Learning to Walk in the Dark (book review)

I enjoy a writer who makes you think, or at least presents something ordinary unordinarily. Barbara Brown Taylor is definitely in this category.

In this second of her books I’ve read she gives you a different approach to thinking about darkness.

One beautiful way she does this is by showing you the value of darkness in biblical stories. She says the night sky was a key player in Abraham’s decision to trust God when he was told to “count the stars.” She spends a great amount of words on Moses’ encounters with God in the dark.

The God of Moses is holy, offering no seat belts or other safety features to those who wish to climb the mountain and enter the dark cloud of divine presence. Those who go assume all risk and give up all claim to reward. Those who return say the dazzling dark inside the cloud is reward enough.

Chapter 2, The Fear of the Lord

As you can imagine, much of the book addresses the emotions that come from fearing the dark. She believes that’s actually an indicator of something going on inside of us.

Our comfort or discomfort with the outer dark is a good barometer of how we feel about the inner kind.

Chapter 3, Hampered by Brilliance

A fascinating approach to her research for the book included cave exploration. With aid from professionals, she spent time sitting in the dark in caves and exploring portions of caves that demanded she address her fears. One takeaway: new life starts in the dark.

Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.

Chapter 6, Entering the Stone

A spiritual book about darkness is most likely not complete without a chapter on the dark night of the soul. Taylor’s coverage is exhaustive from both sides of the topic as well as from the individual to the communal. The most helpful section was her description of the difference between faith and belief. Sharing about her observations as a college professor, she gives this distinction about questions college students are asking or are being asked:

When I listen to college students talk about faith, beliefs are what interest them most: Do you believe in the virgin birth? Do you believe that Jesus died for your sins? Do you believe that only Christians go to heaven? No one asks, “On what is your heart set?” No one asks, “What powers do you most rely on? What is the hope that gives meaning to your life?” Those are questions of faith, not belief. The answers to them are not written down in any book, and they have a way of shifting in the dark.

Chapter 7, The Dark Night of the Soul

I’ve already suggested this book to a few folks-one running friend who avoids running in the early morning hours, one coaching client who feels distant from God. Whether you are struggling with physical or spiritual darkness, I’d encourage you to give this book a read. See what you learn.

An Altar in the World, Meditation #6

On recommendation, I recently read An Altar in the World by Barbara Brown Taylor. It’s subtitled A Geography of Faith. In the spirit of that lane, rather than offer a review I’ve selected my top highlights and will offer a meditation post for each one. Here’s the final quote:

Anything can become a spiritual practice once you are willing to approach it that way-once you let it bring you to your knees and show you what is real, including who you really are, who other people are, and how near God can be when you have lost your way.

Chapter 5, The Practice of Getting Lost

Chapter 5 is a ride. Taylor takes something bane like getting lost to illustrate her point that anything can become a spiritual practice.

I can’t say I get lost on purpose, but I understand her point. Getting lost viewed through the lens of “maybe there’s a reason” certainly requires some discipline and regulation. What I have done on purpose is take new streets, driving or running, just to see what’s on them. This past Saturday, in fact.

I had an event to attend downtown Sarasota Friday night. Instead of driving home to West Bradenton afterwards, I booked an Airbnb just south of downtown. Main reason: to run the Ringling Bridge the next morning. It had been too long, so I felt like it was worth it. Of the overall 7.28 miles of the run, besides the bridge, I had never ran any of those streets. I purposefully returned back a different way than I had approached the bridge. The two best sections of the run was by the Bay on Mound then through and around Payne Park.

I agree with Taylor. Growth happens when you lean in to purposefully embrace the unfamiliar. And whether that unfamiliar was planned or not, your peace and trust are revealed. Who couldn’t benefit from that?

Now I’m remembering running on some very unknown streets in 2012. That summer I took my first international trip, to Belarus of all places. The purpose of that trip wasn’t to run or pleasure traveling, but to teach ESL classes through a supporting church. Many disciplines were bundled together on that trip; they still bring me to my knees, show me what is real, who I am, and who other people are. I may never forget running in that country. It was spiritual.

What practice of yours, if looked at differently, could become spiritual? Grilling? Baking? Fishing? Painting? Ask God to show you the way. May you find a new altar in your world.

8 “Give Me’s” for Waiting

4AM. Not my preferred alarm setting. But you do what you got to do.

I decided what I had to this morning in order to start this day right was to get in a run before having to be in my car by 6:15. After my run around 5:15 while stretching, I found myself taking a longer than usual time to spend some time praying. Very unexpectedly, I got an answer for a prayer I’ve been in for several months, actually most of this year. Maybe that story will come later; but for now, I’m focused on the reality that some prayer answers are a long time coming. That means a lot of waiting.

So it shouldn’t have surprised me that on the same day this answer came an email came to my inbox this afternoon with a prayer entitled “Prayer for the Waiting Time.” It not only was timely, but also affirming.

If you find yourself in waiting time, take your time to read through this prayer by Nicola Slee. These eight requests may be the support you need to carry on, to wait well, and to keep listening.

Give me the resolution to say ‘no’ to the good so that I will be ready to say ‘yes’ to the better.

Give me the courage to keep living in the open-endedness of the future without foreclosing the mysterious work of your Spirit in my haste or fear.

Give me the persistence to stay in the wilderness of unknowing until I am ready to receive your call.

Give me the strength to keep still and keep waiting when all about me is pushing towards movement and activity and choice.

Give me the acceptance to live these days in uneventfulness, simplicity and hiddenness, without craving excitement, distraction, or change.

Give me the grace to live in the emptiness of ‘not doing,’ without the rewards of achievement, fulfillment, or success.

Give me the wisdom to discriminate between my own impatience to move forward and your Spirit’s deep stirring of my spirit when the time is right to move.

Give me the faith to trust in your obscurity, the obedience to stay faithful to your mystery, the courage to keep trust with your inscrutability.

Photo by Şahin Sezer Dinçer on Unsplash

An Open Letter to the Walker with the Cane

We first met at the north end of the G.T. Bray baseball field’s parking lot. It was still dark, around 6:30 this morning. We greeted each other as I ran by, probably both assuming that was “one and done.”

After I finished my loop of the south end of the softball fields, I passed you again less than 10 minutes later as we headed to the east entrance of the park. We didn’t speak.

Another 20 minutes had passed when I came upon you again, this time not too far south from our first passing. You had made the entire loop, and I was circling back to leave the park by the west entrance.

As I got closer to you, you moved to your right, sensing someone coming. I thought to myself, “Good for him for keeping a steady pace. It can’t be easy to convince yourself to do another loop when you’re walking a slow pace using a cane.”

As I ran by this third time, we both spoke. I started first.

“Have a good day!”

In almost the same moment you said, “You’re making me feel bad.”

In the moment, I knew what you meant. My quick reply was a feeble effort to encourage you. “You’re doing great!”

Unfortunately, I never got a good look at you. The first passing was in the dark; the other two, I came from behind. Other than you had on a yellow shirt and sporting a head bandana, all I could tell was you were out for an early morning walk through the park, moving at a respectable pace for someone depending on a cane for support.

Had I not been on a tight schedule, I would have stopped to learn more. Have you been injured recently? Did you have surgery and now in rehab? Is this a lifelong challenge for you or just a temporary season of healing? I don’t know. But let me tell you four things I do know.

During my hour-long run, I passed a total of seven other people. Everyone else was walking, with the exception of the lady we both passed sitting on the park bench by the soccer fields. You were one of seven folks up and at it this morning. Whatever it took for you to get up and to the park and on the trail, you outdid thousands of others. That’s something to feel good about.

As for those other walkers, no one else was reliant on a cane. You didn’t let your dependence stigmatize you. You didn’t allow it to be an excuse. You had the determination to do the best you could in your current situation. That’s something to feel good about.

Another reply to your comment that I said to myself on my final half mile was, “Dude. You’re aren’t six feed under. You are not in bed. You are up and moving.” I don’t know what it took for you to be moving that early, but that’s something to feel good about.

The final thing I know is something I’ve told myself many times during runs and especially during races. Whatever someone else is doing that I’m tempted to compare myself to-pace, distance, etc.-it isn’t about what they are doing. It’s about what I’m doing. I know what it took to get to the start line. I’ve got an idea what it’s going to take to cross the finish line. I’m going to stick to what I’m doing. Good on them for what they’re doing.

My guess is you did at least two loops around the park this morning. You started before the sun rose. You did it alone. And you got it done. You, walking with a cane, did more than the average well-bodied person will do today. That’s something to feel good about.

Based on how your started it, odds are the rest of your day was good. Here’s to seeing you in the park again on another good day!

Photo by david Griffiths on Unsplash

2 Viewpoints to 4AM Shoulder Taps

Looks like it’s becoming a weekly event. Last week I posted about a 3AM conversation that I wasn’t looking for. This week it was a 4AM shoulder tap. At least I got in one more snoozing hour this time.

This tap was a legit conversation starter. No dream prompt. More like, “You know that nudge you felt today when you said you hated something? Let’s talk about that.”

We talked. I received insight on the nudge, a view that was new and potentially life-giving. I shared it with a few buddies by text a few hours later and moved on. Sorta.

On my run, I thought about this whole early morning “let’s talk” thing. Rather than only view it from a standpoint of inconvenience, I asked myself how else to view it. Two answers emerged.

The first answer had to do with brain activity while we sleep. More than once, I’ve read about one thing the brain does while we sleep is store memories. In an article “Slumber Reruns: As We Sleep, Our Brains Rehash the Day,”  Nikhil Swaminathan wrote:

Your brain doesn’t take a rest when you do. While you slept last night, regions of your brain may well have been going over the events of the previous day in a process that could be related to consolidating memories, a team of researchers at the University of Arizona (U.A.) in Tucson says. In fact, the review may be taking place at several times the speed by which the experiences took place when you were alert.

November 19, 2007

In an earlier article from 2003, Sarah Graham wrote that the brain “organizes and stows memories formed during the day while the rest of the body is catching zzz’s.”

These thoughts gave me the imagery of the Holy Spirit pausing my brain’s organizing task to say, “Hold on. Can we talk about this one before it’s filed away?”

Which led me to answer #2.

If there’s one thing I value most about God’s relationship with his children it’s his 24/7 access. And aren’t we spoiled? We love it. No other relationship offers it. But somehow, we can get put off when he wants to start a conversation, and “Now’s not a good time.” That whole “Let it go to voicemail” response shouldn’t apply to this relationship.

Now that’s an awareness. It’s a corrective viewpoint that could be stated, “When I have unlimited access, who am I not to reciprocate?”

Hopefully, if this trend continues, my responses will be less about me and more about us. My brain is just doing it’s job, and shoulder taps are welcomed anytime.

Photo by James Wheeler on Unsplash

Making It Right

@AdamMGrant

People who are unwilling to admit their mistakes are unable to learn from them. Acknowledging yesterday’s error is a prerequisite to correcting it today and preventing more tomorrow. When we get it wrong, arrogance insists “I was right.” Humility says “I want to make it right.”

7/30/23

Saw this tweet this morning. Decided to share how this played out for me, quite literally, not once but twice yesterday.

Yesterday morning, a female running friend shared her reservations about running early in the morning when it’s still dark. My immediate response was about how great it is to run in the peace and quiet. “Find a route that’s well lit, and you’ll love it.” Early this morning I realized what I had done. I hadn’t listened to her fear of being attacked. In essence, I had dismissed her. Sitting in that acknowledgment, I remembered another female running friend’s Instagram posts encouraging women to look at self-protection items to have on them when they’re active outdoors. I made it correct today by texting my friend to say I didn’t want to dismiss her fears and forwarded those posts to her.

Runners, if this rings true with you, check out this website: https://goguarded.com/

Yesterday evening, I saw a church’s FB post that didn’t sit well with me. I sent the link to one like-minded friend with no comment. We went back and forth with general comments a couple of times before they got too specific. The last comment was a “tell me more” request which I had to stop myself. Why? In the moment, I didn’t choose words to explain why. I just felt like nothing more needed to be said.

In one light, this was a private text message between friends. Was harm done? Not much, if any. In another light, who am I to place myself in the position of prophet or judge about a church that I don’t attend, haven’t sat in any leadership meetings, and am in no position to state any facts about the contents of that post. Was harm done? There could have been, in our spirits and in any other person’s who we decided to draw into the circle. I can’t say I’ve always practiced restraint. Too often, social media reactions lead to mistakes which can create an avalanche of wrongdoing. It’s on us to correct it today and prevent more tomorrow.

Thanks, Adam Grant, for the reminder to make it right. Heard!

Photo by Gilles Lambert on Unsplash

A Lesson on Friendship from My Shortest Friendship

Friendships have been the subject of several conversations lately. It’s given me food for thought. But first, a running story.

Running in Naperville, IL., last October, race two of the weekend, we were somewhere around mile 7 of the half marathon. I had just taken a left turn on Ewing St and came upon a pack of runners. They were keeping a good pace which I decided to stick with for a while.

“You look strong,” one of the younger female runners said.

I was a little thrown. My awkward response was, “Thanks.”

She looked at me like, “Seriously. Good job.”

I don’t talk much with other runners during a race, but I decided to engage. I told her I’d ran a half the day before in WI, on my quest to run a race in all 50 states, so I was happy to be doing decently. For her to encourage me about how I was doing was a boost. She seemed to get a boost from a guy who could probably be her father sharing his journey.

We ran probably less than a mile together to the next aid station. I stopped for a drink, and she moved on. She was in my sight for most of the remaining miles. When I crossed the finish line, I found her. We congratulated each other. Our short relationship was over.

I may never forget her. In a small time window, she modeled friendship in numerous ways. The result: now I’m making an effort to be that friend on the race course. No, I’m not a chatter box. But in the right moment, when it looks like someone could use a racing friend, I’m trying to be that friend.

On the clock of our lives, it would be nice to have friends who stick with us for the entire journey, all the miles of our lives. But that’s not how it happens. For reasons of all sorts of nature, friends come and go. We come and go in their lives, vice versa. Some stay for a few miles; others stay for way more than the average. We develop a great pace together, we encourage one another, we do life together for as long as we can.

It’s sad when friends go. Sometimes we get to say meaningful goodbyes. Often times, we miss it; we didn’t see the end coming, and we are left with a loss that, if we allow it, could sideline us for a long time.

Today, my focus is on two things.

The first is to be grateful for those who are running with me right now. Receive all the friendship has to provide.

The second is to be the friend I wish to have. Gift all the friendship has to bless.

“That’s All I Had”

For those who know her, you know.  More on that momentarily.

Today I wrapped up a quest to run four half marathons in eight days.  These were staged in four New England states: Connecticut, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine.  And I must say, the folks at Star Racing know what they’re doing.  Smooth.  Celebratory.  Friendly.  Leave no one behind.  Couldn’t have selected a better series of races to check off these four states.  Thank you, JC!

Getting to the race this morning, I wasn’t sure what to expect. One thing was certain: conditions were ideal. 45F, sunny. As for the course, JC had hinted yesterday that it might be challenging. My aches being manageable, I figured I’d use the first few miles to get familiar with the course and see how my legs were responding.

Around mile four, I was happy to realize two things. 1) JC was most likely just trying to not get my hopes up. The course was looking like the easiest of the four. 2) My legs were holding up enough for me to push.

That’s when I decided three mindsets for the last nine miles. 1) Take advantage of the cooler weather…and get done as soon as possible. 2) Take advantage of the easier course…attack within reason. 3) Don’t walk.  Unless you’re about to pass out, keep running.

Mile 10. Lord, have mercy! At the aid station, my first thought was, “Three more miles…No thank you! Seriously, 49 miles in 8 days ain’t shabby. I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK OUT!”

Fortunately, another runner who had also ran the last two days was there. We just looked at each other with a “C’mon man…we can do this!”

He walked/ran those last miles. I looped self-talk, “You are not walking! Just because he is, don’t!”

When I crossed the finish mat, I said, “That’s all I had.” True words.

More true words: I don’t get all the credit. I  could give credit to many things and people. But on this Mother’s Day, I must acknowledge that without the model of Lola Gregory as my mother it’s hard to believe I’d have the stuff to go after and accomplish something like this. If you know her, you know.

If you know her from the Illinois farm life, you know.

If you know her from the Chattanooga starting-a-family-of-four-with-seminary-student-husband life, you know.

If you know her from the Gadsden let’s-start-a-school-while-growing-a-church life, you know.

If you know her from the Thomasville I’m-going-to-finish-raising-these-kids-alone-in-a-new-town-working-a-new-job life, you know.

If you know her from the Murfreesboro one-daughter-still-home-in-another-new-town-working-another-new-job life, you know.

If you know her from the Tallahassee let’s-finish-this-work-thing life, you know.

Before I knew anything about determining mindsets mid-race, she’d become an expert in it. Although she thinks this week’s feat was a tad crazy, she gets the most credit for instilling in me the determination to cross a finish line saying, “That’s All I Had.”

To the best model I’ve had on finishing the race set before her, Happy Mother’s Day!

God Is Saying Something

I’m not sure what’s going on. Maybe God is just saying, “I see you.”

I altered my plans for tomorrow morning by leaving for Vermont this afternoon. Tomorrow will be much better survived because of it.

I booked an Airbnb in Tunbridge, so I only drive 40 minutes to the start line in the morning. Bearable. What I didn’t know when I booked it and started on my drive was the following:

  • I’d pass signs for the birthplaces of two notable religious figures.
  • When I stopped for gas and food it was 5PM. The Congregational Church bells across the street started playing the hymn Softly and Tenderly. The lines of the chorus start, “Come Home, Come Home.” Again, it was 5PM.
  • My Airbnb host is a college track coach. He lives in the mountains. I can hear water running down the mountainside from my room window.

God is probably saying something more like, “Good thing I gave you common sense, and you decided to use it.”

Just for you, Sharon
Coach Bob’s yard
Maybe these guys can “run with me” in the morning (Photo in the room).
All the sounds of the mountainside

Go For The Green

It’s that time of year. Early morning running means mostly running in the dark. And in Florida that also means avoiding sprinkler systems. These days my runs begin anywhere between 4:30 and 6:30AM. No matter what time I leave, if my route includes around the neighborhood somebody’s sprinkler system is doing its thing.

It was around 5:50 this morning as I ran down a block where it’s hit and miss. Some houses have systems; some don’t. For some reason this morning my eyes caught a clear contrast between two neighbors, one with one without. As if the sun was at high noon, there couldn’t have been a clearer sign. It almost looked intentional, as if a hairstylist stopped halfway through the dye job right at the top of the head.

Got me to thinking. It’s not news here that 2023 has started with a rain shortfall. So if you want your lawn green, it’s on you. And that means at least three things:

  1. You need a plan. That may sound like a no brainer, yet somehow the neighbor with the dead grass missed it. How many sprinkler heads, which direction are they covering, when does it come on, how long does it run-the plan can’t miss any details if the yard is going to be HOA prizeworthy.
  2. If you’ve done your job right, you can sleep well. You won’t need to get up every morning at 4 to check it out. It’s like that current TV commercial for tax preparations-“Bring it to us, and don’t water your lawn.”
  3. You cannot assume once it’s working your job is done. Two blocks west from my front door someone has made this assumption. Guess what? Half their water is going into the street. None of the sprinkling shoots out more than three feet. I wonder when’s the last time the system was checked.

These thoughts apply to many areas of life. Marriage. Parenting. Management. Eating. Exercising. Finances. Career. Education. Faith.

How’s your plan?

How’s your sleeping?

How’s your assumptions?

Photo by Mani Sankar on Unsplash