Category Archives: Perseverance

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Running This Race of Faith

I’m on the countdown now. Two weeks until my next race, just a half marathon. Would I have ever thought I would put the word just in front of the words half marathon? Nope. Frankly those words were never even in my vocabulary. So…two weeks. My long runs are done and now it’s about nutrition, resting my body and a lot of thinking.

Unlike most races I have done in the past, I have done a lot of solo long training runs to prepare for this race. It has given me a lot of quiet time to think. Running gives me time to zone out of this busy world and spend time in my think tank, to reboot and refuel myself. I have been overwhelmed by the parallels I see in being prepared for an event of endurance and being prepared for the journey of life by training and exercising my faith.

Let’s divide a half marathon into four parts, essentially four 5ks. Our spiritual life can be divided into four parts as well. When we first come to Christ and put our faith in Him, it’s exhilarating. It becomes a mark on the timeline of our life and a starting point of an adventure of many unknowns. The only known is that there is a finish line marked by the death of our earthly body and eternity in heaven with Christ. Everything between this new birth and the earthly death is unknown. A new Christian is full of excitement about the faith they feel, their eyes sparkle in a new way and their smile may be a bit wider just begging everyone to smile back and share their excitement. It is a starting line of a whole new life in Christ. A new Christian basks in the glory they have come to know and time passes quickly as they seek to take in all that God has given them. New Christians may have some preconceived notions about what life may be like, but much remains a mystery.

The starting line of a race is thrilling. Energy, anxiety and apprehension are everywhere. My favorite part of a race is standing in the starting corrals and people watching. You see anything and everything…and it all makes me wonder how the world actually functions with the chaos known as humans running, pun intended, all over it. (Insert faith). Some people are jumping up and down, trying to get a glimpse of the start line chute and watching the ginormous race clock tick down. Some people are scared and it shows! I love listening to people blame each other for convincing them a race was a good idea. I quietly think to myself it is a good idea and they will be glad when they look back at the choice they made to go the distance. When the horn sounds and we cross the start line, the simultaneous chirping of people hitting start on their watches and the timing chips registering on the mat sends the masses off. We run, because that’s what our bodies have been trained to do. We dodge in and around people who clearly don’t understand how to correctly predict their finish time. Everyone keeps moving forward putting one foot in front of the other as our bodies have become accustomed. However, whether it is race day or a long training run, there is still an unknown factor. So we anxiously, and excitedly wonder what surprises this run holds for us.

After we come to know Christ intimately, we start experiencing life differently. Like a child in a sandbox full of hidden toys, we dig for what God has for us. As if looking at a picture of what we may find when we dig in the sand, we dig through His word desperately seeking that which other Christians have told us about. We ask questions, we take studies, we join small groups, we tell others about this amazing new life we have discovered. We want everyone to know how great the hidden treasure is and how it has transformed our life. We re-prioritize and eventually we kind of hit a groove. This new settled pace feels good. We relish in God’s multiple blessings and acknowledge Him as the creator of all that surrounds us.

In the second 5k of a race, we have made our way around the slower runners, figured out which side of the road we prefer and made it through a few water stops (realized if an unplanned pit stop is necessary from poorly planned hydration). We have adjusted our fuel belts, iPods and probably dropped a layer of clothing or wrapped it around our waist. The chatter is a bit quieter, but there is still great awareness of the surroundings. People are taking in the sights of the city, views of the lakes or ocean, waving to the crowds and even stopping to take pictures. In this part of the race we are settling into our pace, feeling good, feeling proud of the road that brought us to this point and unaware of challenges that might be ahead.

After we have publicly professed our faith and diligently followed Christ, there will come a time in every Christian’s life that we are challenged. Our groove and our plan is shaken, perhaps mildly, or perhaps to the core. It is the moment when we think life was supposed to be better with Christ. It is then that we realize these challenges are the same that are faced by everyone, Christian or not. The difference is that we are equipped with the whole armor of God. We cry out to God in despair and confusion. He reminds us, sometimes delicately and sometimes like thunder, that He has given us a shield of faith (Ephesians 6:16) , a helmet of salvation (Yes, God does have a sense of humor too) and a sword of the Spirit which is the word of God (Ephesians 6:17). Because we have been digging in the sandbox for His hidden treasures we remind ourselves to trust those treasures He gave us. We remind ourselves what He has taught us, to call upon His name, to cast our cares upon Him, because He cares for us (1 Peter 5:7). And guess what? Yep, He does exactly as He told us and Has written and He carries us through the storm. The time we spent in His word and in His presence has prepared us for the storm that He allowed to come our way. It is a test so that we have a testimony of faith to share. With Christ we will triumph, in the ways in which He has planned (Romans 5:1-5).

Once we cross the half way point in a half marathon, we start the third 5k and the countdown to the finish begins. These are dangerous miles. We know we can do it, because we have in the past and our well-trained body is familiar with the journey. Our heart is in it for the long haul and we want more than anything to finish what we started but the head games begin. The course begins taking on hills we did not plan for and some unknown spice from dinner last night is wreaking havoc on our stomach. The nagging hip or knee injury reappears. The crowds thin as people head for the finish line to save a coveted spot for the best photo-op. (It is perhaps at this point that some in my family might decide they need a skinny caramel macchiato, hold the whip, add cinnamon and miss the photo-op. Hope is was good, no grudges of course). This is when we face the dreaded wall and we dig deep, very very deep, as if there were Hershey’s toffee almond chocolate nuggets hidden among the toys in the sandbox. We know we have to dig deep within our soul and call on our hearts to overcome the mental and physical struggles of the moment. We concentrate on our breathing, we concentrate on lightening our steps, shortening our stride, shortening the swing in our arms and conserving energy. This is also when the number games start but our head has entered delirium and we are unable to accurately calculate. We start wondering when we ate our last energy shot, when we should eat the next one, what is our pace, what do we need our pace to be and most of all how am I going to get through this thing that some so-called friend convinced us was a good idea!? Then there is a switch that flips and we recall the training, we focus on the beat of the live bands, the beat of the music on our iPods or even the pattern of footprints ahead of us. We zone back in with only one focus; to finish. The finish may be glorious or it may be gory but we know we will finish.

After a Christian has known Christ intimately, trusted Him through heartache or tragedy and overcome because of His love, His promises and our faith, we know He will walk with us no matter the circumstances. We know that His love will overcome and that His ways are greater than our ways (Isaiah 55:8), we know that God works all things for good for those who love Him (Romans 8:28). We have also read the end of the book and we know that He is coming, His promises are true and those that keep His words are blessed (Revelation 22:7). We know that ultimately we win. We know that in all things, with Christ we are strong when we are full and when we are hungry. With Christ we are strong in abundance and in suffering. We know that with the strength of Christ, we can do all things (Philippians 4:12-13). We know, because He has shown us in the lives of others, and more personally in our own lives, that Christ will carry us through and we will be better because we trusted Him. We are able to wake up each day in the knowledge that God shares our burdens because we willingly surrender to His will. With Him, we win.

Once we cross the 10 mile mark and begin the last 5k of the half marathon it all feels do-able again. We are three-quarters of the way through, we bargain with our bodies to run mailbox to mailbox, block to block and water break to water break. Eventually we remember where we started, some time ago, eagerly crossing the starting line and anxious to conquer the course. We begin remembering that the faster we crawl, walk or run, the sooner it is all over and we can call ourselves finishers. And so we run, because that is what we have trained ourselves to do. We use the energy drawn up from digging deep and running smart  and it’s time to give it all that is left and leave it all on the road. Head high, chest out, run tall and do what only a small percentage of people will do and become a race finisher. Time doesn’t matter, photo ops don’t matter and we gain momentum, pushing harder, stronger and faster. We pass that runner that we have watched from behind for far too long. We can’t hear the cheers, we can’t hear the music, we can’t see anything except the finish line clock digits when we make the final turn. This is the moment we spent months working for. No one will feel exactly the same, no emotion is exactly the same and no matter how many runners have crossed before, will cross with us or will cross after us, this is our moment to own. We are race finishers and we will never be quite the same.

Life is full of different races. Some we volunteer for, some we are convinced to do, some we are destined to do and some we crawl to in despair. The race begins with energy on a new-found path, anxious for good things, anxious for what people have told us is good and excited for the experience. Along the way we stumble over obstacles that make us stronger because we trust in knowledge we gained to get to this point. The roadblock itself is a journey and a lesson. When we turn back and look at the roadblock from the other side, we know why we stumbled before we got there. We know what gave us strength, we know Who to trust, we know where to cast our cares and we know the end of the story. We know the various journeys were all training sessions for this race and that if we trust what we have in the past, if we call on what we have been taught and if we call on our God who has brought us here, we will win. Sometimes the race is longer, sometimes it just feels longer. Sometimes the race is harder than we expected. Sometimes the lessons are smaller and those lessons prepare us for a greater test that makes our testimony greater and thus brings more to starting line.

The good news is that we all are offered this race of faith. All is takes is acceptance. It is worth repeating, I have read the end of the book, and this race of faith is much better than any other option, because I’m on the winning team. I know myself well enough to know that whatever I start, I like to finish well. I’m sticking with Whom I know while running this race of faith.

© Copyright Gatewood Campbell, October 2013

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Cruising Through Challenges

For the last nine years the endless blacktop has been both my friend and my enemy.

The road has welcomed me on good days and accepted me on bad days. It has challenged me to conquer distance, hills and speed. It has challenged me to channel my energies, both good and bad, into one funnel of focus. The road pushed against me when I needed it to and accepted my pounding when I needed it to. I have celebrated personal victories that I never dreamed I could achieve (or for that matter would ever dream I would want to achieve) and it never fails to summon me back. The road has wiped tears that needed to fall from the depths of my soul. The road has never judged me; there is no right or wrong as long as I offer myself. It accepts heartache and happiness. For heartache, it heals and for happiness, it celebrates. It has always returned far more than I could offer. Today was my longest run since the Philadelphia Half Marathon last November. This year there have been times I wasn’t sure I wanted the road nor was I sure the road wanted me. I wondered if it would call me back, to both love on me and to challenge me. Like all genuine friends, it was there waiting for me when I was ready.

Today I felt like I was on cruise control. Not every run feels that way, but WOW, when you are in the midst of your element and recognize it…it leaves you speechless. The weather was a runner’s dream. Apparently taco salad is pretty good fuel and the blacktop was my friend today. It was a solo run but with about ten other runners on the same course I crossed paths with friends along the way. My goal was 10 miles, but somewhere along the way I felt like Forrest Gump and I just wanted to run and run. When I got back to my car I had run 11.5 miles and I felt freedom I hadn’t felt in months. The distance and the hills are always enemies. When we conquer them, it’s okay to look back and smile at your enemy that became your friend and challenged you to do more than you thought you could. We are all objects in fast motion. Too often we are forced to focus on the busy motions of daily life that sometimes blind us to our success.

Today I am so thankful for my dear friend Sharon, who asked me nine years ago to run a half marathon. She believed in me when I thought the challenge was too big. She introduced me to a world I did not know existed and did not know I would need. For friends who push us to conquer more, for roads that call us to conquer more and for life’s tests that challenge us to trust more, I’m thankful.

There are no regrets in trying, whatever the challenge. There is always victory in trying, no matter the challenge. The challenge will never define us; how we choose to tackle the challenge is what molds and shapes us into the person God wants us to be. At the end of the day, what matters most is that we stood up and faced the challenge. That, my friends, is when the enemy becomes our friend and the victory is ours to claim.

© Gatewood Campbell, September 2013

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Changing Seasons

Here I sit, the last weekend of summer (before school starts). It marks the end of one season and the beginning of another. Part of me is beyond ready for some routine in our life, can I get an Amen from any other moms out there? Yet part of me remains anxious about the silence that will fall on my house at 7:30 on Monday morning and the demands that will arrive at 3pm Monday afternoon. 4th grade and 10th grade… more changes are coming, that’s for sure!

We have been incredibly blessed with an amazing summer. We had the chance to spend invaluable time with each other and relax in the places I love best. We started the summer with a Braves game on our way to a week of glorious weather at Rosemary Beach, FL. We came home just long enough to get the clothes clean and head to Montreat with my Mom and my brother’s family for a week. Ahhhh. Then home for long enough to get the clothes clean, ship Justin off to youth camp with church and then welcome our family from Germany for three weeks. Justin spent two weeks in Drivers Ed and in a couple of weeks will be ready to test for his permit. It’s been a busy summer but somehow restful.

And here we are. Justin spent this evening doing what he loves most; drumming in his room with his favorite tunes in his ears. Hunter is at church at a back to school lock-in and Johnny and I are watching the Braves battle the Cardinals. The kids are each finding their niche in life and watching them blossom makes a mama glow.

I’m still working to embrace the changes of 2013. It seems like forever and yet it seems like yesterday when this year began. I took a long break from running during the winter and spring. The road wasn’t calling my name as it had in the past. Thanks to some faithful, supportive and determined friends, I’m registered to run a half marathon in Savannah this fall. That is keeping me on a modified workout schedule at the gym and logging minimal mileage each week. It’s all good though. Savannah gives me a goal and something to keep me somewhat focused. If there is one thing I can count on, I will find my way to the finish line in Savannah, with my Mom (my faithful race cheerleader) waiting for me.

I’m learning to say “no” to the things that aren’t good for me and I’m finding people more receptive to my response. I’m learning to accept where I am, but I just haven’t figured out where I am going…yet. It will come, in time, I just have to be patient. Patience with myself, patience with medicine, patience with my future; it is all a frustrating process, but necessary for the payoff.

God is in the details. If there is one resounding theme I have seen this year, it is that God is in all the details. My children are finding their small niche in a big world, deer season is coming and Johnny is hopeful some large rubs will prove profitable and I’m trusting that if God has all that covered He has something waiting for me too. I am about to be 40. I am so far from where I once thought I would be at this stage in my life. I won’t lie, I am struggling with this but reminding myself daily that God’s plans are greater than mine.

Life will continue to bring changes, challenges and opportunities for victories. Seasons will continue to change and I will continue to age (some years better than others). My prayer is that with each changing season, with each challenge, I will recognize the opportunity to seize the victory.

I love Mandisa’s song “Overcomer”. http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=z29olPjFbqg&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dz29olPjFbqg . Looking back on a season invested in family, looking back on a season of accepting many changes and looking forward to an unknown season, I want to overcome.

© Gatewood Campbell, August 2013

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Sometimes the Glass Really is Half Empty

I try, I really try to see every glass as half full, not half empty. A glass is round and when it is hit by something it bounces off in a completely different direction. It can’t be hit by the exact same thing in the exact same spot. So when I look at life as a glass half full, it is headed towards overflowing and by design it can not be penetrated. This keeps me moving forward, pressing on, determined not to be depleted or shattered.

But sometimes the water is full of air, full of bubbles that make it too cloudy to see through. Or the glass isn’t transparent so who would know if it really is half full or half empty? The glass can seem square shaped, making every pot shot bounce off and hit in the same spot repeatedly until it is broken. With a square glass holding cloudy water what do you do? If the glass isn’t transparent, you can’t press on enough to see through the glass, the battle is lost before it has begun.

Your normal is not my normal, or anyone else’s normal. Everyone has something unique that makes the definition of normal itself, unique. We each have something to conquer each day, something that has the ability and weight to sink us to depths that would drag a bobber to the bottom of the lake.

I have learned, well I am still learning, to live with epilepsy and a brain injury each day. I often wonder if it were just a brain injury, how would life be different? If it were just epilepsy, how would that be different? If my already injured brain weren’t dependent on medicine to limit seizures, what would be different? If I never had to go to Target that winter day in 2005, how would my life be different? Now, I know and I can list off in excess, the ways that my life has been enriched because of my circumstances. I will never ever deny the tremendous value of the experiences I have had or that my family has had due to my injuries. That walk in Target shaped my family into who we are today. There is much for which I am grateful and that enables me to see the glass half full.

Sometimes though, I just need to allow myself time to acknowledge there are consequences of my fall that just plain suck. I have yet to find a medicine, and I have certainly tried my fair share, that doesn’t have some side effect that over time becomes intolerable, either for me or for my family. I hate that I hate when the phone rings, because every nerve in my body flinches with fear because I’m about to be forced into a conversation that I did not initiate. I will be forced to try to decode my misfiring brain into words that may or may not communicate correctly. I will be asked questions that I need time to understand and to answer, yet the caller will expect quick responses, because that’s how a normal person responds. I hate that I cannot initiate a conversation of much merit because my brain is just a blank canvas without even a paintbrush. I enjoy watching my family laugh and scream on roller coasters, but I get tired of just walking from ride to ride and sitting at the end of the off ramp because I can’t ride with them. My family loves to watch a brilliant fireworks show, but I get bored holding my chin to my chest with my eyes closed. It’s frustrating to look in my closet and not understand how to put together a snazzy outfit that matches. (I’m so glad I have boys that aren’t dependent on female advice about fashion…I can not fathom the disastrous outfits that I would have put together for a girl.) It’s embarrassing to look at a teenage cashier and have to walk away leaving all my groceries on the conveyer belt because I’m confused by the sale price or the coupon or just the small talk they are genuinely trying to make with me. I feel horrible guilt when the boys’ teachers ask for volunteers and I don’t respond. I imagine them thinking “she doesn’t work, so she should have her hiney helping somewhere”. It’s embarrassing when I can’t understand the directions a 3rd grade teacher is giving for a game. It only gets worse when the kids try to explain and I still don’t understand. And my confidence hits rock bottom when the teacher tells the group of kids their leader has misguided them. When my son looks at his classmate and explains “she just doesn’t understand”, the fishing bobber has joined me at rock bottom. It’s humiliating to have to say no. I can not begin to put words to the demeaning feelings that overwhelm me when I have to say no to volunteering at my church. I, of all people know the need for volunteers and I should be first in line with a hand raised, but I can’t, I simply can’t. I know the need, but my role is as a seat filler now.

**Hold that thought….my phone alarm has just alerted me that it is time for a dose of medicine. If I hit snooze I may not remember to take my medicine later. I would like to continue with my train of thought, yet I am forced to stop….with a body dependent on a consistent dosing of medication that allows me to live my kind of normal. I can only hope to remember where I was in thought.**

Ok, I hope can resume regular programming now…

I share these things not because I am seeking sympathy. I don’t need sympathy because I know without a doubt that I have blessings that continually overflow. I share these things because sometimes I need to allow myself to vent and admit that there are some things that just suck. I have adapted. My entire family has adapted. That doesn’t mean that I have to like it all the time. My square glass has been leaking slowly for some time now. Maybe it finally shattered from relentless pot shots and the cloudy water has soaked my fingers and toes.

This season will pass and I will more fully accept and adapt to whatever circumstances come my way. The good news is that when a glass breaks, it is thrown away and replaced with a new one. We refill it with crystal clear water and the glass remains half full.

© Gatewood Campbell, August 2013

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Looks the same, Doesn’t work the same

Frustration. It comes and goes. It comes less frequently now, but when it arrives, its head is ugly and upsetting. My definition of a brain injury is that everything looks the same, but it doesn’t work the same.

I challenged myself this week to step outside my comfort zone and try something different. There are so many things I want to do but I know I’m not cut out for the task so I step aside. Other times I feel like I need to try, to push my limits and see where the line is drawn. I’m usually ok in a group to do just about anything. With a group, when I get confused there is always someone to help me, someone to cover for me, or someone that knows I might just need a little extra time or instruction. When I’m on my own, it’s all me.

This week I took a bold step to volunteer at church to help at VBS. Justin is working games, Hunter is helping lead worship, and the mom in me finds it hard to drop the boys off, with 300+ kids, and not try to help. Sometimes I feel guilt telling me I don’t help enough, sometimes I hear a voice just begging me to try. So this week I tried. Monday went ok. I couldn’t be there Tuesday so yesterday I was back in my assigned place. All was going fine until I was asked to change gears and help fill in a spot where more help was needed. The age group was bulging at the seams and they asked me to help with their snacks and crafts. Ah…..

Ok, to start with I simply don’t do crafts. It’s not in my genes. When I was in the Elementary church choir my mom had to make my own costume. I will never forget her telling me to lie down very still on the fabric while she traced my body on the fabric. She doubled it over and cut the fabric along the lines and sewed the two pieces together. My belt was a shoe string. I thought my costume was fantastic…until I showed up to dress rehearsal and saw everyone else’s costumes. Clearly my mother and I yielded ALL creative ability to my Uncle and his children, as they are artistically gifted in monumental portions and we are not.

Back to VBS…when I was asked to help elsewhere, everything in my servant heart wanted to, but the immediate swelling in my throat and rushed heart beat was screaming NO! How do I look at someone and say “I can’t”? They won’t understand me, I look able bodied but I knew as my brain began spinning inside my head this could not end well. I explained that I would try, and a gentle but confused face met my comment. My brain kept spinning and wondering what to do. I saw Justin and asked him for help. How desperate must I be? I’m 39 years old asking my 14 year old what to do in the face of a simple request to change direction? I felt like the 3 year olds who needed more help. Justin was sincere but stern “Mom, you can’t do that. You have to tell someone you can’t.” Oh, how I hate these moments when I can sense the physical symptoms emerging from the darkness of a brain injury and I know I have met my limit. I know I look the same, but things don’t work the same anymore.

I was alone. I wasn’t with a group that could explain, I wasn’t with a group that could cover for me and I wasn’t with a group that could pick up my slack. The people around me don’t know my brain has been hurt and I hate having to say it. I had to look at someone who hardly knows me and just say “I’m sorry but I really can’t do this.” Our world doesn’t understand adults who can’t pull their load, especially when the world can’t see it. No one is at fault, no one means harm, it’s just that no one expects a capable looking adult to say “I’m sorry but no.” With all my strength I spoke up for myself and felt completely useless as I walked away knowing there was a need that I couldn’t fulfill. My heart ached that I couldn’t help but I knew the increasing stress was going to lead to the public embarrassment of a seizure. I looked around and the noise of the kids echoed, the busy adults overwhelmed me. I felt like I was in a fog at the center of a carnival ride. I felt invisible, useless and helpless in the midst of need. I couldn’t help where help was needed and feeling demoralized by admitting my inadequacies, I slipped out the side door to the safety of my car and I drove away.

I stepped outside my comfort zone this week. Some of it was successful and in other places I know where the line is drawn. I have to be proud that at least I tried. I will try again, something different, somewhere different, and hope that I will find a place were I can say “yes, I can help with that”.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, June 2013