​"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.

Before the start of the Megsmiles 5K yesterday, my friend Maria caught this picture of me taking a selfie with my dear friend Kelly Jarvis Anderson.

Over the last several years, I've said it a lot - I have presented and taught on it a lot - I've said, life is a we thing.

At the heart of that message is the truth that we are neurobiologically wired to be our healthiest selves in the middle of we. And, maybe not so disconnected - if at all - we are most content in the middle of we.

Relationships are the greatest protective factor we have over every unhealthy risk we might encounter in life.

I confess, I have not always understood that. I've certainly not been good at it. I have spent a lot of my life avoiding we and not embracing it. I have spent a lot of my life feeling threatened by we and not the least bit open or curious about what lies in the depths of it.

Because we thing is much more about depths than heights. It's much more about a longing to hold what you might find on the inside than it is about liking what you see on the outside.

Kelly is one of the people who helped open my eyes to we thing. She always moves right on by the ornaments hanging on my outside and says tell me about what's happening on the inside.

It was a gift yesterday for Elliott and I (because Ian got tired of our pace and ran on 🤷‍♂️) to walk with Kelly and her friend Renee (I love her expression in the selfie shot 😊) the final mile of the race.

They talked about how they met 30 years ago as young teachers in rural Hanover County. And now, even though they live in two different states, they have remained best of friends. Their families have become each other's extended families.

I found myself envious of that in many ways. But more than that, I found myself grateful to be in the middle of that conversation. I found myself grateful that my sixteen year old was right there with me listening in to the power of we. The joy to be found in it.

I found myself believing we are almost always - if not always - in the right place at the right time.

I found myself more committed than ever to this message: life is a we thing.

I long for we, and I long to spread the gospel of we.

Jesus once said, life boils down to this: love God, love one another. That often gets preached as a command. I believe if I was sitting with Jesus it would feel more like an invitation. I believe I'd feel Jesus longing to know what's on my inside while totally ignoring how put together I was trying to look on the outside.

Jesus is a fan of Christmas I think; Christmas ornaments - not so much.

I believe that because of my friend Kelly. I believe that because of the people who have come alongside me in some dark times and been curious about my darkness. And then, upon discovering it, sat there in it with me for a bit without feeling pressured to turn all the lights on.

Because that is we thing. Meeting people where they are no matter where you are.

Life is a we thing.

I saw a lot of runners yesterday, but few were racing for the prize. Most seemed to be racing for togetherness. And more than any medal we can hang on a wall, togetherness is what ultimately holds us all together.

Nothing is better for any of us than we.

​Nine years ago today, I was sitting in our local library when I received a text message:

“Meg Menzies was just hit by a car while she was running. She died.”

I didn’t know Meg. I was friends with her husband, Scott. I'd worked with him on different projects in his role as a local law enforcement officer. But I knew a lot of people who did know Meg. And with shattered hearts, they began telling stories about a woman who, to me, sounded quite ordinary.

She loved God, she was loyal to her friends, she treasured her family - especially her three young children - and she had a passion for running.

But as the stories continued, as one after another they continued to build on each other, I discovered something remarkable in her story. In a culture that wants to lure us away from the ordinary - from the sanctuary of God to busy cities that never sleep, from the quiet embrace of our children to the pursuit of fame and fortune, from a commitment to wellness to the endless chase of unhealthy pleasures - Meg was never lured away.

Less than a week after her death, it became clear to me I wasn’t the only one who’d found extraordinary in her story. On January 19, 2014, the Saturday after Meg died, over 100,000 people from around the world responded to a social media request to “Run for Meg.” Complete strangers were so moved by Meg’s story that they grabbed their families and friends and hit the streets to run. Many did so for the first time, others for the first time in a long time.

I was one of those first time in a long time runners. I ran eight miles that morning. It was the furthest I'd run in decades.

I've been running ever since.

It's funny, though, over the past nine years, I've begun running toward things instead of away from them. I've processed a lot of what I've hated about my past in a way that's left me with hope and love for the future.

One thing I've learned is that the beauty in the process, the beauty in the finish line, is often found in the people who help you get there.

Back in 2017, I was running toward the finish line of the Patrick Henry Half Marathon. The year before, I didn't make it there. The August heat derailed my day at mile 8.

A few miles from the finish, two friends who came into my life after Meg died showed up to help me find my way to that finish line. One was Meg's mom Pam, the other was Solomon Whitfield. I don't think I would have finished my race that day if they hadn't showed up.

Back in the summer of 2020, I was going through one of the harder seasons of my life. I was out driving in the middle of the sunny afternoon, but life felt like a thousand midnights.

I somehow found myself sitting on a picnic table in my friend Pam's yard. I was telling her about the challenges I was facing in life. I told her, I know it's not like losing a daughter, but it's hard.

Pam looked at me, without hesitation, and said grief is grief, Keith. And you are grieving.

I knew I was sitting in the beauty of the ashes of Meg's death. They were hard ashes to sit in. It's hard to feel beauty at the expense of someone else's deepest pain. But it was a beauty I desperately needed in that moment. A beauty I will be forever grateful for.

A few months later, I found myself sitting at an Olive Garden with my friend Solomon. Again, I was lost. And again, a friend was showing up near the finish line to help me find my way. I'm not sure I'd have found that finish line if he hadn't been there that day.

I know a large part of my life has been spent being lured away. The kind of lured away that Meg never experienced.

Many times the last several years, I have felt Meg luring me back. Back to me. I have felt that through her mom and through my friend Solomon and through countless other friends who would have never come into my life if Meg hadn't been taken from ours.

Finding yourself is beautiful. Especially when you'd been as lost as I'd been for as long as I'd been lost. Saying that - knowing it cost someone you love one of the people she loves most - doesn't feel beautiful.

But it is.

I don't know why life works that way, where beauty is more likely to spring forth from ashes than it is from beauty. But that IS how life works.

For nine years now countless of us have been sitting in the beauty of the ashes of Meg's death. They are hard ashes to sit in. It's hard to feel beauty at the expense of someone else's deepest pain. But it is a beauty we all so desperately need.

We miss you Meg, but may we all live lives that nurture beauty in the world long after we're gone.

May we all live lives that will forever make it easy for others to find the beauty in our ashes.

​I stood at the finish line of the Richmond Marathon for 7 hours this past Saturday. I literally saw thousands of faces full of painful anticipation.

The pain of the miles behind painted on head to wobbly toe.

The anticipation of a moment mere yards away ready to declare to the pained - you did it.

A moment many had waited a lifetime to experience.

Too often we hear pain as a statement. A statement that says: "if you were stronger you wouldn't feel pain right now, but since you are feeling pain, you clearly aren't strong enough to finish."

But the reality is, pain is NOT a statement. Pain is a question.

What's it worth to you?

What's it worth to you and how much faith do you have that pain has showed up to add value to your celebration, not deny you of the celebration you are so worthy of.

Maybe you are not a runner, but you're a dreamer. I know that. You have a finish line out there calling your name. To get there, you are going to experience challenges and curve balls and moments that feel like they are standing in your way - not showing you the way.

You will experience pain.

It's up to you whether you hear that pain as a statement or a question.

It's up to you whether or not you hear 'what's it worth to you?"

And the answer to that, well that might just be painted all over your head to wobbly toes. All the way to the finish line. All the way to that moment when pain wraps you in a celebratory hug - and says - I knew we'd meet here.

I just knew it.