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

What I Don't Love

Spring is here. 

You love it; I know. You love the warmer weather, the promise of no more snow, the longer days, and the beautiful budding trees. Spring is when all the fair-weather runners unplug the treadmills and take off outside.

But I'm not as optimistic. When I think of Spring, I think of two things: 

Allergies and mud.

Sorry for being such a sourpuss. But for a trail runner who is allergic to almost every kind of grass, tree, and weed, spring is a nightmare time for running.

But I still run. 

Not because I love what I must endure; on the contrary, I despise it. I have to rinse my nose and wash my hair almost every time I go outside. I sneeze for two months. My shoes stay caked with mud until around Memorial Day.

I don't love what I go through, but I love being a runner. I love the camaraderie. I love new runners and people who have been running for decades. I love races and track meets and cross country. I love sweaty hair and sports bras and the vibrant colors of running shorts. 

It's worth the trouble to run in the spring because I love runners and I love being a runner.

And as we approach Easter, may we also keep our gaze on the One who didn't love what He endured, but who loved us.

I'm sure Jesus didn't love leaving heaven and becoming a broken, frail person. There's no way he loved getting headaches and gas and having bad dreams. And I don't even need to mention the annoying group of men who followed Him around for three years, asking ridiculous questions and forgetting everything He said and abandoning Him in His greatest time of distress. There's no way He loved the beating, the scourging, the hatred, and the nails driven into His hands.

But He loved us. We were worth what He endured.

So when you do something this week for your husband or your kids or your friends or parents or dog or even for yourself that you don't particularly enjoy doing, remember Christ. Thank Him for loving us enough to be one of us. Not because He loved being a person, but because He loved people.

Easter was worth it.
Spring is worth it.

Not because of what happened, but because of who we love.


Leslie Hudson

Ready

Every time I run, I go with my blonde running partner, Kip.

Kip is a 6-year old Mountain Cur. Though they're not very common in middle Tennessee, curs helped settle the Appalachian Mountains. They have one distinct purpose: to find and tree squirrels. Anything else that a "normal" dog would chase (deer, balls, cars) is ignored; squirrels are all they care about.

[Fun fact: a mountain cur is closely related to the breed of Ol' Yeller.]

For that reason, we haven't seen a squirrel in our yard in years. It's like he's created a barrier around our property and squirrels know not to enter. Though I'd be crazy to think there are no squirrels in the woods that literally surround my house, they are ready for him. They know he's there. They're not going to get close.

But when we run, it's a different story.

Today, we went four miles and saw probably 50 squirrels. Kip was in heaven. He chased and ran and barked at squirrels for 45 minutes straight. This is what he was made to do. He loves it. And he finally found some squirrels that weren't ready for him.

Squirrels aren't the only things that need to be ready:

"So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him," (Matthew 24:44).

"Remind the people...to be ready to do whatever is good," (Titus 3:1). 

"Always be ready to give a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you," (1 Peter 3:15).

In each of those passages, the Greek word for ready also means "prepared." Being ready is much more than agreeing that you'll do something; it's also preparing to do that thing.

So we prepare for Jesus' return.
We prepare to do whatever is good.
We prepare to share our faith.

How? The same way the squirrels prepare: through knowledge.

The squirrels see Kip, hear him, know where he eats and sleeps and roams. I'm sure they smell him and listen for him at all times.

We do the same with God's Word.

We think about it. We read it. We study it, memorize it, apply it, and ask questions about the stuff we don't know. We learn about the Spirit through God's Word, and we realize that only in obedience can we really know Him. 

We allow His Word to change our minds, our hearts, and our way of living. We choose to trust His Word over our friends, our parents, our family, and even ourselves. 

God's Word makes us ready. Ready not only to be defensively prepared in our faith (Ephesians 6:13) but also offensively ready to share Jesus whenever and with whomever.

So as you get ready for each of your runs this week, let it remind you to be ready in Jesus' name!


Leslie Hudson

Up the Hill

I can’t run up my hill any more.

Before you judge, let me describe my hill to you. It’s on an old logging road, traveled only by the hunters who drive it in the winter and the farmers who use it in the spring. It’s sloppy from October through April, rutted all year, and has shaky footing at best. It’s at the very end of the route I run almost every day; in fact, I run downhill for more than 1/2 a mile, turn around, and look up my hill.

For years, I could run up my hill. Every day. But that all changed about seven years ago, when I got pregnant with my first child. Now:

A) I’m seven years older
B) I’ve had two kids
C) I’m ten pounds heavier (the result of A+B)
D) My running is nowhere near as consistent as it was back then

But I still make it up my hill every run. Only now, I’m walking.

Seven years ago, I would have been upset at the fact that I couldn’t run up my hill. I had run without walking in Muir Woods, Alaska, and Colorado without even considering walking.

But my running is often the perfect parable of my life, and my hill represents all the things that changed when I became a mom:

A) I spend more time focused on my family than myself
B) I don’t get as much sleep as I used to
C) My priorities are now shifted (the result of A+B)
D) I’ve had to say no to some things that I poured myself into seven years ago.

And so walking up my hill just isn’t something that bothers me now.

Seven years ago, if someone had wanted me to help them get started in running, I would have discussed with them the best short-term plan to run five miles without stopping.

Now I would tell you the best way to make it five miles. Whenever. Stopping or not. With or without breaks. Walking or running. Without any shame.

Because I realize that life changes. Pace changes. Focus, responsibilities, and priorities change.

And sometimes you just need to walk up that hill.

THERE IS NO SHAME IN WALKING, whether you’re talking about exercise or life.

Walking might take a little longer; that’s okay. Because when I started walking up my hill, I noticed things I’d never seen before: beautiful leaves, woodland creatures, sunlight peeking through trees. Back when I ran up my hill, I was focused only on trying to breathe and making it to the top without walking. I got to the top exhausted, out of breath, and ready to stop.

Now, when I get to the top, I’m slightly winded, ready to run again, and refreshed. I’m comfortable with the change of pace that walking gives me. I actually look forward to the section of my “run” that’s really a walk.

And my life reflects that: I don’t work the hours I used to. I’m not quite as involved in church as I used to be. I would rather spend a few hours of solitude with a good cup of coffee and a good friend rather than something adventurous or exciting.

Now, in life, I walk more than I run. I’m slower, I’m less efficient, I’m not going to break any records. I am in no way a super-mom, super-wife, super-housekeeper (well, I never was that!) or super-Christian. (Never was that, either.) I’m a walker.

And I will make it to the top of the hill. Whatever hill that is right now.

You will, too.

So if you find yourself walking where you used to run, girl, JUST WALK. And enjoy the view.

Leslie Hudson

Seasons

For the past few days, it's been warm, spring-like weather. Today, the forecast is for ice and snow and sleet.

As I ran this morning, pondering the forecast, I thought to myself, "What season is this, anyway?" It was as though Spring, Fall, and Winter were swirling around me.

I recently read a statement that middle Tennessee was a great place to live because we truly got to experience all four seasons. And, as a runner, we get the good (and the bad!) of each of those:

Summer is great because there is fifteen hours of light a day; you can always fit in a run between 5:30 am and 9:00 pm! On the other hand, if you try to run in the middle of the day in the summer, you just might melt from the inside out.

Fall is amazing because so many of the days are perfect for running. Not too hot, not too cold, beautiful scenery. I actually struggle to think of a negative about fall, other than mourning over the shortening of days.

Winter is my favorite running season because sweating is not the issue it is in the summer: you don't feel like your clothes have been dipped in a lake when you finish! Snow running is one of the most peaceful experiences on earth, and if you put on too many clothes for a run you've created the game of "Where did I stash the gloves?" on your return trip. Unfortunately, winter running creates much more laundry and has much less sunlight!

Spring is like a breath of fresh air, waking your senses and making you look at your running routes with new eyes. The layers aren't as thick and running in the rain is actually more fun than it sounds. Unfortunately, it's also the season when bugs and pollen show up on every run, as well. :(

Our seasons of running aren't limited to the four seasons of weather, though. We also have seasons that don't have anything to do with the temperature. As an example, I considered the different seasons of running I've experienced in the past 20 years:

The new-runner season, when each run was monumental, leaving me exhausted, sore, and ready to puke or quit. (Sometimes both!)
The social season, when I ran with a good friend every morning regularly.
The competitive season, when I trained seriously and ran my fastest.
The relaxing season, when running was my refuge and my peace.
The I-didn't-run-for-four-years season, when my kids were small and I found napping WAY more important than running :)
The reflective season, which I'm now in, where I run to clear my mind and talk to God.

Like this Tennessee weather, these seasons weren't totally isolated or partitioned. They overlapped, ran together, and one would lead into the other.  But there was one constant: I LOVED RUNNING. Regardless of the season or the weather or the life that was going on around me, running was always there. In making this list, I look back on the different seasons with affection, for each season was precious to me.

So as we find ourselves in the midst of changing--or overlapping--seasons, let's take time to reflect on our seasons as Christians:

The new-Christian season, where everything was so new and exciting.
The deep Bible Study season, where you made time to dig deeply in to Scripture.
The I-need-you season, where your church family carried you through difficulty.
The I'm-here-for-you season, where you were in a position to do the carrying.
The "Why?" season, where life just didn't make sense or seem fair.
The "Where?" season, where God led you to a new place.
The water-treading season, where you felt like you just might drown.

These seasons won't be totally isolated or partitioned. They'll overlap, run together, and one will lead into the other. But there is one constant: the love of Christ. Regardless of the season or what's going on around you, He is there and He draws you to Himself. I pray we have the grace one day to look back on each of these seasons with affection, not for the struggles but for the Savior who loved and carried us through them.

Leslie Hudson