The Year of the Marathon: Becoming Who I Am

Way back in March, I set out to run a marathon. I had thirty-seven weeks of training mapped out and brand new running shoes to go with it. So I began my training. I was determined to run those 26.2 miles, and I made good progress at the beginning. I reached the point where running three miles was like nothing, and I actually reached seven miles by the end of April. Maybe for some people that isn't a big deal, but for someone like me who struggled to run one mile back in January, that was a big deal. I realized that I could do this thing - this marathon thing. I would do it.

Then, in May, I developed tendinitis in my right foot. Bummer. Big bummer. It put my training on hold, and, as eager as I was to get back into things, healing fully took longer than I anticipated. I tried to go on runs, but the pain of it pierced my foot, and I hesitated to keep running because I didn't want to prolong the injury.

So, it took about two full months for the tendinitis to heal. At the beginning of August, I was ready to run again.

Enter first-year teaching job.

All of a sudden, syllabi and curricula and weekly lesson plans bombarded and overwhelmed me, and I realized that you will never understand the exhaustion and time demands of being a teacher, particularly a first year teacher, until you are one. I don't say that to complain (I expected teaching to be challenging.) but simply to say that I had not the slightest bit of time or energy to think about running.

As a result, I didn't get back to running like I thought I would when I first developed tendinitis. In fact, the Richmond Marathon was two weeks ago yesterday morning, and I wasn't there. I couldn't even run a 5K right now. I'm back at square one.

I haven't written about this before because, honestly, I was embarrassed. I wrote two blogposts about my determination to run this marathon, and here I am, at the beginning of December, not having done what I set out to do.

Does that make me a quitter? Does that make me lazy? Will people laugh at me? Was it foolish of me to think I could run a marathon in the first place? Was I just kidding myself? These are the questions that run through my mind.

But then I think about something that my friend Pamela said. She said to someone, in a group conversation, that I am a runner.

I am a runner because I run.

For some reason, her saying that affected me in a powerful way. It changed the way I thought about myself. Before then, I would never have called myself a runner because I would have felt like a poser. After she called me a runner, though, I was able to claim that as part of my identity - and be proud of it.

So now, starting to run again isn't about changing myself into what I want to be. It's about becoming who I already I am. Somehow, that's easier to manage. That challenge is imbued with hope.

The same is true in my relationship with God. I am a child of the Most High God, but I don't always live in the truth of that. I often stray. I'm often a quitter and am often lazy. I often fail simply because I am weak-willed and easily distracted by the world. And the longer I distance myself from God, the harder I have to work when I'm once again seeking to pursue intimacy with Him.

It's easy for me to be embarrassed about how weak and prone to failure I am. But running with endurance the race set out for me isn't about proving myself to God or to the people around me. God already knows exactly who I am. In Christ, I am His child. Living a righteous life isn't about impressing anyone or earning favor with God. It's about living in the fullness of my identity as His child.

What do runners do? They run. So I will train to become who I am.

What do God's children do? They love God with all of themselves. So I will fight to become who I am.

And if I fail, there is more grace. For, because of Christ, there is nothing that I can do that will change God's opinion of me. So,

                    "let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us
                    run with endurance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and 

                    perfecter of our faith, who, for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, scorning its 

                    shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider Him who endured 

                    such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." 

                    (Hebrews 12:1-3)

A Letter

I have this friend who's really struggling. Not just "Life is kind of hard right now" struggling, but "Is life even worth it?" struggling. Painful strife in the depths of the soul. I feel utterly helpless in knowing how to serve and uplift in the best way. So here's a letter to my friend, in an effort to encourage and point to Christ. I hope that, if you're in a hard place right now, God accomplishes the same for you.


Dear friend,

I should start out by admitting that I really don't know what to say. You've heard encouragement and words of love from so many people, why do I think my words will be what you need? There's no earthly reason why they should, so I'm relying on God to give me the right words and to touch and change your heart. If He's not in it, there's really no point. So here goes:

Friend, I know that you feel stuck. You feel like you're in a bog, your feet heavy and stuck in the mire of your own mistakes, stuck behind a boulder that blocks the path you're supposed to be walking. No matter how hard you try, you just can't manage to lift your feet above the filth and place them on solid ground. No matter how fiercely you struggle, you can't seem to get your head above the fog and find the clean, bright air above. Don't worry - God has made the ground level and has loosened the boulders of sin and idols. There's nothing in your way, and there's nothing to fear. When you feel stuck, you're not. Christ is your Rescuer, and He's always with you.

Friend, I know that you're weary of making the same mistakes. You think that when you fall, you let people down, that they're disappointed with you. You think they get tired of hearing you share your heart and your pain and your struggle. Believe me, they aren't. Your fighting gives them hope, and courage. Your failings and desire to change are powerful testaments to God's grace through the gospel of Christ. And when you share your struggle, instead of hiding away, it blesses all those who hear.

Friend, you think that when you fall, you let God down. Here's some news: God isn't surprised by any of your sin. He knew about it all before you were born, before you were created, before the world was created. And He still chose to create you. He made you, He loves you, and, because you're in Christ, He is totally pleased with you. He is genuinely delighted in you.

You know that feeling you get when you hold a baby? That feeling of "Oh my goodness. I love this baby! No matter what she does, I love her, just because she is who she is." That's how God feels about you. He gets excited about you. Even when you fail and feel ashamed in your failures, God loves you.

Friend, I know that you are ashamed of yourself. You feel that you should have it figured out by now. You've been in the struggle for so long, you should have learned your lesson and moved on by now. You're right. You should have. But there is grace for that. Yes, fight sin. But don't hold on to the guilt of past mistakes! It's over! God has forgiven you - you have no right to withhold forgiveness from yourself. Let go of shame and regrets - Christ has already carried the weight of them.

Friend, you need to realize that you are dearly loved. By many people. You may not believe it, but it's true, and you need those relationships (So stop running away from them!).

Ultimately, however, earthly relationships will never satisfy you or make you whole. The only relationship that can soul-satisfy and heart-heal is your relationship with Jesus. He is the Lover of your soul and the only Source of true delight. He is your refuge and your joy. Stop thinking about your failures and weaknesses! Think about Jesus - love Jesus - and He will transform you.

I'm praying for you,
me



For those of you who are still reading, I wrote that letter to myself.

I don't admit that to gain your pity or to cry out for help or any such thing. I wrote it because a battle I often face is the fight to remind myself of truth when my emotions (and Satan) are telling me entirely different things. And I share this with the internet world because I suspect that I am not the only one.

I want you to know that, Reader, if you're struggling, you're not alone. You're never alone. You're not a failure for struggling, and you're not weird or worthless for failing. You have been redeemed. You are no longer defined by your sin and weakness. You are defined by Christ.

So cling to the truth of God's love for you. Fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of your faith. Take heart! For He began a good and beautiful work in you, and, whether or not you see it, He is continuing that work, and He will surely complete it.

Crows Calling

Reader. It has been. A long. Time. More than two months, in fact, and for that I apologize. In August, I started a job as a middle school grammar teacher, and man! I have never, ever been so busy. It is an indescribably wonderful yet terribly overwhelming job, which I am sure you will hear about more and more as the school year progresses. But what I want to talk about now regards something else entirely.

When I was in college, I went through a period of what I would call depression. I never went to a doctor or was diagnosed or anything like that, but I was full-on depressed. At the time, I didn't want to think about it in those terms, so I just told close friends that I was struggling with despair. But that was just another name for depression. I struggled with sin and hated myself for it. I really and truly despised myself, and I thought that if anyone knew who I really was and what I struggled with, and how often I simply chased after sin and idols, they would despise me too.

The grace of God rescued me from that pit. God pursued my heart and showed me His genuine forgiveness and whole-hearted love for me, and I was changed. Slowly but surely and miraculously, I was changed. I came to actually believe God when He said I was forgiven. Wow. Praise God.

However, one image from that time in my life has stuck with me. 

Every morning of college when I walked to the cafeteria - self-hatred and despair weighing on my shoulders far more heavily than my overloaded, black backpack - there would always be a few crows perched on the sidewalk railing or on top of a building, their caws ominous in the quiet morning.

Caw. Caw. Caw.

I hated those crows. Hated them because, in the midst of otherwise peaceful and beautiful mornings, they seemed to represent the darkness, ugliness, and despair in my heart. And perhaps that sounds melodramatic and very Edgar-Allen-Poe-ish. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I got the idea from "The Raven." Just like the black bird in the poem, the crows seemed like messengers of ill-news, reminders of my sorrows. 

Since then, I have hated crows with a passion; in my mind they still represent despair and depression. Until a year ago on a camping trip.

Each year at the end of the summer, my family and several families from my church go camping on the same weekend, and I go crazy with anticipation for it every single year. This camping trip is like my refuge, and the campgrounds are like my sanctuary. Last year was no different.

One morning on last year's trip, my dad and I sat silently at our campsite, enjoying the peace of the mountains as we waited for everyone else to wake up, the air still cool before the sun rose high over the trees. The smell of burning wood and cooking breakfasts wafted on the air from other campsites, and the sky that I could see between the canopy of trees still looked pale with the rising sun. 

Then my dad asked, "Can you hear the crows?"

I listened. 

Yes, there were the caws, reminding me of my despair and sin, even here in this sacred place.

Before I could think too bitterly about them, however, my dad went on: "There are always crows calling at dawn, heralding in the new day. Have you ever noticed that? Always in the morning. It's like wherever the dawn is, that's where they are." 

Woh. What?

Black, ugly, wretched crows heralding in each new day? If they herald in the new day, doesn't that make them, black as they are, messengers of light? I had always thought of them as heralds of darkness, but all of a sudden, that wasn't the case.

Somehow, as I sat there in the mountains, it all made sense. Yet, I struggle to articulate it well, so be patient with me.

 A messenger of light must walk through the darkness. The people who are already in the light don't need hope, so the bringer of hope must walk to dark, desperate places in order to find those that are despairing. The herald of the dawn must belong with the night.

I'll put it this way: When the woman at the well ran to tell her neighbors about Jesus, her reputation as a sinful, broken woman preceded her. They knew she was a sinner, and they believed her story about Jesus because she was a sinner. The truth of her filthiness convinced them that, if Jesus can save her, He can save anyone. (Check out John 4 if you don't know the story.)

Such is the ugliness of crows.

They seem to belong with the night, yet they are heralds of the the dawn. They seem to belong with darkness, despair, and sin, yet they speak of the hope that, though the darkness hide me, light is coming.

Let's be honest: Though hope is a beautiful thing, when we most need it is when it seems the most ugly. It speaks the truth of present circumstances, bleak as they are, but it also points to something better.

Emily Dickinson wrote this about hope:

                       "Hope" is the thing with feathers - 

                       That perches in the soul - 

                       And sings the tune without the words -

                       And never stops - at all. ("'Hope' is the thing with feathers - (314)")

She is right in one sense but wrong in anther. Hope is a feathered thing, but it is not one that sings all the time like a cheerful canary or something silly like that. Hope is a crow, not flinching from the present darkness, bleak as it is, but pointing to something better - to light and life and joy.

Crows seem to belong with the darkness, with those long, wearying seasons of discouragement, struggle, and defeat. Crows seem to belong with those times in which I think the light will never come. It is in those times that I need a crow kind of hope because I need someone who recognizes the depths of my darkness and night but also ceaselessly calls:

Dawn. 

Dawn. 

Dawn.

A Fickle Heart Crying "Hosanna!"

I've been reading through Matthew lately, and this past week, I arrived at the triumphal entry:

They brought the donkey and the colt, placed their cloaks on them, 

and Jesus sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the 

road, while others cut branches from the trees and spread them on 

the road. The crowds went ahead of him and those that followed shouted,

"Hosanna to the Son of David!"

"Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!"

"Hosanna in the highest!"

                                                                        -Matthew 21:7-9

The thing that usually (and powerfully) strikes me about this passage is contained in the footnote: "Verse 9 - 'Hosanna' - A Hebrew expression meaning 'Save!' which became an exclamation of praise."

"Hosanna" means "save us," but it is used to praise God because He has saved us.

I particularly think about this in the context of wrestling with sin. I cry out for God to save me, to grant me freedom and victory, yet I can also praise Him because in Christ I have been given freedom and victory already. Now I have to fight to live in the reality of those blessings. And I'm dependent on God's grace to do that, so I can still cry out "Hosanna!" as a plea and as praise.

In fact, maybe our crying out to God is a form of praise in itself. When we come before God recognizing our neediness, we worship Him. When all we have to offer is our brokenness and weakness, and we offer that to God, that is worship. Because He is our All in all. He is our strength, and He makes us whole. So it is entirely fitting that we bring our helplessness to Him - to do so is merely to come before Him honestly.

Yes, we praise God in adoration and thanksgiving, and also in our most desperate pleas.

That is a beautiful truth. Yet, this is not what struck me when I read the story of the triumphal entry this past week. What gave me pause is the fact that the passage doesn't say anything about Jesus' response to the crowd. Was He pleased with what happened? Was He sober-minded as He thought of what was ahead?

I'm certain that most of the Roman-ruled Jews in the crowd didn't really understand what they were saying when they shouted "Hosanna." Most of them probably just wanted to be rescued from the power of their Gentile oppressors. But Jesus knew that he would answer their cries of "save!" in a much more significant way - by rescuing them from the power of their own sin.

I'm also confident that Jesus knew that in a week's time, many, if not all, of the people in that crowd would be screaming "Crucify Him!" as He stood before Pilate. Jesus knew that the people's adoration would turn to scorn, their joy in Him would turn to hatred of Him. He knew that all those people, just like Peter, would utterly betray Him.

Since He knew that - since He knew the fickleness of their hearts - did He still accept their praise as they shouted "Hosanna"?

This is the magnificent beauty and wonder of God's grace - I think He did.

Even when our praise lacks understanding, even when our fickle hearts are bound to turn to lesser things in the next moment, God accepts our praise. That is not to say that we don't strive to have steadfast hearts - to love and serve and worship God in everything, in every moment. But when we fall short of that (and oh! how often we fall short!), He still accepts and enjoys our praise because we praise Him in Jesus' name. In Jesus, all things are redeemed and made pure, even our fickle love and our feeble attempts at worship.

Such is the joy and wonder of God's grace. Not just that God loves me, which is too great a truth to fully understand, but that He accepts and even delights in my deeply imperfect love for Him. And that leads me to love and worship Him all the more.

The Year of the Marathon: Bracing and Embraced

Yes, I'm afraid it's true. This is what my poor foot has looked like for the last four weeks:

Tendinitis. And I've been out of marathon training for almost five full weeks now. 

Reader, I really cannot explain how disappointing this has been. I could go into the details of how the pain developed and where I was in my training and what that means for my training going forward, but if I did that, I would mostly be complaining. I have no right to complain, though, because I have so much for which to be grateful. For example:

--When my foot first started hurting, I was afraid that it was a stress fracture, and if it had been, there is no way I could run for even ten minutes this week (which I did, slowly), much less run a the marathon in November. But it wasn't a stress fracture.

--After my foot had been in extreme pain for almost a week, my mom managed to get me a last-minute appointment with a foot doctor so that I didn't have to wait in pain for another three days.

--When I went to see the doctor, I found out that he used to run marathons and knows how to go forward with getting me back into training. 

--He told me I can still run a marathon in November.

--When he gave me a foot brace to wear, I could immediately feel the difference. It felt so much better.

--When I went on a short run this week, even though it was only ten minutes and my foot hurt by end, it felt good to run. I didn't hate it. I loved it.

I could go on, but obviously I have so many things for which I can and must thank God. And, I can even thank God for the time off from running. Because, even though I hate it, the time off is what allows me to heal. If I didn't take the time off now, the tendinitis in my foot would be much worse than it is. The resting is what will allow me to start running again later on.

So, I've put on a brace to heal from this tendinitis. I've had it on for four weeks now and have been amazed at how many people I notice staring at my brace. To be perfectly honest, I kind of get embarrassed by it. I don't want people to see an injury when they see me. I don't want strangers to remember me as that girl with a brace. I don't want people to see me as weak. 

The same goes for my spiritual life. I (and, I believe, most people) have a hard time being consistently open about personal weaknesses and struggles and failures because I don't want people to see them. I want people to see me as strong and steadfast when in reality I am weak and unfaithful. 

And in some ways it's much easier to fake spiritual health and strength than it is to fake physical health. When my foot first started hurting, there were times when I couldn't walk without a limp and had to try really hard not to grimace because of the pain. But there are days when I'm really discouraged and depressed but can still smile and laugh and act like nothing is wrong.

The problem with that is this: If I had successfully pretended that my foot felt perfectly normal five weeks ago, then I wouldn't have gone to the doctor, I wouldn't have gotten a brace, and I wouldn't be healing. 

When I pretend that I have my spiritual life all together, I don't run to the Healer, I don't wrap myself up in the encouragement and prayers of fellow believers, and I don't truly heal or experience victory. And hiding weakness is dishonest about my brokenness and deep need for grace.

It's humbling to admit weakness and failure and hurt. It's scary - what if they judge or reject me? However, those who don't give grace to the needy don't really understand their own need for it, and every time I have confessed sin or shared a struggle, I have been met with grace and embraced by the people with whom I share. Just like my foot has healed faster with the help of a brace, victory and healing come more easily (not easily, mind you - just more easily) when other people are supporting me - encouraging me, praying for me, fighting the battle with me. 

Now, you may argue that people don't heal us - God does. And you're right - God does the healing. But He also uses believers to help do it. 

Allowing other believers to walk with you through struggles and heartache is like walking in a brace when you have an injury. It makes all the difference. It doesn't take the pain away, but it provides support and helps you to keep walking.

So, I'm bracing myself. To heal from a foot injury. And as I share my life and struggles with my friends, they have embraced and will embrace me and will walk forward with me as I run closer and closer to Jesus.

The Stories We Love: A Look at "The Hunger Games"

Picture this scene: you're sitting in your cozy living room, having just finished an excellently entertaining movie. The credits roll up the screen while the music plays, and you sit, maybe with friends or a couple of siblings, thinking about what you've just experienced. What a great movie, you think as key scenes and pieces of dialogue play back in your mind. Then, in walks your dad, who sees the movie has ended and asks "Did the good guys win?" You grin and turn to him. "Yep!"

I have heard my dad ask this question many, many times. It's rarely an actual question but more of a good-natured, sarcastic jibe because of course the good guys win. He says that movies are a waste of time (He likes movies too, but he just doesn't admit it.), so he asks this question after movies and TV shows in an effort to show me that I didn't need to watch the movie at all. I knew how it was going to end: the good guys win. Good always wins.

Yet, the triumph of good is one of the primary reasons that I enjoy stories so much.

I love stories. Anyone who knows me well can tell you how much I enjoy reading books and watching movies. I make regular visits to a used bookstore in Knoxville and have a stack of books waiting to be read. I can't seem to read fast enough for all the books I manage to buy. I'm working on it though.

One series that I read surprisingly quickly was The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. (Now, I know that in this blog I've also talked about reading the Harry Potter series, but don't judge me and think I only read popular, modern books. I've also recently read A Tale of Two Cites by Dickens, Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, My Ántonia by Willa Cather, and several other classics. So there! Anyway...) I devoured The Hunger Games books in about a week and a half. During that time, I found myself totally wrapped up in the story - happy when the characters managed to find ways to be happy and devastated with the characters in their losses and heartaches.

When I finished the books and placed them on my shelf, I thought about them for a good month afterward, but not because of obsessing over the characters or anything like that. I just kept thinking, Those books were really dark... why did I like them so much? I had the same question when the first movie came out, and now again as the trailer for the second movie has recently been released.

At first, my answer was that the characters are real. They live and react and change in ways that make sense. The ways they love and hate, the ways their circumstances shape them, the ways they seek to cope with what's happened - all of it rings true to human nature. This truthfulness in itself is appealing and beneficial, especially when compared to a different popular series about comically hormonal, sparkly blood-suckers.

The second reason that I had was that the books create a startling contrast between a life of self-obsession and a life of self-sacrifice. The people of the Capitol are entirely self-absorbed and are obsessed with comfort, fashion, and entertainment. And they do live totally comfortable, frivolous lives; their existence oozes luxury. The lead characters from poor District 12, on the other hand, live in destitution and fear, but they sacrifice for each other in profound ways. In many instances, they lay down their own safety and assurance of survival so that their loved ones might live. As a reader, I would never want the circumstances of those in District 12. But it's clear in reading the books that it's far better to be destitute and live a life of self-sacrifice than it is to live in  luxury yet be totally self-obsessed. This lesson also makes The Hunger Games worthwhile.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my reason for loving The Hunger Games is actually deeper than that.

The very premise of the book is dark and incredibly violent. As punishment for an uprising against the Capitol years ago, each of the twelve districts must offer up a girl and a boy, from age twelve to eighteen, every year to be put in an arena and fight in a televised battle to the death, known as the Hunger Games. Literally, kids killing kids on television. I won't go into the plot here, but, as you might imagine, it starts out dark and gets darker. When things seem bleak, they get bleaker. When you think Katniss, the lead character, has experienced enough loss and pain, she loses more. There are several times when she gives up on life and hope.

Yet, at the end of it all, when the battle is over and the number of loved ones lost is too high to think about, there is hope. The tyranny of the Capitol is broken and banished. There is new life. There is love. There are flowers growing in the meadow and children born into a world without the dreaded yearly Hunger Games.

Now, the culture in which I live is not as overtly harsh or violent as Katniss's world. I do not live in a war zone, nor have I faced destitution of the kind portrayed in the books. But I know that many people do live in war zones and do face destitution and starvation. When I take an honest look at my world, it's hard to not lose hope. Things are bleak, and they seem to be getting bleaker. Before my last post, I had not written a blog post in over a month because, in light of what happened in Boston and in Waco, Texas, what could I possibly say? It didn't seem that long since I was speechless after what happened in Newtown, and now this? And just yesterday, two gigantic tornadoes ripped through Oklahoma, killing many and leaving others homeless. So many problems too big for me to comprehend, so much hatred, so much darkness.

That is why I loved reading The Hunger Games. Because it descends into a darkness and hopelessness that I often feel about the state of my own world. But after the darkness, there is light. After the night, there is dawn. A story wrapped up in death ends with life.

And that story points to the story. In the narrative of God's redemption of the world, we are in the midst of darkness. We see brokenness and death all around us. But there is still life, still hope that the dawn is coming. Jesus Christ will return and put all things right. And that day will not just be some kind of storybook ending - it will be the beginning of a forever in which we really will live happily and joyfully and perfectly ever after, with the Great Storyteller and Author of Salvation.

That's the reason we love happy endings, isn't it? That's why I read so many books and watch so many movies, why I come back to them over and over again, even when I know the ending - because in the end good triumphs over evil. The stories we love echo The Story we're living. Because no matter how dark it gets, someday all evil will be punished, and the dawn will come, and we will know nothing but goodness and light and joy and love.

Brother Embarking

This is me and my younger brother Brad:

He is downright fantastic. Yesterday was his birthday, and today he happens to be leaving for a two-and-a-half-month missions internship in India. I sure am going to miss this kid, but I am so very proud of him. 

The truth is that when he first applied for the internship (through the Acts Project at Bryan College), he only knew that he didn't want to go to India. But for some reason, India is exactly where God wants him to go.

When the director of the program asked me about Brad's field placement for the summer, telling me the options were either England or India, my initial thought was "Send him to England!" Brad had mentioned that he would like to go there, and having been there myself, I love that place. It would be so much fun, and it might even be meaningful. But the more I prayed about it, the more I knew that Brad didn't need that for a summer missions internship. The word that God kept putting in my mind was "stretching." I knew he needed to go to India.

Apparently a lot of other people thought the same thing, so it was decided that Brad would go to India this summer. That was before all of the health issues. Since January, he's had shoulder surgery, mono, and a blood clot, and we were all wondering whether or not he would or could go. Even when he was mostly recovered from the health problems, we still weren't sure. He sent out his support letters fairly late in the game, for a variety of reasons, so when the money was coming due, he only had about half of his funds raised. 

So he prayed, "God, if you want me to go to India, make it happen." Over the couple of days after that prayer, he got three phone calls and had all of his support raised.

And just like that, God's taking him to India, with nothing but a backpack and the clothes on his back. He's nervous, understandably. But he's going.

Seeing Brad walk through the long process of preparation and watching him step out in faith to actually go to India has been a huge challenge for me. There are things in my life about which I am totally uncertain and even afraid. Things for which I don't feel prepared or knowledgeable enough or strong enough. 

But, just like with Brad going on this crazy adventure to India, the path my life takes really isn't about my strength or readiness or even my excitement to do what God calls me to do. It's about God's strength in and through me and His faithfulness to do good things in my heart and life, wherever I am and whatever I'm doing.

If you want to keep up with Brad's adventures, check out his blog. I'm sure you'll hear some great stories.

More Than I Can Handle

Something I've heard a few Christians my age and younger say recently is that God won't give us more than we can handle. Whether in regard to some kind of trial or a particular temptation, they use this as a source of comfort and confidence. It's the idea that, whatever may come, it will never be too much. I can handle whatever God's will allows, and it will never leave me destitute because God is good, and He wouldn't do that to His children. Right?

Wrong.

God is good. And it is for that reason that He often gives us way more than we can handle. He overwhelms us with life's circumstances. He allows us to be left destitute. He drives me to the end of my rope, to the end of my strength and my resources and my wisdom, where there's nothing left to hold onto but Him.

Just look at the people in Scripture. Look at Job for goodness' sake! When he found out, within minutes, that all of his wealth and, far more tragically, all his children had been wiped out, he certainly did not say, "Well, God doesn't give me more than I can handle, so I know I'll be okay." Heck no!

Instead, Scripture tells us that "Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship and said:
                         'Naked I came from my mother's womb,
                              and naked I will depart.
                         The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away;
                              may the name of the LORD be praised.'
In all this, Job did not sin by charging God with wrongdoing." (Job 1:20-22)

Job was so broken that all he could do was grieve and fall down in worship of his sovereign God. There was nothing about what he did that was "handling" what God allowed to happen in his life. At the end of himself, all that was left was grief and worship. And that was a holy response to his circumstances.

You see the same thing in the lives of David and Paul when they face hardship and struggle. In 2 Corinthians 12, Paul tells his readers that he actually begged God to take away the "thorn in his flesh," whether that was some kind of physical suffering or spiritual struggle. Paul asked God to take it away because it was more than Paul could handle! And we're talking about Paul here, who wrote a lot of the New Testament. But how does God answer him? "Oh, don't worry about it Paul. I don't give you more than you can handle, so buck up! You got this!" No. God says, "My strength is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." And thus, Paul learns to live in Christ's power and not his own. At the end of himself, there is God.

You see, there is no trial that we experience or struggle that we wrestle through that we can deal with in our own strength. There is very little that we can actually "handle" on our own, if anything. It's pride that says, "I can handle this," which is why many believers become disillusioned when they are in the middle of a struggle or trial and come to the utter end of themselves. As if they were supposed to be able to handle the difficulty on their own.

We are weak. I am weak. In my own struggles I have found over and over again that there is nothing for me to do but hold onto who God is. There's nothing I can do but let go of my self and fall on my face and worship. When people say that they know God won't give them more than they can handle, I think, "Just wait!" If Scripture hasn't shown them already, life will teach them otherwise soon enough.

So where in the world did we get the idea that God won't give us more than we can handle?

I think perhaps we pick up the idea from 1 Corinthians 10:13, which says that God He will not let us be tempted beyond what we can bear. The thing is, there's a huge difference between handling trials and temptations and bearing trials and temptations. "To handle" means to manage, deal with, be responsible for, or control. When I look at my life, I know that I lack the strength and will to deal with or manage trials and temptations on my own. And don't we believers know by now that control is always out of our hands?

On the other hand, "to bear" means to remain firm under, like when you're carrying a heavy load. It is not our job to manage or control the difficult things in our lives. But God does give us the strength and grace to endure them, to stand firm in the midst of them because we can hide in Him. Do you see the difference?

Now, I don't mean to depress you with the fact that God gives us more than we can handle. It's true, and it would be depressing if not for another truth: God is also more than we can handle.

Your Creator and mine, the Heavenly King and Mighty Judge, the Redeemer and Conquering Savior, the Holy and Only God, the Alpha and Omega, the Great I AM - we can never comprehend all that He is. He is greater, more holy, more just, more magnificent and beautiful and loving and kind than we can ever, ever imagine. We can never praise Him too much, and we can never understand the fullness of who He is.

And that gives us hope and joy in the midst of life's overwhelming circumstances. We can't handle life and all of its struggles. But when we come to the end of ourselves, we find that He is more than enough, and He is more than we can imagine.

The Year of the Marathon: One Day at a Time

I decided a little over a month ago that this year I'm going to run a marathon. 

A whole marathon. A whole 26.2 miles. All at once. Running.

This isn't something I ever, ever thought I would do or even want to do. It happened in January when I was on the phone with my friend Amanda. In the process of talking about resolutions for this year, she told me that she's running a marathon in November. She told me about a training schedule that she found that starts you out (at the beginning of March) at just three miles and adds miles on slowly, and as she was talking, I had this crazy idea: "Well... I could do that. ... I could do that!" 

I mulled it over for a month, and at the beginning of February I decided that I would do it. I, Emily, would run a marathon. 

So I had to start training just so that I could run three miles by the time March started. Throughout February, I consistently did two-mile runs, and on March 4, last week, I had my first three-mile run. I honestly didn't think it would go well. But it did. I ran three miles Monday, then three on Wednesday, three on Friday and four on Saturday. What? Me? I'm actually doing this? 

I went to visit Amanda this past weekend, so Friday and Saturday we went running together. She'll tell you what a miracle that is, because in college I refused to go running with anyone. But, much to my delighted surprise, running with someone is easier than running alone. She helped me keep a steady pace, she let me know how far we had gone, and she would occasionally turn to me and start singing whatever was playing on her iPod. Together, we finished our first week of marathon training. 

Only 36 weeks to go.

You may think I'm crazy (my roommates certainly do). The fact is that I try not to think about 37 weeks. I can't even think about how much running I need to do this week, let alone this month or this year. I get overwhelmed when I think about 26.2 miles, so I try not to think about it too much. But what I can think about is today. I can only think about it one day at a time.

Just like I can only take life one day at a time. In my growth and relationship with God, there are certain things I want to do, certain victories and consistent disciplines I want to have, certain struggles I want to overcome, a certain intimacy with God and joy in Him that I deeply desire. But I can't try to attain the fullness of those things all at once. I can only pursue God one day at a time. I can only rest in Christ's strength and choose righteousness one day at a time. I can only put off the old self and put on the new self one day at a time. Because I am weak, and God's mercies are new each day. Because I am hungry and empty, and God gives me daily Bread. 

Because God's Word is a lamp to my feet, not to the mile marker 26.2 miles down the road. 

Not surprisingly, relationship and pursuit of God is easier when I don't try to do it alone. When I have the encouragement and support (and humor and tears) of people who are running this race with me, I'm inspired and energized - I can keep running, even when it gets painfully difficult.

This year, I'm running a marathon and seeking to love God and know His love more fully. But, each day, I'm starting with today.

Savoring the Sunrise

My office has a great view. 

In case you don't know, I work at a private law firm in downtown Knoxville. Our office suite sits over halfway up the tallest building in the city, and our back office windows look east over the river. I'm the receptionist, which means I'm at work every morning by 8:00, and every morning I take a moment to stand in a back office and look out the windows to view the morning. In the winter especially, when the sunrise isn't so early, I get to see beautiful skies nearly every single day. My favorite are the rosy-golden mornings where the sky flames bright with the glory of the new day. With the glory of God. The Tennessee River winds slowly into the hills and then the distant, dusty, blue-ridge mountains. The brilliant sun peeks over them, then climbs above the horizon, sometimes hiding behind patches of lit-up clouds, and I can't bear not to look, even though it burns my eyes. I soak in the glory of the sun, the Son. It's the deep breath before I plunge into the busyness and distraction of the day. The calm before the storm. The remembrance of glory before the return to the seemingly mundane. 

Doesn't it make sense that I would want to share such beauty and joy with the rest of the world? After all, what is Instagram for if not moments like these? My friends should be allowed to experience this. So, sometimes I share these moments.

       

Beautiful, right? And these tiny pictures don't even begin to do justice to how those moments took my breath away.

Yet, I'm finding that the more I try to share these moments, the less they take my breath away. Not because they are any less special and glorious. It's because my heart has changed.

I live in a self-obsessed culture that values "sharing everything." From hanging out with friends to daily outfits, from what you had for lunch to sunrises or sunsets, from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep, it's expected that you share whatever it is with the rest of the world. And you're expected to have Instagram so you can snap a quick picture, make it fancy with some cool filter, then legitimize it with a witty caption before sharing it with the citizens of the Internet world. The intention is to record and share the moments of your life in a fun way so that you enjoy each moment to the fullest. But I've found that it has quite the opposite effect.

When we share pictures or thoughts with the Internet world, we want them to be appreciated; we want them to be "liked." In fact, we can start to put our hope and security in getting as many "likes" as we can, whether it's on an Instagram picture or a Facebook status. So much so that we feel good or bad about ourselves based on how many "likes" we get. So much so that we aren't even truly enjoying the moments that we're capturing on camera or in writing. Perhaps that isn't you, but I've seen it in some of my friends, and I've seen it in myself.

Which brings me back to taking pictures of the sunrise from an office window. There is nothing wrong with taking pictures of the sunrise. Nothing at all. But I get so caught up in taking pictures of the view (and hoping that people will like it) that I forget to enjoy it. I forget to bask in the glory of God that shines in the beauty of each day's sunrise. I get so caught up in sharing the moment that I forget to savor it. And aren't moments meant to savored before they are meant to be shared?

Every sunrise - and every beautiful or funny or delightful or entirely ordinary moment - is saturated with the kindness and love of the God who created and redeemed us. If we actually, truly delight in each moment as a gift of love from Him, we wouldn't worry about how many "likes" we get. Our security is no longer in how other people respond to our lives and the way we capture each moment. Our security is in Him, just as our heart's delight is in Him.

Now, I will still take pictures of the sunrise. But I hope that every morning I first take a long moment to savor its beauty, and I hope that some mornings I don't take pictures of it at all. Because each sunrise tells me that God loves me, and He likes me, and that is enough.

No Year's Resolve

It's January 8th, a week of the new year has already gone by, and people are likely still thinking about resolutions. He wants to floss every day, they want to read a certain number of books every month, she wants to cook an actual meal once a week, I want to run more consistently. When people look back on the last year, they see things that they wish they could have done differently, things they want to improve on for the next year, so they resolve to do so. After all, it's a new year - it's time to start over fresh.

I don't remember how young I was when I started making New Year's resolutions, but it didn't take me long to discover how hard it is to actually maintain a commitment to them. It usually only took me until January 8th or so to not do whatever I had "resolved" to do. I didn't floss that one night, or I skipped the morning run, or I ate three-too-many cookies after lunch, or I neglected my devotional time. Whatever it was, my resolve disappeared, and I felt guilty about it.

Now, maybe this is just me, but it seems that after that first time that I failed, things would fall apart after that. I would try to pick things back up, but after my second and third failures, I would just forget my resolutions entirely. Maybe I would last a month, but after that, nothing. That's why I don't like making resolutions for the new year. There's no way I'll last an entire 365 days. Gracious, I barely last a week with the kind of resolve I have.

However, taking stock of the last year and hoping for change in certain areas is a good thing. We fallen human beings need change and growth. I want to change and grow. I want to go running more consistently and eat healthier, but more than that I want to spend time with my Creator. I want to know Him and love Him with all of who I am. I want to stop giving Him empty lip service and start living for Him whole-heartedly, even in my most private moments when no one is there to make sure I do the right thing. I know that God is always near to me, but I want to walk near to Him. I want to be mind-full of Christ each day.

But, reader, it would be foolish of me to "resolve" to do those things. I am weak and broken, and, to be completely honest, I've already failed this year.

So do I simply give up? If I know I'm weak and bound to fail, what hope is there for change?

Gratefully, it's not up to me to change my heart. God doesn't leave me on my own to try to live righteously. He knows my weaknesses more fully than I do, and He invites me to lean on His grace and strength. I can pray that He would help me to walk with Him. In this there is abundant hope.

But what if I still fail? What if you still fail? The fact is that it's not really a question of "if" - it's a question of "when." We are bound to fail. Yet, that is no cause for despair. Because just as 2013 is a new year, every single day is a new day, and God's mercies are new every morning (Check out Lamentations 3:22-24). We do make mistakes. Lots of them. But God's grace goes far deeper than our sin, and His strength overwhelms our weaknesses. So whether or not you make resolutions, in this new year, as each new day comes, you can live in joy and confidence knowing that our Redeemer is with us, He is for us, and He is making all things new.