“That day, for no particular reason, I decided to go for a little run." —Forrest Gump

As a child of the '80s, in elementary school we were part of the D.A.R.E. program. If you don't know (now you know), the Drug Abuse Resistance Education involved police officers visiting schools each week for several months, presenting a curriculum designed for us to Just Say No. 

One of the activities our D.A.R.E. officer invited us to do (I guess as an alternative to drugs?) was join him and some teachers after school in a running group. I generally liked trying new sports, so I thought why not. I got into running, did a 5K with my dad, and went on to run jr. high track. But by high school, I'd moved past that interest. 

Fast forward two decades later. Living smack dab on the path of Cincinnati's Flying Pig Marathon, we watch gobs of runners traverse our city's hills. My husband gets inspired to try it out. I think he's crazy but cheer him on.

Next our daughter gets inspired by Dad. In first grade she wants to join the running club at her school. I sign her up. Yet a parent has to run with young ones. No problem because of the aforementioned marathoner in our household. Except work gets busy, and he can't make it. Who ends up running? ME!

So I blame my child for my resurgence in the running world. But running at a kiddo's pace wasn't too bad. I worked myself back up to huff and puff along a 5K race with her. (Thanks again to the Flying Pig weekend in our city. It gets everyone excited!)

My competitive nature then pushes me to try more. Looking for a new exercise outlet, I gave myself a goal and signed up for the inaugural Queen Bee Half Marathon in 2014, again right in our neighborhood. And I survived! 

So I've kept running. Some longer, some shorter races. Even through a collapsed lung and subsequent surgery, I eventually got back out and kept running.

Coming soon on November 4 I'll tackle my fourth half marathon. It's in Indianapolis, so at least it's flatter than Cincinnati. I wasn't sure if I was ready to tackle another, but the training has kept me moving, given me a goal. I've learned a few things on my runs:

• I can survive running in 30ish-degree temps. It just takes guts and the right clothes (and Athleta makes some cute, warm options).
• I sweat more than I used to. Is that an age thing? Sorry, TMI!
• I run better to podcasts than music. Give me a good host and a compelling story, and the miles fly by. I've learned about so many topics this way.
• I love my city. Putting steps to pavement helps me appreciate different nuances of it, finding nooks and crannies that you can't see when driving by.
• God made a beautiful world. I'm thankful he's given me the opportunity and ability to be out in it.  

Photo by Francesco Gallarotti on Unsplash

For almost 4 years I had the privilege & challenge of writing a weekly editorial for The Lookout, a Christian living & devotional magazine. As I ended my tenure there, the timing fell on a series we developed about Jesus' encounters with people and what we can learn from his actions and words. I enjoyed writing these last editorials. I hope you enjoy reading them. Others in this series: round 1, round 2, and round 3.

At the time I write this, tomorrow I get to see Hamilton: An American Musical with a friend and my daughter. Soon the culmination of months of anticipation will be in our grasp—and then it will be over. That’s the way life is. In the Hamilton song “One Last Time,” George Washington tells his mentee, Alexander Hamilton, that he’s stepping down as president. Though people tried to convince him to stay, he knew it was time to say goodbye and let someone else lead.

The song is running through my head because I’m writing my own goodbye. It’s time for me to step away as editor of The Lookout—time for someone else to lead.

I say goodbye to amazing coworkers, dear writers, and faithful readers such as yourself. I don’t know your face, but I know we are connected in Christ. I walk away with joy and gratitude for all The Lookout has taught me—for the words I’ve edited that have seeped into my soul, for the chance to partake in a ministry of words about God’s Word in the hopes that others would grow. I’ve grown. I hope you have too.

I leave knowing this magazine is in good hands. Assistant Editor Sheryl Overstreet remains; she has spent years of time, energy, and passion moving the magazine ever onward. You will never know all she does, but, trust me, it wouldn’t exist without her. And I welcome back Shawn McMullen, former editor of The Lookout, who takes the position again. He handed off the baton so graciously to me, and now I return the favor.

Even in departure, I look to our ultimate role model. Before his death on the cross, Jesus spent time with his dear disciples, drawing them close to give encouragement and challenge. He said, “I have chosen you out of the world” (John 15:19) to bear fruit, to testify to his name.

We are all called to bear fruit and lift high Jesus’ name. As I find new ways to minister for him, I hope you do the same. Let’s continue to love and live as disciples of Jesus, so that one day, “Everyone will sit under their own vine and under their own fig tree” (Micah 4:4).

Originally published on August 13, 2017 in The Lookout.

For almost 4 years I had the privilege & challenge of writing a weekly editorial for The Lookout, a Christian living & devotional magazine. As I ended my tenure there, the timing fell on a series we developed about Jesus' encounters with people and what we can learn from his actions and words. I enjoyed writing these last editorials. I hope you enjoy reading them. Others in this series: round 1, round 2, and round 4.

It’s never fun to open a book and discover you relate to the bad guys. How am I a Pharisee? Let me count the ways.

For years when I read about pharisaical tendencies in the Bible, I felt chief among them. Their qualities were my qualities. Their desire for rule, order, discipline, and legalism fit my personality. But as the years went by, the more people I met, the more I discovered others' flaws as well as their winsome ways. Role models toppled off pedestals, left and right. How could heroes of mine have a dark side? Things weren’t so black and white.

At some point that fallen person was me. As good as I liked to paint myself, the picture wasn’t always pretty. I avoided the “big” sins. But did that mean I was so different from those on that route? I had my own issues, yet I somehow felt superior. Of course, that’s how the Pharisees felt too.

I don’t know when my attitude changed. Maybe it was after I served in ministry so long that no story surprised me. Maybe it was when I realized I have the same temptations others do—mine just aren’t always as obvious. Maybe it was after I saw changed life after changed life—recognizing that the end is what matters, not the beginning or even middle of the story.

That’s when I began to feel less like a Pharisee. Jesus told the crowd and the Pharisees who were listening to judge him correctly (John 7:24)—how that rings true in so many ways. Am I judging Jesus correctly, recognizing that he loves and offers his salvation to each person I see? Do I look at people with scorn or with the knowledge that everyone is given a chance at redemption through his blood?

God determines eternity, not me. Therefore let me be determined to do my part so that everyone has a chance to find out about his grace.

Originally published on August 6, 2017 in The Lookout.

Photo by James Pond on Unsplash