The Stench of Victory

It was over.

I plopped down on my seat in the car and glanced in the mirror. Wet stringy hair was matted to my face. The look of exhaustion. Face flushed red with heat. I looked at my arms, covered in sweat. My ankles were dirty from the dust and rocks of the road. My back and torso drenched in sweat. I already felt sore and tired. Then I got a whiff, and that put me over the edge. The stench. I stunk. Bad.

But I did it. I made it. I overcame. I was victorious.

It was the stench of victory that stuck out in my mind.

I had just finished an ugly, hilly, nine mile run. It wasn't the furthest I'd gone. It wasn't the hardest. It was just ugly. But I pressed through. Now I stunk, but it was a stench that goes with the territory.

As I sat there, I contemplated what it all meant. Obviously there are many parallels between running and life. Yet another life truth was highlighted that day: there is a stench of victory. Put another way, victory stinks.

If you pay attention to almost any sport, except for golf (ha ha), at the end of the competition, the winner can be elated, but they usually are also a mess. They are all sweaty, dirty, exhausted, and emotionally spent. But they are victorious. The victory makes all the smell and exhaustion worth it.

Just like life.

In your mind, think of several people that you know personally that you respect and perhaps look up to. Think of why you respect them. Chances are it is because they have gone through some dificulties in life, but battled through those difficulties and were victorious. 

But if you've watched them go through it, most likely it was anything but pretty.  In the midst of those struggles, people tend to get pretty raw. Tired. Stressed. Emotional. Exhausted. They stink.

Then they make it through. Victory.

Without challenges, struggles, and obstacles, the victory would be insignificant. It is because of those challenges, struggles, and obstacles that the victory is great.

Perhaps you are going through a challenge right now. I guarantee you that others are watching. It may be ugly. You may be tired. Frankly, you probably stink. But when the victory comes, it will be worth it.

The next morning I could barely walk but inside I was happy. The battle was over. I had made it through. It had been ugly. I had smelled badly. 

But I am victorious!

A Crappy Running Adventure

WARNING: The story you are about to read contains graphic and disturbing images that you may not wish to have burned into your memory. You may want to wait until after you've eaten before reading this story.

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Sometimes I'm as bright as a burnt out light bulb.  

Yesterday, due to the three day weekend, I decide to do about a hundred things in the yard. I gather the family, make a plan, and we tackle the mountain of things that need to be done.  The most time consuming and physically laborious task is pressure washing the house, sidewalks, stone blocks, driveway, RV pad, neighbor children, and anything else that looks slightly dirty. I attacked the challenge like a madman. Nine hours later, I am exhausted. 

Today after church I am still so exhausted that I immediately fall asleep after lunch. After three hours of sleeping, dozing, drooling, and mumbling incoherent phrases, I awake fully non-energetic.

But I have plans. Running plans. Plans to run with my friend Joe. However, something is not right. I should not feel like this. I chalk it up to working too hard yesterday. I can't back out of running. I have my pride. My ego. I am Running Man.

Our plan is to run about six miles on two trails connected by a few blocks on the street. Not too difficult.  At least for Joe. Joe the Ironman. Joe, the one in the peak of his training for another triathlon. I think he is running/biking/swimming half way across the country or something. Definitely more than six miles.  Me, on the other hand, have no plans to run a triathlon. My plans still involve running to the fridge for more whipped cream to put on top of my ice cream.  Or for longer distances, I run - in the car - to the store for a box of Twinkies.  But Joe, now he can run. He is like the Energizer Bunny, he keeps going and going and going.

I have my pride. My ego. My stupidity. Surely I can keep up with The Animal. We take off at a torrid pace, Joe leading the way. Gasping, grunting, wheezing, and staggering, I manage to keep him within eye sight. He glances back and asks if the pace is OK. "No problem," I respond.  Actually, it takes me several attempts before I can get all of the words out.

"No."

"Pr."

"Ob."

"Lem."

Each syllable comes out as I try to calculate if I have enough air to actually breath while at the same time as talking. "Problem" is actually two syllables, but I have to change it to three. It takes four steps, but I manage to communicate with him.

Joe smiles and speeds up.

We reach the end of the trail and turn around. We've gone around three miles, but it feels more like three hundred miles. I get a burst of energy and things feel better for about one mile.

Then it hits me. Stomach pain. Hurting. Must. Find. Bathroom. NOW. The problem is I'm two miles away from the car and then three miles away from home. And I had picked Joe up, so I'd need to drop him off. Two miles, plus dropping him off, plus getting home. That's at least a half an hour.

I sweat even more profusely than I have been. What shall I do? What can I do?

I've got to go really bad. I tighten my cheeks and run on. Its getting worse. Then I hear my named being yelled. "Keith! Keith!" Someone is waving at me. This is awkward. By now I'm practically holding onto my rear end and praying that I don't have an accident on the side of the trail.

She is waving. Through my pain and humiliation, I see who it is: a friend from church. To save her embarrassment in case she reads this, I'll just call her Gail. She waves, I remove one hand from my rearend and quickly wave. Thankfully she is far enough away to not hear the rumblings of the stomach.

The volcanic stew is about to erupt. I must get home. Fear surrounds me on every side. I tell Joe what is going on. He laughs but quickly speeds up to get away from the impending accident.

"I think there is a porta-potty at the college up ahead. Maybe it won't be locked," he says. Wouldn't that be something - I make it there, only to discover it is locked?  My mind races with questions: Can I make it there? Would it be better to run and get there quicker, or walk but get there slower? What if I don't make it? What if the bathroom is locked? Could I just ditch Joe, and hurry home?

Now we are on the street connecting the two trails. Houses all around. I'm desperate. I recall leading some youth on a missions trip to Mexico a few years ago. One of the teenagers had to use the bathroom very badly. We were going door-to-door in a very, very poor city that consisted of cardboard or scrapwood houses and a few that looked more like normal houses. We found the nicest house we could and knocked on the door. They let the teen go to the restroom. We had knocked just as the owners of the house were starting a birthday party for one of their kids. So this poor Mexican family had invited us all to join them for cake and Coca-cola. They gave up half of their small cake for total strangers. It was humbling, yet awesome.  Anyway, as I'm passing these houses by the college, I wonder if I could just knock on their door and tell them I need to use their bathroom NOW.  Would they let me in? Would they have toilet paper? Would they hear the minor explosion from my backside? Would they be in the midst of a birthday party? Would they invite us to stay? Would it be Costco cake? 

I don't have the nerve to knock, but I was very tempted. I awkwardly run on, butt cheeks tightly clenched, with the volcanic eruption held at bay.

Joe points out the porta-potty across the way. I take a short cut through the college's vegetable garden. Smashing carrot tops, kicking lettuce and cabbage heads, and squashing onions, I press on knowing that if I don't get there quickly, their garden is going to be very "organic."

The door was not locked. I made it.

I ended up running about a mile less than I intended to. I've heard many times of people having "issues" during a race. Today I experienced what they've dealt with. After getting home, it dawns on me that two of my kids have the stomach flu. Apparently, that was the "something is not right." Next time I'm coming down with the stomach flu, I think I'll stay home. Or run in close proximity to a porta potty.

What I learned from being off of Facebook for a month

Several weeks ago, I decided to do a little experiment and - without announcing it - I just stayed off of Facebook for one month. I only logged on Facebook if someone InBoxed (messaged) me. After the month was up, I have now been back on Facebook for three weeks.

I learned a few interesting things about myself. I learned a few things about how my interactions with people have changed. I learned a few things that frankly bother me.

This is not meant to be judgmental. The name of my blog is "Being Real", and I purposefully try to be that. It may be blunt. It may seem harsh. It may seem judgmental... because it probably is. I'm judgmental just like everyone else.  Ha: that is a judgment right there!  Anyway, I digress.

 The following are things I discovered. They may or may not be true for you.

Communication has changed

I realized how I, in pre-Facebook days, used to communicate with people: it was in person, on the phone, via email, or texts. Those methods of communication were primarily with an individual. One on one, or a small group. Facebook subtly changes that. If I want to talk with someone for the sake of talking, I just "throw out" a post and see who bites. That is the person I may chat with.  I know it is not just on my side of relationships. During this month off, I noticed I received very few text messages, no emails, only a couple of phone calls. I still saw the people I usually see in person the same as before. Only one person asked me why I was so quiet/wasn't on Facebook.

The effort of friendships has deteriorated

There seems to be a connection made through Facebook that appears to connect people, but is false. If I read someone's post or see a picture, I have this "connection" to them. That is whether or not I "like" or comment on their post. I feel connected to them.  Why? Just because they put something out there? How is that any different from noticing what a stranger is wearing or eating or talking about? A false connection keeps me in "friendship" with that person. How often do I purposefully connect with one person on Facebook? Not just a post, but something real? And not just because it is their birthday? Individual conversation and friendships take time and effort. A generic post to my own wall is not putting any effort into a friendship.

Out of sight, out of mind

This is a two-way street. If I read someone's post, I may think about them, pray for them, comment/like, or otherwise communicate with them. When not on Facebook, since many people's names/comments/issues are not in front of my face, I honestly may not be thinking of them. It goes the other way too. Right before taking the month off, I was very, very sick and asked for prayer. Yet a month later, only a couple of people (whom I haven't interacted with outside of Facebook) asked how I'm doing. I was just as bad: I know there were others going through some major things, and I think I only kept in contact with one person to see how they were doing. Posting on Facebook, whether humerous, informative, or complainy, is making yourself visible to others.

Addiction

The reason I took a month off was because I was addicted to Facebook. I usually don't have the time at night to spend an hour on Facebook scrolling through my news feed and coming up with my own posts.  So I'd grab my iPhone and look quickly throughout the day. I probably looked at Facebook 10 times a day. That way I didn't have to scroll through huge amounts of content. But that was addicting. I noticed that those few minutes between activities, I'd grab my phone. Instead of a conversation with my wife or kids, I "had" to catch up on Facebook. I consciously or unconsciously thought of some event or photo that'd be good to share with Facebook-land instead of focusing on the event itself. It was like I was bypassing the journey so that I could share about the journey. I realized I was spending too much time on the iPhone, and not enough with my family.  Once I gave it up, I had two conflicting feelings. One feeling was to just replace Facebook with something else; still picking up the phone and playing a game or reading something, or changing the screen wallpaper: important things. That removed me from Facebook, but didn't help my phone addiction. The other reaction was to just put the phone away. This was much better. I was able to focus much better on what was going on around me. I was able to actually converse instead of just grunt. Not that there is anything wrong with grunting. It also was strange and sad how many times I was tempted to pick up the phone. It was embarrassing when I got a Facebook InBox message and was very tempted to just peek at the News Feed. But after a while, it felt nice to not be so tied to the phone.

Missing people

I realized that most, if not all, of my interaction with most of my Facebook "friends" is actually through Facebook. Without being on Facebook, this meant no interaction with these "friends". I never contacted them and they never contacted me.  I wonder if it had been a year instead of a month. Would we have made contact with each other? But I honestly did miss many people and did wonder what was going on in their lives or how they were doing. I just didn't make the effort to find out. Sad.

Shallow

It highlighted again how shallow our relationships can be. If it is all about sharing memes, inspirational quotes, recipes, and selfies, how beneficial is that relationship? It reminds me again of how we really have a few circles of friends: close, casual, and shallow. Facebook, for the most part, keeps the interaction at the shallow end of the spectrum. For closer relationships, different forms of contact need to happen.

Misunderstandings

I realize that with all forms of communication, misunderstandings abound. But Facebook, to me, seems to just highlight it. Someone is dead serious about an issue, concern or need and at least one person seems to always give a flippant/rude/inconsiderate response. It just is not an ideal place for something serious. Someone posts about a topic, and people hijack the conversation and make it into something completely different. You can even use Facebook to portray yourself with a certain persona: purposefully attempting to project an image of your life that may or may not be what you are really about. The inverse of that is that you can become, in people's minds, what you post on Facebook. That can cause misunderstanding of who and what you really are. Facebook seems like it is primarily a medium for entertainment, chit-chat,  or self-exhaltation. Yes, that sounds strong, but really how many truly life-changing experiences have happened via Facebook? Its like the status quo is to keep it light, ignore the hurt, make a joke, promote yourself. That causes all kinds of misunderstandings. Real communication begs for something deeper.

Conclusion

Taking the month off of Facebook really opened my eyes to where I was at. It also reminded me again of the difficulties and challenges of relationships. In general, people aren't the greatest at relationships. Facebook, it seems, makes that even more difficult.  Frankly, this time off has taken a lot of the appeal of Facebook away from me. It now feels much more empty of substance. I hope my addiction has been broken and I hope that I can take something away from these lessons and actually make changes in my life. I hope that my time will be spent a little more wisely. I hope that I will value and work harder at my friendships.

Thoughts? Comments?  Looking for the de-friend button?  :)

More than you imagined!

I decided to do something different for this blog: it is a video blog.

You have much more potential inside of you than you may realize. Using an illustration of a recent running event, this video is about discovering you have more strength inside of you than you may have realized.  Watch this video and be encouraged!

Compassion

It has been an extremely rough week. I needed prayer. I hesitated doing this because of past experiences, but I did it anyway: I posted my prayer request on Facebook.

I wanted some friends who were strong in their prayers - some who had it all together, some who weren’t already weighted down with their own struggles - to just pray for me.

I hit the Send button and there it was for all my Facebook friends to see. I crawled into bed and went to sleep. After a four hour nap, I woke up and was stunned by a few of the replies to my earlier post.

It wasn’t WHAT they replied, it was WHO replied that said they were praying:

• the friend who has battled migraine headaches for years plus battled for her husband’s severe illness for many years before he finally got healed
• the one who has battled through her own illnesses, pastored a church with her husband  in the heart of the city, pouring out her life for others, and walking with family after family in hardship and death
• a former mentor to me who is facing big decisions for the future
• the pastor who already has her hands full with lots of things
• the co-founder of a ministry to the orphans and widows in another country
• the friend in severe chronic pain, struggling to manage living life in the midst of an incurable situation
• another pastor who is constantly giving of his life to others
• one with chronic back pain that has completely altered his life
• one who saw firsthand the effects this had upon my health, my life, my work, and my outlook on life; he listened and was/is my friend
• the one with numerous challenges and health issues in her own family

I looked down through the messages and was overwhelmed. Many were already hurting. Many were already going through huge challenges and obstacles in their lives. They already felt a heaviness and burden for themselves or those around them. 

These weren’t the ones I was meaning to pray for me. They already had enough on their plates. 

I received another Facebook post. One who has been through so much pain was saying she was still praying for me and was checking in.

It floored me. 

In the midst of their own pain. In the midst of their own heartache. In the midst of their own overwhelming challenges in life. People were reaching out to me.

Then I realized what it was. 

Compassion.

If you’ve never been through a life-altering situation, you won’t understand. If you’ve never lived with back pain for 25 years, you won’t understand. If you’ve never been to doctor after doctor with no resolution, you won’t understand. If you’ve never wondered if you’ll live through the night, you won’t understand.

But if you’ve been broken. Scared. In pain. At the end of your rope. No where to go. Then you understand.

A thread is weaved through people’s spirits who have suffered together. An understanding. A compassion. A burden. A strength in numbers.

With each of the friends I described above, I’ve connected with. I have a glimpse of their pain. I have a bit of understanding of what they go through: the challenges of an illness, the weight of ministry, of a hurting loved one, or the constant giving of oneself to others. A thread connects us. They have no idea how many times I have hurt for them, prayed for them, tried to share their burden, cried for them, wanted to be able to help them. Or simply just had compassion. 

Today I was touched with their compassion. 

Thank you.

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.

                                     ________________________________

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.

                                     ________________________________

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!