In spring 2011, I lost myself.

Maybe more accurately, I realized I had no idea who I was in the first place.

I had lived in Puerto Rico for six months. I felt isolated – far from my family and friends who knew me best. I was trying to fit in with a different culture, but didn’t feel at home anywhere. My job at a new nonprofit had little work/life boundaries. There was always more to do, so I kept pushing my limits. I didn’t dare slow down for fear of what people would think of me.

The truth was, I couldn’t keep up. I was exhausted. I daily fell short of how I thought I should perform. I made mistakes, and the guilt completely crippled me. I was angry at myself. This is the job I dreamed of, I thought, why can’t I get it together? Am I not good enough? Slowly, the questions racing through my brain turned into an endless cycle of criticism. By the time I moved back to Austin nine months later, I no longer wondered if I was good enough – it was clear to me I wasn’t. I didn’t ask if I was a failure – I honestly believed I was one.

Looking back on that season, it’s clear I was not in a healthy place. What’s also clear is I didn’t know myself well enough to recognize how harmful I was toward my own heart, soul and mind. It never occurred to me that maybe there was a different way of thinking toward myself, that maybe I could offer myself grace and love in the same way I tried to offer it to others.

***

I’m a guest columnist over on The Tiny Twig today! Head there to finish reading >>

 

I’m not sure where you are this Monday. You might still be cozied up on the couch with a cup of coffee, enjoying the day off work. Maybe you were up and at it this morning, excited and refreshed to start a new week. Maybe your biggest accomplishment so far today was getting out of bed. Maybe you’re spending the day surrounded by your children, or sitting in a cubicle.

Wherever you are, can I offer a quick word of encouragement?

A few weeks ago, I ran a half marathon with my sister-in-law and father-in-law. As is inevitable when I’m running for a while, I began pondering the metaphors between running and life. I’m sure you’ve heard some of these references before, people referring to “the race of life.” It can sound trite or cheesy, but anyone who has ever run long distances will tell you, there are undeniable similarities. Life is truly more of a marathon than a sprint. It requires perseverance, faith, discipline, strength and people to run and cheer alongside you. There are the first few miles when you’re just starting out, and you feel excited and strong. Nothing can stop you. The middle is tough – you’ve been through uphill battles and your legs are getting tired. It becomes hard to keep yourself going when the finish line is still nowhere in sight. And then there’s the end, the last push, the willing your legs to keep moving because you believe deep down it will all be worth it when you cross the finish line.

That last part? About it all being worth it? It’s so true. When you’ve done it, when you’ve finished, all the pain, training, and hardship you endured to get there fades, and is replaced with relief, joy, and thankfulness.
After we finished, I found myself overwhelmed with pride – for myself, and for my sister-in-law and father-in-law. I was proud of us. We fought through adversity, encouraged each other along the way, and didn’t give up. It’s no small thing to finish the race.

***

Yesterday, I found myself at a race again – only this time, I was the spectator. Our friend Ryan was running his first marathon and attempting to qualify for next year’s Boston Marathon with a time of around three hours (in case you’re doing the math, that’s really really fast).

A group of his family and friends spread out across the 26.2 mile course, stationing ourselves at key points to offer encouragement and energy packets.

The Austin Marathon is tough. The weather is unpredictable, and the hills are brutal. It’s grueling, mentally and physically. Having recently run a half marathon, the difficulty of a full marathon was magnified to me. As we watched Ryan run, I had the overwhelming feeling that we were watching something really special. Ryan was made to run, and he was running with all he had.

As he crossed the finish line at the three hour mark, my eyes welled up with tears and I was overwhelmed with pride – the same type of pride I felt after finishing the half marathon. He ran his race well, persevered through adversity, and finished. All of the training, all the hard days, all the energy he put into those 26.2 miles was worth it. He finished the race.

***

Later in the afternoon, I found myself pondering my similar reactions to people I love finishing a race. Where was this overwhelming sense of pride coming from? Yes, finishing a half and full marathon is something to be proud of. It’s a significant accomplishment, no doubt. But, I’d watched races before and didn’t experience this type of affection and pride.

And then I felt a nudge from the Father:

“How you feel right now toward people you love is just a taste of how I feel toward you. As I watch you run your race, I’m so proud of you.”

And it hit me – if I, as a broken human being, can feel such pride watching my friends run their races well, how much more so does my Heavenly Father, the One who created me and knows my innermost being, feel pride and loving affection toward me as I persevere through this life?

So, no matter where you are in your race today, hear this:

Keep running. Press on toward the goal. It’s not in vain.

Your Father sees you.

He knows you.

And He’s so incredibly proud of you.

 

 

I tried something new this year. Typically, when we’re heading out of December and looking toward a new year in January, I spend some time on goal setting. But this past December, my typical process just didn’t sit well with my soul.

Instead, I started praying for a word or phrase that could characterize 2016 for me. Something I could come back to over and over, meditate on, dwell in. Looking back, I think I was hoping for a word of clarity, a word that would give me direction, that I could cling to and follow.

What I received instead was an invitation. An ambiguous one, at that:

“Follow me to the mountains.”

I’ve spent the last month mulling over that phrase, especially the word “mountains.”

That word packs a big punch for me. The mountains are the place I go when I desperately want to meet with Jesus. They’re the place I tangibly feel his presence the most often. The place where he’s shaped me, challenged me, comforted me. The place where I’ve learned hard lessons, and asked hard questions. The place where I’ve grown up. The place I feel the most alive and free.

But, there’s also another side to mountains I know well. They’re the place where you feel tiny as you stare at the gigantic peaks. The place of unknown. The place where being out of control isn’t just a feeling, it’s a stark reality. The place that demands your fear and respect. The place where the best laid plans change in an instant. The place where endurance and perseverance serve you well; where putting one foot in front of the other when you can’t see what’s in front of you – much less the mountain top – is a victory all its own.

The mountains are like life. Some seasons are like being on a mountain top – it’s peaceful up there, quiet, exciting, and you can see for miles. All feels right. And then there’s the valley. The unknown, the doubt, the wondering if we’ll ever get there. It feels pointless.

The mountains, I’m learning, are also like God: comforting, beautiful, majestic and at the same time, mysterious, out of my control, and powerful. God doesn’t fit in my box any more than the mountains do.

So, that invitation? The one to the mountains? It’s an invitation to dig deeper into the complexities of God. An invitation to follow Him into the unknown. An invitation to sit in the tension between what I know, and what I thought I knew.

It’s an invitation to wonder, an invitation to trust him with the mystery.

………………

“Lord, we don’t know where you’re going. How can we know the way?”

The disciples desperately wanted answers, clarity, direction. I imagine Jesus’ response didn’t do much to quell their anxieties at the time:

“I am the way, the truth, and the life.”

Jesus didn’t offer a clear answer or a 10-step plan. Instead, he offered himself.

And that’s what he so graciously offers me, too. When all I want is a clear-cut path, to know where I’m going, Jesus gently answers my plea for direction with,

“Follow me to the mountains. I am the way.”

………………

Where is Jesus inviting you to follow him this year?