I’ve been hunting shadows lately, and let me tell you, it hasn’t been easy.
As most of you know, I graduated this past April and have subsequently moved to Utah. This last school year went well, but kept me extremely busy with work, classes, and traveling. The combination left me exhausted at the end of the year, with just enough strength to say goodbye to friends, knowing that it will never be as convenient to see them now that we have to “grow up.”
Now, I’m not hunting for just any old shadow, I’ve got a specific one in mind. It worked out for Wendy, Peter, and John, so I think it will work out for me too.
A few days after graduation I packed my bags and left with my brother and his family to go back to Utah. This was supposed to be the start of another fun adventure. I was going to interview for jobs in Salt Lake because somewhere in the past couple years I heard the call, “Go west, young man, go west”, and thought it would be a grand idea. The next couple weeks proved to be not so grand after all. My normally healthy sense of adventure abandoned me and I felt bored and lonely more than I have in years. The reality of life post-college began to dawn on me and I was ready to sign up to be a career student. (Maybe I could set the Guinness World Record for number of degrees!?) But see, God’s been working on this whole reality bit with me lately.
And that’s why I’ve been hunting Peter Pan’s shadow, because I figure if I can get him to come this side of Neverland, I’ve got a good shot of flying back with him. (the “You can fly” song is playing in my head right now.) The way I see it, the Lost Boys have got it figured out. With wisdom that surpasses their years, they saw that being a kid is where it is at and the whole growing up thing is for the birds. Neverland must be a pretty rockin’ place. I mean, I’d take just about any place that would isolate me from reality right about now.
I’m not talking about the reality of having to get a job and pay for things that you want, although it wasn’t so bad not having to do those things. (I know you hard working adults would love to hear that college is so easy and that working life is so hard…I’m not giving you that satisfaction…yet.) I’m talking about the reality of life change. The reality of having to leave friends, mentors, professors and the safety of a Christian bubble, of having to struggle for a new role/place in your life, of the work it takes to strengthen a relationship with a sibling, of the helplessness and uncertainty that comes with all that, and to top it off, the reality of not really feeling like doing what the Lord is calling you to.
After my couple weeks in Utah, I flew back to Ohio, without a job. I was pleased about this because I thought it meant I could get a job in Indiana and forget this whole “Go west” deal. But it turns out that the call to “Go West” wasn’t just something I dreamed up, it was the Lord’s calling. Doors closed in Indiana and a great job opened in Salt Lake. I reluctantly accepted, and then plunged myself into two more weeks of reality-less living. I went to North Carolina to visit friends, I went to South Dakota to a friend’s wedding, I went hiking in West Virginia, and then finally packed and headed to Utah. Somewhere in that 96 hours of driving (I’m not exaggerating), the Lord told me to “Wait,” to “tarry in Jerusalem” if you will. In the midst of my uncertainties, in the midst of my lack of desire (one might be tempted to use the word dread) to wait. I kept hoping Peter Pan would get here quick.
Lest you think I’m some kind of sissy, I’ve got a hunch the disciples were hoping for the equivalent of Neverland right after the Ascension. You get used to living with a guy who can make problems disappear by just speaking to them, and I’m pretty sure your feelings of invincibility start to wane when He leaves, only to be replaced by major uncertainty. If I am Peter, here is what I’m thinking: ‘It’s not been so bad these last three and half years. Our biggest trial was the whole crucifixion ordeal, which seemed major at the time, but I mean, COME ON, He beat that too.’ Then Christ says, “I’m leaving. Go wait in Jerusalem till you receive the Spirit.” And now I’m thinking, “Hey Jesus, I got a better idea. How about You stay, and we’ll forget that other guy. Remember that ‘On this rock I’ll build my Church’ prophesy, yeah…let’s you and I go get those two-by-four’s and start.”
And so I am here in Utah, with the same command as the disciples had…to wait. Waiting really stinks because it gives you plenty of time to come face to face with reality. But I’ve gotten a sneak peak at the next chapter. I know the Spirit comes upon the disciples, and I know that He will give me further direction, further wisdom once the reality has done its work in my heart.
The good news is that once reality devastates us and pulls us from the stupor of unreality we’d love to live in, then the sweet reality of the Spirit comes. And when He is our reality, we become instruments that literally change the scope of history.
Waiting,
Jake
Saturday, August 05, 2006
August Marathons
It’s August now; you can feel it in the air. Maybe it’s just the heat that is so telling; a sweltering heat, but with the characteristics of the last hot flames of a fire that will give way to the comfortable glow of red embers. August isn’t a month usually associated with change, like April bringing spring, September bringing fall, or January bringing the New Year. But August has always been a time of dramatic and abrupt transition for me.
I was born in August, so I guess it is only appropriate to yearly experience transition as crude reminder of my earthly debut. In my younger years, I used to dread my birthday, silently praying that it would be a long time coming, because, inevitably, among those brightly wrapped presents would be school supplies—a sickening omen of the death of summertime freedom and the commencement of school. High school alleviated some of that dread by freeing me of my summer job and bringing the sweet sweaty smell of my cross-country teammates as we trained under the blazing sun. And in college…well…August during college was like nothing else. I’d finish up my summer adventure, collapse from sheer exhaustion for a couple days, only to wake with an exhilaration that bordered on euphoria as I prepared for another semester with friends and professors. (Sure, memory has a tendency of tinting such things with a rosy, happy glow, neglecting the not-so-pleasant, but I’d rather it be that way.) Maybe it’s the transition I can smell, but I always know it’s August.
I had my first August run today; no spectacular scenery or distance, but very reflective. The smell of transition (and sweat) all around, I began to think about running, especially marathoning and sprinting. The differences are remarkably profound. A runner who has always considered sprinting a distance, weak cousin of “real running”, I suddenly felt an urge to get back to sprinting. Whatever else I might say about it, sprinting does have the flare of rapid transition and adrenaline.
Now don’t get me wrong, sprinting isn’t without some discomfort, but by the time you feel the searing burn in your lungs, legs, and flailing arms, your feet sail across the finish line. You can collapse from sheer exhaustion for a couple moments, only to wake with the resurgence of your strength. Marathoning brings a different pain altogether, which at once causes intense longing for the finish line, and, in the good marathoner, causes a scorn and disregard of pain allowing him to push even deeper into the realm of pain, enduring it with each new step.
As I said, sprinting also has the exhilaration of adrenaline. From start to finish, this handy little hormone sees you through, making sprinting mildly reminiscent of a drug-induced ecstasy. Marathoning is largely devoid of such ecstasy. The adrenaline buzz wears off in the first mile or so and a profound drudgery sets in. I’m often asked about “runner’s high,” but to quote Caedmon’s Call (completely out of context) “the problem with these mysteries is they’re so mysterious.” There is no accurate prediction of when this feeling will come. In fact, during a marathon, one finds such pleasant feelings almost odd, wondering why it comes when it does, carrying you for a few miles before abandoning you completely. The longer I run, the only thing I can say for sure about such highs is that they become less important. Instead of seeking such a “high” I have simply become more content with those runs in which no “high” can be found, instead resigning myself to a simple joy in having completed another run.
Therein lies another great difference. The joy of completing a marathon has little to do with the applause received during or after. I will confess that more than one of my best performances in high school found motivation in the recognition I knew I would receive. Sprinting is almost always done in the arena of recognition. Marathoning requires too many lonely miles both in training and in the actual run itself to carry recognition as a motivator. Somewhere in the long training miles, the only voice you become able to hear is the one in yourself, prodding you on, encouraging, challenging, and rebuking. The recognition of others can be encouraging and uplifting, but it becomes much less significant.
So this warm August morning as my feet rolled across the black pavement, a pang of sadness hit me as I realized that no dramatic transition awaits me this August. That’s why I wanted so badly to sprint; I’ve been sprinting much of my life. One would think that a long time runner like myself would be able to tell the difference between sprinting and marathoning, but I’ve been thriving off the adrenaline, instead of abiding by the principles of marathoning. I’ve been rushing around from one adventure to another, one ministry to another, only to finish and start again, always with a new flourish of adrenaline. I’m afraid that this August, the Lord has a marathon in mind.
What pace will I keep when the thrill of transition leaves? Will I learn to push deeper into the hardships I face—like being a vibrant Christian witness among a people so steeped in false religion or continuing to forge a relationship with my brother and his family? I want to learn to be content with joy instead of a “high.” I am striving to find new Christian fellowship to “run” with me. And I want to run this race for the voice calling out inside of me, the voice of Christ my Savior.
This August there will be no sprinting for me, only the constant effort to put one foot in front of the other in rhythmic, measured pace.
“Beware of the inclination to dictate to God as to what you will allow to happen if you obey Him.” Oswald Chambers
I was born in August, so I guess it is only appropriate to yearly experience transition as crude reminder of my earthly debut. In my younger years, I used to dread my birthday, silently praying that it would be a long time coming, because, inevitably, among those brightly wrapped presents would be school supplies—a sickening omen of the death of summertime freedom and the commencement of school. High school alleviated some of that dread by freeing me of my summer job and bringing the sweet sweaty smell of my cross-country teammates as we trained under the blazing sun. And in college…well…August during college was like nothing else. I’d finish up my summer adventure, collapse from sheer exhaustion for a couple days, only to wake with an exhilaration that bordered on euphoria as I prepared for another semester with friends and professors. (Sure, memory has a tendency of tinting such things with a rosy, happy glow, neglecting the not-so-pleasant, but I’d rather it be that way.) Maybe it’s the transition I can smell, but I always know it’s August.
I had my first August run today; no spectacular scenery or distance, but very reflective. The smell of transition (and sweat) all around, I began to think about running, especially marathoning and sprinting. The differences are remarkably profound. A runner who has always considered sprinting a distance, weak cousin of “real running”, I suddenly felt an urge to get back to sprinting. Whatever else I might say about it, sprinting does have the flare of rapid transition and adrenaline.
Now don’t get me wrong, sprinting isn’t without some discomfort, but by the time you feel the searing burn in your lungs, legs, and flailing arms, your feet sail across the finish line. You can collapse from sheer exhaustion for a couple moments, only to wake with the resurgence of your strength. Marathoning brings a different pain altogether, which at once causes intense longing for the finish line, and, in the good marathoner, causes a scorn and disregard of pain allowing him to push even deeper into the realm of pain, enduring it with each new step.
As I said, sprinting also has the exhilaration of adrenaline. From start to finish, this handy little hormone sees you through, making sprinting mildly reminiscent of a drug-induced ecstasy. Marathoning is largely devoid of such ecstasy. The adrenaline buzz wears off in the first mile or so and a profound drudgery sets in. I’m often asked about “runner’s high,” but to quote Caedmon’s Call (completely out of context) “the problem with these mysteries is they’re so mysterious.” There is no accurate prediction of when this feeling will come. In fact, during a marathon, one finds such pleasant feelings almost odd, wondering why it comes when it does, carrying you for a few miles before abandoning you completely. The longer I run, the only thing I can say for sure about such highs is that they become less important. Instead of seeking such a “high” I have simply become more content with those runs in which no “high” can be found, instead resigning myself to a simple joy in having completed another run.
Therein lies another great difference. The joy of completing a marathon has little to do with the applause received during or after. I will confess that more than one of my best performances in high school found motivation in the recognition I knew I would receive. Sprinting is almost always done in the arena of recognition. Marathoning requires too many lonely miles both in training and in the actual run itself to carry recognition as a motivator. Somewhere in the long training miles, the only voice you become able to hear is the one in yourself, prodding you on, encouraging, challenging, and rebuking. The recognition of others can be encouraging and uplifting, but it becomes much less significant.
So this warm August morning as my feet rolled across the black pavement, a pang of sadness hit me as I realized that no dramatic transition awaits me this August. That’s why I wanted so badly to sprint; I’ve been sprinting much of my life. One would think that a long time runner like myself would be able to tell the difference between sprinting and marathoning, but I’ve been thriving off the adrenaline, instead of abiding by the principles of marathoning. I’ve been rushing around from one adventure to another, one ministry to another, only to finish and start again, always with a new flourish of adrenaline. I’m afraid that this August, the Lord has a marathon in mind.
What pace will I keep when the thrill of transition leaves? Will I learn to push deeper into the hardships I face—like being a vibrant Christian witness among a people so steeped in false religion or continuing to forge a relationship with my brother and his family? I want to learn to be content with joy instead of a “high.” I am striving to find new Christian fellowship to “run” with me. And I want to run this race for the voice calling out inside of me, the voice of Christ my Savior.
This August there will be no sprinting for me, only the constant effort to put one foot in front of the other in rhythmic, measured pace.
“Beware of the inclination to dictate to God as to what you will allow to happen if you obey Him.” Oswald Chambers
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