Lorrie’s Blog

I went running yesterday. That may not seem like such a big deal, but I’ve probably only run five times since the marathon over a month ago. That also may not seem like a big deal except that up to the marathon I was running six days a week for months. I’ve been continuing to exercise and cross-train, but I just haven’t felt like running. For a number of weeks, my legs hurt making it extremely uncomfortable to run. And then my heart just wasn’t in it. Maybe I was experiencing mild post-marathon depression.

But yesterday, it was warm enough to wear shorts (unheard of in central Indiana in late November) and the planets were aligned just right so that my body and my heart decided they were ready. It was a short run — probably about 2 miles. My lungs ached from lack of use and my legs complained the whole time.

But there’s something about running that consumes me. There’s something exhilirating about pushing my body to its limit. There’s a measure of comfort in the rhythmic sound of my running shoes hitting the road, in sync with my breathing. After awhile my body goes into autopilot and whatever is going on in my brain seems to be so much easier to deal with when I’m running. For me, running is one of the greatest forms of therapy. That’s one of the reasons I love running alone.

I was beginning to fear that I had used up my allotment of running days. That I had trained so hard and so long that I could no longer experience any joy in the experience. But yesterday, it started to come back.

In the movie Chariots of Fire, Eric Liddell, a missionary who competed in the Olympics as a runner said to his sister, “When I run, I can feel God’s pleasure.” Being able to run (even if it’s only two miles) makes me so thankful for a healthy, functioning body. I find myself anticipating with pleasure the start of a new training program in January. What a relief! There are many good running days left, many personal records to break, many lessons to be learned.

I’m a HUGE Lance Armstrong fan. For those of you who may have the audacity to not know who he is, I shall enlighten you. He is one of the few men to ever win the Tour de France five times. He will be going for his sixth win next July. He is also a cancer survivor. In fact, he did not win his first Tour de France until after he had very nearly died from cancer. His first book, “It’s Not About the Bike” is his story of his fight against cancer and is a great read. I just recently finished reading his second book, “Every Second Counts”. It’s a phenomenal book, a highlighter book I call it because I read it with highlighter in hand. I don’t do that with many books.

Any way, just like my friend Mollie wants James Taylor to be in heaven (Whew! How can two people with such different tastes be such good friends? That’s another blog topic entirely.), I can’t imagine heaven being perfect without Lance Armstrong in it some day. He is a living, breathing testimony to the creative genius of the One who created him. But, as you will find from reading his books, he is not a believer, or really even religious. Although he does have some definite opinions about organized religion, Christianity in particular (not very flattering opinions either).

So, I came to a chapter called “Blue Train” where he’s talking about the US Postal service team that rides with him in the Tour. This is where it gets really interesting. Here’s what he says,

“Why engage in a collective effort rather than an individual one, even when you wonder, “What’s in it for me?” Self-interest is isolating. When you work in collaboration, you’re responsible to each other, and therefore much less likely to shirk your responsibilities. Teamwork is not only performance-enhancing, it’s comforting. You are never alone, and whether you have a six-mile climb up an alp and a cadre of attackers behind you, or a round of chemo in front of you, that’s extremely reassuring. Pro athletes talk all the time about “my game.” But your game doesn’t belong to you when you’re on a team - there’s no such thing as “my” game, there is only the game. Your effort belongs to your teammates and theirs belongs to you, and they’re inextricable. The same is true of any gathering of people in one place, for one purpose. We don’t do anything alone, none of us. Anyone who imagines they can work alone winds up surrounded by nothing but rivals, without companions. The fact is, no one ascends alone.”

Wow! He’s a lot further down the road toward figuring out community than I think I am sometimes. Maybe he’s closer to heaven than he thinks. Anybody know of a good house church in Spain?

Today there was a guy washing the windows on the outside of our building. It’s 12 stories tall. It was windy. The contraption that they use is this harness with these long ropes that somehow attach to the roof. Then they rapel down the building holding their tools — this suction cup thingy, a bucket of soapy water, and a squeegee. It’s funny to watch them from inside the building — as I walked past the door of our conference room, there were this guy’s legs hanging outside the window. It’s delightfully terrifying to watch from outside. You stand on the sidewalk with your head tilted back as far as it can go and look up the sheer wall of the building and realize that he’s being held up by two ropes and nothing more. As I watch him, I think, “What a cool job! That has got to be so exhilirating, especially that first step off the building.”

What’s so ironic about this, is that I find it so hard to do this in a spiritual dimension — to take that step off the edge trusting that I will be held safely and securely. While I would be willing to physically push off the top of that building with only two ropes holding me up, I am unwilling (and scared) to let go of many things in my life and take God at His word. (Jeremiah 29:11 - plans to prosper you and not to harm you; Romans 8:28 - all things work together for good; Isaiah 40:31 - they will run and not grow weary; Psalm 145:13 - the Lord is faithful to all His promises and loving toward all He has made). Why is that? It’s certainly not because of my upbringing. I was raised in a Christian home with parents who were raised in Christian homes. It’s certainly not because He hasn’t proven Himself faithful in the past. As I start to peel away the layers, to try to understand this reluctance in me, what’s exposed is not at all pretty and I decide I’ve done enough peeling for one day.

Where I do find comfort is in the fact that I’m not alone. And when I’ve wandered so far off that my only sense of His presence is a tiny vapor, like a familiar smell that you can’t quite place what it reminds you of, I’m comforted to know that there are others, like many of you, who are trudging along on the same journey. You are experiencing similar feelings and emotions (even though your circumstances may be different), and even if we can’t walk over and just look over the edge, we can at least provide companionship and empathy, and maybe even blend our voices to call someone to bring a ladder (or a helicopter).

There’s a song that I’ve been listening to a lot and it’s been playing over and over in my head for awhile now. It’s by Superchick (my new favorite group) and it’s called “We All Fall”.

We all fall sometimes.
We all let ourselves down.
Sometimes there’s nothing left
Than to live with what’s been done.
And know you’re not the only one who falls.

I want to tell you you can go on,
That beginnings come from ends.
I still believe in you and so does God.
He’s the One who still believes in those who fail.
He’s the One who still believes in us who fall.

This song gives me hope. Being in community with other believers gives me hope. It’s that hope that draws me, step by step, closer to the edge.