Month: November 2025

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Thanksgiving in difficult times

I know life can press in so hard that it feels like everything is falling apart. I have walked through that myself. But one thing I have learned, especially through the breaking points in my own life, is that suffering is never wasted when it is placed in God’s hands. There is something holy about yielding to Him in the middle of what we do not understand, something sacred about trusting His designs even when they feel hidden from us. Scripture says in 1 Peter 2:20 that when we suffer in faith, this is a gracious thing in His sight.

Job lived this in a way few people ever have. His world collapsed in a moment, yet he bowed low before God. He did not pretend he had answers. He did not rely on his own strength. He simply leaned into God with a heart that was willing to accept whatever God allowed and to trust whatever God was doing. He could still say, “Though He slay me, yet will I hope in Him” in Job 13:15. His surrender was not passive. It was an active yielding of himself to God’s purpose, even when that purpose was hidden.

What Job could not see in the middle of his pain was that God was still holding every piece of his life together. I have learned that same truth. The moments that feel like collapse often become the moments where God reshapes us. And even when nothing makes sense, there is a peace that comes from quietly accepting that God’s designs are wiser and deeper than anything we can grasp. There is a strength that comes from uniting our suffering with Christ and letting God do in us what only suffering can accomplish.

Our suffering mirrors Jesus more than we realize. He carried a cross He did not deserve, and Isaiah 53 reminds us that He carried it with a steady and surrendered heart. When we keep walking, trusting, and placing ourselves in God’s hands even when the night is long, we walk beside Him. We are not trying to be strong. We are simply choosing to stay close to the One who already carried every sorrow we face.

Scripture promises that none of this pain is forgotten. Paul says in 2 Corinthians 4:17 that our suffering is producing an eternal weight of glory. God sees every hidden moment, every quiet act of trust, every time we yield ourselves to Him instead of resisting what He allows. Nothing is overlooked. Nothing is wasted.

So if you are hurting, hear this. Every time you keep faith in the quiet places, every time you trust when you have no answers, every time you take one more step when the last one nearly broke you, your suffering becomes a quiet yes to God. A yes that heaven honors. A yes shaped by surrender. A yes formed by trusting His designs even when they are impenetrable to us. A yes united with the heart of Christ who suffered before us and suffers with us still.

And you are not alone. I am with you. And God is 

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Postlogue – Letter to My Kids

To my children,

If you ever wonder what this book is really about, it’s not about running. It’s about redemption. It’s about saying yes when everything in you says no. It’s about learning that the race God sets before us isn’t measured in miles or medals, but in moments of surrender.

You’ve watched me change. Some of you saw the worst of me before you saw the best of me. You saw what happens when a man runs from his pain, and you saw what happens when he finally turns around and runs toward grace. You saw me break, and you saw God put me back together, one faithful step at a time.

Every mile I ran, I thought of you. Every time I wanted to quit, I remembered your faces. You were the reason I started, but more than that, you became the reason I kept going. I wanted you to see that change is possible — not through willpower, but through surrender.

There will be seasons in your lives when the road feels long and the miles stretch on forever. When that happens, remember this: you don’t have to run fast, you just have to keep moving toward the light. God doesn’t ask for perfection, He asks for faithfulness.

If there’s one lesson my journey has taught me, it’s that grace always meets us where we are, but it never leaves us there.

You carry my name, but more importantly, you carry His image. Wherever you go, run your race with endurance. Love well. Forgive quickly. Pray constantly. And remember that the finish line isn’t the end — it’s where true life begins.

With love,
Dad

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Epilogue – Still Running

The road never really ends. I used to think the finish line in Boston was the goal, the point where the story would finally make sense. But somewhere between the first hesitant steps and the thousandth mile, I learned that the true finish line isn’t painted across a city street; it’s written across the heart.

Running taught me what faith had been trying to show me all along: that transformation isn’t a moment, it’s a way of life. Every stride, every breath, every small decision to keep moving when it would be easier to quit, they became acts of surrender. 

I began this journey at 278 pounds, weighed down by more than just my body. There was shame, exhaustion, fear, and a quiet ache for something more. I prayed for strength to lose the weight, but God gave me something far greater. He gave me more of Himself. Through the rhythm of the road and the solitude of the miles, I found a place where I could finally listen.

Somewhere along the way, the miles became prayers.

“Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.” Hebrews 12:1–2

There were days I ran with joy, and days I ran with tears. There were afternoons when the sweat on my face mingled with gratitude, and I knew God was as close as my next breath.

For a long time I thought habit was the key to everything. Habit felt like the engine that pulled me from the couch to the road, from excuses to action. It gave me structure when I had none and direction when I felt lost. But habit, by itself, can only carry a person so far. What I learned over these miles is that habit may start the journey, but faithfulness sustains it. Habit builds routine. Faithfulness builds character. Habit gets you out the door. Faithfulness keeps you moving toward God even when everything in you wants to turn back. Habit made me a runner. Faithfulness is making me whole.

The man who once could barely run a mile now runs not for medals, but for meaning. I’ve learned that faith is less about arriving and more about abiding, staying close, staying faithful, staying in motion toward God even when the way isn’t clear.

“But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 3:13–14

When I look back now, I see that every mile was preparing me for something eternal. The discipline that began with running became the same discipline that sustains my soul: prayer, obedience, faithfulness in the small things.

And so now, at the close of this road and the beginning of another, I pray the words of St. Ignatius of Loyola, words that have become the quiet rhythm of my own journey:

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will. All that I have and call my own. You have given all to me. To You, Lord, I return it. Everything is Yours; do with it what You will. Give me only Your love and Your grace; that is enough for me.

That prayer sums up everything this road has taught me. I can’t earn grace, but I can live in response to it. Every run is another chance to say thank You. Every step is another chance to say yes.

I don’t run as fast as I once did. I don’t need to. The goal isn’t to finish ahead, it’s to finish faithful.

The road that began at 278 pounds has led me through surrender, renewal, and joy. I’ve learned that God doesn’t just heal what’s broken; He redeems it, reshaping it into something that points back to Him.

I used to dream of crossing the finish line in Boston. Now I dream of crossing the finish line of life with faith still burning, heart still steady, stride still sure.

And so, I keep running.

Not toward Boston anymore, but toward home.

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for His appearing.” 2 Timothy 4:7–8