he can start over without shame. His eyes start to open and his head rises when he realizes that. The burden of shame is heavy when you’re a rescue dog with baggage!
You would think that after hanging his head and squinting his eyes so many times he would stop tearing open cookie jars, flipping crock pots, and cruising counters. But the best way to combat his behavior is not to constantly chastise him for it; it’s to not place him in the situation to begin with. We found was that he simply wanted to be with us. He wanted to be understood. The feeling of separation lead to not-so-endearing behavior and that lead to shame and squinty eyes. So Kobe has become quite the traveler. He’s along for the ride nearly every time the key is turned in our vehicles. The potential for shame evaporates when he spends time with his dog dad or the rest of his family. When he’s along squinty eyes are the furthest thing from his mind. Shame? That’s in the rearview mirror my friend! When he is included and part of the group he is living his best life; even if it’s just me and him on our way back from dropping the boys off at school. The presence of a loving figure, a gentle hand of correction, and inclusion into a family has made squinty eyes far less frequent. He’s a work in progress and we love him for that!
Kobe is a 4-legged creature but I understand where he is coming from. I see, and have felt, that situation of squinty eyes in our world! There is a big burden of shame cast on all of us for a variety of reasons. When I think about my own shame burdens it ranges from the rather silly (you drive that vehicle?!) to the heart-wrenching (you are so disappointing!). I would think that shame has hit us all from not voting for the “right” person, supporting a popular cause, shopping at the “right” store, or curating the trendy image for all to see. It’s even more disappointing when we feel the shame come from places we think should be helpful! Kobe wanted to please that first owner but it never happened; thank goodness he ended up getting to us instead!
Through all of our eye squinting I think Kobe found something to help lift his eyelids, his head, and his spirits. He didn’t stop his less-than-stellar behavior, at least not all at once. But once he had that daily activity with me, and a steady diet of lovin’ from his family, he found more peace in being Kobe and not that unattainable expectation of his first owner.
Kobe would tell you that overcoming shame has everything to do with who you spend time with. I think the same goes for us! I would encourage you to let God speak to and through you. Spend time with Him. In that relationship we can hear our value and sense our place. We can be understood and encouraged. We learn, and feel, a sense of what’s good for us and what’s not. It’s painful to recognize where we fall short but humbling to know our place is not dependent on our perfection! When we spend time with Him we enter a love relationship where the world’s judgement is cast aside and a deep-rooted place of peace starts to grow and grow. We can’t please all of the people all of the time, but we do gain a sense of our purpose and the peace to live in that, even among the rejection and shame cast on us by the world we live in.
Kobe is a loveable mess. But he’s not all that different than all of us. May our squinty eyes be opened!
But Do You Have the Key?
We were 60 hours into our marriage when my new bride asked a simple question. “Did you bring the key?”
You would think that the answer was “Yes” and then she would go back to looking at me longingly. But the answer was “No” followed by “they told me where they hid the key in the receiving line” which sounded a little reassuring. “Did you write it down?” was the next logical question to which I replied “No.”. She did not look at me longingly! There were a few minutes of silence as we drove through Utah, at night, towards a tiny town called Driggs, Idaho for our first night on our honeymoon travels. So far we were living the “adventurous” side of marriage!
I had a verbal commitment from a family friend that we could use what sounded like an amazing cabin in the Tetons. Along with the verbal commitment came verbal directions to this magical log cabin that resided a mere 2500 miles from home. I remember hearing the directions like I was being told how to get to the local grocery store down the street in my hometown. I just had to apply them to a place, far, far away that I had never been to except in my imagination. But I had confirmation, a promise, and enough directions to give me confidence that we should absolutely take the second biggest commitment in our young marriage…so we boarded a plane and headed west!
To add to the adventure my sweet, new wife had to drive our rental car. I was 24 and at that time technically not old enough to drive a Ford Escort. My bridge was the older woman, she was all of 25 and legal to rent, and drive, the cheapest car we could get our hands on. So poor Jan was at the wheel while I nervously tapped my foot on the floorboards for a few hundred miles. Not having a key to our cabin was nothing compared to not being able to drive in my mind.
We ended up driving two-lanes over mountain passes and through meadows and eventually ended up in valley where we spotted the first landmark to turn towards our cabin. I was instructed to turn right at the suburban propane building. There was no road name given because duh, theres a suburban propane building there! As luck would have it there actually was a suburban propane building and Jan nervously took the right turn onto a dirt road. We were immediately met with a “road closed” sign and a school bus sized pile of gravel blocking anyone thinking of honeymooning from proceeding on that road.
A nervous laugh came from one side of the car while I quickly thought of what I could do next to find our cabin. This was before phone GPS; before cell phones even worked in Driggs even, and I had to rely on what I had seen on a map days before. It’s not like a map of Driggs is burned into everyone’s brain but I had an idea of what the town looked like and how to maybe, somehow, get two newlyweds into a random cabin, on a random dirt road, in a rural town in Idaho. We would either find it or get shot, attacked by dogs, or sleep in the car next to the gravel pile. Maybe the suburban propane building was open?
By this time Jan had enough of driving and I illegally slipped behind the wheel and started navigating around in the dark around Driggs. We were married now and she was stuck with me. But we each had a calming effect on each other and between nervous laughter there was trust. I found the creek that was mentioned to me in my verbal directions. I found the picket fence that was falling down next to a shared driveway. We drove past some barking dogs and a house flipped its lights on as we drove slowly by. Best to keep moving! Deep in the woods we thought we saw a cabin and it fit my imaginary description of what our honeymoon cabin would be so we turned in the driveway.
There I was with the woman I just pledge to do life with, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, with or without keys, and I was leading her into the wilds of Idaho to see if this dark cabin just so happened to be the place we would spend two weeks. And the only way we would know if we had the right house is if we found the hidden key, let ourselves in, and looked at the family photos! We stumbled in the dark, found a porch, prayed that no one was inside and started looking for this mystery key.
There was no key on the doorframe.
But there was another beam a few feet from the door and that’s where the key was found. That key opened the door to shelter for the night. The next morning we woke up to find a mountain stream across the driveway, the Tetons standing guard off the porch, and crisp mountain air filling everyone’s lungs. It was a much, much different world than the night before.
I thought of this story the other day when I was longing to know how things would work out ahead of time. Do you ever do that? We are eager to go and while the sense of adventure runs high it would be a little more comforting to have hand written directions to guide us to the promised land that sounds so…promising! Getting an abbreviated, rushed set of directions while being distracted definitely makes you nervous at a later time when you are trying to find your way to the destination!
We can go and accept the risk of adventure or we can stay put and try to map it all out, plan it all out, and write it all out before we take a single step. We can have analysis paralysis! Standing still helps gather information but eventually we need to move to apply all of that information. I can remember hearing the directions to our cabin in our receiving line and thinking it would be nice to know ALL of the steps between here and there and while that sounds responsible I also knew we just wanted to go! The details would have to work themselves out.
I’m all for knowing what I’m getting into. But many times I have to take a little bit of knowledge and run with it rather than a whole lot of knowledge and be stuck with it. If I have a little bit of knowledge I’ll move towards the key and eventually I’ll find it! It’s worth the risk of going, even with incomplete details.
If you are feeling stuck I can relate. It’s tough to move sometimes! Is it because of incomplete details? Do you know where you need to head and you just haven’t left yet? Are you scared you’ll get there and not find the key? I think my wedding story popped up because of its encouragement. Listen intently. Picture the destination in your mind. Then go. Just go. Because the honeymoon waits for nothing!
Normal
Quick, what was the last compliment you received? Was it about your hair? Your dress? Was it a response to a social media post? Maybe you cooked an awesome meal or said the right thing at the right time to a friend. It’s always nice to get a compliment and a little bit of recognition for you being you.
The compliment that has stuck with me lately is a little different. I was told that I was normal. Normal! And while I couldn’t totally grasp how that was a compliment at first I think it’s to be embraced. Do you feel “normal”? Do you ever contemplate your life and think it’s pretty good…and normal? There’s a new age where normal is extraordinarily needed! Fame and fortune are fleeting and always have been. There’s a need for normal and normal can absolutely be a compliment if it follows our God-given talents.
There was a Saturday circled on our calendar for a few months. It was the day where dear friends of mine were getting married. It’s a tremendous story and while it’s not mine to tell there were many that were downright giddy about seeing them tie the knot. To add to the storyline my Dad was performing the ceremony. To even further add to the excitement Jan and I were going to drive to Boston the next day where I would run the Boston Marathon on Monday. It was a big weekend.
The wedding was everything and more. And I was given the opportunity to give a toast at the reception, which I stammered through. My words were from the heart and while I’m sure it wasn’t polished it was sincere. It’s easy to be excited about a couple starting a new life together. Out of the heart the mouth speaks and I hoped my words resonated with the audience. Maybe it didn’t but I gave them another chance to drink champagne so there’s that!
After the toast was when it happened. A friend approached and thanked me and dropped the line, “But you are so normal!” to which I nervously laughed. The tone and delivery was such that I knew it was a compliment but in our day and age “normal” isn’t celebrated. We try to punch out beyond normal. There are ways to self-promote and elevate oneself to get above everyone else which seems to be the rule and not the exception. Being normal seems to be code for not playing the game well enough or not being narcissistic enough to put yourself above anyone else. Normal doesn’t sell well! I have even found out that embracing “normal” can mean giving up riches and recognition as well. In my time here on Earth I have experienced Gods faithfulness and it’s been deeper than whatever fame or fortune I have come across.
She explained that she caught notice of a bike ride I did the previous weekend where I went fast and far. It was a typical ride for me but it captured her attention. It was an exercise performance that seemed out of reach for her, yet I was standing in front of a crowd speaking in a way that she could relate to, stuttering and all. One thing I did caught her attention but what was said resonated with her.
The compliment rolled around in my brain for the next two days. I was actually pretty restless with it because it wasn’t a “normal” compliment! The good news was that I had 26.2 miles of Boston streets to process it and that would be a good distraction for the inevitable discomfort of pounding the pavement for a few hours.
While I was walking to the starting line I felt like a stranger in a strange land. For many years of my life I had my livelihood tied to running and all of the gear that goes with it. I was part of the culture. But this year I couldn’t believe the amount of technology in the running scene and while my love of running has remained the same, my place within the scene has changed. There were carbon-plated shoes on nearly every foot. New fabric materials were part of everyone’s outfit. GPS watches that put the space shuttle to shame were fired up and computing the day’s data. There were nutritional items that were the latest and greatest around. And since this was Boston it was all there. It’s THE SCENE and to fit in among the crowd you had to have it. It was all really cool stuff.
It wasn’t until I saw some pics later that day that I realized how “normal” I really was. I appeared a bit more casual than the usual marathoner that day. Comfortable shorts and baggy t-shirt? Check! My favorite shoes bought on eBay for $48? Check! Stopping in a race to say hi to my wife and steal a kiss? Also check! After all, a marriage is to be celebrated even when the clock is ticking! I looked like a random Dad out for a jog trying to burn a few calories before saddling up to a big breakfast, not a data-driven runner looking to lay down a good Boston marathon time.
I crossed the line in 2 hours and 59 minutes which I was totally happy with. I ran as fast as I could for as long as I could and when I ran into the inevitable difficult miles I remembered how many other times my legs and faith had gotten me to the finish line. My training was aligned with the cross-country team I was coaching and the time available as to not upset good family time. I worked what I had to the best of my ability. There was a time that my times would have been “elite” but I can tell my lifestyle, priorities, and times are drifting towards “normal”!
So I write all of this to say that it’s ok to be seen as normal. We each have giftings and attributes that are personal, unique, and needed. And we should celebrate them! But it’s only a gift if others can receive them. That’s where “normal” comes into play. God gives gifts to regular old people like you and me and then we get to use them. But while they are unique to us they aren’t to puff us up but rather to compliment others and their gifts! To promote and place our gifts above everyone and everything else lifts us up rather than Who gave us the gift in the first place.
When others see our gifts as complementary to their own walk then that’s where normal kicks open the door of opportunity and encouragement. Time and time again God uses people that seem insignificant, regular, or normal in the worlds eyes to create a movement, both big and small, in the hearts of others. Our accomplishments can be admired but relating our achievements creates opportunity and inspiration for others. Relating to others is really what it is all about because a few minutes of fame is just that…a few minutes!
4 Beams
It all begins with an idea.
Two years ago we lost our garage to a big old fire. It was the capstone to a year where we experienced tremendous freedom but also loss and rejection. The fire cut out a large piece of our property, removed a lot of tangible history from our possession, and wounded our little family’s spirit. It also brought some friendships to a new level and we bonded with our neighbors in a new way. There was growth through adversity for sure.
One of the longest lasting effects of the fire is still ongoing; in fact I’m not sure when it will ever end! It’s not the rebuilding of the garage, we finished that up just as the Covid stuff was starting. It’s not replacing the oodles of tools and knick-knacks I lost as I have pieced together a pretty awesome man-cave for all of my projects. The longest lasting effect of the fire is my sleep…I haven’t slept in my own bed since the fire!
The thought of a ginormous fire outside our house has raised concern for our youngest son and consequently he has retreated from his upstairs loft kingdom that he shares with his brother to my bedroom. He sleeps well with his mom close by and our dog Kobe. I head upstairs and relive my childhood in a single bed with Nerf bedsheets!
Outside our bedroom window stood our old garage. Then the charred-log structure with rubble inside and out. Then it was a clean, empty space. And now stands a bigger, steel garage. The completed garage is much better to look at but it was a process to get there. Sam sleeps well with the new garage standing tall and our house further protected from fire danger. Wisdom is guided by experience!
The view from my new sleeping quarters is different. It’s a loft so I have a good view of our ceiling. There is also an arsenal of nerf weapons, legos, hot wheels, and everything else a little boy might like up there. But the way the beds are situated I see two objects every morning when I wake up. It may be 5am and dark but there is always enough light to make out the silhouette of 4 beams that span the entire width and height of our house.
These beams form two crosses from my new-since-the-fire sleeping position. From my position each set of two beams supports everything above, below, and across me. A set of beams allows me to sleep in shelter and warmth every night. Two sets of beams are like double protection! It’s a double portion of peace.
The comforting part about the beams spanning our house is that they are always there. It’s not like I wake up some mornings and they aren’t there. If I awake, and thank God I do, I know they will be there to stand and span. There is nothing I have to do to make them appear as they were already placed there to cover and hold things in place around me. I know they are there because the roof and walls are still standing. I see them before I even place a foot on the floor or think about the things of the day. There’s nothing I have to do to wish them into place or will them into existence. They simply are there because they are needed; to span the gap and allow me to wake up and live the day! The two crosses serve a reminder. Every. Day.
