Today in Paradise - A Christmas Story

I wrote a short story about 

Christmas, taking some artistic liberties. 

Perhaps it didn't happen exactly like 

this, but it may have.

Have a Merry Christmas and 

remember the reason for the season. 

It isn't about a baby's birthday. 

It is about a savior, a plan set in motion 

to save us from our sins and 

restore relationship between us and God.

If you enjoyed this story, please share it with others!

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Today in Paradise

A Christmas Story

Crouching down under the back of a wagon, I peer cautiously into the darkness. I can hear the soldiers shouting and the hoofs of horses in the distance. The whinny from a horse makes me jerk my head to the right. Twenty yards away, a mounted Roman soldier is searching the street. I inch backwards under the wagon, further from his view. I slide out from under the wagon and kneel behind a large box. The soldier's lantern swings by the wagon where I had been hiding under just moments ago. He continues slowly down the street and out of sight. I breathe a sigh of relief, trying to calm the pounding in my chest. 

I squint through the darkness, trying to assess my surroundings. It appears that I got lucky. The chase has lead me to the edge of the town. Only a few houses separate me from the hills surrounding Bethlehem. Fifty yards and I'll be free. I stealthily move down the darkened street and into the low lying hills. Using the trees as shelter, I make my way further from town. Once at a safe distance, I drop my bag. By the light of the moon, I peer at the contents. Close to twenty gold coins, a gold cup, and a small dagger. This is my best theft yet in my budding career. Poor tax collector, leaving his home unbarred on a busy night. Perhaps drunk, or perhaps too naive to suspecting that anyone - let alone a wiry twelve year old - would take something from his home.

I smile and put the contents back in the bag. I'll spend the night out here in the hills, away from the town of Bethlehem. Away from the soldiers searching for me. Tomorrow, I'll travel to Bethany. Hopping from town to town, I will prey upon unsuspecting victims.

Nestled amongst the trees, I prepare to sleep. I hear shepherds nearby, laughing and talking around a fire. Sheep bleat occasionally, more for the comfort of each other than for any real need. It is quiet. Stars are attempting to shine their magnificence through the partially cloudy covering. 

I take my blanket from the pack and place it at my side. I form the rest of the pack into a pillow and pull the blanket over my body. As I lie back, I see a bright light appear in the sky very close by. I roll over to my side to peer through the trees. A light coming down from the sky. The shepherds laughter and talking immediately stops. They are staring too. I've never seen anything quite like it. I crawl out of my blanket and creep closer, strangely drawn to the unknown. Out of the light a figure appears, suspended in air about thirty feet above the shepherds.

Terrified, the shepherds turn to run towards the trees. Towards me. 

"Wait!"

They stop, uncertain if they should run or listen to this figure.

The figure reaches out his arms in a welcoming manner. "Don't be scared. I have some great news for you. Not just you, but all people. Tonight, a mighty king has been born!"

The shepherds turn fully towards the figure. I emerge from the shadows, wanting a closer look.

"Here's how you know who this king is: You'll find the baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a feeding trough."

I've hit the jackpot! A king. Wealth. Think of the treasures in his home! 

Wait. A feeding trough? That doesn't make sense. Perhaps I heard wrong. 

Suddenly the sky brightens, and hundreds of these figures are all around us. They sing and declare peace on earth. Frightening yet incredible. My senses are alive.

Then as quickly as they appeared, the figures all disappear. Silence and darkness. The shepherds stare at the sky, still trying to understand what they just saw.

"Let's go find him," exclaims one of the shepherds. 

It breaks the group out of their trance-like state. Quickly they gather their things and start walking towards Bethlehem. I quietly gather my belongings and trail along at the back of the pack. I should be leaving. I shouldn't be risking going back into Bethlehem, but the temptation is too great. I want to see this king. I want to see who he is. But I also know that this is an opportunity to steal more valuables than ever before. Perhaps I'd be able to steal enough to no longer have to steal again.

Walking back into town, one of the shepherds notices me. 

"Did you see that?" he asks.

"Yes, I did!" I reply. "That was amazing. I want to see this king too."

"Come up here and join us. We will find this king. This is truly great news," he exclaims as he wraps his arm around my shoulder and gives a rough squeeze. Though a stranger, we have a camaraderie based around the hatred of our nation being subjected to the foreign rule of the Roman Empire. A king gives us hope.

I join the shepherds as they search for the future king. I try to stay in the middle of the group so I wouldn't be spotted easily by any soldiers who may still be searching for me. I think again of the treasures I could take from this king's house.

We arrive at a rundown inn close to the northeast side of the town. Just as one of the shepherds starts to knock on the door, we hear the distinct cry of a newborn baby. Turning, we see the small cave where the animals are kept. 

Surely not in there. Surely a baby could not be in such a dirty place.

The shepherd in the lead spins on his heels and we as one enter the cave. Peering over an old donkey, I glimpse a family. Sliding around to the other side of the donkey while staying in the shadows, I am able to take a better look. A man and a woman sit along the back of the cave, huddled together for warmth. A small lantern casts shadows on the cave walls. In the dim light, I see that in the woman's arms is a little baby, crying softly. She wraps the blankets tighter around the baby, gently rocking him.

Two of the shepherds tentatively step forward. The leader introduces himself and tells the young family what they just experienced in the field. The couple's eyes grow wide in amazement. As the shepherd tells the story, the woman continues to rock the baby and soon he stops crying and falls asleep. She looks down at the baby, her eyes filled with wonderment yet peaceful. It was as if she knew this would happen.

I move further into the cave and feel the squish of fresh manure beneath my sandal and curse under my breath. I smell the stench of the animals. I feel the cold air blowing in the cave. 

How can this be? A poor family. A baby born in a cave? Where is the wealth? Where are the treasures? Could we be in the wrong place?

Yet I knew he was The One. There was something about everything that had been going on. This was not common. A future king. Peace on earth. But penniless. Not in a castle, but in a cave.

I look around the room one more time, looking for anything of value. A small bag is near the young man, but I don't have the heart to steal from someone who just had a baby.

Scraping the manure off of my sandal, I slowly slip out of the cave and into the cool night air. I hear the shepherd ask what the baby's name is.  As I walk away, I hear her reply, "Jesus."

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For over thirty years since I began a life of crime, I have never been caught. Without a father and with a mother more interested in other men than me, I had turned to stealing in order to provide for myself. Now as I hide in the shadows of a rich young ruler's home, I think back to my humble beginnings. I remember the first loaf of bread I stole from a street vendor. I recollect the first time I snuck into a neighbor's house. I had known where he kept his gold. Quickly and quietly, I had taken several coins but purposefully left most of the coins since I had thought his daughter was beautiful. I remember the night I stole from the tax collector and almost got caught by the Roman soldiers. That reminds me of the puzzling encounter with the shepherds, floating figures in the sky, and a supposed baby king. 

I wonder what ever happened to that baby?

My attention returns to the house as I hear the door open. The young ruler locks the door and hurries down the street. Now is the time. I make my way to the back of the house, looking for an opening.  The courtyard gate at the stairs leading to his rooftop is not barred. I quietly open the gate and climb the stairs. On the roof, I crouch near an opening in the roof. Slowly I climb down the ladder and into his house. I've become very adept at searching homes in complete darkness. I feel my way around the room looking for a loose rock in the wall, a common hiding place for valuables. Behind that rock I know that there are many gold coins. I need to find those coins. I need to stop being a thief. It is getting harder to steal. The risk is getting greater. People are becoming more wise and hiding things better. The Roman soldiers are looking for thieves with greater persistence. 

I find the loose rock! I place it on the ground and reach into the hole. I feel coins. Lots of coins. Jackpot! I begin to load my bag. My heart begins to race with the all too familiar thrill of stealing a large treasure. I'm a little sloppy in my excitement. Quickly. The coins are clinking as they hit the bottom of the bag.  A little to quickly. A little too loudly. Loud enough to not hear the door open as the young ruler returned to get something he'd forgotten. Too loud to not hear him come up behind me. Suddenly a sharp pain in the back of my head. Darkness.

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My head is pounding in pain before I even open my eyes. I reach to feel where it hurts but my arm is stopped short. I open my eyes. My arms and legs are shackled together, allowing for only the smallest of movements. I lift my head and take in the surroundings. Across the room is a man that I recognize. Another thief. We had even planned and committed a few thefts together when the jobs needed more than one man.

I grimace in pain. My head is throbbing. My chest hurts when I breathe. My back feels like someone has made cuts all over it. My vision in my left eye is partially blurry and my face feels swollen.

I lean back against the wall. This is it. This is the end. Caught in the act. I know the punishment. I close my eyes to the physical and emotional pain.

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I try to sleep off the pain and not think about what is next. The head continues to pound and my body hurts. But I know it is nothing compared to the pain I will feel in a few hours. Sentenced to death just an hour earlier, I feel the weight of the judgment upon me. Terror rises in me. Helpless to do anything about it, I curse the air. 

Down the corridor I hear the shouts of an angry mob of people. I look up to see the guards pushing a man down the hall. He is hardly recognizable. Covered in blood, chunks of his beard pulled out, his back ripped open from the whippings of the dreaded cat of nine tails. His face covered in spit mixed with blood. 

A guard opens the cell door. He removes the shackles from the other thief and me. "On your feet," he barks.

We follow the crowd out into the open courtyard. For some reason, the mob is furious with this severely beaten man. I see the Roman soldiers and the crowd of mostly Jews begin to mock him. 

They cram a crudely made crown made out of large thorns upon his head. I see blood stream down the back of his neck. They put a robe on him. 

"King of the Jews?"  They taunt him. 

"You think you are so great. Just look at you now." A burly guard slaps him across the face.

I am led across the courtyard to stand before Pilate, the ruler of the region. The other thief stands with me. Pilate is distracted by the mob. He wants to let this man go free, but the crowd is shouting, "Crucify him."

"Jesus, what do you have to say?" Pilate asked him.

Jesus? I vaguely recall the name. Many years ago. A king. My head is throbbing. I can't think straight.

I think back through the years. All the people I'd encountered. The ones I stole from.  The ones I called friends. 

A king? The crowd is wanting to crucify a king?

Shaken out of my thoughts by a guard shoving me forward, I wince in pain. The verdict has been passed. Pilate has waved me on. He will not save me. All three of us now must begin the march towards death. Weakened by the beatings, the crossbar they strap to my shoulders is almost too heavy. I have to carry it to the hill. The crowds are now even larger. Hatred spews from their lips. They curse at us, spit on us, yell at us. But I notice most of it is directed at the man they call Jesus.

Why such hatred? What did he do? 

I stagger under the weight, nearly falling on my face. I attempt to regain my footing, bumping into someone. Jesus. Just a couple of feet away. He turns his head and I see his face. There is something in his eyes. I can see it. Not the anger of being beaten. Not the terror of being sentenced to death. Not the shame of a life of crime. It is something else. Something good. Beyond the pain being inflicted upon his body, his eyes are shining with... love! With love for the people!

It makes no sense. The crowd is so angry, so full of hate. Yet he is full of love.

We finally make it to the hill. The soldiers lay each of us down upon a large pole. They tie the crossbar onto the pole.  I brace for what is next. I see the spikes. I see the hammer. I roll my head to the left. I look into the eyes of the ones they mockingly called the King of the Jews. He looks at me, eyes deeper than the ocean. They seem to look right through me, right to my heart. I look away, feeling strangely ashamed of what I'd done in my life.

The hammer falls. Worse pain than I've ever felt now courses through my body. Right hand. Left hand. I feel weak with pain. I look back at Jesus. His body trembles in agony, but he continues to look into my eyes. Right foot. Left foot. The pain of the stakes is almost too much. 

They lift us up. I feel the blood rush to my feet and I feel dizzy. My body sags under the weight of itself. I push myself up on the cross to be able to breath. Unbearable pain. The crowd is screaming.

Jesus. A cave. Figures in the sky. Shepherds. A king. Peace on earth. A savior. 

The disparate thoughts all merge together. 

This is him!  This is the one that over thirty years ago amazing supernatural events trumpeted his arrival.

I see the figures. The angels.  "Glory to God in the highest. Tonight a savior is born."

A savior. Jesus - which means one who saves. One who will save us all from our sins.

I turn my head for another look. I see the eyes. Eyes for of love for mankind. I understand who he really is. My vision blurs. I see the baby. The innocent baby is nailed to that cross! One who hasn't harmed anyone. The savior. The king.

The crowd continues to yell. I know he is innocent, yet I see myself walk over to him. I spit upon him. I slap him. I yell, "Crucify him!" The baby just looks at me with love.

I put him there! I was the one. 

Jesus. The one who will save people from their sins.

I rejected him. I had heard of his miracles but I wasn't interested. I was too busy committing crimes, living my own life. My sins are too many. I step away from the cross. I feel the guilt. My mind flashes back across the years. The things I had stolen. The things I said. The selfish life I'd lived. It was me. I understand in a moment that this baby was dying not for the crimes he had committed, but for mine. For everyone standing there. For everyone yet to come.

The innocent one. The pure one. The King of the Jews. The Son of God. For me. A baby. Fully God, yet fully man. A plan. A plan for all mankind.

I push myself up again. I'm so weak. My vision is starting to blur. I see the baby. I see the severely beaten man. I see the King. I see my savior. I understand that his Kingdom was not of this world. He is opening the door to let us all have access to that Kingdom. 

"Remember me when you arrive in your Kingdom," I say to him.

Eyes full of love. I feel the guilt wash away. The shame removed. The humiliation gone. I feel clean. My mind is clear.

"Today, you will be with me in paradise," he says in a soft, kind voice.

Through the excruciating pain, a slight smile crosses his mouth. Without strength to say any more, I smile back. I feel a warmth at the back of my head. My vision blurs. White. Bright. Light. Nothing.

Paradise.

                                     

Copyright 2013 - Keith Koerner

What a trail hill run is like.

As you know, I love trail hill running. Some of you don't run, or if you do run, it is not on trails - especially ones with hills. I thought I'd write out a description of a trail run so that you could live out a trail run without actually going on one. I hope you'll be able to place yourself there - physically, mentally, and emotionally. Throughout are pictures that I took along the way.

Typically, I plan out what types and distances of runs I will do each week, which includes one hill run. Lately, I have been trying to increase the distance of the run by 10 minutes each time, and increase the elevation climb by 100-200 feet. Yesterday, I planned to do a 80 minute run.

The beginning portion of the route,
at the base of Bald Hill.

Normally my son Jonah is with me on runs. Quite often, we are able to coordinate with my friend Joe's schedule so that the three us do hill runs together. It really makes a difference running by myself versus running with someone else. With others, usually we can talk as we run, we subconsciously or vocally spur each other on, and we are held accountable to keep going. For this run, Jonah and Joe were unable to go. Just me. Alone.

The gravel road that leads to the Mulkey Hill Trail.

I arrive at my destination: the hills just outside of Corvallis. It is an absolute treasure: a series of hills and forests with trails snaking throughout the hundreds of acres. We have ran several of the trails, but there are many, many more to yet explore. I love the sensation of a new trail, it is fresh, it has a sense of awe. The route I planned was to go on a trail I'd only been on once that tied into a trail that I'd been on numerous times.

The weather was absolutely gorgeous. Sunny, yet a cool 46 degrees. Last time I ran here, it was raining quite a bit. Once I was warmed up, I knew it'd be near perfect running conditions. I'm dressed appropriately for the weather and a long run. Today I would wear my sunglasses. Little things make a difference. My sunglasses fit my head better than my normal glasses. 

My mind swirls with thoughts and some anxiety. I have a new pair of running shoes especially designed for the trail. Last time I wore them, I got a blister on the back of my ankle. It hadn't fully healed. It was rubbing against the shoe. I tell myself this could be a long painful run. Little did I know that the healing blister would be the least of my challenges. I wrestle with other doubts. Can I make it? Will I need to stop and walk? How will I do without running partners? How will this feel on my chest? Will this be enough to prepare me for a big race in two weeks? Will I be able to take on that race? My mind swirls with questions, but also anticipation.

The beginning of the first trail at the
base of Mulkey Hill.

I stretch for a few minutes, taking care to especially stretch the ankle that I rolled a few weeks ago. I still baby it just a bit, and I don't want to re-injure it. I start off on a brisk walk. I feel the shoe rubbing against the blister. I stop twice to readjust my socks and the shoe. It still bothers me. I walk for five minutes to get warmed up, loosened up, and mentally prepared to run.

The trail begins along a flat open field, perfect for getting the heart rate up. Immediately I notice that my right shoe fits looser than the left shoe. That bothers me. Should I stop and re-tie it? Why didn't I notice that when walking? I did this last time too. Why can't I tie them evenly? So the thoughts go. 

The base of the first hill.

The trail is wide, and often used. In a quarter of a mile, I veer onto a gravel road that immediately begins to climb. Running up hills is a challenge. It uses different muscles than flatter street running. It takes more energy. I often struggle with starting out too fast and running at max energy which then slowly declines. I try to pace myself. I run with an app on my iPhone called RunKeeper. It tracks my pace, time, calories, route, and distance while I run. I have it set to give me audible feedback every three minutes. This way I can pace myself and not have to look at the phone. I continue up the gravel road, doing well with my pacing.

Today my planned route is to run up and down two hills. The first is a trail that I've only been on once before. I am hoping I remember the proper route. There are several trails and turns, and it would not be a good thing to get lost... especially alone. I find the trail head, and enter the woods. Now I am no longer in the direct sunlight. The scenery changes to a beautiful trail covered in autumn leaves. Trees all around covered in moss. Small shrubs cover the floor. The trail is mostly old gravel that is slowly being covered by dirt and mud. Since it hasn't rained for several days, the mud has mostly dried out. Wonderful running conditions.

The hillside below.

Within a short time, I am climbing the hill. This involves numerous switchbacks, running one way up the hill, then a tight corner, zig-zagging my way up the hill. For the most part, it is uphill with very few flat or downhill breaks. I choose not to look too far ahead. If I do, I see hill and more hill. Mentally that is difficult. I keep my head down, watching the trail. On the street, I run several miles before feeling much pain or exhaustion. Hills are different. I feel the pain, the heavy breathing, the challenge almost right away. I'm only a mile into it and already feel tired and the muscles are straining. I have six more miles to go! 

Almost to the top of the first hill.

Really I know I'll be OK, so I block those thoughts out and settle into "the zone." I begin to think about my upcoming races. I let myself fantasize about races that are way beyond my current abilities. Reaching for the next level. Setting goals. I think about my wife and my kids. I think about things going on in our life. I think about things we want to do in the future. I think about current work problems. I think and occasionally pray, bringing God into the conversation going on in my head. Clearing my mind. Running does that. The problems lessen, the future looks brighter, the goals more exciting.

My current circumstances force my mind back to the run. I veer off on a path that is basically the start of a large loop around the top of the hill. I'm still climbing. It is now a single person path only a foot wide. Tall grasses hang over the trail. I'm all alone in the mountains. I think of cougars and mountain lions and get a bit nervous. I hear rustling and it spooks me. Oh, just my legs brushing against the grass. My mind is not quite clear from the exertion. What if I fall? Or if there is an animal? Ridiculous thoughts. I battle through them. I need to focus on breathing. If I breath too quickly I will hyper-ventilate and make it worse. I count: 1-2-3-4-breathe. 1-2-3-4-breathe. I began to calm down and continue on. 

Beginning of the loop around the top of the hill.

Narrow single track at the top.

I reach the top. I've climbed over 600 feet. I made it! I climbed the hill. The challenge, the grueling, the breathing, the legs screaming. I made it! There is such a sense of accomplishment. A euphoria. An adrenaline. Like a lover after a fit of passion, my mind metaphorically rolls over desiring a cigarette. Enjoy the moment. But there is no time to relax and enjoy the moment. I realize I've only gone 2.25 miles, only 28 minutes into my 80 minute run.

The descent. Flying down the hill!

Now I begin the descent. I pick up speed. The slope is gradual enough that I can partially let myself go. Running downhill, while sounding easier, is surprisingly challenging. If it is too steep, it takes a lot of energy to hold yourself back and the gait changes and becomes uncomfortable. But this slope is nice, I continue to pick up speed. Now I am running a low seven minute mile versus the mid-eleven minute mile on the way up. If only I could always run a low seven. On flat roads, I run around a 10 minute mile, which is not fast. A seven minute mile feels like I am flying.

Within what feels like only a few minutes, I have descended the hill that I worked so hard to climb. The trail was perfect for a fast descent. I am a bit worried that I came down that too fast, but it felt good.  I break out into the clearing and onto the gravel road, and suddenly the adrenaline vanishes. Gone. Now all I feel are the effects of running up a hill and coming down too fast. My legs hurt. My hips hurt. When I run too fast, my back will hurt. Today is no exception. Just great: an aching back, legs, and hips. 

The point where I need to decide to quit or continue on.

I have about 3/4 of a mile to go before the next hill. Doubts settle in. I'm only a little over three miles into this run and I feel like this? Perhaps I should just head back to the car. Four miles would be a good run. I don't need to push it. This is supposed to be fun. Why try the next hill? What if I can't make it? This is the low point of the run. The time where I need to decide if I will really push through. I have no adrenaline left. The excitement of attaining the top of the hill is gone. Now it is just gruelling it out. I need to dig deep. I need to push through. I begin some self talk. I gaze out at the great view of the surrounding area, gaining a more positive outlook. I begin to think about the attainable challenge. I am attempting to go up and over another hill. Joe, Jonah, and I had previously climbed that first hill but on the second hill, we cut back part way up the hill. This would be a new accomplishment for me. I love to push myself. I can do this. Besides, I am preparing for a race with a couple of hills worse than this.

The second hill (Bald Hill) is now in view.

Base of Bald Hill.

I gather strength as I begin the slow climb of the second hill. It begins as a gradual climb, but I know up ahead, it gets steep. Ignorance is bliss. The first hill I couldn't remember how steep or challenging it was. The second hill I was not so ignorant: I knew it was going to be tough.  I push that out of my mind. I try to enjoy the scenery. I'm running into the sun, and I feel the warmth of it as I press up the hill. I dread the part of the hill with large rough rocks - a short section, but very annoying. 

Slow climb up Bald Hill.

My legs are tired, I am focusing on breathing, I continue to try to gauge how much is left in the energy tank. I know that I am only a little over half of the way through my route. How can I gather enough energy to finish this?

"The Climb" - the steep portion of the hill.

I turn the corner, and see "the climb." A steep climb with very few switchbacks. This is where I have to dig the deepest. Self-doubt. Fears. Weakness. Pain. Failure. I shut out all those thoughts and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Breathe. 1-2-3-breathe. I can't count to four. I begin to overheat. If I don't get it under control, I'm a goner. I'll be walking. It feels like I am just wagging my rear and not actually moving. My mind starts to fade. My surroundings are less clear. Get the breathing under control! I feel drunk. I stagger. Breathe. One foot in front of the other.

Slowly, ever so slowly it feels, I begin to climb. Step after step I chug up the hill. Breathing becomes better. I talk aloud, "Come on. Come on." I look ahead and just see more hill. Don't worry about the speed, just keep going. I feel like I have no energy left to go another step.

I glance down at my iPhone, and I have a faster pace than expected. I have noticed this several other times: that the second hill can feel much harder, but I am actually running faster. It is a mental battle. I never realized when I started running how much of this sport is mental. Yes, it is physically a challenge, but I've observed that our minds limit us far more than our bodies. If we are able to take those mental negatives captive, we are able to achieve far more than we realize.

Grinding up the hill.

I grind up the hill. The top is a clearing, and I take in the view from the top. I made it! I climbed the second hill! A wave of tired sense of accomplishment washes over me. I know I still have 20 minutes to go, but it doesn't matter now. I have crested the second hill. It should be easy now.

View from the top of Bald Hill!

Another view from the top.

Corvallis in the distance.

I forgot how difficult the descent was coming down the front side of hill. This hill was steeper. The descent was much more challenging. I couldn't let myself fly. To compound the difficulty, the trail was rough with lots of boulders. The trail was covered with leaves, making those rocks difficult to see. Furthermore, the mud was much worse on this trail. So: steeper, rockier, and muddier.

The final descent.

My legs felt like spaghetti. With my ankle weakness, I knew I couldn't afford to misstep. My mind was flooded with fearful thoughts of my legs collapsing and falling headlong into the rocks. I descend and naturally pick up speed. I must force myself to slow down. It feels so unnatural. I hit a gully and realize again how weak the leg strength is. Mud and rocks make it an obstacle course. I step on a hidden rock and feel my other ankle wobble. I run a bit further and my back foot slips and slides several inches. I recover and slow. Carefully I continue on descending the hill and eventually come to another clearing.

I've made it through the difficult part. Only a mile left on fairly flat surface. But I have one more goal. It is good to save a bit of energy for the end. To speed up and finish strong. To not walk across the finish line, but to run fast. Do I have anything left? I must pace myself. I'm so tired. I want to walk. But I push on. I think about what I've accomplished. I think about my next run - a long flat street run. I think about eating. I pick up speed. I recognize when I am lumbering versus running. I try to improve my form. Back straight. Head up. I pass several people walking their dogs. I can now smile a bit. I sprint the last 30 seconds. Thirty seconds feel like an eternity. I count it down in my head. Thirty seconds, I can do anything for thirty seconds.

I made it! Back at the car.

I'm done.

Seven miles. One hour and 20 minutes. Elevation climb of 1166 feet. 1,114 calories. Alone. The furthest distance I've ever ran on a hill run. 

As you can see, this run included so many things: challenge, excitement, euphoria, fears, overcoming, exercise, mental submission, goals, accomplishments, natural beauty. That is why I subject myself to such challenges. I love it, I hate it, I dread it, but I can't wait until I can do it again!  

Hulk Hogan, falling down, and getting back up.

As a teenager, I enjoyed watching professional wrestling. My favorite wrestler was Hulk Hogan. Hulk was an amazing person to watch, showing incredible strength and a larger-than-life personality. I remember some of the matches where he would be getting beat. The opponent would be throwing him around, kicking him, flying off the top rope and landing on him, or inflicting other damaging blows to his body. Hulk would look like he was about ready to give up and be pinned. But then something would happen. Slowly the Hulk would begin building inner resolve. The crowd would see it and go nuts, cheering for him. The opponent would continue to pound on him, but now it had no effect. Hulk would begin to shake off the pain, shake off the beatings. He began to pick himself up. His eyes would get wide. His muscles would begin to ripple. The opponent would realize that his poundings were having no effect, and suddenly fear would strike him. Hulk would rise again from the mat after all of those beatings, the pain, and the suffering. Hulk would be back! In no time, the opponent would be begging for mercy but Hulk would pin him quickly and the match would be over. Hulk-a-mania would be running wild!

I loved the plot line. Down but not out. Beaten almost to an end. Yet an inner strength allowed him to pick himself up yet again. Out of the brokenness, in the end he was victorious. 

Apparently professional wrestling is not real, or so I've been told. :)  But the heroics of Hulk Hogan have provided inspiration. The real life heroics of the Bibical characters Jacob, Paul, Joseph, and David have provided much more inspiration as people whose life circumstances had them almost down for the count. I've also known people today that even though their life circumstances have beaten them down numerous times, they have continued to get back up and continue the fight. It shows me I am not alone.  There are others who continue to get back up after being beaten down.

Proverbs: 24:16 says, "No matter how often honest people fall, they always get up again; but disaster destroys the wicked." (CEB)  The NIV version says, "For though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again, but the wicked stumble when calamity strikes."

As I write this today, my chest has a seering pain like someone is slowly cutting at my heart. This is not the first time. No, this is now the 5th time that this issue has arisen. Four of the five have been this year. At times, the pain feels dehabilitating. It hurts, it exhausts me, I struggle with sleep, weight, and eating. It feels like another disaster. 

It even messes up my running plans. As an example, I am attempted to achieve certain running goals. One of my goals is to run certain races on a progressively more challenging level. I have previously "fallen" six times this year. Sickness robbed me of even being able to attempt these goals.

• 05/19 - Iris 10k - chest illness
• 08/24 - Canby Dahlia Half Marathon - chest illness in April
• 10/19 - Runaway Pumpkin Half - chest illness September
• 10/27 - MacDonald Forest 15k - chest illness September
• 11/10 - Autumn Runs 10 miler - chest illness October
• 11/16 - Hell of the Northwest 10k - chest illness, ankle injury October

The old thought patterns taunt me: Doubts and discouragement quickly set in. The voices tell me I should give up on those dreams. They say I'll never make it. That it is not worth it. I have fallen six times - just give it up. I sit and wonder if I will be able to achieve my next three races that are coming up quickly. I think I will fall. I believe I will lose ground. I am convinced I will lose momentum. I want to give up. 

But this time, I feel different. This is the seven time. I feel the same thing that Hulk Hogan would feel. I will not take this lying down. Yes it is difficult. Yes there is pain. But there is something in me that says enough is enough. I will not be beaten. I will not allow calamity destroy my hopes. I will not give up on my goals. My inner man is beginning to be filled with resolve. I am stronger than this. I will not let the opponents of fear and sickness bring me down. I can feel my spirit rise within me.

Some of us have fallen quite a few times. 

It may have been a health issue. You may have started to feel better, and then things get worse.

It may have been a financial fall - debt or even bankruptcy. You begin to climb out of the financial pit, and then you slide right back into it.

It may have been a dream of yours. You start to attain it, and yet it slips out of your grasp.

The "wicked" let the circumstance get the best of them. The "righteous" get back up.

Today, I encourage you to get back up. Feel the strength and courage returning. Feel the hope rising up in your chest. Feel the determination swell within you that says you will not be beaten. 

We may fall. We may get beaten down. But today: rise. Rise above the opponents to your dreams, your health, your finances, your God-given future! Get back up! Today can be your day to overcome!

If this blog article encouraged you, I'd love to hear about it.

Death

Death is a mystery.  It seems to be avoided at all costs. Yet, everyone dies. It is hard to understand, yet we know it is coming. It hurts when a loved one passes on, but we rejoice that they may be in a better place. When it comes unexpectedly we question why. 

I want to share with you the experiences and impact that seven deaths have had upon me. For those reading this, you may have been close to one or more of these people. I hope not to offend anyone with my words, and my experience may be a bit different than yours. Please bear with me. Since it details each of these experiences, it is a bit longer of an article, but still shorter than a book. :)

My intent in writing this blog article - as the blog is titled - is that I'm "Being Real." Perhaps it will bring healing. Perhaps it will bring understanding. Perhaps it may speak to you. Perhaps you have your own experiences with death and this may bring commonality and understanding. It is a very painful, heart-wretching part of life, and instead of avoiding thoughts and discussions concerning the topic, I'd rather us all be whole.

Pastor Markese - In the mid-nineties, Karen and I had a sort of spiritual awakening. Our spirits came alive with a fresh love and passion for Jesus. We quickly surrounded ourselves with others that were like-minded. A pastor of a church across town was leading his church family into the same full-fledged desire for more of God. Karen and I often would visit this church. Pastor Markese was all-out running after God.  This was having a huge impact upon his church and the region. And then he got cancer. He fought it. Thousands of people prayed for him. Yet, he passed away. It didn't make sense. Not at the height of what was happening. So many people had been radically changed. So many people getting saved. So much zeal for The Lord. His life was cut short. We didn't feel like his life was over. So we continued to pray. This may seem weird for some, but the Bible is full of miracles, including numerous people raised from the dead. We, along with others, prayed nearly every waking moment for the days leading up to and including his funeral. We prayed with great faith. I stared at his lifeless chest, expecting it to begin to move. At the funeral, we continued to believe. But it didn't happen. Why? I don't know. We fasted, prayed, and had faith. It was very disappointing. It devasted the church and nothing was ever the same. A very difficult time for many, but we continued to trust and love God.

Shabu - Some co-leaders in our church were missionaries in India. Their son, Shabu, was in his early 20s, just recently married, and was at a church picnic by a lake in Oklahoma. Some girls fell into the water, and he jumped in to save them. He saved them, but in the process, he died. Far too young, life full of promise and destiny. He left his wonderful parents who had seen thousands of miracles and people saved through their internation ministry. As a church we prayed. They sent his body back to Oregon, and right there in the church, for 17 days we prayed for him to be raised from the dead. Hundreds, thousands of prayers by people all over the world. Great faith. We contended, pounding on heaven's door. For some, this sounds nearly insane, but we need not be bound by the limitations of this world. We serve a God of miracles... of the impossible. But it was not to be. We have seen God do other miracles and wonderful things, but Shabu passed on.

My dad - My dad lived a long and healthy life. He was a godly man, an elder in the church, always serving, a hard worker. He worked for a construction company and had built a house for his boss at Black Butte Resort in the mountains near Sisters, Oregon. It was a beautiful house. His boss let us stay at the house a few times a year. Literally having been there probably 50 times, it seemed like our family vacation home. In his last couple years, my dad's health began to wane. As family, we took another trip to "our vacation home." During our stay, my dad began to feel very weak. We all gathered around his chair. We prayed for peace. He looked around at us and told us he loved us. Then he said, "They are coming." His eyes grew wider with joy. And he passed into eternity. He saw the angels coming for him. In our vacation home, surrounded by family, we had the priviledge of seeing him slide to the other side of the veil. Sure we were sad, but we also got to experience something glorious.

Emmalee - Two and a half years ago, I had the priviledge of performing a wedding ceremony for my niece Emmalee and Andy. Emmalee was a wonderful niece, and I always enjoyed talking and spending time with her. Her family lived several hours away, so we didn't get to spend as much time together as hoped for, but we enjoyed the time we did have. She was dearly loved by all the extended family, and her parents and three brothers adored her. A few months after getting married, she got pregnant and then had a miscarriage. She took the miscarriage really hard. The doctors put her on a medication to deal with the depression. She seemed normal, and had even written out her "to do" list for the day. Then with no one inside the house, she put a gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. Her newlywed husband heard the shot, and found her. She was somehow not dead. She went into a coma. My wife and I got a call and we knew we needed to be there. We drove the 9 hours to the hospital and spent the next several days and night around-the-clock praying for her, for strength for Andy, for the family. She lay there with visibily no disfiguration since the bullet was lodged in the back of her head. Like she was sleeping. We contended. We cried. We fought for her life. Nineteen years old. Life full of promise. The baby of the family. We gave it our all. The hospital saw her as an opportunity for an organ donor. The hospital said we had only until a certain day and time and then that would be it. We prayed and fought harder. It is etched in my mind the scene as we had been asked to leave the room and are now standing in the hallway. We watched as our nineteen year old niece was wheeled down the hall to an operating room where they harvested her organs. The memories of it continue to overwhelm me. The horror of it. The worst nightmare. Helpless we stood by. We broke down. Cried. In shock. Defeated by death.

Andy - Emmalee was married to a wonderful young man named Andy. We had known Andy for years, as he was involved in their church, came often to family events, and was around Emmalee's house & family a lot. Through the whole hospital circumstances, he was quiet, hurting terribly on the inside. We prayed for strength for him; we tried to encourage him. The morning after Emmalee's passing, we were preparing to return home. We didn't see Andy and just figured that he wanted to be alone. Eight hours later, when we were almost back to our home, we get a call. Andy had hung himself. All of us in the Suburban just broke down weeping. It was like the one-two punch. Completely knocked us out. Barely able to function. Hearts absolutely broken. Almost every day I think of Emmalee and Andy. I think of their lives. My heart breaks for their immediate family. Recently I watched the movie "Courageous" again. In the movie the main character's daughter, coincedentally named Emily, died. The pastor character says, "It is similar to someone who has had a limb amputated. They live, but will never be the same." Emmalee and Andy's deaths so impacted me that at times it feels like I have had a limb amputated and am learning to function without it. There were lots of times of questioning God, anger and disappointment in Him for not saving Emmalee, and correspondingly Andy, from this tragedy.

Marilyn - This past April, Karen's sister was riding bicycle with her two kids. She suddenly didn't feel well, and asked her son to go back to the house and get her inhaler. While he was gone a few minutes, she passed out on the road and went into a coma. For almost a month she remained in a coma. Based upon our past experience with Emmalee, it was very difficult to visit Marilyn in the hospital. The emotions raged. Faith was severly tested. Panic would set in. What if she died? What if God didn't heal her? Again, a wonderful Christian woman, kind, generous, very family oriented. Still young - just a couple of years older than myself. But it was not to be. A month later, she passed away. And yet again, we were stunned. It didn't make sense. Why didn't God heal her? Why her? How could this possibly be for the good? She never woke up, she couldn't communicate. No one got to really say goodbye. The pain is still fresh. Gift-giving was her love language, and she loved to give our family gifts. While it makes the birthdays and soon-coming Christmas different and difficult, we know that with the gifts we give each other, we are carrying on her love of giving of gifts.

My mom - My mom had a rare form of cancer of the blood. She had taken pills for it for almost 10 years, but it was catching with her. On 9/11, ironically, she had to go to the hospital with severe swelling in her feet. From that point on, she could barely walk. The family had to assist her with everything. She could only take a few steps to a wheelchair, transfer to a commode, or a chair. For five weeks, the family rotated through shifts caring for her. She knew the end was near. She wanted to go over the finances. She wanted to know if any of her nine children wanted any items. It was difficult to talk about. She continued to struggle. The doctors really couldn't and wouldn't do anything. It was just a matter of time. But as our shift came around, we got to spend a lot of time with her and other family members. Lots of family visited, driving or flying in, helping and talking with her. For five weeks, the house was full of family, telling stories, laughing, just being together. In a way, it was like a vacation or a big family reunion. But it also was mentally exhausting to see her fade and with helping with humbling situations. That humility brought a bonding. It had to be rough on her - being an incredible servant - now with her family needing to do everything for her. She was coherent and talking for those five weeks and she told everyone, "I am at peace. Perfect peace. I'm not scared one bit." The last couple of days the pain took over. She suffered tremendously, was incoherent, and slept most of the time. Then she passed away in her sleep. She had lived a full, satisfying life. She knew it was time. We all knew it was the time. To know she is reunited with my dad, rid of the cancerous pain, and in heaven makes it much easier to deal with. Yet I don't feel like it has really sunk in yet. It's only been two weeks, and I already notice numerous trigger points. I know the holidays - where we gathered at her house - will be a challenge. In it all, I feel like her final weeks were a gift from God - for her to have her family around her, to experience the love once again, and for all of us to be with her and, in essence, say goodbye. 

My experiences with death have been varied. Some have been extremely painful, others are more of a celebration of their lives. I don't understand the big picture. I don't understand why some lives are cut short. I don't understand why God chooses to take some home when their lives are full of promise and destiny. I don't understand why some are healed and some are not. I don't understand why the death process is so ugly. But that is OK. 

My faith for the extreme miraculous has, honestly, been almost devestated. I'm not healed from those experiences. Frankly, I'm not sure what it'll take to restore that faith. I can believe for less-radical healings or miracles, but those dealing with life-and-death situations will be a challenge. 

I now have some understanding and empathy for those who have lost loved ones. For each of us, the story is different, but the pain, the sadness, and the feeling of loss resonates with mine. 

We all have to go through the death process - with our loved ones and ourselves. While it is a painful and difficult thing to go through, there are a few things that seem to help:

1. Have a strong relationship with The Lord. He is the one who provides comfort, understanding, and healing.
2. Embrace the pain. It sounds cliche, but it true. When we push the pain down or away, we don't learn and grow from it. With every death, it makes me appreciate and love my family even more. 
3. Life is short. Relationships are the most important. Learn from the loss. Value your time that you have.

If you feel so inclined, I'd love to hear of your experiences concerning death and how you learned through those experiences and how you dealt with the loss. May God give us all comfort and peace!

Believe you can fly.

I sit in the quiet house.  Alone.  Yesterday a home overflowing with family members. Laughter.  Hugs. Stories. Friendship. Support.

A few days ago, a home filled with the vitality and love of my mother.

Alone.  Eeriely silent.  I sit waiting for the dryer to finish a load of bedding.

So many memories. So much love. Now all is quiet.  I reflect.

Over the past several days, there has been much to do. Removing valuables from the home.  Contacting family and friends. Preparations for the memorial service. Estate issues to be addressed.  Busy.  Little time for it to sink in.

I sit. I prefer to not be alone. I start to rise to go in and talk with her in the other room.  Wait. She no longer is on this side of the veil. Rarely too busy to talk - now she is no longer here.

Too quiet. I feel the heaviness of the moment descend upon me. Sadness. I feel the tears at the edge of the eyes.  

I will run. Not away from the pain. Through it. In the midst of it. Not avoiding the hurt; embracing it.

I leave the house - this home - and drive to my home. I put on my running attire and shoes. Prepared for a long run. Prepared to push through another challenge.

My mind flashes back to The Day.  In the final hours of her life, she was sleeping and I needed a break. I chose to run. To clear my head. I knew the end was near, but not this near.  With two minutes remaining in my run I get a call. I ignore it. Moments later another call. I knew. The Call.

Running and the passing of my mom will now be connected. But not in a negative way. Always believing. Always encouraging us to press on. Always seeing in us something beyond what we are currently achieving.

I arrive at my favorite running location. Lately I've been running without music.  Today I bring my earbuds and connect them to my iPhone.  Ready to run. Ready to endure. Ready to overcome. Ready to calm the whirling thoughts.

Today I choose the greatest hits album from the band Creed. As I begin to run, the songs pound through my head. Partially thinking about my mom, about life, about running, about putting one foot in front of the next - literally and figuratively. Running. Praying. Thinking. Breathing.

"Are you ready? Are you ready? 
For whats to come...Oh I said Are you ready? 
Are you ready? For whats to come

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one 
Count down to the change in life that's soon to come"

I hear the lyrics and they startle me. She knew.  She told each of us kids. It was time. She had finished the race. Twice she told me, "I am at perfect peace. I am not scared. I am at peace." She was ready. Everything made right. Her concern was not for herself but for family, for others. A change in life that came.

I think, "Are you ready?" Am I ready? Do I have unfullfilled destiny? Am I at complete peace with God and with others? I run. I have more to do. I have a long way to go. I have not reached the end. I will press through the difficulties that attempt to stop me.

"Can you take me Higher?
To a place where blind men see 
Can you take me Higher? 
To a place with golden streets"

She was called home. To a higher place. Our existance on Earth is but a mere moment in the vastness of eternity. A place of pure love. A place of joy. A place of reunion with my dad and others gone on before. She was there. Higher.

"With arms wide open
Under the sunlight 
Welcome to this place 
I'll show you everything 
With arms wide open 
Now everything has changed 
I'll show you love 
I'll show you everything 
With arms wide open 
With arms wide open 
I'll show you everything ...oh yeah
With arms wide open..wide open" 

A place of unveiled relationship with the Creator. A personal tour by the great I AM. I can see the joy on both of their faces. With arms wide open, the Eternal One welcomes her into eternity. Mile after mile I run. Gathering meaning in the midst of challenges. My challenges. I resonate with the lyrics:

"At times life's unfair and you know it's plain to see
Hey God I know I'm just a dot in this world
Have you forgot about me?
Whatever life brings
I've been through everything
And now I'm on my knees again

But I know I must go on
Although I hurt I must be strong
Because inside I know that many feel this way"

The voice begins to change. Through my pain I begin to see her singing to us. 

"Children don't stop dancing

Believe you can fly
Away...away"

Always a believer in her children. Believing we could fly. Believing we were the best at whatever we did. I continue to run. Further. Further than I've ever ran. A year ago, I never dreamed I could run this far. I did not have the physical or mental strength. But now I press on. Undiscovered strength is unleashed. Children, we can fly. We cannot be held back. Tears form in my eyes. Let it out. Let the spirit soar. Let hope be restored. See greatness.

"The day reminds me of you
The night hides your truth
The earth is a voice
Speaking to you
Take all this pride
And leave it behind
cuz' one day it ends
One day we die
Believe what you will
That is your right
But I choose to win
I choose to fight...
To fight"

Life brings its sufferings and pain. Beaten down. Tired. Discouraged. But in the end, it is what we make of those adversities that shapes us. I choose to win. I choose to fight. I run on. A lightness coming to my spirit. A little over ten miles. Not nearly as hard as I thought it would be. I choose to fight through. My furtherest run yet. But I won't stop dancing. I won't stop running. I believe I can fly. I believe I can go further. On this trail. On this trail of life. I won't stop dancing. I choose to fight.

She is welcomed with arms wide open. We remain. Are we ready? Will we fight? Will we join her someday on the other side? Believe. Believe you can fly.