I think more than anything, running has taught me the difference between the power of fear and the power of hope. The key lesson in there has been discovering we have a choice as to which of those powers we lean into.
There are a lot of people out there making a lot of money on this concept of "visualization." They encourage you to picture your dreams as if they've already happened, and this unleashes superpowers in your brain. The more I read up on these visualization techniques, the more I've come to see God was the first visualization guru. One of the masters of visualization is Jack Canfield. He offers the following benefits for visualization: 1.) It activates your creative subconscious which will start generating creative ideas to achieve your goal. 2.) It programs your brain to more readily perceive and recognize the resources you will need to achieve your dreams. 3.) It activates the law of attraction, thereby drawing into your life the people, resources, and circumstances you will need to achieve your goals. 4.) It builds your internal motivation to take the necessary actions to achieve your dreams. I read those, and as someone who has spent some time reading the bible, I think - those benefits are all very biblical promises. God created us to create. He gave us gifts and our minds are absolutely wired to tap into those gifts. God has promised us, if we knock at his door with a heart for maximizing those gifts, he's going to give us what we need. He also said when we do that, be prepared to answer for the hope we have in us, because people are going to start asking us about it - that's that law of attraction. And of course, when we start seeing the fruits of our efforts, the holy spirit living in us comes alive, it screams go go go. There is no greater motivation. God didn't give us a spirit of fear, so when we try to tap into it, when we visualize the worst case scenarios, we are entering a battle we can't win. A battle with ourselves, and a battle with God. God gave us a spirit of hope. He's told us how our story ends. He gave us some directions for the journey there, and promised no law of attraction is stronger than his attraction to sharing that journey with us. We all get a choice today - fear or hope. Choose fear, be prepared for a battle you can't win. A long and exhausting battle. Choose hope - be prepared to attract a lot of people along on your journey. And at the front of that line - at the very front - will be God.
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The simple message of the gospel is that our best isn’t good enough and our worst doesn’t disqualify us.
Simple? Maybe, but we live in a culture that often complicates that message beyond any recognition. And sadly, it complicates it beyond the love it was intended to offer, beyond the love it was intended to move us joyfully return. I would argue almost all of our lives have been conditioned to believe you have to be good enough to get in. Your grades have to be good enough. Your job skills have to be good enough. Your yard has to look good enough. Your online profile picture has to look good enough. Oh, Keith, you’re just talking about expectations. You’re talking about standards in life that help us identify who is best suited for college and not. Who can do a particular job and who can’t. You’re talking about a homeowner’s association that has an obligation to keep the neighborhood nice. You’re talking about someone who just wants to put their best foot forward on social media. Only, I don’t think that is what I’m talking about. From an early age, our relationships get flavored with expectations. We have a bullying epidemic because friends groups get to decide who is in and who is out. We have an loneliness epidemic, closely connected to drug overdose and suicide epidemics, because too often we decide who is in and who is out. I’ve worked enough with families to know there are no shortage of parents and grandparents placing expectations on their kids and grandkids, not expectations for success, but for love and acceptance. We bat about 50% in this country with marriages – because at some point they begin to focus on what counts you out instead of what got us in. No, I would argue our relationships are largely built on the idea we have to do something good enough to have them and keep them. All that makes the message of the gospel radical. Hard to buy into. This idea that God said I’m creating you because I loved you long before that creation. I’m sending my son to personally deliver the message: I don’t need your works and behaviors nearly as much as I long for your love. And if you don’t believe me, God said, I’m going to ask my son to die on the cross for you as an exclamation point. God has this radical idea about relationship. He says let’s start with love and see what naturally overflows from that. Us, too often us, we start with let me see how hard I can work, how good I can be, how much I can achieve and please, and who knows, maybe someday that will look like I am loved. In a culture that too often tells you that you have to be good enough – a measure you will never ever live up to – find some refuge today in a simple message that says you already are. I know you feel like it's more complicated than that. I used to. But it's not. It really is a simple and life-changing message. 4/28/2020 0 Comments How do we respond to our prayers?Last week, a friend of mine reached out and asked me to pray for her. She was concerned that her cancer had returned.
I've always thought, the most evil part of that disease has to be the reality that it never just visits you. It shows up and moves in and becomes a permanent part of who you are. Oh, if you're lucky, someone can help you kick it out of the house. But some part of you is always staring out the front window. You stand there staring, wondering, will this be the day it walks back up the sidewalk and knocks at the front door. With every lump or headache or tired day - you wonder if you'll hear that knock. So as she made her rounds to the doctor, I prayed for her. I did something else too. Something that in my world was probably an even bigger influence on my faith. I watched her. While she was waiting for a doctor to say yes or no to the return of cancer, I watched her post pictures of herself hanging out with her family, doing her exercise program, and sharing her infectious smile - a smile the size of earth. While she was waiting to hear what was happening in her life, she was using her heart and voice to offer life to those around her. Including me. Just like she always does. I told the story not long ago of the man who asked Jesus to heal his kid. Before requesting this of Jesus, he told Jesus he'd already gone through the disciples but they couldn't quite pull it off. So Jesus healed the kid, then basically told the disciples, "you know, if you all believed in your prayers as much as you want me to believe in them, you'd be a lot better off." I think I've been guilty in the past of measuring the success of my prayer life by God's response. I prayed today, but I don't feel a new sense of purpose, so prayer must not work. I prayed today, but I didn't get the job, so prayer must not work. I prayed today, but the relationship didn't mend, so prayer must not work. Watching my friend last week, I realized we should probably measure the success of our prayer life more on how we respond to our prayers than on how God responds to them. Long before my friend had the results that she had her friends praying over, she told me "I'm calm and feel at peace - he's got me." My friend showed me what it looks like to believe in the power of prayer well before you know if the prayer gets answered or not. And by the way - she didn't have to hear that knock at the front door. The cancer had not returned. “The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make His face shine upon you, And be gracious to you; The Lord lift up His countenance upon you, And give you peace.” When I was a young kid growing up on my great-grandpa's farm, I remember him having a birthday. It was one of those big number birthdays. I was just getting to the age where I realized old people die. And so, in some ways, I was afraid to say happy birthday to him, thinking maybe if I did I'd be reminding him he was about to die.
Still, bravely, as I met him in the barnyard when he was starting the chores, I hesitantly said "happy birthday." He, with shocking joy, said, "thank you." Puzzled, I asked him, doesn't it bother you you're having a birthday? I think somehow, sensing what I was getting at, he said to me, "You either get a birthday or you don't. When I get one I'm going to celebrate it." Then he walked away like it was just another day on the farm. I've never forgotten those words. You either get one of your don't. More and more, as I get to my big numbers, I think birthdays come with obligation. If you get one, you sort of owe the world something for that gift. I think the way we impact the world is a thank you for that "I got another one." I read something recently that said we should always be putting ourselves in the best places and positions to be our best selves. Well, I just want to say to all of you who reached out today, overwhelming me with kindness and encouragement and good wishes, you are all a part of my best self. I'm grateful for each of you. Today you helped me celebrate getting one more. Be well and God bless you all. A few years ago, I fell in love with trail running. When people ask me why I prefer running on the trails over running on the road, I often tell them I'm more likely to have a spiritual experience on the trails.
For a long time I've presumed most of that experience is rooted in being reconnected with nature. The trees surrounding me, the birds singing in them, the soil shifting beneath my feet - I guess it's always felt like a call to some distant yet gentle past. I guess the woods have felt like a place where God could spend more time telling me the meaning of life instead of spending all of his time trying to rescue me from it. Like maybe God and I needed a special place for him to do his most meaningful work with me. Lately, I've come to better understand God doesn't need me to go to a special place to experience him. He simply needs me to believe a little stronger that he's someone I go with, and not something I go to. For the past six weeks, life has gotten quieter for me. Not having a lot of the things to draw me in a thousand different directions will do that I suppose. In many ways, and most noticeably in these quiet morning times, I feel God's presence stronger than ever. I'm not hurriedly trying to read or write something before I have to race off to work. There aren't 377 to-do lists hanging over my head, few of which ever have "hang out with God" on them. Sure, in many ways life is more challenging, but in many ways it's come with unexpected comfort. Many days I've felt like I'm in the woods when I'm not in the woods. This has me wondering if maybe quiet is this special place for me and God. Henri Nouwen says, "God does not shout, scream or push. The spirit of God is soft and gentle like a small voice or a light breeze." God is not going to shout above the noise I create or allow in my life. When I was destroying my life with alcohol and compulsive gambling, never once did God try to scream me straight. He always just waited within the darkness of the inevitable hangover to show up and whisper love and encouragement. He refused to scream his way into my life or push alcohol out of it. In the midst of a busy two-month work project, when I gave that project 100% of my attention - thinking God was excitedly waiting to see the final product without any desire to be a part of the product - God never once barged in and said enough is enough. He just sat quietly and lovingly in the corner of my office whispering prayers over me. I suppose always with a sort of longing they were with me and not over me. Lately, I've been reflecting on just how often I see God as the other end of this whole life thing we're doing. How often I see God as the goal, not the objective. I've realized the noise in my life isn't a distraction from God - God's there - he just refused to scream over it. I hear God asking me, are you walking this path with the hopes of giving me a big hug at the end of it, or are you walking it within the beauty of knowing I'm hugging you all along the way. I've heard him asking, is the noise you've been chasing and allowing the path to me. Or - am I the path to me. That's a hard question to ask. But I'm sure the answer can only be heard in a soft voice, in the midst of a gentle and light breeze. I was on a work call the other day. It was a phone conversation with trainers I have hosted in Virginia in the recent past as part of my role with the state.
The trainers, who train large groups of people confined in small spaces, trainings that can't be zoomed, were beginning to think about conducting trainings in a post-pandemic world. They wanted to pick my brain about some of the challenges they might encounter when the states they serve begin to move back toward "normal." For a moment, I was lost. Over the past six weeks I have settled into a work from home routine. Get up in the morning. Write my morning devotional. Drink some coffee. Head to my little office at the local college. Drink more coffee. Take care of emails and participate in zoom meetings and then take steps toward completing a couple of projects I'm working on. It’s been a good and consistent and hope-filled routine. But these trainers, they weren’t asking about my day and my routine. They were asking about the future. As I considered my answer, I realized I couldn’t come up with one. And for the first time since this crisis began, I was overcome with uncertainty. Every training I'd scheduled to participate in or lead has been cancelled. A calendar once full of them doesn't have a single one. I told my trainer friends, I have no idea when trainings would be possible again. It's not on anyone's list of topics for conversation. I told them I didn't know when I'd be able to return to my office downtown. Shoot, I told them, I don't even know if my job will still be there when someone stands on the streets of downtown Richmond and shouts, all clear. For a moment, talking to two people who I'd always took for granted the opportunity to talk specifics with: this hotel, this day, this time, this many people, here's the signed contract, lunch will be at noon and we'll dismiss each day at 4 - for a moment - specifics washed away in a current of uncertainties. And I confess, for a bit there, so did I. It's amazing what happens when you let your mind get centered on the uncertainties of tomorrow instead of the hope found in what you can do in the here and now. It's a spin cycle of exhaustion that comes with contemplating answers for questions there are no answers for. Questions that if pondered for a zillion hours, would still have the exact same answer: I don't know. If you're like me, you hate to be defeated by I don't know. Oh how willing I can get to try to squeeze knowns into spaces where they will never fit. But you want to know what changed the feeling of that conversation, what immediately replaced uncertainty with hope? One of the trainers asked me, okay, given we can't make plans for the future, what are some things we could do to help your state right now. With that question, we began brainstorming ways to help communities and families and workers who are experiencing trauma in this crisis. We started talking about getting creative with training and budgeting. With one turn of direction in the conversation- in the way we were thinking - we went from infinite unknowns to two specific things we were going to plan to do in the next few months. You could hear the tires squeal as the conversation turned away from fear and toward hope. Bob Goff says today, "Fear tries to shrivel our hearts and shrink us down. Hope is the opposite, though - it swells our hearts and makes us expand. Hope restores the life fear tries to steal." And boy did I ever experience that - the shriveling heart, but then restored life. If you find yourself pondering questions there are no answers for - like questions you could ponder from now until this time next week and still be in the same place - move on. Don't stay there and shrivel. Instead, ask this question: what can I do to help right now? Help my kids or help my neighbor or help a complete stranger. It's clear we can't escape this Covid-19 virus. It came on its own terms. It seems to want to leave on them. But the uncertainty that comes with it, we get to dictate how we navigate that. Do it with hope. Earlier this week, I watched an interview with former surgeon general Vivek Murthy. He has a new book out: Together - The Healing Power of Human Connection in a Sometimes Lonely World.
Murthy sees loneliness at the root and therefore the cause of many of our public health challenges. Over the last few years, in the work I do around substance abuse prevention, promoting mental health wellness and educating communities about the impact of childhood adversity, there is one topic that comes up more than all others: loneliness. At the end of any discussion or training I offer in any of the areas above, there's a good chance someone is going to talk about feeling lonely or disconnected. Many times, I can see and feel myself in those discussions. Murthy says "the ability to connect with others is our birthright. This is fundamentally who we are." You know, one of the earliest needs God outlines for us in the bible is the need for one another. Only two chapters in to a bible with almost 1,200 chapters, God says “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.” (Genesis 2:18) Often, this verse and those that follow, are used to make a case for what marriage is supposed to look like. I personally think it's stronger evidence of what life is supposed to look like. That is, a life alone is not good. Not having someone to help you through life is not good. I mean, think about it, from day one, long before we are of age to even consider marriage, we are wired to need someone. We are wired to cry out when we are hungry or tired or experiencing insufferable diaper rash, and in response, someone who loves us comes to be our helper. The stage is being set to need others, having someone meet those needs the foundation of love. From the earliest days of our lives our brains are wired to need someone. Wired by the creator who said I don't think it's good to be alone. I'm going to create a helper. But sadly, in modern culture, we've adopted a love for independence. We've made millionaires out of people writing books about how to help yourself, while anyone even thinking about writing books about helping someone else is likely starving. Sit someplace quietly and listen to the world. You are far more likely to hear someone shout out "you can do it" long before you'll hear "we can do it." I think there are a lot of unseen struggles going on in the world right now because of this. We built and educated a society on how to go it alone, how to get ahead, how to be your own boss and create your own fortune. We've challenged people to live life on your own terms. We've turned our backs on our natural ability to have connection in favor of developing the unnatural skill of thriving without it. Now, here we are. Millions of lives have been reduced to needing others to survive. All at the same time, many people are discovering we all need a helper. Sadly, though, many of those people became much better at chanting the mantra "I've got this" and have no idea how to say "Can you help me?" Additionally, many people have been so intensely focused on getting ahead, they've lost the ability to begin to even recognize the struggles in people they left behind. But maybe this is our opportunity? We are at a place where we can ask ourselves going forward, as we will seemingly soon re-enter what is left of the world we exited, do we want to create a new world grounded in love? Do we want to leave behind this fear that as an individual I may somehow miss out on something in life, and come to a collective understanding what we've all been missing out on most is each other? It is not good for us to be alone. We need helpers. A former surgeon general has said loneliness is a health crisis. The God who created us wired us to depend on each other to prevent that crisis. But we don't often pay attention to that creator. Or to each other. Maybe this would be a good time to start. Several years ago I was running a race, the Georgia Jewel. I'd prepared all summer for it. It was going to be my longest run ever, over the most difficult course I'd ever tried to tackle.
My theme song preparing for that race was "Confident" - by Steffany Gretzinger. All summer I clung to these words in that song: I won't win this battle with the strength in my own hands You're the mountain-mover and only You can. A little over halfway through that race it got really hard. It was hot, I felt like I couldn't go on, and I quit. I just sat down in a shaded tent with a cold drink and called it a day. My friend Greg Armstrong recently told me that quitting is a drug. It's the morphine that instantly makes all the pain we're feeling, all the stress we're encountering, it makes it all go away in an instant. When he told me that, I thought of the Georgia Jewel. I thought, he is right. In that moment of quitting there was no more pain, no more thinking "17 more miles to go", no more thinking I'll never be able to finish this. There was just relief. Like all drugs, though, that quitting morphine has come with a hangover. A powerful and relentless and haunting hangover in the form of a near daily reminder that I got paralyzed by fear. I got paralyzed by not believing forward motion was still possible. One of my favorite scriptures is 2 Timothy 4:7 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. I think sometimes, looking at this scripture, we lose sight of how important it is to fight the good fight. The moment that fight gets hard, we start wishing for that "finish the race" moment. And the more we focus on that finish, the further away and impossible it begins to feel. Before long, we convince ourselves we have no fight left. I think sometimes when we're asking God to help us be mountain movers, we have the end in mind. We just want God to help us get from here to there with the snap of a finger. We picture life on the other side of the mountain and forget about the importance of the battle to get there. Looking back at that Georgia Jewel race, I think I quit because I was convinced God wasn't going to see me to that finish line. When asking myself if I could go on, I wasn't asking if I had any forward motion left in me, I was asking myself if I could finish the race. In the aftermath of that race, I've heard God say to me, I don't know why you focused on that finish line. Almost always, you have no idea what the finish line even looks like. But you do know what forward motion looks like. It looks just like that last step you took. It looks like every step you took this summer. It looks like the step you took to line up at the starting line. You know what the next step looks like. So just take it already. A few months later, after that race. I ran my furthest race ever. I committed that day to focus on the clear and present battle at hand, and not on the distant finish line I couldn't begin to see. That day I just said no to the morphine of quitting. That day, I discovered a new drug. We're all in some challenging times right now. They look different for each of us, but we're all in a challenge. The finish line is starting to sound impossible. We're staring at that mountain - that daggone thing hasn't moved an inch - and we're wondering, where is God? Well, God hasn't finished his race. He didn't race ahead to the finish line and leave you in his dust (maybe the only runner who has never done that to me). God is there in the battle, he's there in one more step, he's there saying let me teach you about foward motion. I don't know what forward looks like for you today. I just know it's the opposite of paralyzed. If the devil of quitting is on your left shoulder, the angel of forward motion is screaming on the other one. Life is hard. It's a battle to figure out. But as long as you're moving forward, you're figuring it out. Forward motion isn't the finish line, sometimes it's a long way from it, but every time it's a whole lot closer to it than paralyzed. 4/23/2020 0 Comments Where the gospels end we beginSome mornings, when I read my Bob Goff devotional, there is one line that jumps out to me. It stirs my thoughts and moves me to share it. This morning, though, it was almost every line.
Maybe because I've always felt this sense of defeat on the other side of Easter. We move through this big Lenten build up to Holy Week, then Holy Week arrives and the death on the cross, and then, bam - Jesus rises from the dead. Oh this story is getting good. Grab the popcorn. But, with excitement, as I turn the page at the end of all four of the gospels, I find no more pages. That's it. Just like watching the final episode of season 3 of Ozark, I'm left screaming, wait, what next? As Christians, it's easy to watch the story of Lent and Holy Week and then sit back and wait for season 4. Proclaim, man that was good, and then begin skimming Netflix for the next series to binge watch. But that's not how the Easter story was supposed to go. When we turn the last page of the gospels, you know what we're supposed to find? We're supposed to find us. In fact, maybe it would be a good idea to post one of those senior pictures that are trending online in your bible at the end of each of the gospels. Jesus rising from the dead - that was really an advertisement for an upcoming show. That was Jesus, standing outside an empty tomb, saying you thought that was good, watch what Keith's about to do. Bob Goff says we're not going to convince people the story of the resurrection is true with bible verses. He says we'll convince them "with the kind of sacrificial love that precludes every other explanation." That's not the sequel, that's the next page: us convincing people the Easter show they just saw wasn't ficition. I talked with a friend of mine this week. He's the CEO of a large non-profit. I asked him if he thought the non-profit world might get a boom from this sudden infusion we're seeing of "love your neighbor." In so many words, he told me he's not as optimistic about that boom as I might be. I've thought about that the last few days. I've thought about it and paid more attention to some of the divides that seem to be growing just on the other side of the many acts of charity I've been clinging to. And in many arenas, the fingers are pointing harder with blame, the interactions are spilling over with discontent, the love your neighbor boom in those spaces is mired in a great depression. We have such a great opportunity, here and now, to write the next page of the gospels. Goff says, "It's easy to love people who love us back, but the empty tomb has far more depth than that." I read that and found myself secretly singing - in my head of course - the old 70's Bee Gees song - How Deep Is Your Love? Oh, it's a sappy love song, but the question is a valid one. How deep is your love? No one questions that depth of Jesus tomb. One of the last things he did before he was placed there was ask his father to forgive the people who were executing him. That's a deep tomb. But how deep is our love. I think the yardstick for measuring it is found in this phrase: "precludes every other explanation." How many people are we loving that defies explanation? How many people are we loving that causes people to step back and look at our love like they are staring in disbelief at an empty tomb? How many people are coming to believe the miracle of Easter because of the miracle they see in the way we love? We were never meant to be season 4, we were meant to be the next page in the gospels. In hard times like this, I find myself asking God, what are you up to? I mean, why can't you just zap us and take us all to heaven right now?
God never answers me really. But he sends me hints. Yesterday, I shared an interview on my Facebook page I did with Greg Armstrong. Greg is an accomplished ultra runner. Last year he won the Vol State 500K race in record time. He ran the over 300 mile race across the state of Tennessee in a little over 3 1/2 days. And oh by the way, he did it wearing sandals. Greg is a man of great faith, so I wasn't surprised when he said this in our interview: "I committed a long time ago that, yes, it's great when you can win or you can break a course record, but let's just face it, that's gotta be secondary. Because that pales in comparison. Me winning a race or setting a course record, that in and of itself doesn't make me a better human. It's the lessons I learn about myself along the way are what ultimately allow me to be more compassionate, a better father and husband and a better contributor to the world in which I live." It's the lessons I learn about myself that allow me to be more compassionate... lessons he learned in the suffering that comes from running over 300 miles in just a few days time. You know, as Christians, I think sometimes we place too much importance on just "getting" to heaven and too little on being "prepared" for heaven. Something about our learning to love one another here is going to have great value there. I won't pretend to know exactly what that is, but there's a reason that our own suffering here makes us better at loving the people around us. How many stories do we have of Jesus entering into someone's suffering, with compassion, as a way of saying I love you? I don't know, but it's a lot more stories than we have of him showing up at someone's birthday party, full of joy and bearing gifts, ready to celebrate the night away. There's a reason for that, I think. I find it interesting, in 1 Peter chapter 4, Peter gets to talking about how the end is near. Wow, the end is near, so surely Peter will say next it's time to celebrate. Party on - the grand prize is near. But that's not what Peter says. Instead, he says this in verses 7-10: The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace. *Be self-controlled*Be sober-minded*Love earnestly - love helps us overlook any faults we might see in others*Cheerfully offer folks a place to stay*Use your God-given gifts to offer God's grace to others. When I read verses like that from Peter, I'm reminded God has much bigger plans for us on earth than simply zapping us to heaven. God clearly places importance on us learning as many lessons possible about ourselves, in order that we might be better prepared to earnestly love the people around us. One of the definitions I found for EARNESTLY included the word EAGERLY. It made me wonder, maybe God wants us to show up in heaven just flat out eager to love one another. Maybe the greatest joy will be found in loving one another. Here - and there. |
Robert "Keith" CartwrightI am a friend of God, a dad, a runner who never wins, but is always searching for beauty in the race. Archives
November 2024
CategoriesAll Faith Fatherhood Life Mental Health Perserverance Running |