one faithful step at a time

I found about 33 cents on my run today.
How can you find ABOUT 33 cents, you ask?
Well the uncertainty comes from the exchange rate. See, I didn’t just find 3 dimes and 3 pennies or a quarter and change. I found cans. Aluminum cans. 27 of them. And at the current price of aluminum, that’s about 33 cents.
And why pick them up for such measly money?
Because my sister and I are fundraising. And each pop can goes toward funding education for children in Africa. A day in school can be mere cents.

But this story isn’t really about the price of metals or making money. My run today was a clear reminder that God will work in AMAZING ways if we just let him.

Over the past couple days, I’ve been running the same trail/street route near my house. The road goes deep down into an industrial area and undeveloped land. Alas, trash is thrown about with little care of who will see it or who might clean up the littered area. Along this route, I typically see beer bottles, water bottles, pop cans, and a random shoe. The last two times I’ve run, I’ve seen a pop can both on my way out and on my way back in. The first day I almost stopped, and then feeling guilty that I didn’t, I thought about turning around. But then my legs got the better of me and raced forward. The next time I saw one, I wasn’t in the mood. What was one lousy can? I’ll ask friends to start collecting them (which I haven’t), and I gather them at school (which I hadn’t). Mass collection seemed so much more appealing, productive, and well, not quite as inconvenient and dirty as jogging along with an empty can.

Today I ran the other way. (Note: Sometimes running the opposite direction on a course gives you perspective.) So about half way through I saw a can. A beer can. A fat, unsquished, shiny beer can. And I passed it. Suddenly, I turned around and smashed it and picked it up. That’s not a victory or worth writing home about but that’s what happened. I wasn’t quite sure how I would run with this crunched up metal in my hand especially as I felt a little self-conscious of its original contents. I continued to run and came upon another one. Perfect- one for each hand-I’ll be balanced. Then across the street, a shiny object caught my eye. I veered for it and thus had 3 cans. At this point I realized I wouldn’t be quitting my hunt anytime soon so I expanded my search for a bag and there it was, right next to another can. On it went. I would find a fat can, smash it, and put it in the ever growing plastic sack. I even ran across the Mt. Dew can I had ignored a few days before. I deviated from the path toward the metal objects, grabbing them from the easy road side and ducking in behind bushes. Sometimes the can spewed remaining contents on my legs and shoes, but that seemed to be all part of the fun. Seven minutes after my typical time, I returned home to count my earnings. It was loaves and fishes.

The reward for the day was pretty cool, totally unexpected, and way beyond a cardiovascular workout. I trained for life. First, I took a faithful step. That first beer can on the road was a wake up call that I could make a difference. The first can of the day also reminded me that if we take care of the little things, God will give us even greater responsibilities. I didn’t just have one can by the end but more than 2 12-packs.

When I picked up the first can, I showed God I was in. Big or small, I was in. So he gave me more. And then he gave me the tools I needed to succeed in his plan. He gave me a sack. I could not have gathered 27 cans. At 4 I was sort of doofish looking as I ran with dripping containers. Thankfully, I was willing so God made me able.

About 7 cans in I realized my run was sort of over. Over in the sense of I’m going running, period. The agenda had changed though I still got to workout. In fact, because cans were all over the place I probably ran further than I had originally intended. God does that a lot when we allow him to use us. Sometimes the path will be familiar but more oft than not, he leads us to unexpected places, letting us mature even more.

For the last month Jami and I have been collecting cans, randomly, with a system, or when it worked for me. I hadn’t made much effort apart from gathering my own used cans and those of a few friends when I remembered. Last night, however, I saw how much she had collected from friends, people she’s talked to and her intentional collection sites. She has over 5 garbage sacks full. I don’t feel the need to compete with her, but I do feel the need to pull my weight. More than that, we have to take ownership of whatever God has called us to do. Just because Jami was raking in the aluminum didn’t mean she was being faithful for me. She was doing what she had committed to do. I was trying to jump on her bandwagon. But that’s not how faith works. I have to commit personally. Just because my parents went to church and have a love for Jesus doesn’t mean that belief is passed by association. Just because my dad is ridiculously smart doesn’t mean I can ride on his coattails and achieve success without effort. Just because my great uncle threw the javelin in college didn't mean I could skip practice.

Being faithful takes a step, takes risk and deviation from our plans, and takes trust that God will provide the skills and tools we need. But in the end, faith has to be personal. Claim it and go with it and watch how God uses that faith.

Sleeping Diagonally

Until about 67 days ago, I slept with sheets and blankets, utilizing a 3 ft. diameter of mattress space despite its great width and refusing to move at all during the night so making my bed in the morning wasn’t a mammoth effort of un-wrestling various layers into a neat order. Some say I should just leave the bed unmade and to you I ask, how do you sleep at night? But that’s another topic. Now I sleep with a down comforter. The unspoken comfort of my friend’s bed convinced me that one perfect layer is better than several marginal ones all hoping in their own wrinkled way to provide that perfect sleep. It wasn’t happening. And now that I sleep in a bed bigger than a matchbox, I even sleep diagonally. I’m free. Oh the liberty.

Ok- WARNING-the next thought is a leap but go with me.

Jesus started out in the world in swaddling clothes. Can you imagine how restrictive that would be? Poor kid has been born the Son of God, but his mother still wraps him like a burrito. Give the kid a break. (Editorial note- I get the burrito thing…it’s still a funny image.) Jesus obviously figured out how to move his arms, walk and talk. But think then about God becoming human. Talk about constraint. Jesus had to learn to roller skate by falling down, to avoid eating hot things by burning his tongue, and to build up the courage to ask a girl to dance. That’s a lot of humanness to require of someone who can move mountains. But Jesus grew into his skin. He found ways to live, work, pray, play, and be free of most bindings or limitations we humans often put on ourselves.

How? God had set him free of petty struggle and instead gave him power to live a life of loving God his Father and loving people. It was if God has said, “You can sleep diagonally in your bed."

For the last week I’ve been reading Ephesians 1 over and over in different translations. Apostle Paul so encouragingly reminds us that God loves us no less than he did Jesus. We’re on his fridge, too. We’re in the will. And with that love comes power. The same power God gave Jesus, he gave us. Think about that. That’s INCREDIBLE! What would happen if we took full advantage of that power as Jesus did? Perhaps our relationships would be deeper, our prayers longer and more honest, our complaints fewer and shorter. Through belief in Jesus and God’s love, we’re no longer constrained to sleep rigidly or live in swaddling clothes. We’re free to stretch out. We are free to grow up and into all that God has planned us for as his powerful and energized children.

semi day off

Today was my semi day off. Semi because I still had school, a meeting and homework, day off because I went to the mountains to read, write, pray and think. Somehow the “semi” parts seem to take over my schedule but this afternoon I kept them at bay.

I started listening to a book on tape of one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott. I haven’t read her work lately, but hearing her voice again as I drove took me back to my afternoons spent in Border’s when I had one precious day to rest when I toured with the choir. Anne has a humor and honesty that helps me see my own life in a similar light and realize, I can love myself despite my flyaway hair, manic desire to accomplish and inconsistent forgetfulness. She talks about her big thighs as her aunties, always there, giving her a little flare and reassurance that she beautiful because of them.

So today in the off part, I sat by the river on the mountain, reflecting on the past 10 days. They have truly been some of the craziest, most intense, jam-packed I’ve felt in a long time. Holy Week was a breeze in comparison. And yet, each item brought me joy (minus the lack of sleep) and I got to spend most of those moments with people I truly cherish. Yet, as I reflected, I teared up out of joy and loss and wishing. Wishing to be better, live even more fully; give of myself out of authentic love. On top of that, when I stood up I brushed off my shorts only o get stuck near that really boney part my dad always complained about when I sat on his lap as a kid. At first, I pegged gum as the culprit, resolving to find some ice and mend the situation. But after feeling it with my hand, I realized not only was my hand eternally sticky but the stick had reached skin on the other side of pants, etc. It was time for a run.

Runs are therapeutic for me and today was no different. The highlight of the day: touching my nose to my knee as I stretched. My flexibility has gone to pot lately, but as I bent over, I pleasantly surprised myself, pain free. As I began to leave I remembered my plans for the evening- I was meant to meet people right after I ran. I had planned to wear the now sapped shorts and I was still laden with perspiration. So here I was, go sweaty or sticky. Or both. I decided to listen to the Anne inside my head and say, go as you are. So I put on a clean black shirt that is another shade from my black shorts, shake out my sweaty hair and go. I knew my friend wouldn’t care. She wears hunter green and Kelly green together and says they match. “They’re green.” And so they are; how perfect.