Mirage

Sometimes your expectations of something don't quite match up with reality.

When I was in third grade, I started playing in a baseball league, and as I began my athletic career, I had dreams of greatness. I could picture myself chasing down fly balls and making spectacular diving catches in the outfield. I envisioned myself standing in the batter's box with my baseball cap on backwards like Ken Griffey Jr., swinging the bat with power and watching the ball soar over the left field fence. I'm pretty sure I even practiced my home run trot in my basement, just so it would look natural when I had to do it in a game.

But then the season actually began, and it didn't take me long to realize that I wasn't really that good at baseball. In fact, I was pretty terrible. I could hit home runs. In fact, I couldn't even hit the ball. Most of my at-bats ended with the umpire signaling a strikeout. And while I was a decent fielder, I also discovered that not many third-graders had the power to hit it into the outfield, so most of my time was spent standing out there watching the game instead of really playing in it.

I had these lofty expectations of what my life as a baseball player might look like. But once I started playing, I found that those expectations probably wouldn't happen. The reality wasn't nearly as glamorous as I had imagined.

Lately I have been reading the book of Jeremiah, which is possibly my favorite of the prophetic books. A few days ago I ran across a short phrase that I found particularly interesting. Jeremiah 3:23 is written from the point of view of the repentant Israelites, and and here's what it says:

Surely the hills are a delusion.

In order to understand this statement, I guess it's important to know what Jeremiah is talking about when he speaks of the hills. In Israel at that time, the hilltops were locations of idolatrous shrines. That's where pagan worship took place. Most of the book of Jeremiah shows how, because of Israel's idolatry, they were taken off into captivity by the Babylonians. But here, in a vision of Israel's turning back to God, they admit that those hilltops were a delusion. The Israelites had hoped to find happiness or fulfillment there, but all they found was emptiness.

That's how idolatry of any sort works, I think. With our world's modern-day idols, we expect to gain something great from them. We hope for satisfaction and contentment, security and safety. But those idols never deliver. And so a person might seek security in their wealth, but it only takes a turn in the market for that safety net to fall apart. Or a person might lean on a relationship for all of his strength, but those relationships don't bring total fulfillment. Another may depend on prestige and status in order to gain his identity, but before long someone else is the next big thing. Our world today is dealing with the same problems as the Israelites in Jeremiah's day. We look for meaning in all the wrong places, and all we end up with are delusions and unmet expectations.

When I think of something being a "delusion," it reminds me of the cartoons where a character is traveling through the desert in the hot son, thirsty for water, when he sees an oasis on the horizon. He runs toward the palm trees and lagoon at full speed, and then he dives headfirst into the ice cold water, only to crash into just another sand dune. He discovers that the oasis had only been a mirage. A delusion. A promise that couldn't deliver.

It can be so easy to spend life chasing mirages. We run after the counterfeit instead of the real. But the actual source of fulfillment is waiting for us. The true God of the Bible isn't just another mirage. He's the real deal. He delivers. He's the God who "satisfies the longing soul" (Ps. 107:9). And for this reason, Jesus can declare, "If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink" (Jn. 7:37). The invitation of God is to stop running after the delusions, to stop chasing the mirages, to stop believing the lies, and instead to come find life and rest and satisfaction in him, because that's the only place it really can be found.

We weren't made to swallow sand.

We were designed to drink water.

And that tastes so much better.

Hurdles

As I write this, I am watching the gold medal game of women's beach volleyball from the Olympics in London. Unfortunately, I already know who wins. NBC's primetime program is on delay because of the time difference between Great Britain and the U.S., and after I logged off of my email earlier today, it took me straight to MSN, where the top headline announced the winner of the match. Really, MSN? You had to put it in big bold letters where I couldn't help but see it? You really just didn't want me to be as interested in watching the match?

Isn't it funny how a person can spend hours laying on the couch watching the Olympics? The games feature the greatest athletes in the world--people who have disciplined themselves and trained in order to be in pristine physical shape. And I celebrate that by....inactivity. I feel like the people who compete in the Olympics probably aren't people who would watch much of the Olympics themselves. They'd be too busy running and lifting weights and drinking Gatorade or something. In spite of my lethargy over the past couple weeks, watching the athletes has motivated me to start getting into better shape. I even bought a new pair of running shoes so that I can make it a habit of running. The only thing I hate worse than getting up early and jogging is to waste money, so the fact that I've put some cash down on these shoes should be adequate motivation. 

Earlier tonight I watched a few heats of the men's 110-meter hurdles. I really enjoy watching hurdles because it reminds me of my days as an athlete. That's right, I was on my middle school's track team. Don't act so surprised. Especially since there were no cuts, and anyone who wanted to compete could. In any case, when I was in seventh grade, I was a hurdler. Not a good one, mind you. This was due to a couple reasons. For one thing, I was dreadfully slow. For another, I was scared of falling over a hurdle. The idea of tripping over a hurdle and tumbling face-first to the rubber track seemed unpleasant to say the least, so I took great care to ensure I cleared each one comfortably.

I can proudly affirm that during my entire athletic career, I never tripped over a hurdle. Cleared every one just fine. However, I also never won a race. I never received a ribbon at a meet. I never even won a heat. I always arrived at the finish line free of scraped knees, but I also always arrived after several other runners. 

A good hurdle can't be afraid of the hurdles. He doesn't jump as high as he can in order to guarantee a safe passage. He stays as low as he can, barely scraping over the barriers during his race to the finish. Sometimes, he might even knock a hurdle, but he doesn't let that stop him. He keep making his charge. His focus is on the finish line, and if you watch the eyes of a hurdler during the race, they are always fixed at the finish, not on the hurdles.

In life, we all face a number of hurdles. We face difficulties and tragedies that threaten to trip us up. We are forced to deal with heartache and failed expectations and hardship--unfulfilled dreams, broken relationships. lost jobs, deaths of loved ones. The list could go on. However, just as an athlete doesn't live in fear of the hurdles, we shouldn't let the reality of living in a broken world cause us to stop moving forward. A hurdler keeps running hard when he brushes a hurdle, and so too a person who navigates life well doesn't give up when faced with an obstacle. He understands that the hurdles are part of the race, and when you get over one, there's another one waiting for you.

At the same time, a hurdler can't run the race like the hurdles aren't there at all. He doesn't run like someone competing in the 100-meter dash. Not fearing the hurdles doesn't mean ignoring the hurdles. Because if a hurdler was to run as if the hurdles weren't there, he would crash into the very first one and fall to the track in a heap of tears. 

There are some who try to live life as if the hurdles will never come. They think that life is an open track before them, and that it will be easy and comfortable. Such a person is unprepared to run the race well and is surprised when that first hurdle comes. But we shouldn't be surprised by difficulties in life. Jesus himself guaranteed that we would have trouble in this life (Jn. 16:33), and the one who crumbles under such difficulty is like the seed on rocky soil that springs up quickly but withers when trouble comes. 

It's not a bad idea to consider how you think of the track laid out in front of you in your life. Personally, there are times when I live in fear of the hurdles, and I do all I can to avoid them, which keeps me from living faithfully and steadfastly. At other times, I act like there shouldn't be any hurdles at all, and I get upset and complain when life doesn't go as I think it should. The goal, then, is to adopt the attitude of a true hurdler: prepared for the obstacles but unwilling to let them throw you off course. Keep moving toward the finish line. 

Gold Medal Moment

I love the Olympics.

That fact might surprise a few people. I don't really look like the type of guy that would be too interested in sports. Just a few days ago, I overheard a couple of my coworkers talking, and I asked if they were talking about the USA basketball team, and one of them said, "Oh yeah, I always forget that David follows sports." I don't know why that always comes as such a shock to people. Must be the glasses.

Anyways, I absolutely love watching the Olympics. These two weeks are probably my favorite time of each four years. I love watching sports that I normally don't get a chance to see, I love rooting on the USA and Slovakia, I love thinking about what it'd be like to live in a Scandinavian country where all the women are so pretty. But what I love most of all is being a witness to some of the greatest performances in sporting history--to see those defining moments that will be remembered by the world for a long time to come.

Just last night, I was able to witness a couple powerful moments. I saw the USA's women's gymnastics team win the gold medal for the first time since 1998, which was a very good thing to see since two nights ago I had to endure seeing Jordyn Wieber bawl her eyes out in the background while NBC was interviewing the girl who beat her in securing a place in the all-around competition. Last night I also saw Michael Phelps win his 18th and 19th medals, making him the most decorated Olympian in history and setting a record that I may not see broken in my lifetime.

They Olympics are great for moments like these, and I remember witnessing other such moments from past Olympics. I remember watching Muhammed Ali light the Olympic torch in Atlanta in 1996. I remember seeing Kerri Strug landing a vault on a sprained ankle, and I remember watching Michael Johnson run in gold shoes in those same games. I remember seeing Marion Jones win a few gold medals in 2000 (and I also remember when she had to give them back for doping). I remember watching the Canadian figure skating pair get jipped by the French judge in 2002. I remember seeing Phelps win the 200-butterfly by .01 seconds, and I remember witnessing Jason Lezak chase down the French team to win the 4x100 relay for the U.S. in 2008. And finally, I remember asking along with the rest of the world, "Are those Chinese gymnasts really old enough to compete?"

These Olympic moments are ones I may never forget. They've become a part of our world's story. (And, I might as well add, there are numerous other sporting moments that I'll always remember watching: Kansas' Mario Chalmers nailing a three to send the national championship to overtime in 2008; Santonio Holmes' sideline touchdown catch to win the Super Bowl for the Steelers in 2009; Lebron James scoring his team's last 25 points in a double-overtime playoff victory of the Pistons in 2007).

The thing about these moments is that they don't just happen. They developed out of all the smaller, unknown decisions made by those athletes. They came from choices to pass on dessert, to do one more rep in the weightroom, to take one more practice shot, to not hit the snooze button, to run one more lap. An athlete prepares himself every day to rise to the occasion and to perform in that gold-medal moment.

I wonder what the "defining moments" of my life would look like. Have I lived a life worthy of a video montage with a swelling theme playing in the background? Will my life be full of moments in which I elevate my game at crunch time? I want there to be moments when I choose wisely, live sacrificially, and take risks, but I worry that there will be more moments that I flake out on relationships, reside in safety and comfort, and take the easy road. I want there to be replays of me coming home strong and out-touching my opponent, not coasting in and taking silver. I want there to be more thrill of victory and less agony of defeat.

Gold medal athletes can teach us a lot about how to live life, I think. They understand sacrifice, hard work, perseverance, pressure, and excelling at the right moment. Those are all things that, quite frankly, I don't do well in my life, but that's not the way it needs to remain. At some point in life, each of those athletes set their sights on their goal and said, "I'm going to do whatever it takes to get there, to feel that medal around my neck, to hear my nation's anthem playing." And in life, it starts with that same sort of vision. It starts with saying, "This is the type of life I want to live, and I'm going to make choices today with how I spend my time, how I interact with other people, how I direct my thoughts, in order to make that life happen."