Fitting In

 A couple of weeks ago, I walked 13.1 miles. Voluntarily. For fun (well, for fun and one of those snazzy "13.1" bumper stickers).

If you get up before sunrise to go to the gym, are motivated by phrases like, "feel the burn!" or enjoy playing sports, I don't think you can appreciate the enormity of those first few sentences. I am not one of you. Exercise has been my nemesis ever since I was about four years old. One of my earliest memories is trudging behind my mom on family walks, begging her to carry me and whining, "I'm sweating!!"

Over the years, I made several half-hearted attempts to stick to an exercise regimen, but it never lasted more than a few months and sometimes just a few hours. Besides the fact that I just didn't like to do it, my lack of athletic ability (I am the only person I know of who ever struck out at kickball) and inability to stick it out added the element of FAILURE to the notion of exercise, which only made me loathe it more.

So how did I go from perpetual exercise-avoider to a half-marathon finisher? I gave up. Unable to even summon the desire to exercise, I surrendered the matter to God. After some pouting and prayer, I committed to doing some exercise most days of the week as nothing more than an offering to Him…and we both knew there was no way I was going to fulfill that promise on my own. Outside of my promise, there were no expectations of performance or results; the only way I could fail was if I quit. Each time I completed a workout, I thanked God for it, because I knew it wasn't an act of willpower, but His power.

Miraculously, I've been at it for more than a year (except for the week my son and I had a contest to see who could get the sickest). Though I still don't like to sweat, I get antsy if I go more than a few days without a walk outside. As I've gotten stronger, exercise has gotten easier, and I've learned to enjoy things that require a certain level of stamina and strength. I never would have been able to scale Old Rag Mountain a few years ago, and it was after that adventure that my husband and best friend encouraged me to enter the USMC Historic Half. Walking it was an act of worship, a celebration of what God can do and did.

And yet, I feel like an imposter, a fraud. Despite the fact that I've trained for and completed a half marathon, I don't feel I fit in among the fit. My recent accomplishment doesn't align with my perception of who I am and what I'm capable of. But I think perhaps that's the whole point. When I only stick to those things I know I can do, it's easy to misplace my faith. If I never reach beyond what comes easy, I miss the gift of victory through His power.

Living Water

I've never been the outdoorsy type. My ideal nature encounter is lounging near an indoor fountain. As long as the chair is comfortable, the temperature is just right, and there's not too much foliage around the fountain. Sometimes greenery–real or fake–can take on a serpentine look, and it freaks me out a little. That's right, I've been frightened by artificial greenery.

So it may surprise you to learn that I recently braved 50mph wind gusts, icy trails, and mud to hike 3291 feet to the top of Old Rag Mountain. Frankly, it surprised me too. Not long ago, just thinking about it would have made me uneasy because, well, it's outdoors, really outdoors.

In the past, I would have scoffed at the idea of immersing myself so deeply in the realm of the outdoors because there are just too many variables to manage. I guess maybe if there was a candy volcano at the top of the mountain or a great shoe sale or someone threw my car keys up there, I might have been willing to endure it. Maybe, but probably not. And sure, nature is pretty, but I drive through it every day, fountains abound, and I have these amazing nature-themed backgrounds for my computer screen. And with such things I was content.

That is, until God began to tug at the fears and idols I clung to. The fear of failure. The fear of exposing my vulnerabilities. The fear of the unpredictable. The idols of comfort and the illusion of control. These were all stones I used in the wall I constructed to shut out uncertainty, discomfort, and risk. In exchange, I was willing to trade the fullness of life for something I perceived as comfortable, safe, and predictable.

But that's not the kind of life we're called to, and over the last year or so, God has started to break through the stones in my wall. There has been an undeniable call to set aside the things that have limited me. A call to risk more, give more, and do more with what He has provided. A call to rest in Him so that I am free to enjoy more of life, more of others, more of His creation, and more of Him.

And though I resisted at first, I've learned that the more I surrender to Him, the more I trust Him, the more willing I am to follow after Him in faith, the more riches I uncover. My recent jaunt into the forest was a perfect illustration.

My favorite part of the hike was the creek that spilled down the mountain and ran parallel to much of the trail. At one point, I left the path to pick my way across the rocks and perch atop a large one right in the middle of the stream. Drinking in the beauty that surrounded me, I caught myself thinking, "this sounds just like a fountain," and had to laugh. Long satisfied with paltry substitutes, it's been fun to discover what I've been missing. I am so thankful my Father was not content to let the wall stand.

There are stones yet to be removed. I still struggle with fear. But now that I have tasted what is possible when I surrender my fears to God, I've stopped pretending to be satisfied with what comes easy and find myself looking forward to the next adventure. Sure, I may tremble a bit, but I know who began dismantling the wall and am certain He will finish the work.

The Glory of the LORD Shall be Revealed...

For weeks, maybe even months, Isaiah 40:5 has been stuck in my head. I'm sure practicing and singing a portion of Handel's Messiah for our church's Christmas cantata has something to do with it, but while I rejoice in the birth of the Messiah, I treasure the promise that Isaiah's prophecies will be made complete in Christ's return, and this verse whispers wonders to my soul that I can only begin to grasp.

Often, I think, when we look forward to that day, we inadvertently miss the bigger picture. Daily faced with this world's imperfections, we await the "new heaven and new earth" (Revelation 21:1). Cares and struggles make us eager for the day when there will be "no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying," or pain (Rev. 21:4). When are weary, we are reassured that He has promised to reward us when He returns (Rev. 22:12), and we take comfort in knowing that someday, "God will wipe away every tear" (Rev. 7:17).

While all of these things are wonderfully true, when we dwell only on those things that speak to our temporal concerns, we miss the best part: "The glory of the LORD shall be revealed..." Can you imagine it? The glory of He who "has measured the waters in the hollow of His hand" (Isaiah 40:12) and who "stretches out the heavens like a curtain and spreads them out like a tent to dwell in" (Isaiah 40:22). The glory of the LORD who is the "everlasting God" who "neither faints or is weary" and whose "understanding is unsearchable" (Isaiah 40:28). The glory of the "KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS" (Rev. 19:16) shall be revealed, and "all flesh shall see it together" (Isaiah 40:5).

I can't imagine it, not really. It's too big for my human mind to understand. But something deep within me does understand, and my spirit literally dances in anticipation for the day when "all flesh shall see it together." Until then, we wait in confident expectation for this wondrous gift, certain it awaits us because "the mouth of the LORD has spoken it" (Isaiah 40:5).