WINDED

Those who have only come to know me in the past 8 years might be surprised to learn that I was once an avid jogger. Why would they be surprised? Welll, cause I don't look like a jogger. That's why. It's true though, for extended periods of time in years past I made it my daily practice to go for a run at the end of the day. I like running, and although I've never been fast, once I hit my groove I could just go forever.

My favorite place to go jogging was out at the lake house. I used to run from the house to Benson Landing and back every evening (4 miles). On summer evenings the fields, which lined my route, would be full of fireflies. As I motored past I would pretend that their flashing came from paparazzi cameras. (I have always entertained delusions of grandeur). I also enjoyed running along the Saint Lawrence in Quebec City, around the campus at Houghton and up and down the hills of Pittsford during my police academy days, but I have found it hard to maintain a jogging regimen since moving to Idyllwild.

A few nights ago I decided that every other day I would begin concluding my time of study in the morning with a 30 minute jog. This morning was my first time out. I had preset my MP3 to the theme from Chariots of Fire, and, after doing my stretches, I headed out along a route which I had planned in advance. That's the only way to run in my experience. Start with a plan- "I'm gonna run to A and then over to B and then back here." Any deviation from that route is failure. That's what I tell myself. Stay the course. If it's harder then you had anticipated you've got to stick with the plan.

This morning was hard though. Harder then I expected. I was tempted at times to abandon my plan. My running form began as imperfect and then quickly turned into kind of a tortured shuffle as I forced myself along. Then buzzards began circling overhead waiting for the wounded creature that was me to die. My legs felt wooden, and not springy at all. My breathing was ragged, and, although it wasn't pretty, I managed to finish what I had set out to do. It was a start.This is why it is so important to start with a plan. My natural laziness and aversion to discomfort kicked in and whispered things like, "Whoa! Take it easy,"  "This is your first run in a long time. You shouldn't push it like this," "You should build up to this kind of a run," or "You should turn around and head back. You've gone far enough for your first time."

Deviation is failure I tell myself, and I keep on shuffling. Stick to the plan! To A, then over to B, then back home.

This reminds me of Hebrews 12:1-3, "Therefore since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and pefecter 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 sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart."

Jesus had his eyes on us (for we are the joy that was set before Him) as he went to the cross and so too should we "fix our eyes on Jesus" as we live for Him in these days. Jesus is all at once our coach, our fuel, our reason, our reward, and our victory. When we grow weary and feel like losing heart, when Satan begins to whisper, we should "consider Him who endured." He endured for us, and so we press on for Him. This business of being a Christian is not for sprinters. You've got to be tough, determined, gritty and even courageous to "run with perseverance." You don't need to be fast, but you do need to stick to the course "marked out," wherever that may lead. It's a long distance haul, filled with the enemy's head games. So, brothers and sisters, let's "fix our eyes on Jesus." Let's "consider Him." Let's run!

NOT THIS YEAR

I took this picture on November 1, 2008, the morning after halloween. I had cleaned out my pants' pockets before tossing them into the dirty laundry, and this was the shameful evidence that emerged. Guilty on three counts, THEFT FROM A CHILD'S HALLOWEEN BASKET WITH INTENT TO CONSUME, CONSUMPTION OF STOLEN HALLOWEEN CANDY and, of course, GLUTTONY.

Well, it's not going to happen this year...even if the kids leave an Almond Joy unguarded. (Curse that devilish amalgam of chocolate and coconut!) I've decided to make some changes. No "Daddy Tax" will lighten their load this year. In fact, I will hereby pledge that no candy will pass my lips during the week before or following Halloween.

Josh Tate's gonna get healthy, and this is my first challenge.