​Often, what stands in our way of forward progress isn't NOT knowing which way to go, it's knowing which way we HAVE to go.

I've run several long races in my life. The hardest part about running those races wasn't the unknowns, it was the knowns.
It was knowing ahead of time just how hard the road or the trail ahead was going to be.

Pastor Daniel Floyd says, "pressure will refine you or confine you."

It's true. When you run a marathon, it will refine you. Even if you don't finish the race, you will be a changed person. You WILL be refined.

But change doesn't happen without hardship, and knowing hardship lies ahead is often what pressures a runner into skipping the starting line altogether. It's what confines them.

Trust me, I know that one from experience, too. I've experienced it in running and I've experienced it in life.

When you've experienced challenges and adversities and traumas in your life, you live certain the life ahead of you will contain more of the same. It's a certainty you can't shake.

And just maybe it is certain.

But I am a walking testimony to another side of that certainty. If those challenges do lie ahead, they will refine me. Just like the ones behind me have refined me into the man I am today.

It's true, those adversities behind me have created pressures in my life. They've created anxieties and fears and guilts and shames.

But none of those things, none of those emotions rob me of the choice.

Refine or confine.

What stands in the way is the way. No one or No thing is going ahead of us to clear the obstacles out of our way. It's just the nature of the way.

So we get to choose, stay or go.

I say go. The worst thing that can happen is you will be refined.

​Anyone who has ever entered an endurance event of any kind knows the importance of the aid station. The further and longer the event, the more important those aid stations become.

Having run a few ultra marathons myself, I know the feeling of seeing an upcoming station. The food and hydration are a huge part of that feeling, for sure, but more than that, there's an excitement in seeing the people who greet you with both.

Last year, I had the chance to be a part of an aid station at the Georgia Jewel. Runners approached our station who'd run upwards of 75 miles. Many of them had been running for 12 hours or more.

They were ready to be aided.

It's a different feeling working on that side of the aid equation. As a runner, you approach an aid station knowing quite clearly how much you long for helpers. But until you work an aid station, you don't fully understand just how much the people there are longing to BE helpers.

Having been in a runner's shoes, I had a good idea the distresses runners were feeling as they approached our station. This only deepened my longing to ease their distresses.

I had a good idea that they indeed wanted food and drink. But often what they wanted as much was reassurance, a gentle pat on the back, a voice to remind them they aren't alone. Because the longer an event goes on, the more that event tries to convince you that you are indeed all alone.

Many of us who aren't runners can relate to this feeling. Many of us feel like life has turned into an endurance event that has no aid stations in sight. I have been there, on the trail and off.

The bible tells us in James 1:27: Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

I have wondered from time to time, why orphans and widows? Why is aiding them offered as an example of purity here?

This morning, I wonder if it's because widows and orphans, in a very acute way, understand the distress of facing a battle that feels like it will never end. And often while feeling all alone. No aid stations in sight.

This morning, I wonder if someone polluted by the world is far less capable - or interested - in seeing the distressed. I wonder if the polluted no longer see and deeply feel the value of working an aid station.

Of being a helper.

If you are feeling the least bit polluted in this way, as I assure you I at times have, I encourage you to volunteer at an aid station. I encourage you to feel the desperation of the distressed, and witness it begin to evaporate with your mere presence.

Because often that is what a widow and orphan are looking for most, a reminder that their deepest longing - human connection - is not lost forever. Your presence can be service to that reminder.

And often that is what that ultra runner is looking for.

Twenty five miles feels like a long way to go. But not nearly as long when you aren't going it alone.

We can all begin to feel like widows and orphans.

We can all make sure no one has to.

​I have a friend who is a passionate runner. She has been battling an injury and is wearing a boot and hasn't been able to run for many weeks. I know her story is distressing. Yet, the story she's been telling has been quite the opposite.

I've seen her posting pictures of being a mom having fun with her daughters and pictures of riding a stationary bike instead of running and pictures of family camping trips.

What I have NOT seen from her is a story lamenting the loss of something really important to her. Even as I know there IS lamenting going on.

Something important to her IS missing, that's a fact. But my friend isn't letting the facts of her story stand in her way of telling a hopeful story.

I sat with a friend on a deck last week. I told her some of the list of events in my life. Some of that list is ugly. Some of it I'd like to take an eraser to. Some of the events I never include on the list when I talk about the list of events in my life.

But I included all of them. I didn't edit the list, but in many ways I found myself editing the story. I found myself, like my friend, speaking my list onto the pages of a more gentle story.

We can use the facts of our lives against ourselves or for ourselves. We can call the facts of our lives our friends or our enemies.

The facts of our lives are just there. Immovable. What is mobile, however, what is hopeful, is how we carry those facts with us. What is hopeful is how we interpret the facts of our lives.

I told my friend recently that she is quite a running story. But her 'not-running' story has been quite a testimony as well.

We all have our facts of life. Facts that are no longer up to us. What is up to us is how we interpret those facts. How we share them with others.

What is up to us is our story.

Be kind to yourself with your story. And in turn, you may find your story being kind to others.

​"I did not start my run until midnight after my shift and I definitely wasn’t feeling it. But I made a commitment and I’m going to do my damndest to stick to it."

My friend recently shared those words: "I definitely wasn't feeling it."

I wonder how may people are stuck living in those words. How many people are waiting for the right mood, the right feelings, the perfect life ingredients to magically fall in place before they make the move to accomplish something?

I've come to see it as a super power, this ability to look in the face of I don't feel like it - laugh - and then do what one doesn't feel like doing anyways.

Seth Godin's says, "We change our mood as a result of how we act. If you want to feel a certain way, begin by acting as if you do."

How empowering is that?

I've been on both sides of this mood thing. I've been the guy playing the victim to my moods. I've sat around waiting them out, hoping they will pass. Often they do, only to be replaced by another mood looking to hold me back.

Bad moods always seem to have more bad reinforcements.

These days, though, I am here.

I am here in this place where when I don't feel like writing - I write. Because I want to feel like a guy in the mood to write.

I am here in this place where when I don't feel like I can have relationships, I pick up the phone and call someone and have a meaningful conversation. Because I want to feel like a guy in the mood to have a relationship.

I am here in this place where when I feel like I'm too old to do things I used to do, I go run a long way because I want to feel like a guy in the mood to do things not many people my age can do.

I am here in this place where when I don't feel like doing ANYTHING that I know is going to move me forward in life, I do it anyways.

Because frankly, I've grown tired of waiting for the circumstances in my life to magically line up for me to become who I'm made to be. I'm tired of my moods standing between me and ME.

I'll tell you what I've discovered early on in this process. Moods are weak. Once you stand up to them and let them know - I'm not going to have my day dictated by you - I am not your victim - they start complying with more of your demands.

When you look the "I don't feel like it" mood straight in the eyes, and you tell it, "I made a commitment and I’m going to do my damndest to stick to it," that mood runs off like the wounded.

My advice today - if you feel a mood come over you that you don't like, start acting like the mood you want. Let the mood you don't want go victimize someone else.

Someone far more willing than you to just sit and wait for the mood to pass.

​The scene preceded every shoe distribution. Kids waiting in line to have their foot measured for a new pair of shoes. Many of them had walked an hour or more to be in the line.

To wait for their chance.

At shoes.

It's really easy in those moments to think about the things I'm waiting on in my life. Almost all of them are things I can definitely live without. Almost all of them are personal preference and dream things.

None of them make life risky to live without.

Shoes are risky to live without. I'm at a conference today with several hundred people. All of them are wearing shoes. Many of them wearing shoes that are quite expensive.

This isn't a guilt trip post. The reality is we are always going to live in a world of haves and have nots. This isn't about a great equalization. But it is about reflecting on some things the have nots should not have to have not.

Shoes are one of those things. Especially when we have the means to make sure of that. This month you can help me.

In May, Soles4Souls is hosting The Race 4 Every Kid. It's a race to raise money to provide new shoes to kids living in homelessness across the US. I will be running/walking a total of 100 miles this month in the race (first time in a LONG time I'll hit that milestone!).

Along the way I am trying to raise $4,000 to support getting good shoes to homeless kids in the US.

Thanks to my friend Tracey Outlaw I'm off to a great start. I'm grateful for Tracey and his constant support of the Soles4Souls mission. I'd be grateful to anyone who wants to contribute a little or a lot to carry on the momentum.

Because again, there are just some things none of us should have to wait for.

If you feel so led, you can contribute at this link:

https://charity.pledgeit.org/f/lCeZc8mdMy

And thank you a lot in advance for your support.

​I walked into Pontiac Township High School (PTHS) yesterday afternoon after driving 12 hours to get there. I walked into the school commons area. Jamie saw me first, and with a voice as loud as only Jamie can yell with, he yelled "Keith."

He jumped up and came to hug me and said, "I've missed you Keith."

I've missed you too buddy.

I would drive 12 hours for that shout - for that hug - every day of the week.

Jamie is a 20 year old special needs student in my friends Laura and Beth's class at PTHS. Many years ago, I joined in their effort to replace the r-word 'retarded' with the r-word 'respect' through their annual 5K race - the Run For Respect.

Most years I have run the race virtually in Virginia, but Laura and Beth are retiring at the end of this year, making this the last Run For Respect as we know it.

So not coming to Illinois to run the race in person was NOT an option.

These teachers and these kids have challenged me to be my best self more than they will ever know. I've run some of my longest distances fueled by their belief. A belief not in me, but a belief these kids have in themselves.

It's true these kids have some limitations, but I have watched them attack life like they are the only ones unaware of that.

They have also shaped the way I see other human beings. In a world where we can be quick to see and look for the worst in one another, when we can be quick to judge each other, all these kids have ever done is accept me.

I walk into the building and they shout my name, not because they have special needs, but because they see me as special.

And here's the thing, they don't see me as special because I am special, they see me as special because that is their starting point with everyone. Everyone they encounter gets the starting point: you are special.

With these kids, that starting point is an instinct. I am trying to make it mine. Some days I am better at it than others, but I'm better at it than I've ever been.

A lot of that is because of Laura and Beth and these beautiful kids.

Thousands upon thousands of us are better at it than we've ever been. Because year after year people in every state and on every continent in the world have joined in this Run For Respect.

Most races end at the finish line.

Most of them....

Today I will run one final Run For Respect. One final finish line at one of the most meaningful races I've ever run. And maybe there will be tears. But those tears will be for the memories, the ways this race and these amazing humans have touched my life.

But long after that finish line there will be joy and appreciation. Because this race has started a race whose momentum has only begun.

Long after one last run for respect, respect will run on. Because this race was never about the miles, it was about creating a world where we can all feel included.

Well Jamie, you have never been retarded to me. You have only been one of the most amazing humans I've ever met. And I love you buddy.

Laura and Beth, thank you for having the vision and the courage and the hard fought patience to continue this run. Mission accomplished sweet friends.

Thousands of us have run for respect.

Many many more than that are living more lovingly and with more acceptance than ever.

That makes the Run for Respect one hell of a race.

And I can't wait to tackle it. One. Last. Time.

​The only momentum a dream has is the momentum you offer it. If you stop chasing, the dream dies.

You are your dream's heartbeat.

Your dream's legs.

Your dream's vision.

Whatever analogy you want to use for the life and the forward motion of your dream, you ARE that analogy.

If you stop moving toward your dream, the dream disappears.

Dreams don't wait. They don't turn around and encourage us to get moving again. Dreams don't send a rescue squad.

Dreams disappear.

My friend Kimberly Caldwell ran 100 miles this weekend for the first time. Ten years ago I never would have envisioned her accomplishing such a feat.

But I've watched her keep moving forward toward this dream the last several years.

A little more effort.

A little more distance.

A little more determination.

She never stopped chasing... until she got there.

When you don't stop chasing, your dream doesn't disappear. It doesn't become some cool idea you had years ago that no one - often including you - can even remember.

When you don't stop chasing, your dream doesn't disappear, it becomes a part of who you are.

A FOREVER part.

It's Monday. It's the perfect day to take a step toward your dream. It's a perfect day to remind yourself that if you don't take that step, you risk that dream doing a disappearing act.

Maybe there is no sadder magic trick in life than a disappearing dream?

And maybe the happiest magic trick is never letting that dream out of your sight.

Keep chasing.

​I got up yesterday morning and decided this was going to be the day to break my run-less streak. I have many friends who embrace running at least a mile every day; I was currently in conflict with the reality I hadn't run a single mile in 16 days.

The run-less streak started with Covid. But now it was being kept alive by the run-less habit that is always happy to replace the running habit.

I sat on the couch debating something I'd already determined I was going to do. Don't we do that a lot - make a decision about something then turn around and give ourselves permission to debate the decided?

I reflected on a Mark Batterson quote that popped up in my memories earlier in the morning: "Time is measured in minutes; life is measured in moments."

It hit me. My day would ultimately end. And when it did, it would be defined my the minutes in my day - all 1440 of them - OR it would be defined by the moments I created out of those minutes.

Minutes come and go, often without thought. Maybe a good day is built on making decisions about what I'll make of those minutes, and then sticking to those decisions.

Maybe a meaningful life is built on making decisions about what I'll make of those minutes, and then sticking to those decisions.

I got off the couch. I did go run 4 miles. And what I felt in the moments of doing that - and in the aftermath - was a prettier picture than the picture the minutes would have painted had I chose not to go through with my plan.

I think sometimes we forget just how in charge of our minutes we are. I think we forget that the minutes might be the all important paint, but we are holding the paint brushes.

We are holding the vision of what that paint can become.

When we give ourselves permission to change our minds about things we've already decided, we hand that paint brush over to the minutes. And minutes can be pretty destructive without our participation.

So what will you paint this week?

Maybe you'll paint over a picture of your past you've been wrestling with. We have permission to do that, you know. We don't have to hold on to old paintings; we can paint over them.

Or maybe there's a brand new path in life you're excited about. Pull out a brand new canvass and start painting.

Just. Start. Painting.

Whatever you do today, though, don't hand that brush over to your minutes. Our minutes are quite lazy and will paint little meaning into our lives at all if we let them.

So don't let them.

​Years ago, I read the book 'Undaunted Courage'. It's the biography of Meriweather Lewis of the Lewis and Clark expedition.

After reading the book, I took several trips out west. All of them left me in awe of Lewis and the courage it must have taken to venture into the complete unknown.

I imagined what it must have been like to cross a river larger than you'd ever seen. Scale mountains taller than you'd ever imagined. Fight off animals larger and more ferocious than you'd ever crossed paths with. Endure blizzards the likes of which no one was remotely prepared to endure.

And I imagined what it was like, each morning, for a year and a half, to get up and tackle yet again - the unknown.

I woke up yesterday morning and wanted to tackle a light walk. I thought, I'll do the mile and a half loop around the block. It's been a dauting week, really, and I deserve a bit of a rest. That short walk will suffice.

Then I thought, no - I did an eight mile trek a couple of weekends ago. I really need to press into that kind of effort today. I need the mental and physical distraction.

That's when it occurred to me what I really needed wasn't rest or distraction, what I needed was courage.

More.

Courage.

I've spent a lot of my life evading courage. That's what unknowingly happens when you create a life full of as many knowns as possible. The known becomes your idea of peace; the unknown your greatest threat to that peace.

Until one day you find yourself in the unknown. And you tackle it. And come out the other side realizing you never knew anything about peace at all. Or anything about yourself.

You come to know that the known was a lie and the unknown the source of your greatest truth.

So I got out of bed and tackled not the short walk or the walk I did a couple of weekends ago - I tackled the 10 mile walk I'd been telling myself I was going to do for months but kept finding reasons not to. Most of them reasons found in the known....

It's not the first time I've tackled the distance. It wasn't a complete unknown. But yesterday it felt unknown enough - and scary enough - to know it was just the kind of push and reminder I needed.

The reminder that courage isn't born in knowing everything will be okay. Courage is born in the willingness to repeatedly go where you have no idea if it will be.

We all have western frontiers in our lives.

Western frontiers no longer scare me as much as the thought of what I might miss if I don't explore them.

I have discovered many spaces and places within my own heart and mind and soul the last several years that I had no idea existed. Places I found venturing into the unknown. Places that have come to be the most beautiful parts of my identity.

Places that have redefined the unknown in my life. It is no longer a threat; it is only opportunity. An opportunity the known will always try to talk us out of pursuing.

But we must go there. Repeatedly. If we are to be our most courageous selves.

I​t's the perfect memory for today.

I've crossed a bunch of finish lines in my running life. Few mean more than this one.

Five years ago today, I crossed the finish line of the Houston marathon. That - after just the year before - getting pulled from the course at mile 18 for failure to maintain the speed limit...

In this finish line moment, it was reinforced in me the value of finishing unfinished business.

Some business is best left unfinished. It's true. But some business settles into our minds and upon our hearts and we know from there only two possibilities exist:

It forever eats you, or you once and for all eat it.

AGENCY: the capacity, condition, or state of acting or of exerting power.

That 2018 Houston Marathon non-finish ate at me for a year. But I had agency over that monster eating at me, and four years ago today I exerted the power I had to eat it. Once and for all.

This morning I'm reminded that I have agency, and so do you. We all wake up this morning with some level of unfinished business in our lives. Unfinished business that lives in us as two possibilities.

It eats us, or we once and for all eat it.

Our choice.

Our agency.