All in The Journey
Last night my family and I attended a concert together.
Well, maybe that’s too generous a statement. We all know that in 2020, “attended a concert together” means we all sat on the couch watching a livestream video while being distracted by our dog’s silly antics.
But hey – in 2020, we take what we can get, right?
I hopped on my road bike yesterday for the first time in about a year.
The last time I rode it was shortly before I ruptured my Achilles – an injury that is nearly a year in the recovery process, and still not where I would like it to be.
Now, full disclosure, the picture shown above was taken during my glory days on that bike. She and I (the bike, that is) would travel all over the local roads together, climbing mountains, enjoying views, speeding down descents. That bike and I have enjoyed thousands and thousands of miles of blissful togetherness.
And then, with one loud snap of the Achilles, it all came to a screeching halt.
This weekend, I attended a funeral service for a child who never got the chance to take her first breath. She was near full-term, but never got the chance to meet her parents or her grandparents. She will never get to see a sunrise, experience laughter, or have her feet tickled while she giggles.
Now, I know a common question is: Why would God allow something like this to happen?
We recently returned from a “one last getaway before school starts” camping trip to the eastern Sierras. If you’ve never been there before, you’re seriously missing out. It’s the sharper side of the Sierras, where jagged mountains topping 14,000 feet plunge dramatically into deep and verdant valleys.
One of our favorite places in the eastern Sierras is the Yosemite high country. It’s visited by only 10% of the crowds that the more famous Yosemite Valley hosts, but it boasts a dramatic landscape of mountain meadows, glacial lakes, and tall peaks.
Two years ago, almost to the day, my wife and I had the privilege of visiting the isle of Iona in Scotland. What stood out to us, other than the incredible beauty of this small island, was a small abbey perched along the southeastern shore.
This abbey was built by St. Columba sometime after he landed on the island in 563 AD after fleeing persecution in his home country of Ireland.
In front of the abbey stands St. Martin’s cross, built around 800 AD.
I have to admit when I heard the news, I was a bit shocked.
I was sitting in church. Our pastor had mentioned a fascinating interview he had heard with an Israeli political figure who was quoted as saying America’s biggest threat to Israel was its ignorance when it came to knowledge of the Bible. He went on to explain why, but the text message that came in completely distracted me…
“Kobe is dead.”
Dealing with an injury is more complicated than it might seem from the outside looking in. Little things that I took for granted just a week ago require a tremendous amount of effort. I often find myself tired and sweaty just from something as basic as getting dressed.
I’m suddenly very appreciative when people hold the door open for me.
When they do, I feel slightly ashamed because I know I’m capable of opening it for myself, and I don’t really need their help.
I’ve found I have two gods: Comfort and Productivity.
Comfort often takes the form of fun and pleasure, while Productivity is often masked as efficiency.
A few days ago, those gods were exposed in a single, painful act: while playing basketball with some friends, I felt something hit the back of my leg, just below the calf. Simultaneously, a loud sound, similar to that of a softball hitting a wooden wall, emitted from the same spot on my leg.
In mid-crumpling action, I glanced behind me to see what hit me, and when I realized nobody and nothing, was there, I immediately knew: the Achilles tendon had just ruptured.
Do you feel stuck in an impossible situation? Does it seem like God has left you high and dry? Hang in there - things may feel out of control, but hope is available, even if it seems hard to see from where you are…
We recently had the opportunity to join some beloved family members at Six Flags for the day. Given that we have three boys who jump at any whiff of adventure, we trekked over to what used to be called Magic Mountain (now Six Flags California) for a day of fun.
One ride, in particular, caught my attention:
It’s the new version of Freefall – redone from the days of my youth to be four times taller, and a million times more thrilling.
