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

A New Focus

I'm not the runner I used to be.

Of course I'm slower. But it's much deeper than that. When I started running, I was in love with the thrill of competition. I loved entering local 5Ks. I even walked on the track team my junior year. I ran six days a week, regardless of the weather or my schedule. I did long runs on Saturdays and workouts on Mondays and Wednesdays. I was consistent in my mileage and logged every single run. I wanted to get faster and discover how well I could actually do if I trained properly. I loved it. For a while...

After a few years, though, it was like a switch went off: this running stuff, though I loved it, was adding stress to my life. (For those of you who still train seriously and race well, my hat goes off to you! You've got a gene that I don't have.) :) 

Loved the running, didn't love the stress. So I de-stressed my training. I tossed the racing flats. I lost my training log. I would run long only if I felt like it and if it wasn't raining. Didn't keep up with days, miles, or shoes. No more workouts. No more racing.

I allowed my running to become my solace. My time with God. My deep breath of nature and exercise and prayer. And I loved it.

Funny how a few years can change your outlook on running.

A few years can also change your outlook on Christmas. :)

Man, what kid doesn't love Christmas, right? Growing up, Christmas season started at 5:00 AM on Black Friday when my mom, my sister and I got all of our Christmas shopping done in one manic trip. (You know, back when stores were closed on Thanksgiving Day.) I loved the decorating, the eighteen parties and get-togethers, the food, and MOST of all, the presents. I had a list a mile long, from my favorite candy to some big-ticket items. I loved seeing family, I loved the lights, I loved the excitement of it all. And, because I was raised in a Christian family, I even loved the Christmas program at church and the potluck meal with my parents' Sunday school class. I couldn't get enough of it all. I loved it. For a while...

After leaving my parents home and becoming an adult, it was like a switch went off: this Christmas stuff, though I loved it, was adding stress to my life. (For those of you who still do all the Christmas stuff and do it well, my hat goes off to you. You've got a gene that I don't have.) :)

Loved Christmas, didn't love the stress. So I de-stressed my Christmas. I whittled down my shopping list by calling friends and family members and just simply asking them if we could not do gifts. (100% of the time they responded with Yes! What a wonderful idea.) For the gifts I did buy, I got very boring: I asked them what they wanted and got that very thing. (No worries about finding the perfect gift! They would tell me!) I made most of my purchases online. I cut back on decorating, opting for a simple tree (that I put up and let my kids decorate without any input from me) and one stocking per child. The food I make to take places is simple and easy. We don't go to every open house, every family get-together, and every Christmas program. We're a weird family because of what we don't do at Christmas.

The craziest thing, though, is my list: it's almost empty. (My list this year had these exact things on it: oven mitts, a rain coat, and a gift card to House Blend. I'm not kidding.) I truly would rather sit and visit with a friend for an hour than get anything in the world. And I am SO much more excited about seeing my kids and parents play together than receiving anything my mom could buy at a mall. (And she's a really good shopper!) If you could give me about 48 hours alone as a Christmas gift, I'd like time to write cards and tell people how much I love them and how much they mean to me. If I could ask for only one thing, it would be this: that I show people Jesus at Christmas by the love and peace He gives me. 

Funny how a few years can change your outlook on Christmas.

May you be blessed with a memorable Christmas and an ever-deepening relationship with our Lord.

Leslie Hudson

Running Like a 3-year-old

During Thanksgiving break, my 3-year-old daughter Shelby and I had a few hours of one-on-one "girl time." It was a perfect fall day and we had a neighbor who was out of town needing her dog fed. Perfect opportunity to combine a good long walk with helping a friend!

So we started down our dead-end, rarely traveled, five-houses-in-a-mile-and-a-half road. Immediately, because she's three, she said, "Let's run!" The elevation from our house to our neighbor's house is primarily downhill, so I told her I'd run whenever she wanted. 

I had no idea that she would run most of the way. (I also would have worn something other than jeans, for one thing!) She would sprint as hard as she could for as long as she could, then walk for about 20 steps, only to start sprinting again. I was so proud. And shocked. And out of breath. (And I call myself a runner! I couldn't even keep up with a 3-year-old going downhill!)

We got to our neighbor's house and took care of her dog. I looked at Shelby and said, "Are you ready to head back?" She looked at me in all seriousness and said, "Mama, I don't think I'm going to be able to make it back home." 

She was spent.

You see, she ran like a 3-year old: all out, resting just long enough to catch her breath, then all out again. Over and over.

She asked me if I could carry her back. (Uphill? Over a mile? Yeah, right!) I told her I couldn't. But I promised her that we could rest whenever she needed and I would go as slowly as she wanted.

We made it about 100 yards before she told me she was just too tired to keep going. We both sat down in the middle of the road and I rubbed her legs as she sipped water. After a few minutes we hopped up and started again, resting regularly and making sure not to overdo it.

And that's how we traveled back home: walk, rest, drink, repeat.

The whole episode was hilarious, and at first I found it funny to reflect on how unrestrained and unprepared a 3-year-old is for a 3-mile run.

But then I realized her run looked a lot like my life.

I go too hard for too long, not stopping to rest or recover. I pause just long enough to catch my breath, only to go hard again.

And then I realize I'm spent: spiritually, mentally, emotionally. I look at the hill in front of me and say, "I don't think I'm going to be able to make it."

Come on, you've done it too, either in running or in life. Probably both :)

But though we've all come to the point of exhaustion in our lives, there's some great advice we can learn from little Shelby when we find ourselves at the bottom of the hill with a long way to go:

There's no rush. Though we live in a fast-paced world, our loving Heavenly Father is not rushing you. In fact we are told to "wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord," (Psalm 27:14). Let Him set the pace. He won't leave you behind!

You need nourishment. Shelby and I drank almost an entire liter of water on the return trip home, primarily because we never stopped to drink on the way out. Just as it's easy to get dehydrated on a run, it's easy to forget the importance of being filled spiritually, too. Luckily our Father is a Shepherd who "leads us beside still waters" and "refreshes our soul," (Psalm 23). Let Him nourish you with His Word, His presence, His peace.

Rest regularly. Not just sleep. (Though sleep is necessary, too!) REST. Sit for just a few minutes and ask God to clear your heart and your mind. Dwell on His Word as you drive or fold laundry or rock your baby. You don't need perfect peace and quiet to find rest; you find rest when you focus on God, trusting His love for you. "Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my salvation comes from Him," (Psalm 62:5). God rested on the seventh day; we are commanded to rest, as well. Not just to renew our bodies, but to refresh our souls!

YOU WILL MAKE IT. I promise. Maybe not how you thought or as fast as you'd hoped or at the pace you started, but you will make it. Through this season. Through this week. Through this year. Through this life. "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith," (2 Timothy 4:7).

When you can't make it, someone will carry you. I admit I did carry Shelby through the steepest part. And God will never fail to carry you when you need Him. "I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you," (Isaiah 46:4).

Don't get spent! Run with perseverance and keep that focus on Jesus! (Hebrews 12:1-2).

Leslie Hudson

Seasons

I had been out of sync with my running, between work and family and all that fall brings. So I was so excited to head out the door for a run on my favorite trail for the first time in weeks.

Even more exciting was the scene that greeted me: the trail was completely covered with freshly-fallen yellow leaves. It was like running on some sort of painting that had been intentionally marked with different shades of gold. 

Beautiful. 

But dangerous, as anyone who has run on trails can attest. When the trails are covered with leaves, you can't see the roots or rocks or ditches. Young runners often find themselves splayed face down on a trail because of the hidden obstacles. (I did when I started running on trails!)

"Tis the season for leaves," I thought to myself, thinking not only of Fall and Thanksgiving but of the always-closer-than-I'm-ready-for Christmas. From there, my mind wandered to other seasons: not just seasons of the year but seasons of life...the seasons of adolescence, young adulthood, newlyweds, and beyond.

Seasons of running. Seasons of life. 

So much in common yet so very different. The seasons of running are cyclical, knowing that this fall will be much like last fall and next fall. But seasons of life are all different, all new, all unfamiliar. Seasons of running are something you can anticipate and actually get pretty accustomed to; seasons of life come at you with little to no warning or preparation.

I reflected on the season of sleep deprivation I had when my kids were little. I'd lay in bed every night, utterly exhausted, barely muttering a prayer asking God to help me get through the next day. That season seemed like it would never end. And then one day I looked around at my life and realized I was no longer a walking zombie; I could form sentences that made sense and actually had the time and energy to fix a meal for my family every now and then.

I then took the time to pray for my friends and family who are going through their own trying seasons right now:

The season of caring for elderly, struggling parents.
The season of learning to be married in a way that honors God and your husband, realizing that it is so much harder than you thought it would be.
The season of watching your children reject all you've taught them and lived for.
The season of learning to accept God's plan for your life and realizing it wasn't what you wanted or thought it would be.

Seasons.

Each beautiful. Each dangerous. Each full of their own blessings and trials and benefits and hardships. 

Solomon understood the significance of seasons:

"There is an occasion for everything, and a time for every activity under heaven:
a time to give birth and a time to die; 
a time to plant and a time to uproot; 
a time to tear down and a time to build; 
a time to weep and a time to laugh; 
a time to mourn and a time to dance; 
a time to embrace and a time to avoid embracing;
a time to search and a time to count as lost;
a time to be silent and a time to speak;
a time to love and a time to hate; 
a time for war and a time for peace.
(Ecclesiastes 3:8, selected, HCSB)

You're in a season right now. It won't last forever. It hit you like a hurricane and might leave you in a tidal wave. 

But it's part of running. It's part of life. It's part of God's plan.

And as you see the changing of the running seasons, perhaps you'll embrace the season of your own life, thank God for being with you as you run through it, and know with certain hope that, just like leaf-strewn trails, it will not last.

Those who Cleared the Trail

[This is somewhat of a continuation of the Spider Shield blog from last week. If you haven't read it, you can here.]

So I started my run the other day, Spider Shield in hand, and got about 100 feet down the path before remembering that I had seen a friend in running clothes, only a few hours earlier, headed toward the trail. I thought to myself, I don't need this Spider Shield; the trail has been cleared this morning. I threw down the stick and was able to run with freedom, knowing the webs had been cleared and I could focus on the path ahead.

This wasn't the only time other runners had gone before me, clearing out the webs [figuratively and literally], allowing me to learn from their mistakes. I began to thank God for the amazing, loving men and women who shaped my understanding of running. 

I thought of Joe Barton who warned me that I had started a 10K way, WAY too fast. 
I thought of Amy Cox, who encouraged me to view a hilly course as a blessing. 
I thought of Holly Paulus, who walked a steep uphill 5 miles in a relay race, insisting she didn't need any support. 

These and others were people who were wiser and more experienced who helped me know the pitfalls and who gave me the confidence to keep running. Because I was surrounded by a group of people who knew what I would face, I wasn't surprised by the troubles. I knew the importance of shoes that really fit and a supportive running bra. I witnessed the effects of being under- or over-hydrated. I learned that I can't worry about what other people do in a race.

And as I thought back to the verse I quoted in the Spider Shield blog from Hebrews 12:1, "...let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us," (NIV), I remembered the phrase that preceded that quote, perfectly completing my new focus: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses..."

And it hit me that, much more than I should thank God for people who cleared the way for me in my running, I should praise Him even more for for those who guided me and set the example in my spiritual life.

Hebrews 11 (which precedes the above verse about that great cloud of witnesses) describes who those witnesses are: Heroes of the Old Testament, known for a faith that not only shaped the lives of their children, but also their descendants and those of us who study their faith and learn from it today.

We see Enoch, who walked with God.
Noah, who believed in something he couldn't see.
Abraham, who was willing to leave his family and home and believed God would provide Him with an eternal city.
Jacob, who worshiped as he died.
Moses, who chose to be persecuted for being born an Israelite.
Rahab, who risked her earthly life to save her eternal one.

These are the witnesses who are watching us today. The great cloud of witnesses described in Hebrews 12:1. They went before us, cleared the path, blazed the trail, and left their lives, open and exposed, as an example to us.

And when we truly grasp who they were, who they weren't, and how we can better know God and follow Him through their example, we're able to walk through life knowing that the webs are out of the way:

We read about Enoch and we choose to walk with God.
We feel Noah's fear of the unknown and believe God will deliver us anyway.
We empathize with Abraham and trust God's path for our lives, though He may take us far from our family and our home.
We reflect on Jacob and make the decision to worship as we leave this earth.
We see what happened to Moses and accept the persecution that comes with being a Christ-follower.
We consider Rahab and realize that our earthly life is worth losing in order to save our eternal one.

And we praise God not only for these heroes but also for the people in our lives who are a little further down the path and choose to lay open their lives and their faith so we can avoid the webs that try to entangle us:

The friend who reminds you to love your husband when your children take all your energy.
The lady at church who tells you she'll pray for you and means it.
The devoted ally who carries your burdens and speaks truth to you when you can't see clearly.
The wise older woman in Bible Study who shows you how to be less like Martha and more like Mary.
The sister who sees you and immediately says, "What's the matter?" when nobody else knew you were struggling.

All part of the great cloud of witnesses. All running the race with perseverance, encouraging us, loving us, and warning us of the webs blocking the path. Sometimes even clearing them out for us.

And there are runners coming behind us who need the same kind of love, wisdom, and testimony from us. So we share our struggles, admit our faults, and point to Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith (Hebrews 12:2). We realize we are part of the cloud of witnesses who will pass from this life to real life as our faith becomes sight (1 Timothy 6:19, HCSB). We choose not only to help others with their running, but with their WALK (2 Corinthians 5:7, HCSB).

And so we run the race of earthly life marked out for us (Hebrews 12:1). Not with perfection. Not with performance. Not with precision. With perseverance. 

Because others have gone before us to clear out the trail.

Leslie Hudson


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