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.
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