Defending something you love is never hard though it can certainly be difficult. People and nations have warred for hundreds of thousands of years without any doubt as to its right. Soldiers and their families will certainly confirm that the battle is not possibly summed up by the narrow meanings of the adjective ‘difficult’. Of course few of the things in my life that I’ve actually sought to defend have as many impossibly difficult ramifications as those of war. My life is often made more self important than reality allows as I make so many excuses and defenses of the truly trivial trimmings of my existence. Knowing that is something quite unnerving. Considering the corresponding ramifications of that reality is an entirely different conundrum. Maybe my theological and philosophical counterparts here at HQBR would insert their common response to that being the typical “existential crisis” that we discover all to often in our lives as housemates, friends, and young men desiring something more than just sleeping, consuming/burning calories, and reading lots of books to improve our understanding of the faith we tritely say we hope to affirm.
This isn’t a blog about those things in typical dry rot, arm chair theologian, amateur philosopher style that you could probably find here most times. Instead its something more on the trivial non-essential meeting up with the necessary essential. Please bear with me as expound on my thoughts because something of this is, I think, substantive for all of my friends that follow us here at HQBR and thus would probably be our family or friends. When you come upon, whether through stumbling knee skinning experience or existential examination, something which affects and effects your approach to the next days of your life its often true that it will reach out to someone that resides outside your own internal zip code.
Long winters in Minnesota are a battle of endless attrition with the elements. The options are stay inside as much as possible while resorting to intake of caffinated beverages, large quantity of electronic entertainment, and the old paper back friends in our personal libraries OR find some way to participate in the “fun” of winter through skis, skates, vulcanized rubber discs, or mechanized chariots. This winter solstice has brought me to a new sort of understanding of myself that is both scary and empowering. On several fronts the events of life teach but were only made valuable through the extra time found indoors under artificial house arrest. First I need relationships on a better level than what I had during the 365 days of 2008. Second those relationships are in fact directly proportional, not merely to my happiness, but to the more emotionally fulfilling experience of joy. Third, not running is not acceptable even during the winter. That was the extent of development regarding my self-understanding through last week.
Then the sun broke anew through a long and arduous winter curtain. Dave and I decided to head out for a run to soak in the ridiculously awesome feeling of 60 and sunny that is left behind in Minnesota by the revolution of the Earth on its axis as it hurls itself around the sun (please no commentary on creationism here.). As a running coach I was pointing out a few things for Dave as we warmed up our winterized appendages in the parking lot of a neighborhood park. It came to me how much I love to teach about what I love. Likewise it became apparent how much I value Dave and his running “story”. A few moments later as we pounded out the workout we had prescribed, it also became apparent that running two or three times a week during the winter was well worth it. Huh, interesting. Two things I love intersecting. Who knew. Relationships and running are meant for one another? How could this be?
Its always been a struggle for me to feel like what I do with my time was something worthy of the calling I feel like I’ve been consecrated to through the pursuit of my faith. Maybe its because I’ve never considered what I do beautiful. Maybe because I don’t feel beautiful. All sarcasm regarding dudes and the word beautiful aside, its true that a self portrait of myself would best be described as homely, gangly, and generally unaesthetic. Though I always have been somewhat okay with that situation, its made what I do feel less than valuable to the greater population and sadly to a large extent, God. How hopelessly selfish. Sad self pity in the way of people and relationship being lived with and being lived out. What greater beauty is found than that of our macaroni creations or finger paint smudges offered to a Father who simply wants our undivided attention? What is a symphony or a cancer cure to a God who is the source of such things. Sure, millions will be astounded through the vibrations of the cello as they tickle the inner ear. In deed, prayerfully one day a cancer cure will provide a second life to thousands if not millions of souls. But to what end? So the hearer can salute the cellist? So the healed can walk away to live a life, blessed and full of good, but without a relationship to the Healer? As the cellist moves the bow or the researcher spins the cylinder they become more confident that God is not necessary. Somehow I feel God weeps at that thought, but maybe that’s just an emotion that will fade away. None the less, I cannot escape the feeling that external beauty is for us so we can be moved. But relationship is more than feel good or warm and fuzzy. If my macaroni and glue stick is what I have to give but I keep it in the box and in the drawer, it seems to me no different than the unplayed symphony.
Running will never make sense to so many people. How it can be spiritual is certainly debatable. Even though I told Dave, the seminarian, that running is MY seminary, I know it cannot truly be defended as a worthy expenditure of my time when I discuss it with a non-runner. Seen through the lens of what has been given to me, I will however defend my passion for what it is intended to be in my life. It is my connection to 25+ athletes and over 50 former teammates and friends who share my affinity for that sport. Through that I have relationship. In those relationships I have been challenged, stirred, revived, encouraged, and supported. I’ve stood in wedding parties and delivery rooms. I’ve cried and prayed and sung and laughed. Through my sport I have fulfillment of vocation and a sense of direction. I have impact beyond my neighborhood or city. Truly I have something more than pitted out old tee shirts or marathon metals on my wall. More than national championship banners in an old musty gym. More than chenille letters tucked away in a keepsake box.
I have a picture in my office which shows six young college cross country runners covered head to toe in mud and sweat. Some shoeless, all still in skimpy runners uniform. A cloudy overcast sky that had just dumped slush on them for the last three hours looms over head. They stand arm in arm, in a mud patch. You can almost see them shiver in the still photo. Their race is done. The job is complete. When you touch the picture you can virtually feel the satisfaction they felt on that day. Because I will never play a symphony nor make a miraculous medical discovery my opinion might be less valued than that of others. But one day if you visit my office and hold that picture in your hands, I can promise there is no more beautiful sight in all of God’s creation.
Savior, be glorified. I am about to go for a run.
Thanks for this, Trey