Ever.

Short word. Long time.

I’m the positive sort; optimistic, even idealistic at times. I’m also realistic; not naive, but pragmatic. Call me the Pragmatic Optimist. But I’m facing something tomorrow that has me concerned. I want to be optimistic, yet I’ve got to be practical as well.

I’m a runner. Or, possibly, was a runner.

I do not know if I will ever run again. Ever.

Ever.

Small word. Great import.

After running a fast and fun Market to Market Relay with my team October 11th, I set a personal goal of pursuing a new half marathon PR. I was excited by the relay and energized by my goal. Then something was wrong.

On my next three runs—each standard, three mile jaunts—I felt a pain in my right knee unlike any I’d ever had before. I’ve run 5000 miles and four marathons over the past seven years, so I’ve experienced a little of every setback a runner might face. This was different. Following that third run it hurt so bad I fought tears of pain. And despair.

Instinctively, I knew there must be a cartilage tear. I knew it’d mean surgery. I knew it might mean I’d never run, or run the same, again.

Tomorrow I'll have arthroscopic micro fracture surgery. My doctor will cut the cartilage flap off the anterior medial condyle of my right femur then drill into my femur to cause new cartilage to grow. It’s a common procedure. It does mean eight weeks on crutches. I should recover well. I should be able to run again. I may not, however, ever run the same again.

There's that word again: Ever.

Don’t quite reading yet and misjudge my intent in writing. I’m not looking for sympathy—“Poor fella may not be able to run. Bless his heart.” I’m not complaining—“What a whiner! Deal with it.” I am desirous that you and I ponder a different perspective—“How amazing? What a blessing!”

Everything we have—our abilities, talents, possessions, friends, and family—is on loan from God.

Everything we are—our personality, character, thoughts, goals, and dreams—is through God.

The realization that everything is by God’s grace is humbling. Humility is liberating. Stewardship is empowering.

I may not ever run again. And that’s okay. I said it. Why can I say it? I have so, so, so much more to live for and be thankful for. Don’t we all?

Ever.

Consider everything. Humbled evermore.

“For who makes you different from anyone else? What do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you did not?”

— 1 Corinthians 4:7

What do you have that you did not receive?

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Scottsbluff, Nebraska. Almost Wyoming. I had a conference there this week. Beautiful country. Big sky, rolling plains, semi-arid, grasslands. And crazy cool rock formations. As a runner & outdoor lover, I was looking forward to the chance to get run trails in Scotts Bluff National Monument & Wildcat Hills State Recreation Area. Monday evening, after waiting out that afternoon's thunderstorm, I “ran the rock” as a friend said of the imposing Scotts Bluff. Tuesday evening, with storms clouds to the south looking as if they’d blow to the east, I set out to run the longer, trickier Wildcat Hills.

Near perfect. Sixty degrees & breezy, I exulted in the single-track through forests, across meadows & along rock formations. About an hour into my run, at the farthest point out from my car, I was greeted by dark clouds creeping over the hills as I turned south. Five minutes later I stopped to compose the photo above. A few minutes past that I was hunkered under a cedar-treed ledge as torrents of rain unleashed. Then hail. Drenched already, I prayed that the hail would let up so I might run for cover in a shelter house I believed was up the now slick hillside above me.

The hail subsided. I thanked God & charged up the hill reaching the welcomed shelter soaked to the bone. There, thankful for three walls & a roof, I waited for the rain to stop. I prayed, sang, thought, & moved around to stay warm. An hour later. Just about dried out. The rain stopped. I took the cue & ran the sticky access road as quickly as I could one mile back to my car. Reaching the parking lot, the sky opened up once more. But I made it. Thankful for the beauty of creation. Thankful for the adventure. Thankful for the ability to run. Thankful for God’s grace. Even in rain & hail.

Life is like my Wildcat Hills run. Ups & downs. Beautiful & fearsome. Smooth & rocky. Gorgeous & ugly. Hot & cold. Exhilarating & painful. Breezy & stormy.

Was there ever a moment in that run when God didn’t know where I was? What I was doing? That He loved me? Was there ever a moment in which He could not control the natural forces He created? Yet, for whatever reason, he allowed me to experience every minute of it. And I wonder, why is it so easy for me to doubt God’s love or question His purpose in the hard times? Yet I am not so quick to acknowledge His blessing in the good times? Why can’t I accept the storms as part of life? Seek the shelter I can? Make the best of the time? And ask God what He wants me to learn from it?