Two Letters

Dear Daily Run,

Oh, how I've missed you. It's so good to be back.

I know my running has been, well, inconsistent for a few months now. Okay, maybe "spotty" is a better word. Fine--honestly, it's been nonexistent. And I have every excuse in the book: I have little kids! My husband travels! Summers in Tennessee are HOT! We've been out of town!

There is really no excuse. I could have made it work but I chose other things. 

But you always welcome me back with open arms. Even though my first run back was at about 90 percent humidity (at 5:45 am!!!) and I found myself gasping for breath, I kept thinking to myself, "Why haven't I been doing this?" I love how it gives me energy. I love how it makes me sleep well at night. I love how it makes me more aware of my body in terms of what I drink and what I eat. 

Now we both know that daily runs aren't all butterflies and flowers. There are spiders, roots, and slick spots threatening to trip me up. There is soreness and aches letting me know that, even though I've done something good, I'm getting old. 

And, oh, the sacrifice. Something has to give if I'm going to run. Usually it's sleep, but sometimes it's time I'd spend reading, cleaning, cooking, or catching up with a friend. But I know the consistency of running is an investment and sacrifice I want to make.

I'm a runner. I would have told you that all summer, when I hadn't run back-to-back days in months. But runners run, meaning I would be lying to myself if my life wasn't marked by a run on a somewhat regular basis. 

So thanks, Daily Run, for waiting for me. You've always been there, knowing I'd come back. Your song is too sweet; your allure too great. The cobwebs are blown out and I'm ready not to just call myself a runner but to actually be a runner again.

Yours,
Leslie Hudson
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Dear Daily Quiet Time,

Oh, how I've missed you. It's good to be back.

I know my early-morning Jesus Times have been, well, inconsistent this summer. Okay, maybe "spotty" is a better word. Fine--it's been nonexistent. And I have every excuse in the book: I have little kids! My husband travels! Summers are crazy! We've been out of town!

There really is no excuse. I could have made it work and I chose other things.

But you always welcome me back with open arms. Even though my first get-up-before-dawn-like-a-Proverbs-31-woman day was a shock to my system, I kept thinking to myself, "Why haven't I been doing this?" I love how it gets me focused. I love hearing the Holy Spirit in Scripture. I love digging deeply into a verse I've read a thousand times but seems new and fresh. I love how it molds and shapes my mind and my heart. 

Now we both know that a Daily Quiet Time isn't all angels and harps. There are times we're spent, lonely, discouraged, or anxious. There's the soreness that comes from chastisement and conviction and cleansing. 

And, oh, the sacrifice. Something has to give if I'm going to have quality quantity with the Lord. Usually it's sleep, but sometimes it's time I'd spend reading, cleaning, cooking, or catching up with a friend. But I know the consistency of a Daily Quiet Time is the most important investment and sacrifice I want to make.

I'm a disciple of Jesus. I would have told you that all summer, when my mornings were marked by sleeping in rather than prayer. But a disciple is a learner, and I'd be lying to myself if I wasn't actively pursuing what it means to live like Jesus through His Word.

So thanks, Lord, for waiting for me. You've always been there, knowing I'd come back. Your song is too sweet; Your Grace too Amazing. My heart, mind, and soul are pointed back in your direction and I'm ready not to just call myself a disciple but to be a disciple again.

Yours forever,
Leslie Hudson

Pace Setters

Ethiopian runner Genzebe Dibaba set a new world record recently. You can--and should--watch it here. Dibaba covered 1500 meters (about 100 meters short of a mile) in just over 3 minutes and 50 seconds. What a girl! 

But as you watch the race unfold, you can't help but notice another woman, Chanelle Price, who paced her through 800 meters. Price is a world-class runner, as well. She has run faster than 2 minutes for the 800 on the track on her own. With Price as the pace setter, Dibaba was able to follow her lead more than half the race without thinking about pace or splits. Her job done, Price dropped out at 800, with Dibaba finishing the race alone. Victoriously.

Pace setters, sometimes called rabbits, are used often in elite track meets to help one or more athletes come through a certain point at a pre-appointed time. Pace setters sometimes stay in the race and finish, but primarily they're there to give the leaders a strong start. The pace setters keep racers from starting out so fast they don't finish well. The pace setters do the thinking for the racers. The pace setters are well-prepared and know exactly how to run the splits they're given.

Many successful races at the elite level use pace setters.

Few of us Prize Runners have ever been called "elite." Few (and maybe none) of us have ever had a pace setter in a race. But we all need one in this spiritual race known as "life."

In Titus 2, Paul is explaining the idea of a spiritual pace setter, specifically for women. He says, "...teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can urge the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God," (Titus 2:3-5, NIV).

You need a pace setter. So do I.

I remember well the pace setters I had when I had my first child. I thought I was ready; I had read multiple books and had great websites bookmarked for everything I might encounter. (Or so I thought.) I was ready. Hahahahaha.

Luckily, I had about 10 friends who had lived through motherhood and would walk with me through those early days. I would send frantic emails at midnight, desperately asking them all, "Why won't he sleep? Why won't he eat? What am I doing wrong? When will this get better?" My friends, my pace setters, were loving and gracious and kind, running with me through the first few laps of motherhood. Thinking for me. Guiding me. And I was comforted, knowing they had been there are could get me through.

Motherhood isn't the only area I need pace setters. I have women who help me through all areas of life: cooking, being a godly wife, sanity in the face of busyness, ministry, hospitality, and much more. Sometimes God just drops a loving, wonderful friend or family member into my life who has been that pace setter as long as I can remember. And sometimes He has let me pursue someone for a particular purpose so that I can learn from her in her area of expertise.

On the other hand, I'm also called to be a pace setter. So are you.

Regardless of our age, we've all been through something that enables us to be a pacesetter for someone else. Abuse. Addiction. Anxiety. We've got talents and skills and a knack for something that can bless another woman seeking to honor God. We didn't get to the end of a season so that we could cross the finish line and wander off into the stands. Our struggles--and victories--have enabled us to be a pace setter, confident in helping another runner make it around the track a few times.

You're an "older."
And you're also a "younger."

You need help. You can give help.

Be a pace setter. 
Get a pace setter. (Or twenty, like me.)

Let's run this race together, to God's glory!

Victoriously.

Seeking His Face

I know this is the Prize Runners blog, and today's post is not about running, per se. But it is about hiking, and the effort I put into this hike was more than any I've ever given to a run or a race.

I was in Colorado, and when in the Rockies, do as the Coloradans do: Hike a fourteen-er.
[Just in case you don't know: a 14er is a mountain whose peak is 14,000 feet or more above sea level. There are over 50 in Colorado.]

We decided on Mount of the Holy Cross, a massive peak named for the cross outlined by the snow that settles down one side. The ascent to the peak began beautifully: gorgeous evergreens and aspens dotted with flowers and creeks. We made much better time than we anticipated because the first three miles or so were filled with mosquitoes, so our stops for food or breath were 30 seconds or less so that we wouldn't be attacked by the swarms of blood-suckers.

We finally cleared treeline and the mosquitoes left us alone. The trail changed from a well-worn dirt path to steps of stone and piles of rocks (called cairns) that let us know we were headed in the right direction.

From treeline, I could see the peak. The face of Mount of the Holy Cross. It loomed massive. So tall. So imposing. So breathtaking.

SO FAR AWAY.

The rule for hiking 14ers is this: be off the peak by noon. The reason for that is the storms that roll in regularly in the afternoons; you surely don't want to be above treeline--exposed--against the rain, lightning, and hail that pelt the tops.

I looked at the peak and wondered if we would make it by noon. We had a few hours to scale an initial "false" summit and then what looked like straight up to the top. This was my sixth 14er, so I thought I could gauge how much more we lacked. And though I had mentally prepared to get to the top, I just didn't know if my legs and lungs were as tough as my brain.

Adding to this challenge was the fact that I was not alone. I was with three other college-aged girls who desperately wanted to make it to the top. Well, they did at first. When they got out of treeline, the talk went from "when we get to the top" to "if we get to the top" and finally, "I'm not making it to the top." I felt their pain. I questioned if any of us would get there. We hurt all over, we'd already been going uphill for hours, and the face of that mountain was bigger and farther than ever.

The next two hours had little talking for a normally chatty group. We knew we had to save every precious, oxygen-thin inhale for our lungs. So I had much time to think. I began to pray, not only for the hike but for our courage. Our endurance. Our bravery. I was determined not to let the face of that mountain scare me, even though it was imposing and terrifying and mighty.

Luckily, God's Word is there for any struggle:

"Search for the Lord and His strength; seek His face always," (Psalm 105:4).

I was looking at the wrong face. Though the face of the Mount of the Holy Cross was right before me, I chose instead to seek God's face. To seek His strength. 

"My heart says this about You, 'You are to seek My face.' Lord, I will seek Your face," (Psalm 27:8)

When I consciously decided to seek God's face, my strength was renewed. I was able to encourage and spur on the girls. I told the story of Joshua praying that the sun would stand still (Joshua 10), privately praying that God would pause time long enough to get us to the peak by noon.

We kept going. We would set attainable goals with the agreement to stop at that point, but we would simply press on. Though our legs were dead and our lungs exploding, we chose to go forward. We could look back and see all that we had gained; surely we could make it.

The last 30 minutes or so had no trail; we were purely scrambling up boulders. (Another reason to be off the peak before the rains hit! Slick boulders spell certain disaster!) We knew there was no pre-determined trail; we just needed to go UP. So with hands and feet and knees and elbows bleeding, we kept on. I was beyond wondering if we would make it. 

I KNEW WE WOULD. And I told the girls over and over. "YOU. WILL. MAKE. IT."

And we did. By the skin of our teeth. The last of the four girls made it to the peak at exactly 11:58. 

In tears. 

The view was fantastic. The pictures gorgeous. But it would not have meant anything without the struggle that it took to get there. There are a few 14ers (Pike's Peak and Mount Evans) that have roads you can drive to the peak. They're great. But there is little reward in it because it took so little effort to get there. 

I want the view that came with literal blood, sweat, tears, and mosquito bites.  
I want to conquer my mountains with strength that came from God alone.
I want to look at my friend and hear her say, "I'm going to make it," and believe her.
I want to watch friends make it over mountains they never thought they'd peak.

I want to seek God's face and find it. To receive His strength. I believe His promises. To know He is the God who revealed Himself to Moses--and me--on the mountains.

I want to ponder the truths of this hike forever. And I want to remember seeking God's face more than anything else. 

I want to remember the struggle of the mountain with joy, not because I made it to the top but because God met me there.

I want to do it again :)

Full!

I shared in my last post that, for me, an empty stomach was required for running. And that I'm working to empty myself of me at the end of every day.

But being empty is not the ultimate goal. I don't get empty just to get empty. 

I get empty so that I can be wonderfully filled.

Because starting a run on empty makes for a VERY hungry situation when I finish. Back in my racing days, I would make myself literally sick after a race because all the post-race goodies looked and tasted so delicious and I would eat too much. Even a normal, everyday run leaves me famished.

Because I start empty.

So if I get the end of a day right--by allowing Jesus to empty me of all the things He wants out--I wake up hungry. Not hungry for food, but hungry for Him to fill me.

"Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness are blessed, for they will be filled," (Matthew 5:6).

We can be right with God through faith in Jesus Christ, and we learn more about that righteousness every time we open the Bible. Relationship with God Almighty is the theme of the Old Testament: what does it take to know God? To enter His presence? To come to Him?

And the answer to that is found in the New Testament: Jesus. He is the One that allows us to know God personally. He is the Word made flesh, the living Bible who showed us righteousness through His life, death, and resurrection.

So we are filled with righteousness by His Word. First through our salvation in Jesus, the Word (John 1:1) but daily through our interaction with Scripture, that is God breathed, living, active, and able to judge and equip us for everything we need (2 Timothy 3:16-17, Hebrews 4:12).

I wake up empty, expecting to be filled.

And I have this theory: If I start out empty of everything that is worldly and sinful and selfish; and if I fill my heart with God's Word, which gives me gladness (Acts 2:28), awe and astonishment (Acts 3:10), joy and the Holy Spirit (Acts 13:52), then maybe I won't have room for more stuff I emptied out last night. Maybe I'll have less to empty out tonight than I did last night.

It's an imperfect theory. Because sometimes I choose to pour out the Jesus in my heart and fill it back in with myself. Bad move. 

But when I'm aware of my words, my thoughts, my actions, and my attitude, I respond with the Jesus in me.

And if I do it right, I overflow with Jesus and people around me actually get a little bit of Him that I used to fill myself that morning. 

"Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you believe in Him so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit," (Romans 15:13).

When I overflow with love, hope, peace, gentleness, and all other manner of the Spirit-filled life, I know I'm really full. Not full of myself, but full of Christ.

Empty so that I can be filled.
Filled so that I can overflow.
Glory!

Leslie Hudson

Don't forget about Saturday morning, April 11, 8:00 at Luther Lake! I'll be there to share a little and answer any running questions you may have.

Empty

I can't do what the running magazines say.

I've read almost all of them. And they pretty much agree that you need several hundred calories in your system before a run. A small apple, a granola bar, or a light salad should do the trick.

Unless you have my stomach.

I have one pre-race food: a cup of coffee about an hour before I head out the door. Anything more than that and I feel like I have just digested a four-course meal.

A few weeks ago I woke up hungry. About 30 minutes before I was to run, I found half a granola bar in my purse (that was only 100 calories to start with!) and thought, "This will be exactly what I need so I won't be hungry on my run." So I ate it. And for the entirety of my 4 miles, I felt like I was carrying a 10-pound brick in my stomach.

I need to be completely empty when I run. 

And I've also begun trying to empty my soul, as well.

Not empty in a bad way; sometimes empty means lonely, hopeless, and unfulfilled. 

On the contrary, I'm determined to empty myself of the stuff I don't need; the stuff that will make my soul sick. Like these:

"Therefore, rid yourselves of all malice and all deceit, hypocrisy, envy, and slander of every kind," (2 Peter 2:1).
"But now you must also rid yourselves of all things such as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips," (Colossians 3:8).

This isn't a complete list. These two verses are just ideas to get us started thinking about the stuff we need to see in our lives and get rid of. Colossians 3:9 (which follows the second verse above) says this: "Do not lie to one another since you have put off the old self with its practices..." 

So I'm learning to put off the old self. To empty myself of the things that I knew and felt and believed and did before I knew Jesus. 

But I can't do it alone.

So I start the process when I lie down to sleep at night. In the darkness and silence, I close my eyes and begin to review my day with Christ. I ask Him to show me where I blew it. Slipped. Fell completely on my face. Acted like my old self. Those are the things I want to empty. 

Jesus shows me that careless word, that unthinking response, that answer I wish I could take back. He shows me my bad attitude, my selfish ambition, and my unholy habits. 

He empties me of me.

I'm coming totally clean here. I usually fall asleep during this process. So when I wake up in the morning--before my eyes even opened--I ask God one more time to empty me. Make me ready to receive what He has for me that day.

Because I don't want to be so full of yesterday, so full of myself, or so full of things I should have put off long ago that it weighs me down. Even the little stuff--like that half granola bar--can feel like a 10-pound brick.

And I want to be free. Receptive. Open. 

So as I wake up and grab my cup of coffee [and nothing else!], I remind myself that I am empty. Confessed. Cleaned out by the one who knows me better on the inside than I know myself.

You can be, too. 

Take time today to empty yourself of you so you can be filled by Christ. (More on that soon!)

Oh! And come run with us! Prize Runners Group run this Saturday, April 11, at 8:00 AM at Luther Lake in Dickson. 


Leslie Hudson

The Best Race Ever

What was the best race you ever ran?

When I was in my early twenties and the best running shape of my life, I was looking forward to setting a 5K Personal Record at a course near my hometown. My parents were coming to watch, I knew many people in the field, and the conditions looked to be perfect. I also knew the course record, and if everything went perfectly I just might beat it.

The morning was gorgeous and I was ready for a fast race. We got there early, picked up my goody bag, and I went to the portable potties before I started my warm-up. As I stepped out, my husband looked at me sternly and told me the words I feared more than anything: 

"Bonnie McReynolds is here."

Now, Bonnie was perhaps the fastest woman to have ever lived in middle Tennessee. She has a 5K PR of 17:06 and finished 11th in the 1996 Olympic Marathon Trials in 2:36. [Yes, I typed those numbers correctly.] She did workouts on the Vanderbilt University track with a group of really fast men. 

And on that innocent Saturday in October, she chose to come to a little 5K in my hometown. It was her last tune-up race before the Chicago Marathon, where she ran 2:45.

There went my hope at impressing the crowd. There went the victory. 

But I was actually super excited to be in the same race as Bonnie. There was no competition; I wouldn't even see her once the gun went off! I felt honored to be 2nd to her in a 5K. (Don't tell anyone I was over 2 minutes behind her!) It didn't hurt at all to lose a race when I was in the presence of greatness.

So I have a little bit of camaraderie for John on the first Easter:

"On the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark. She saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran to Simon Peter and to the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, and said to them, 'They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don't know where they have put Him!' At that, Peter and the other disciple went out, heading for the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and got to the tomb first." (John 20:1-4, HCSB.)

This is one of the best running stories in the Bible. John ("the one Jesus loved") and Peter got word from Mary Magdalene that Jesus' body had been moved. And they raced to the tomb. CAN YOU IMAGINE? The intensity. The passion. The confusion. The complete and utter desperation of two men whose lives had been shattered by the death of their Savior and friend.

Peter had sworn that he would never deny Jesus but had done that very thing three times on the night He was arrested. ("Even if everyone runs away, I will certainly not," Mark 14:29). John had been the only disciple to stand at the foot of the cross and had been given the honor of caring for Mary, Jesus' mother, from Christ Himself.

Peter is thought to be the oldest disciple, the leader, the spokesman. John is thought to be the youngest; brash, bold, and energetic. Peter would die a martyr. John would die an old man after he had viewed heaven and written it down for us.

But in John 20, all they could think about was getting to that finish line: Jesus' tomb. 

It's hilarious that John says it two times (verses 4 & 6) that he beat Peter. In fact, he goes from identifying himself as "the one Jesus loved" to "the...disciple who had reached the tomb first." He wanted everyone to know that he won the race.

But he was scared to go in by himself (verse 8). Young and fast but too afraid :)

Peter went in first, seeing all the cloths and wrappings. John went in only after Peter did, but scripture tells us that John "saw and believed," (verse 8).

Peter lost the race, but he was the first to see the empty tomb.
John lost the race, but he found faith.

For those of us who call ourselves runners, we would be wise to do the same. 
Running is important, but not if we miss the truth of Easter. Not if we miss that there is an empty tomb. Not if we miss the resurrection of Jesus.

Enjoy your running. Love your racing. But know what  you're really running for: 

"Hold firmly to the message of life. Then I can boast in the day of Christ that I didn't run or labor for nothing," (Philippians 2:16).

Leslie Hudson

Fixed Eyes

I wrote about my running partner, Kip, the other day. (You can read it here.) We've covered untold miles together. We've endured all kinds of weather. We've experienced the highs and lows that all good running buddies go through. But he's actually a terrible companion on the trails because he is a squirrel dog. 

SQUIRREL. DOG.
He cares about nothing else. From the minute I step out the door with running shoes on, He is looking for squirrels. He ignores any animal we see on a run unless it's a squirrel. And if he is sure a squirrel is up a tree, he'll stand at the base and bark at it for hours.

He's not a running dog. He's a squirrel dog. He's made to chase squirrels; running is what he has to do to get where they are.

But there is more: when he's seen a squirrel, nothing else enters his senses. He doesn't hear me calling, he doesn't see holes in the ground (I watched him trip and fall yesterday because he was looking 30 feet up in a tree instead of at his feet), and he doesn't sniff the ground for any other creature. He's totally fixated on the squirrel. With all he has.

And as I watched Kip obsess over a squirrel yesterday, oblivious to everything else around him, my mind went to a passage that I've been pondering in light of Easter:

"When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem," (Luke 9:51, ESV).

Other translations say it this way:

"Not long before it was time for Jesus to be taken up into heaven, he made up his mind to go to Jerusalem," (CEV).

"Now when the time was almost come for Jesus to be received up [to heaven], He steadfastly and determinedly set His face to go to Jerusalem," (AMP).

"And it came to pass, in the completing of the days of his being taken up, that he fixed his face to go on to Jerusalem," (YLT).

Jesus didn't just fix His eyes.
He fixed His face. 
His mind.
His entire focus was on heaven.

Like Kip, he knew what He was made to do. And He was completely, utterly focused on it.

Don't forget, though, what had to happen before heaven: 
Betrayal. 
Conviction.
Beating. 
Crucifixion. 
Death.

But Jesus did not focus on those things. He knew what lay beyond those: heaven. And he knew that He had to go through Jerusalem--and all it meant--in order to get there.

So He did it. Hebrews 12 says it like this: "For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God," (verse 2, NIV). 

And we're called to do the same:

"we...fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith," (Hebrews 12:2).

[That's all in the same verse, by the way.]

We know there's much earth between us and Jesus. But He is our focus. Our ultimate goal. And we know that though life here will be hard, we're headed to Him.

Kip fixes his eyes on the squirrel, confident that one day he may just get one.
Jesus fixed His face to go to Jerusalem, knowing Heaven was on the other side.
We fix our eyes on Jesus, knowing He is our reward.

Because Kip was made to be a squirrel dog. 
Because Jesus was made for heaven.
Because we are made for Jesus.


Leslie Hudson