November 15th, 2020

​Last night I got to have dinner with a dear friend who for three years has lived in my phone as a Facebook character.

I met Keri Jacobs back in early 2017. My friend Robyn Larkin had been using her races to honor the 22 military men and women who lose their lives to suicide each and every day in our country. She was doing this in partnership with an organization called 22 Too Many, which Keri co-founded.

In May of that year, I connected with Keri and I ran the Cincinnati Flying Pig Half Marathon to honor Michael Stangelo, who had tragically taken his life after returning from the Gulf War. After that experience, I was forever an admirer and friend of Keri.

Keri reached out earlier this week and let me know she was going to be in town running the Richmond Half Marathon to honor one of our fallen. She said she'd like to have dinner and finally meet in person.

You know, my first thought was about my calendar. How busy my weekend was. I thought about how tired I'd be after my marathon. I thought about how far I'd have to drive to meet them. And if I was ashamed of those being my initial thoughts then, it doesn't compare to how ashamed I was as we sat at dinner.

At dinner, Keri and my friends Sid Busch and Donna Jean Schultz-Shagena - who all use their races to honor our fallen military men and women, began telling stories about the kids - because they are ALL just kids - who have paid the ultimate price in serving our country.

They told stories about family members of these fallen who show up at their races to thank them. To thank them for keeping the memories alive of their sons and daughters and sisters and brothers who they will never see again. The pictures of these fallen that Keri and Sid and Donna wear on their backs as they run, these are images for all of us to be grateful for. They are images of people who gave it all for our freedom to answer far simpler calls in our lives.

But to the families behind these images, these images will forever be heartbreaking.

I was sitting next to Sid as they were sharing the story of a young man he's run for. He talked about how he stays in touch with the family. As he told the story, a tear rolled out of his right eye and then down his cheek. He didn't bother to wipe it away. He just kept talking about this kid's family.

I wondered how much more empty my life would be if I wasn't sitting right there. Right then. Doing that life.

I wondered how much of life we miss out on when we don't answer the phone.

You know, Jesus didn't have a phone. I know that. But trust me, the world he lived in had just as many busy calendars and distractions as our world has. He had just as many temptations to ignore the needs of other people as we have. Many of them came from his own disciples who weren't always up for answering their phones the way Jesus was.

But Jesus would have none of it. He just kept moving from town to town. He kept sitting down and having dinner with people who had tears rolling out of the corners of their eyes. Jesus just kept showing up, and quite often that was to simply sit and hear our stories, not to tell us His.

Way back then, I think Jesus was preparing a Sunday sermon that simply reads: answer your phones.

I love the way my friends answer theirs. There was a sense of fulfillment in the way they told their stories last night. There was a beauty the came alive when Facebook characters turned to real life characters. I think there is value in both, for sure - but nothing is more valuable than tears and laughter and hugs (with masks on of course).

So thank you Keri for making the call. Thank you for modeling for us all how to answer that call. Thank you for the beautiful reminder that Facebook is a wonderful place to be introduced to some beautiful corners in life, but those corners aren't life.

Life is still bread and wine. Life is still barbeque and tears.