Running

Attend unto me, and hear me: I mourn in my complaint, and make a noise; - Psalm 55:2

I'm a runner. The very first memory I have of running must come from around 1971 or 2. My parents were sitting on the front steps with our neighbors, and some of my friends and I were playing (who knows what). Whatever we were playing required us to run and I remember running around the house and (I know this is hard to believe but it's true) thinking, "I wonder if they (mom and dad maybe?) see how fast I can run!" I also recall my mom sending me to the store for cigarettes (sorry mom), and running to Cozy Corner as fast as I could and back, just so someone would notice how fast I was.  I ran in high school, in the Army I ran (forget the jokes here), and even as a middle age adult I've been a runner.

So there, I'm a runner in a very real and literal sense.  But I've also been a runner in a figurative, metaphorical sense.  I spent the better part of my life running.  As a teenager I "ran away from home."  My perception was that things were so bad at home.  You know - that typical adolescent angst.  In reality, the reasons I ran from home were quite simple - I had rules, and I didn't want them.  

I have spent the better part of my life running.  As a young adult, my wife and I changed churches more often than West Virginians change underwear (I should probably delete that, but nah).  We always seemed to be looking for something better, something more.  In reality, we (and here I should really say "I") kept changing churches because I wanted more opportunity to be noticed.  I kept looking for a church where I could be somebody.  

I've spent the better part of my life running....just ask my kids.

I've spent the better part of my life running.  If anyone reading this knows me - then you know I have run from God more times than...ah - insert your own metaphor here.  You would also know that's been a big concern for me this time around - that I would leave God, simply put my Bible in the drawer and who knows - maybe a few years from now pick it up again.  

No.  I'm not running right now.  But this idea seems to be a theme around me right now.  Several people I know and care about seem to be struggling with the idea that somewhere else, something else, someone else may be better than right here, what they're doing, or the person they're with.  I don't know.  I don't have all the answers for everyone (I barely have the answers for me).  But this I do know...

No matter where I go, there I am.  I have no idea who said that.  I Googled it and the origins have been attributed to Confucius, a cartoon character, a rock band, and even some guy in North Dakota that insists he was the first to say it in 1954.  Another thing - I usually hate cliches, but sometimes they say more than I could say in a thousand pages.  You see, in all the running I've done, be it literal or metaphoric, whenever I arrive at my destination - there I am.  Me.  I'm still there.  And every   single   time, I brought me with me.  All my shortcomings, deceits, lies, and just plain stupidities came with me.  I wasn't running away from others, I was always running from myself.

I don't know when it finally happened.  I don't know if it was Ashley's accident, or some other (relatively) recent time or event, but I have finally stopped running - at least for today.  Circumstances have forced me to come face-to-face with the me that's always there.  And you know what?  Yeah, there've been tough moments, but all-in-all, it hasn't been too awfully bad.  

An English novelist, Terry Pratchett, said, "Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."  I find that to be an interesting concept.  I suppose there are many theological arguments and/or sermons that can speak to this, but I leave that for the professionals.  It simply says to me ...No matter where I go, there I am, I'm already there.

None of this is to say that change is always bad.  But I think, for the first time in my life I've come to realize that I need to think about my motivation for change.  Is it because it's a good thing, or am I running from myself?  Then there's the whole God's Will thing.  I don't mean to minimize that in any way.  I just haven't matured enough to understand exactly how we know that - what is God's will?  But I do know that, when faced with "big" things these days, I find myself praying about it, you know - "he shall direct thy path..." 

I realize I am the last person on earth to, in any way, preach...but if I could say anything to the people in my life who are looking for...I guess I would have to say this:  pray about it.  Get on your knees and ask God to hear your complaints, your moans and groans.  Ask Him to show - am I running from myself?  What would you have me do?  Yeah, I know...it's always easier to tell someone else how to live, but believe me - I'm trying to learn to do the same thing.  Running can wear one out.

Fear Knocks at the Window

"...because fear hath torment..." - 1 John 4:18  


Last week my Grandfather died.  He went more peacefully than anyone I had ever seen.  I know that sounds weird, but I have seen dozens (dare I say 'in the hundreds'?) of people pass away in my life, and I honestly can't recall anyone "going" so calmly.  And here's the thing about that - I'm not talking just about the moment he actually passed.   


You see, several months ago Gramps was diagnosed with lung cancer.  From what I hear from family, he seemed to accept his fate right from the start.  In the last couple months of his life, I had the honor and pleasure to spend just a bit of "quality time" with Grampa.  In those times, the most amazing thing that stuck with me (aside from the really cool stories he told me) was just how at peace he was with his coming death.  One day Grampa and I were talking and he asked several questions about "timing", essentially he was asking who would go first - him or Gramma.  When I told him that he would likely go before Gramma would, he just stated that that was good, he just never wanted to hear the words that Gram was gone.  I even asked him flat out if he was scared or upset about dying...in his own inimitable way, Grampa just said, "no."  And in the limited number of hours that he and I spent together in those last couple months, I never once heard him complain, and he never, not once, gave any sign that he was scared.  This I find amazing.


Don't misunderstand what I say next.  I don't purport to be one bit a hero - understand that.   Okay, I have faced the very distinct possibility of death a few times, mostly (I think entirely) in battle.  I was scared, there's no sense in pretending - I was.  But there's something about those moments when you realize that you HAVE to do something to prevent it, and the sense of self-preservation completely and entirely takes over.  Doesn't mean I wasn't scared, and it certainly doesn't make me a hero.  But in those moments, had I died, it would have been in the course of fighting back.


Then there's the thought of insidious death, the death of a disease that may grab hold and take time to take one away.  Watching Grampa, I have often wondered - would I, could I ever be so brave and peaceful?  My entire family attributes Grampa's peacefulness to his faith in Christ, and that may very well be so.  But I wonder if I would ever have that kind of faith.  


This is a hard one to write.  There's a decent possibility that my family may read this, and I hate the thought that my kids may see, yet again, a glaring weakness in their father, but alas - this is about truth.  In my head I know that God is there.  I have read, re-read, and read again, the many promises of God.  That to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.  Even the verse used in this post says, "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear."   My head knows these things.  But, to be honest, I still struggle with believing these things.  Hart Crane wrote this poem in 1917:


The host, he says that all is well
And the fire-wood glow is bright;
The food has a warm and tempting smell,—
But on the window licks the night.


Pile on the logs... Give me your hands,
Friends! No,— it is not fright...
But hold me... somewhere I heard demands...
And on the window licks the night.


I fear that's more how I would be.  Afraid of the night outside the window.  Don't misunderstand, even though I was a big chicken as a little kid, I've pretty much outgrown most silly fears (with the exception of the occasional, really good scary movie).  But when it comes to what-comes-next, well frankly - I still struggle with that.  When my day comes, will I sit in my chair shaking, fearful of what waits outside my window?  Will my last days be so consumed with fear that death comes with a mighty, sniveling torment?  I can imagine myself in terror.  What an awful picture.  


Faith.  Faith.  Faith.  Grampa, in his silence and by his example, has shown me what I still lack, still yearn for.