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.
“You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.”
— Revelation 3:17
I came across this flower on a run, lying across the sidewalk, and I was immediately reminded of these words from Revelation.
When I run, I often see things that I would have missed if I were rushing past in a car or sitting inside at home. That day it was this flower. At first glance, it still looked alive—its color bright, its shape intact. The morning sun gave it a shadow that looked stronger than the flower itself. But as I looked closer, I could see the truth: the stem was bent, the bloom pressed into the pavement, and it would never stand upright again.
That image stayed with me. It reminded me how easy it is to live in the illusion of strength, to cast a long shadow that looks impressive to others, while in reality being weak, fragile, and fading inside. For years I did that—covering up my struggles, hiding behind habits that weren’t healthy, and convincing myself I was fine. On the outside, I could make things look put-together. On the inside, I was exactly what Christ says here: poor, blind, and naked.
But here’s the hope. Jesus doesn’t just diagnose the problem; He offers the cure: “I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire… white clothes to wear… and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see” (Revelation 3:18). He invites us to exchange appearances for reality, shadows for true life.
That’s been my story. Running has been one of the places God used to show me who I really was—bent low like that flower—and also the place He taught me how to rise again in Him. Each mile has become not just exercise, but a way to walk in honesty before God, letting Him clothe me in what lasts.
The flower on the sidewalk reminded me: what seems alive may already be dying if it’s cut off from its source. But rooted in Christ, even what has fallen can stand again, and what looks fragile can bloom into something eternal.
When I think about the word discipline, two images come to mind. One is of my father, firm but steady, correcting me when I veered off course. The other is of myself lacing up running shoes after a long day of work, no one watching, no one telling me what to do, but knowing I had to step out the door anyway.
The Training
In our early years, discipline usually comes from the outside. Parents, teachers, coaches, and mentors set boundaries, give instruction, and sometimes enforce consequences we do not appreciate at the time. It can feel like restriction. But often, that correction is less about control and more about shaping a foundation. My father’s discipline was not only about what not to do, but about teaching me what kind of man I was called to become.
When a parent or mentor disciplines, they are lending us their strength until we have our own. Their “no” is not just a denial. It is a guardrail to keep us on the road long enough for us to learn the way.
The Self
As we grow, something changes. What began as outside correction slowly becomes an inside conviction. I no longer needed my father to tell me that hard work mattered. I had seen it in his life, and I had begun to choose it in mine. The guardrails became a compass, not holding me back but helping me navigate forward.
That is the moment discipline turns inward and becomes self-discipline. It is the quiet decision to get out of bed before sunrise, to keep training when no one else notices, to pray when no one else knows. No parent or mentor stands there to enforce it anymore. The responsibility rests in my own hands.
The Spirit
The Bible makes this same connection. In Hebrews 12, God’s discipline is compared to a father’s. Sometimes it is painful in the moment, but always for our good. His correction is not punishment but preparation. Over time, the goal is not that we remain forever under the rod of correction, but that we develop the fruit of self-discipline born out of trust in Him. Paul wrote to Timothy, “God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-discipline” (2 Timothy 1:7).
In that sense, self-discipline is not independence from God but maturity in Him. It is the freedom to choose obedience because His ways have become our ways.
The Road
Running taught me this lesson all over again. At first, I needed strict rules: “Run three miles after work, no excuses.” It was like the voice of a coach echoing in my head. But as the miles added up, discipline stopped being an external demand and became an internal desire. I wanted the clarity, the order, the closeness with God that came when I kept those habits.
Correction planted the seed. Self-discipline became the harvest.
What if God gave you the power to stop time once a week? Not a metaphor, not a wishful prayer, but a real pause button. The whole world would freeze in place; conversations caught mid-word, birds hovering mid-flight, waves locked in mid-crest. You alone would remain moving, awake, alive.
What would you do with it?
At first glance, it feels like an easy answer: I’d use it for good. I’d serve quietly without being noticed, the way Scripture encourages, “do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.” Maybe I’d fix something before it breaks, pick up where someone forgot, or make life a little lighter for the people I love.
But if I’m honest, the temptation would be to use it for escape. To rest when I don’t feel like I can keep up. To avoid the hard conversations that tie my stomach in knots. To let the deadlines wait while I take a long nap or a long run. The pause button would whisper, you can hide here a while.
And isn’t that exactly what I already do? Not with time stopped, but with the small pauses I steal each day. I scroll on my phone, stand too long in the kitchen, or add “just one more mile” when I don’t want to go home to the weight of life. The truth is, if I had that button, I’d probably be tempted to live inside it. And maybe that’s the point: how I’d use it reveals who I already am.
The pause could be holy. Imagine stepping into stillness not to escape, but to pray. No interruptions. No rush. Just me and God in a quiet world. That kind of pause wouldn’t be an escape; it would be an altar. It would be like Moses climbing Sinai, or Jesus slipping away to the lonely places. A pause to remember Who is in control. Not me, not my problems, not my exhaustion.
But the pause could also become a trap. Because control is intoxicating. To hold the world still is to feel like you own it. And the more you bend the pause to your will, the more it bends you in return.
Here’s the question that lingers: if I dream more about escape than service, about hiding more than helping, then maybe it’s not the pause button that needs to change… maybe it’s me. Maybe the gift isn’t in freezing time, but in learning to live faithfully in the time I already have.
We don’t get a button to stop time. But we do get moments, real pauses, scattered throughout the day. A quiet mile on the road. A verse read slowly instead of skimmed. A breath between one task and the next. Maybe those little pauses are already the gift, a way to meet God in stillness without trying to control the world around us.
So the better question isn’t what would I do if time stopped once a week?
The better question is what am I doing with the pauses I already have?
Momentum can change everything. It is the quiet force that builds when you keep moving in the same direction over time. In running, it strengthens the body and teaches the mind to endure. In faith, it deepens trust and draws the heart closer to God. Both are built the same way, not through a single burst of effort, but through steady and consistent steps that add up to something you could not have imagined at the start.
Momentum in running is not built in a single day. It is earned in the miles no one else sees, the ones that happen after work when you are tired, on mornings when the bed is warm, and on those days when the air feels heavy before you even take the first step.
When I look back, I can see exactly where my momentum began. It was not during a big race or a record-breaking run. It was in the middle of January, stringing together thirty to forty miles a week. Some runs were smooth. Others were a grind. Every one of them was a deposit in the account I would later draw from when the miles became harder.
Training for my first half marathon with my sons was where the rhythm truly set in. We mapped out a plan, stuck to it, and counted down the days. There were long runs that left me exhausted and shorter ones that felt like a gift. I remember the excitement building, twenty-four days to go, then seventeen, then just over a week. Each run brought me closer, not only to the race, but to a different version of myself.
Some days momentum came from pushing through something new. My first hill run was not glamorous. It was not even fun. My son said it was about an eighth of a mile, but I was convinced it was twice that. My legs burned. My lungs protested. When I reached the top, I felt like I had claimed new ground. That is how momentum works. Every challenge you take on makes the next one a little more possible.
By the time race week arrived for the Mercedes Half Marathon, I could feel the strength I had built. The final week was a balance of rest and light runs, my mind replaying the miles behind me. I was not just hoping I could finish. I knew I could. The work was already in the bank.
That same sense of readiness came in smaller ways as well. The first time I moved beyond a 5K, it was not because of a perfect training plan. It was because momentum carried me. I had been stacking runs for weeks, and one day I simply kept going, realizing I was capable of more than I had believed. Those are the moments when you realize that momentum is not just physical. It changes how you see yourself.
Not every run felt like a victory in the moment. I remember a training day where I ran 13.1 miles under nine minutes per mile. It was a personal best, but during the run my legs ached and my mind told me to stop. Momentum is like that at times. It does not always feel like flying. Sometimes it feels like grinding through when everything in you says to quit.
Week after week, the runs stacked up. They built something in my legs, in my breathing, and in my confidence. By the time race day came, whether it was a 5K or a half marathon, I lined up knowing the result was not decided in that moment. It had been decided in the quiet miles, the tired evenings, and the early mornings when I showed up anyway.
Momentum does not mean every run is perfect. It means you have put in enough work that even on the bad days, you can keep moving forward. It is the strength you build when no one is watching, the rhythm that carries you up hills and through late miles. In running, that kind of momentum changes everything.
Momentum in faith grows the same way, through consistency, persistence, and showing up even when you do not feel like it. It is not built on one emotional high or a single mountaintop experience. It is shaped in the quiet and ordinary days when you choose to seek God, trust His Word, and walk in obedience.
There have been seasons when my faith felt like those early training days, slow, awkward, and uncertain. I did not always feel like praying. I did not always feel like reading Scripture. But I kept showing up. Over time, something began to shift. Just as my legs learned to move more efficiently and my lungs learned to carry more air, my soul learned to rest in His presence and to trust Him more deeply.
The same truth that carried me through miles carried me through the spiritual miles of life. You cannot build momentum if you keep stopping completely. In running, even a slow jog forward keeps the rhythm alive. In faith, even a whispered prayer or a moment spent reading one verse keeps the connection alive.
There were times when life threatened to break my spiritual stride. Stress, loss, temptation, and distraction all tried to pull me off course. I learned that momentum in faith is not about never stumbling. It is about returning quickly. It is getting back to prayer when you have neglected it. It is opening your Bible again after a dry season. It is worshipping even when you feel heavy.
When spiritual momentum takes hold, you face challenges differently. You still encounter hills and headwinds, but you climb them with the steady trust that God will carry you. The small acts of obedience have strengthened your faith for the big tests. And just as in running, the rhythm you have built in the quiet moments becomes the strength that carries you through the storms.
Momentum in faith is not only about progress. It is about becoming the kind of person who keeps showing up for God, who keeps running the race marked out before them, who keeps their eyes fixed on Jesus even when the road is long. Because in the end, faith, like running, is not about speed. It is about endurance. And endurance comes from momentum.
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”
Not bad coming from a formally obese, high blood pressure, pre-diabetic, legs swelling, barely able to breathe 49 year old man who, now at 51 feels a lot better.
I haven’t posted in a while, and yes, I feel guilty about that.
Basically it has become hard to post for a couple of very good reasons:
I run 4 miles a day and 7 miles on Sunday with Saturday off. Not much variation happening with this routine.
It is hot and so my runs are rather slow and exhausting. I usually have to stop after 2 miles and once or twice on the last 2 mile stretch. I don’t stop long, just enough to be able to catch my breath and walk for a few seconds in the shade. All in all though, I’m not breaking any records out there. In fact, I don’t even take my Pebble watch with me because I don’t want to feel I have to run hard in the heat of the Southern summer.
I have few races ahead. I am going to run a 5K with TJ (and maybe RS) in a couple weeks, but nothing major for which to train.
So here I am. Mindlessly running 4 miles a day at 3:00 in the afternoon. My knee is better and I haven’t had to stop a run again since I walked down the mountain, so that is good. And I took off the weekend of the 4th to head to Chattanooga with my Lovely Wife. I left my running shoes at home so I could take a break. Wouldn’t you know that it was some of the best weather we’ve had all summer. Cool mornings and low humidity. Pretty much I have figured out that if I want it to cool down outside all I have to do is not run and… BAM – it gets beautiful out. I started running again on Monday and, yes, it was hot and humid.
So all in all life is as monotonous as a slow 4 mile run in the heat. Work is very busy and home is just about as busy with things breaking (like our central air).
I can’t complain though. Other then my knee issue, I haven’t really been hurt much lately. In fact the last time I took a week off of running was several months ago.
Finally, I honestly haven’t had time to read too many blogs lately (another guilt trip for me). I think that adds to my monotony. I get motivated by reading other blogs and by skipping them, it just isn’t the same. Hopefully life will slow down a bit and get back to normal.
It seemed to go well. Yesterday evening my back was sore, but not until I went to bed. This morning I am fine though.
So I think I am progressing past this very strange injury. I am trying to slow down my runs and walk slower at work. I tend to walk between 2 – 3 miles a day at work and have so much to do, I’ve learned to walk briskly. I honestly think this is much of my problem since the pain in my back is always worse in the afternoon. I am also making sure I get up from my chair every 20 – 30 minutes to stretch and walk some. This has also helped.
The body is a complicated thing, especially mine. I guess 40+ years of inactivity has caught up with me now that I am active again.
I am still losing weight. This morning the scales weight in at 181.8 which is my lowest weight since before my marathon last Fall. On top of that, I am wearing pants that wen’t close to fitting me 2 months ago and now they feel fine. I’m thrilled that I finally am getting my weight under control.. and.. wait for it… yes, I attribute it to apple cider vinegar (ACV). I started taking my 2 Tbs of unfiltered ACV twice a day a couple of months ago. Back then I weighed in regularly in the mid to upper 190’s. So, to be conservative, I’ve lost over 15 lbs in the past few months. This includes pizza on fridays and burgers on Sundays. I honestly think the key is exercise and consistency taking it. It took well over 4 weeks for me to see a weight loss. The only thing that kept me going was it also gave me energy for my afternoon runs.
The cool thing about ACV is that I don’t feel like I am dieting. I do watch what I eat, but I am not hungry. Yesterday I even turned down cake at work! I’ve never done that before.
So I honestly can’t complain. Even with my 5 days off running last week because of my back, I am still keeping my weight down.
Now if I could only run as fast as I want to, all would be good.
Okay, when I am out there and it is really cold or really hot or I just don’t feel good, running can be a chore.
What I love most about running is the freedom that it gives me. An unexpected consequence of being a runner.
Last Saturday was a rough day. In fact it was a difficult week overall, it just came to a head on Saturday. I needed to get away. A couple of years ago that would have entailed driving to Walmart and surrounding stores and walking through the isles of stuff. Not this time. Instead, I walked. In fact I turned off my phone and walked for hours. I walked on a trail I have run before, but never actually just took the time to look at the surroundings. It was really cool. Waterfalls, beaver dams and quietness.
I realized that day that because of my running I could walk as far as I wanted and not worry about how to make it home. I was able to just go and be free. It was awesome.
The other time this “consequence of running” occurred to me was this week while shut in at work for two days because of the snow. I was able to spend hours outside helping people get their cars going. I walked miles to the pharmacy to pick up meds for a coworker (and buy toothbrushes). I never once thought, “can I make it back?” I had freedom. Who needs a car!
So if you are debating if you should start running or you are a runner and are trying to encourage others to run, remember what I learned. There is a lot of freedom in life once the chains of poor physical fitness are removed. Once you run 26.2 miles, it dawns on you that if needed, you can walk the 23 miles home in an emergency.
Freedom. A basic instinct. One that I am glad I received almost 2 years ago when I started running.
I got this picture from an old friend of me at 11 years old.
Tom at 11
As I looked at it, I stared into my own eyes and wonder what I was thinking at that moment. Of course I was eating cake, so I must have been happy. 🙂
Anyway, if you had asked this boy what his life would be like in 39 years, I wonder what he would have said. I know he would not have had any idea of the ups and downs he was about to encounter. He probably would just laugh if you told him he would one day weigh 278 lbs.
Tom at 278 lbs
How would that be possible? Then tell him that less than 2 years later he would weigh 180 lbs and run his first marathon and I’m sure he would call you crazy.
Running my first marathon
There have been so many good things that have happened in my life. I have wonderful kids and a Lovely Wife. I have a great job. I am thankful for everything I have and everything I can do at 50 years old.
39 years ago, I only hoped to have the life I have now. Things aren’t perfect. There are good times and bad. There are ups and downs.
But if you took that 11 year old into a time machine and forwarded him to today, I think he would be pretty excited to have seen all he would see with those 11 year old eyes.
This is a great video. It is short, so watch it if you can before you continue. It gives life perspective in just a few minutes. I like things that make me think and ponder. This video does just that.
TODAY!
What are you going to do today. One day. Not tomorrow, not yesterday, but today. You have choices to make, either good or bad.
When I began running, it was hard. Actually, for me everyday is hard. My body isn’t made for running. I was born with hips and feet that turned inward quite a bit. I had to have corrective shoes and a bar between my feet holding my hips and feet in the correct position. Today you cannot tell that I had a problem, but that problem makes running harder. When my body gets tired, my hips hurt and my feet turn inward. That happens by the end of almost every run.
DOESN”T MATTER!
I don’t run because it makes me feel better. I like the consequences of running. I like that I have lost a lot of weight. I like that I look fit. I like that people who know me, notice even now, changes in my physical condition. I like the fact I am off my CPAP. I like the fact I am almost off all medications (I’m getting off my last one right now). I like running for what it does for me, but running hurts me physically a lot of times. Not major pain, just 50 year old aches and pains that I have to deal with.
CHOICES!
What choices are you going to make today. If you want to do something and do it well, make it a habit by doing it at the same time everyday. Eventually that choice will become a habit and then the choice is no longer a choice.
TODAY?
The end of the video asks, “What are you going to do today?” The answer may not be running. DO SOMETHING TODAY. Make today a day you would want to write about in a blog!
278 to Boston 