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Smiling at the red cardinal

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I recently helped a friend run 100 miles in 18 hours and 29 minutes.  I was a pacer and a crew member. Our job was to keep him moving and we did. He only stopped for about 1 minute each hour and that includes bathroom breaks.   As a pacer, I ran with him for miles 60-80.   As a crew member, I made sure he had the calories, hydration, and anything else he needed like batteries for his flashlight. Going into the event I had a hunch that it would be a running party, a party with all the excess that goes with the word party.  We ate and drank running for the entire weekend. Turns out the book, The Happy Runner , is the perfect muse for a 100-mile running party. We read it aloud. It delves into your "why" of running as well as offers advice on how to keep going when it's hard.   The authors suggest that you power yourself with kindness and rather than seeing competitors see community.  When my friend was struggling during mile 75 he asked himself a rhetorical question that sou
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Measuring Poetry

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Poetry is a "tough nut to crack," made harder since I had trouble learning to read. In kindergarten, the teacher called my mom and said "What is wrong with Phillip?"  It turned out to be mild dyslexia and a learning disability with phonics.  So to me, poetry seemed like a mean trick rather than celebrated art. I saw poetic language as obscuring the meaning rather than adding depth to my understanding.   I measured poetry and found it lacking.  Fortunately, I have made room in my heart for writing that elicits beauty and engenders creative thought. The book Blue Like Jazz  by Donald Miller takes its title from a beautiful scene where he describes his experience feeling the Holy Ghost while camping in the Grand Canyon.  He has eyes to see the wonder and great expanse of the heavenly hosts and he describes the stars as "dancing in the sky blue like jazz." He is constantly raving about the merits of poetry.  Miller also talks about how absurd of a notation it
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Heritage of Hate

I am a rebel in recovery, a southern gentleman brought up to beguile my animus of authority. I inherited a form of quiet racism and the self-loathing of being ill-content with my station in the world.  Seeing the confederate flag in the halls of Congress this morning shocked me into the realization that unchecked rebellion ends in destruction.  I was at war with all authority, a war for my freedom.  Then mercy found me when the consequences of my actions caught up with me.  I heard it whisper in my ear, “We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all,” from Isaiah 53:6 As I ran this morning I prayed for all rebels.  I pray that the Prince of Peace will rule in our hearts as we confess that His way of love is far superior to our stampede into darkness.  Jesus rescued me from being a hostage of my own will and brought me into His Kingdom Authority.  His sovereignty includes redemption and mercy: good news fo
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