Back in my youth ministry days, there was a popular quote: “Salvation is a journey, not a destination.” I resonated well with this quote then, and find it just a true now. In the letters of St. Paul, he often wrote about running races and enduring hardships. In his letter to the Philippians, he stated, “Not that I have already achieved this, but I press on to win the prize.”
At the beginning of this liturgical year (Advent 2010), I began meditating on the word, “Steadfast.” As part of a physical expression of this word, I decided to once again run a half marathon. I am not a runner. I am especially not a fast runner (think 11-12 minute miles). But I completed the 13.1 mile goal in May 2010 and have continued running a couple of times/week. In my running, I have noticed something significant. Wherever I have set my mark as a finish line, I go no further. If I set out for a 3 mile run and then start dwelling on how tired I am or the slight cramp in my knee I move the finish line closer and decide 2.5 miles is enough. As soon as I have shifted the goal mentally, there is no going back to the longer distance.
In life and healing, we set our marks and determine the distance we are willing to go. I often hear things like, “I want the pain to stop; I want to be happy; I want to get over this; I want to stop crying.” With these goals, there is usually a mental time line of days or weeks. The problem is in life, there are no finish lines. We can set goals, but once we have arrived at that marker the race is not over.
Grief, trauma, and difficulties are cyclical. We deal with the “it” at one phase of life only to find that it rises again at a new phase of life. A new layer of old issues emerges. Think of someone who has difficulty with vulnerability and intimacy. They deal with it as a young adult and their friendships and prayer life increase in meaning and intensity. And then they get married only to find that once again a new degree of vulnerability and intensity is expected of them. And then parenthood, aging, loss – new phases of life kick up different aspects and challenges.
Running long distances has naturally taught me about endurance. On a long run, the first mile is brutal but then I find a zone, a rhythm of sorts and running becomes almost easy. It remains smooth until I start reaching burn out and my body is screaming at me, “THIS IS ENOUGH!” Endurance is fighting through the pain and remaining focused on the goal.
We set out with good intentions. We will run the race; we will endure. Much of the time, life moves smoothly and the race is almost easy. But when the struggles come along, it is tempting to call it quits. We look for strategies to numb the pain and avoid the conflict. We give up. And though we may feel some initial relief, eventually it cycles back around and we must either resume the race or find bigger ways to numb the pain and avoid the hardship.
Endurance is enjoying and embracing the zone – relishing in life’s pleasures. And it is also pressing on through the pain. Endurance is holding onto the hope that the pain will eventually pass and by running through it, we are indeed made stronger.
Next . . . “F” as in Faith.
At the beginning of this liturgical year (Advent 2010), I began meditating on the word, “Steadfast.” As part of a physical expression of this word, I decided to once again run a half marathon. I am not a runner. I am especially not a fast runner (think 11-12 minute miles). But I completed the 13.1 mile goal in May 2010 and have continued running a couple of times/week. In my running, I have noticed something significant. Wherever I have set my mark as a finish line, I go no further. If I set out for a 3 mile run and then start dwelling on how tired I am or the slight cramp in my knee I move the finish line closer and decide 2.5 miles is enough. As soon as I have shifted the goal mentally, there is no going back to the longer distance.
In life and healing, we set our marks and determine the distance we are willing to go. I often hear things like, “I want the pain to stop; I want to be happy; I want to get over this; I want to stop crying.” With these goals, there is usually a mental time line of days or weeks. The problem is in life, there are no finish lines. We can set goals, but once we have arrived at that marker the race is not over.
Grief, trauma, and difficulties are cyclical. We deal with the “it” at one phase of life only to find that it rises again at a new phase of life. A new layer of old issues emerges. Think of someone who has difficulty with vulnerability and intimacy. They deal with it as a young adult and their friendships and prayer life increase in meaning and intensity. And then they get married only to find that once again a new degree of vulnerability and intensity is expected of them. And then parenthood, aging, loss – new phases of life kick up different aspects and challenges.
Running long distances has naturally taught me about endurance. On a long run, the first mile is brutal but then I find a zone, a rhythm of sorts and running becomes almost easy. It remains smooth until I start reaching burn out and my body is screaming at me, “THIS IS ENOUGH!” Endurance is fighting through the pain and remaining focused on the goal.
We set out with good intentions. We will run the race; we will endure. Much of the time, life moves smoothly and the race is almost easy. But when the struggles come along, it is tempting to call it quits. We look for strategies to numb the pain and avoid the conflict. We give up. And though we may feel some initial relief, eventually it cycles back around and we must either resume the race or find bigger ways to numb the pain and avoid the hardship.
Endurance is enjoying and embracing the zone – relishing in life’s pleasures. And it is also pressing on through the pain. Endurance is holding onto the hope that the pain will eventually pass and by running through it, we are indeed made stronger.
Next . . . “F” as in Faith.
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