
This is a question that someone has asked me to think about for a panel discussion here on campus.
Since coming back to Nyack I've been trying to run again. The process hasn't gone as smoothly as I anticipated. The first day that we arrived in Nyack I put on my shorts and headed out the front door while telling Karen I would see her in about a 1/2 hour. I then attempted to run 3 miles around the mountain, a run I would frequently complete without difficulty ... 18 years earlier. Three weeks later I gingerly made a second attempt to run, this time on the flat hoping that I would not pull the groin again; that was a first-time experience. I am noticing that first-time experiences tend not to hold the same sense of adventure and anticipation they did before the age of 40?
It was Homecoming at Nyack College this weekend. One of the events I had been looking forward to up until the night before was the "Fun Run" that the cross country team was sponsoring. I had figured it would be a good benchmark goal to set, so I have been training "vigorously." I even told several people on the team that I was going to run the race... which would be why I wasn't looking forward to the race the night before. My preregistered self-proclamation made me get out of bed Saturday morning at 7:30 a.m.
The course is not easy. It is a 5k (3.1 mile) course that goes around the campus twice. The campus is on a hill/mountain. As I headed up the hill for the second half of my race and saw the first place runners heading towards me as they were finishing their last 5 hundred yards, I prayed, "Oh Lord, I'm dying here. Give me the strength so I can soar on wings like eagles up this hill" (Isaiah 40:31).
Somehow I did make it up that hill and headed down the last mile towards the finish; I believe I was in third to last place. It was at that moment that I ran past my house and my family stepped out on the front porch cheering me on saying, "GO DADDY! YEAH DADDY!"
This is what came to mind in that moment
What a perfect example of true worship; when the child is so in awe of the Father that he comes out on the front porch and does what is most natural to him--He celebrates the Father. There were individuals along the path that cheered me on and I appreciated their good will. But nothing brought me more joy than to see my children cheering me on as the hero. The fact that I was bringing up the rear did not matter to them, because I am their father.
True worship is when we occupy our lives in the act of celebrating God the Father no matter the situation in which we are found.
Later, the Father gave me a neat reminder of His worthiness to be praised as I walked home from the race. As I came in sight of our front porch, two eagles flew overhead and I realized He had answered my prayer. "What can we bring to the Lord? What kind of offerings should we give him? Should we bow before God with offerings of yearling calves? Should we offer him thousands of rams and ten thousand rivers of olive oil? Should we sacrifice our firstborn children to pay for our sins? No, O people, the Lord has told you what is good, and this is what he requires of you: to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God" Micah 6:6-8.
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