I'll Race You

Yesterday, I competed in the Cincinnati Half-Marathon. It was my first half-marathon, and to be honest, while some people say they love this stuff, I have to say: it hurt! What makes finishing this race so special is that I’ve always struggled to finish projects. I’ve been talking about running a marathon for years and I’ve never competed in one. I’ve always wanted to write a book, and as of yet, I’ve never finished one. I’m a starter, but rarely a finisher. It’s a stigma that I’ve had to deal with for quite a long time, and as a result, I’ve lost plenty of confidence in myself. So how did I become a finisher?

The race had plenty of ups and downs. The goal for the race was to average a ten-minute mile. If I could average ten-minute miles, then I’d finish in two hours and ten minutes. Actually, my goal was to beat CNNSI NFL writer Peter King’s time of two hours and sixteen minutes. I figured if I couldn’t beat a fifty-three-year-old sports writer who’s struggled with his weight and dealt with heart issues, then I had no business running the race. This is meant as no disrespect towards Peter King; in fact, I love his work. But I used him as a motivator. The race started with a group of one thousand eight hundred runners cramped together like sardines (not fun), and in the first mile I settled in to a nice easy run. I just stuck with the pack. Just after the second mile marker, I got my first water stop, and that’s where I had trouble catching my breath for the first time. As I slowed to get water, some people stopped dead in front of me. I almost ran over this little hundred-pound lady that stopped in front of me for water. When I started running again, the combination of coming to that stop plus the cup of water suddenly had me sweating and out of breath. I ran through it and tried to calm down. I hit my first hill soon after that. It was during this point that I found myself wondering if I could finish this race.

At the top of the hill I found myself running through the center of downtown Cincinnati, and with all the scenery I got my pace back and settled down. I started passing people; in fact, I passed a lot of people between miles two and five. Things were smooth: I had no pain, I was breathing well, and I found space between myself and other runners. When we made our turn onto Pete Rose Way at Sawyer Point, I cracked jokes with some of the supporters and yelled out “I love you” to Jenn as I passed her. It was smooth sailing! Well, it was smooth sailing until I got to the mile six marker. I started getting strong pain in my left foot along my pinky toe and up that side of the foot. I had to slow my pace. At this point, I was working on my first gel packet and I was doing well with my breathing, but the pain in my foot was overwhelming. When I passed the mile nine marker, I was very close to walking. Off to my right, a woman pulled off to the side and started stretching out her hamstring. I encouraged her to keep pushing, and when I did that, it seemed like my own pain became easier.

When I reached the mile ten marker, the pain in my foot was gone, but it was too late to pick up the pace. People were passing me then. I was passed by a man pushing a wheelchair, a large amount of middle-aged woman, and a power walker. It was humbling to be passed by people I never expected to be passed by, but I kept going. As I reached the mile eleven marker, I was going through my last gel pack, and I was still keeping my breathing in order. I felt good enough to try and finish strong, and I tried pushing off my left leg to get some speed. It didn’t happen. My left calf cramped up slightly and I spent the next mile and a half trying to find a way to pick up a little speed, but the calf was telling me “no.” With only half a mile left, I just resigned myself to finishing and did what I could to finish. My legs wanted nothing to do with running at this point. When I passed Montgomery Inn, I started seeing others who’d already finished cheering us on. There were more and more of them the closer I got to the finish line. At the finish line, Jenn was waiting for me, and once I crossed I ran into a wall of other runners who’d just finished. I was barely able to stand and a little woozy, but it was over.

This afternoon as I ponder this race and the races we all run, it really puts life in perspective. We all have moments in our lives that it’s hard to breathe and we have to find a way to settle in. We all have our uphill climbs that we traverse in hopes of something better. We have good days when everything goes well and we pass others by. We deal with pain that sometimes cripples us, but when we encourage others suddenly our own pain seems more manageable. Sometimes we have to slow down and simply find a way even when we aren’t a hundred percent, and when our race is over we are greeted by those who have gone before us. When my race is over, I’ll see my grandparents again. I’ll get to hold Grandma in my arms and hear her voice again. I’ll get to hear Granddad tell me how proud of me he is. I’ll get to kneel before the Father and tell Him how much I love Him. When we finish the race, it’s like we’re all part of something special. That’s what it’s like when we live our lives for Christ. It has its ups and downs, but the end reward is worth it.

"For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Finally, there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give to me on that Day, and not to me only but also to all who have loved His appearing." (2 Timothy 4:6-8)

Confession

When I started this blog two-and-a-half years ago, I opened up about many of the things I went through before and during my first marriage. I took anyone who read this blog on a journey with me. I’ve made it a point to be honest about who I am, my struggles, and what I believe in. My goal has always been to use my struggles to help encourage others, yet it seems as though I haven’t done that as much of late. In fact, I haven’t really written anything all that personal in awhile. Some would surely say that’s a good thing, as maybe I got too personal in a public forum, while others might say I’ve strayed from my original goal. Either way, I’ve been quiet, and until recently I didn’t know why. I could blame all the other writing I’ve been doing, or my preparations for starting back at school in January, but none of those would be right. The reality of my situation is that I’ve been hiding internal issues because I didn’t want anyone to read my blog and think I’m a whiner. I didn’t want to appear weak, but in truth, deep down, isn’t that what we all are? So, as my first anniversary creeps ever closer, I have a lot to confess. As always, I hope something good comes from what I write.

Ever since I got out of the military in 2006, I’ve struggled with depression. At first, it was awful. I sat around the apartment for four months gaining weight, growing hair, and sitting in front my computer playing World of Warcraft for hours each day. I couldn’t find a job in Columbus, which demoralized what little self-confidence I had, and I eventually decided to go ahead and finish classes at Ohio State instead. Originally the plan was to go part-time, instead I felt forced to go full-time. I started dealing with all kinds of stomach issues and it only got worse in the fall of 2006 when my grandmother died. With all due respect to the rest of my family, she was the one person I believed had always supported and believed in me. So when she passed away, it crushed me. At this point, I’d pulled away from my wife and, without even realizing it, she’d also pulled away from me. I don’t think she ever really knew what was going on in me. I was just depressed, and it wasn’t one of those depressions where I’d lay in bed all day crying or anything stereotypical like that. It was more like a constant burden on my shoulders that held me in place, feeling sad and alone. In the eighteen months prior to my now-ex-wife leaving, there was little joy coming from me. Instead I put up a façade as much as I could to keep people from getting in.

So why do I give this background now? Well because I’ve realized that I didn’t just struggle with depression in separate bouts after the military and then after my divorce, but it’s been one long struggle. Even now, there are days where I’m happy and playing around with Jenn only to be lost in a depressed world just minutes later. It’s gone away some as I’ve been trying to take a more active approach to combating it - which for me is praying, doing all I can to communicate with Jenn, and writing - but it’s still there from time to time. It comes with no warning, or so I thought. I started realizing that a lot of my depression now comes when I’ve been thinking of my past mistakes, especially in my first marriage and when I make mistakes now with Jenn. To help compensate for those mistakes, I tend to not go after things I want, and instead give in when Jenn desires something opposite of what I want. I tend to think so poorly of myself that I see everyday things that Jenn does as her not wanting to spend time with me, etc. The truth is: I feel so horribly about myself, who I am, and what I’ve done that I feel unworthy to be content. At the root of it, I understand now, is unforgiveness.

What’s frustrating about this is that I’ve written about forgiveness before. I once wrote that I was forgiving myself and was moving on. But in the end, I didn’t. The truth is that I’ve forgiven everyone who has hurt me: my biological father who couldn’t handle fatherhood and left; the kid that abused me at age four; the ex-wife who left me, knowing that my greatest fear was abandonment; as well as many others who have hurt me. But I’ve been unable to forgive my own misdeeds. I still see my own mistakes in how I’ve treated people, and I shrink away. The worst part about it is that I know who keeps bringing this up in me, and despite all my prayers, I still deal with it every day. I’ve read scripture, talked to a few people, and confessed all of this to Jenn, and yet I’m bound and barely breathing. I just want to be able to let go of my own failures!

So why do I write about this now? Well, some of this is a repeat of past writings but I want to be real with people, as I always have. I want people to see that being a Christian doesn’t mean we don’t struggle. I struggle quite a bit actually. I also write because this is my form of counseling. I get my thoughts on paper and can examine them. Writing has become my release. Yet, there is one more reason I write this confession: I want to be free. I want my friends who care about me to know I need their prayers. I want to enter the second year of my marriage knowing that these gaping wounds on my heart are healing. I write this because I know that the best way to love God, my wife, and the kids that will come one day, is to finally drop this weight I carry. Confession is freedom.

A Bitter Heart

"Bitterness is the poison you drink, hoping that it will kill someone else."

One of my favorite people in the world gave me this quote a couple of years ago, and it’s stuck with me. I think we all struggle with bitterness, and if we aren’t careful it can change us. It can taint the person that we are or destroy the dreams that we pursue. In marriage, it can destroy all that is good about it. It causes us to stop looking at the positives in our spouse and to dwell upon the negatives. Bitterness causes us to stop wanting the best for our spouses, and in extreme cases, to wish harm upon them. It should be no surprise that bitterness often goes hand-in-hand with unforgiveness. If we can’t forgive someone for how they’ve hurt us, then we wind up resenting them. We grow selfish. And most importantly, perhaps, we lose perspective on how blessed we are to have that person in our life.

While doing some studying over the past week, a section of 2 Samuel has really impacted me. You can find the story in 2 Samuel 6. This is when King David had the ark of God (ark of the covenant) brought back to Jerusalem.* During the celebration, David humbled himself and wore only a linen ephod.** He danced nearly naked in front of his people and humbled himself before God, choosing to celebrate before the Lord instead of concerning himself with making the event one of pomp and circumstance. When Michal saw this, the Bible notes that Michal despised David in her heart. When he returned home, she greeted him by sarcastically poking at him for his lack of discretion by disrobing in public in front of slave girls (and the rest of his people). David responded by telling her he was dancing before the Lord and that he would become even more undignified to do so. He would humiliate himself in his own eyes for the Lord. David told her that those same slave girls would hold him in honor. She failed to see her husband’s heart and how that pleased God. Michal’s actions are a far cry from the Michal described in 1 Samuel.

In 1 Samuel 18:20, the Bible notes that Michal was in love with David, and in 1 Samuel 19:12-13, Michal saves David’s life as Saul tried to kill him. With David on the run, Saul gave Michal to another man, who fell in love with her. Later, when David became king of Judah, he requested the return of Michal as his wife, and her husband followed after her weeping. Through Saul’s actions, Michal had two marriages torn apart. She was passed around like a prize or trophy. Evidently she grew bitter, as even though she was returned to the man she first loved, she had to compete with David’s other wives for attention. It seems that even though her husband was described by God as being a man after God’s own heart, she was unable to look past his negatives and the circumstances that surrounded the downfall of Saul’s House. She grew bitter. In the end, she could not see her husband’s actions as glorifying God, even though the rest of Israel, including the slave girls, could see it. She lost perspective.

The Bible ends the story noting that Michal had no children until the day of her death, which is important. To be placed there at the end of the story, to me, means that God had a plan to bless her with children, but due to her heart being shrouded in bitterness against David and God, she was not given children. A child would have made sure the line of Saul continued, and possibly could have meant her child would have been chosen to be king after David. I’m not saying this would have happened, but in dying childless, it sends a great message: bitterness results in death. When she died, all of her died with her. She had no one to carry on for her and no legacy to leave behind to future generations. In the end, her bitterness towards David resulted in not his death, but hers. The same can happen to us. If we don’t learn to forgive and release our bitterness, it doesn’t kill those we are bitter towards, it kills the one who is bitter. It destroys everything they hold dear, including families, relationships, and their walks with God. My prayer for today is that if there is any bitterness in me from past struggles, that God would help me to let it go, and so are my prayers for you. I don’t want to leave a legacy of bitterness behind, do you?

* The ark of God was captured by the Philistines. The ark brought trouble to the Philistines and was eventually returned to the Israelites.

** An ephod was linen usually worn by priests with their robes. The ephod itself covered very little and if worn without other clothing would expose the wearer’s more private regions.