Yesterday was about confession.
I got tired of running downhill. I’m ready to punch my limitations in the neck.
Today’s about accountability.
Today, I’m opening up the vest. I’m going for it on 4th and 4.
What I’m about to tell you is something very personal. To me. You may guffaw and shrug it off. Big deal.
Just saying it is a big deal to me. It’s a proclamation. It’s my declaration of independence.
I’m revolting against the tyranny of mediocrity in my own life. I’m tearing down that wall.
I’m going to stretch myself to do what most people don’t normally try to do. I’m going to stretch myself to do what most people don’t think I’m capable of doing. If I fail, I’ll get back up and try again.
It’s about the process. It’s about the preparation. It’s about being challenged.
I’m going to write a book, and I’m going to run in a half-marathon.
Even if only a handful of people read this blog. I’m going to write a book and I intend to have it published.
Reconstructed, arthritis ridden knee and all. I’m going to run a 13.1 miles. One foot in front of the other, without stopping.
There. It’s out in the open. Snicker if you want to. I’m writing this for accountability. I’m not looking for applause or respect.
If I don’t say it, I’ll never do it.
Like the harp playing shepherd boy, I’m running toward the giant of middle age with a sling and five small stones. Bring it on.
No more coasting. No more waiting on somebody else to do it.
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
That’s what I intend to do – mentally and physically. I’m calling myself out.
It’s not going to happen like it did the last time. While pastoring in the States, I preached through the book of Philippians. It took me more than a year and a half worth of Sunday mornings. I wrote out each sermon, painstakingly. I labored, diligently and with some degree of self inclination I really thought that I had something worth printing. Publishing.
I thought that I had written something that people would want to read. It was different. It was pensive.
Mind you, it would have been a Bible commentary from a 30-year-old pastor with a congregation smaller in number than most high school football rosters, but I still thought it was stuff that could have benefitted a lot of people. I was convinced of it.
Until I got rejected.
I sent it to a friend of mine who had self-published a devotional. I had great respect for him. He had written a book. He had to know something, right?
After reading a portion of it, he sent me an email back.
He didn’t actually say that, but it might have felt better if he had. My confidence was destroyed.
For a long time after that, I quit writing anything other than an occasional prayer letter. Rejection stings.
Rejection establishes limitations. Too short. Too fat. Not enough experience.
Rejection tells you to stay in the closet and the closes the door.
Rejection makes you gun-shy. Rejection forgets to set your place at the table.
After almost ten years I’m writing again. I’m finding my voice, and I trust that it sounds pleasant to some. I trust that it resonates.
We’ll see. Follow the progress here. Pray for me. I need it.