RUNNING ON FAITH 1 22 11
[Offered in memoriam Harold and Catherine Watkins. My loving in-laws.]
Not long ago, in the course of driving home from my part-time job, I passed a young (30-ish) woman jogging along the side of the road. She was headed west while I was driving
east. Soon I noticed that she was making this jog several times a week, if not every day. It reminded me that there was a time in my life when I did the same thing. I too, like millions of others I suppose, jogged for exercise on a daily basis if our schedules allowed (and our schedules usually did, because this was a priority). I did this merely for exercise. Unlike some, I had no interest in ever being in some kind of marathon or anything. I just wanted to stay in shape, so I jogged (but I did not run).
I continued with this form of exercise up until the time I met my wife (and even beyond). For dates sometimes, I would take her jogging (doesn’t that sound romantic?). But we would usually end up at some place fun like the seminary cafeteria (lots of fun, that place) or the “Grill” which was a snack bar over at the nearby college. In fact last summer for our 28th anniversary we both read over all of our old love letters. I was frankly amazed at how much we did go jogging together. She even accepted my marriage proposal after one “date” of jogging.
But sometimes I would still go by myself. Like those times after we became engaged. She
was busy teaching (that was her job) and planning our wedding. So I would just go by myself more often. Finally the week of our wedding arrived, and I found myself at her ancestral home in central Maryland. I had finished with seminary at that time, and had driven with her to Maryland, near Browningsville, to get to know her parents more and make final preparations for the big evening on which we would tie the knot.
The Saturday before our wedding it was a muggy afternoon in early July. That was one of those times when Bev wanted to remain behind. I decided to go alone; the sun was hot when it peaked between the clouds, and I had the energy and the time. (You should probably know too that nobody gives a damn what the groom does before the wedding; just as long as he stays out of jail, out of the way, and shows up in time to say some words, slip a ring on her finger, and pose for some pictures).
It was mid-afternoon of July 3 that I started out. I should tell you that central Maryland of 1982 still contained a good deal of rural country side. It was only then beginning to lose its farming country to urban housing developments and new real estate ventures. In fact there was a country
road (caliche and gravel surface) right next to my in-laws’ house. It came down on a hill from the north, just on the west side of Harold’s property. Lots of people were starting to use it as a shortcut to get to the main road, which was Clarksburg Road. The latter ran more toward the northeast.
But it was still a good road for jogging. It was overhung for much of its uphill path by beautiful oak and maple trees; an abundance of undergrowth made portions of this stretch look like real back country. I started out on Barnes Road, heading uphill on its gravel surface. To do so meant I was mainly heading north – though I really didn’t think about that too much at the time. (I wish that I had for it would have helped me later.)
The main thing is, it was uphill, and that meant, when I got up to the top end of it several minutes later, I was a little winded. But in the world of jogging, man, you just keep on going no matter what, until the entire run is done. So I did. Remember I was only 28 then, so I had reserves of energy and endurance which vanished years ago.
At the top of Barnes Road, you actually found yourself in another Maryland county! Frederick, instead of Montgomery. I thought I knew what to do after that, and I sort of did. At the top of the road crossing my path in a “T” was the Bethesda Church Road – so named because as it ran northeast, it took one too (and by) the Bethesda United Methodist Church. Sure enough, as I came out of the forested hilltop onto the Church Road, I could see the Methodist Building off to my right which gave the road its name. I got over on the grassy shoulder on the other side of the road, and started jogging. In a few seconds, this took me past the church cemetery, which was on my right
and just under the eaves of the forest I had passed through. It’s when I got to the church yard that I ran into trouble.
The building is built at the corner of two roads which joined at the front (south) corner of the sanctuary. But at the time I didn’t know about this intersection – the intersection, that is, of Bethesda Church Road and Kemptown Church Road.
I hadn’t seen the buildings up close and I hadn’t studied any maps; so I stopped jogging and took a stroll around the entire physical plant. As a new preacher I was very interested in how different congregations arranged their buildings.
So I walked around the whole place, and as I came near a road on the other side I saw a playground. “What a great idea for a church!” I thought. And because I have always been a sucker for children’s playgrounds, I stopped and got
on one of the swings. Up in the air, and down so low, I swung, back and forth for several minutes. It was restful, and I knew I had the jog back home to make – which, as I supposed, would be about the equal of what I’d already come – maybe a mile and a half or so. So I got off the swing and walked to the road. I started jogging again, picking up where I’d left off. But in walking around the church grounds I had become disoriented. That was easy to have happen really.
After all I had been up and down Bethesda Church Road to the little crossroads of Browningsville (which is where I thought I was heading); but I hadn’t been down it enough to recognize the lay of the land for certain. So, while running on a level plane for several minutes, I
I was still jogging and soaking wet when a mere quarter of a mile later, I saw the familiar porch coming into view – and recognized my old Chevy Chevette (remember those?) parked around behind it. I was “home.”
I had some explaining to do, of course. So I did it in a way which didn’t make me look like a complete fool (at least I hope I did); I acted as if I just decided to go a little further, to see more of the country and get a little more exercise. But when I mentioned Fingerboard Road, that’s when I think the last shred of my credulity was threatened beyond repair.
I guess if nothing else, I learned two things which apply to my own Christian walk – and maybe also to yours. First, I got side-tracked by something that wasn’t entirely in keeping with the journey that I set for myself – namely in this case, the church buildings and its park. The
On the other hand, just because we are on this journey does not mean all parts of the journey will be recognizable or easy. But we follow His markers and His path, and we do always eventually arrive at His destination. That’s what I learned anyway! I’m writing this down now, so that – God willing – you can learn it too.
LBC
Not long ago, in the course of driving home from my part-time job, I passed a young (30-ish) woman jogging along the side of the road. She was headed west while I was driving
 |
| There it was. My wife's "old home place |
I continued with this form of exercise up until the time I met my wife (and even beyond). For dates sometimes, I would take her jogging (doesn’t that sound romantic?). But we would usually end up at some place fun like the seminary cafeteria (lots of fun, that place) or the “Grill” which was a snack bar over at the nearby college. In fact last summer for our 28th anniversary we both read over all of our old love letters. I was frankly amazed at how much we did go jogging together. She even accepted my marriage proposal after one “date” of jogging.
But sometimes I would still go by myself. Like those times after we became engaged. She
 |
| Barnes Road was wooded and un-busy back then |
was busy teaching (that was her job) and planning our wedding. So I would just go by myself more often. Finally the week of our wedding arrived, and I found myself at her ancestral home in central Maryland. I had finished with seminary at that time, and had driven with her to Maryland, near Browningsville, to get to know her parents more and make final preparations for the big evening on which we would tie the knot.
The Saturday before our wedding it was a muggy afternoon in early July. That was one of those times when Bev wanted to remain behind. I decided to go alone; the sun was hot when it peaked between the clouds, and I had the energy and the time. (You should probably know too that nobody gives a damn what the groom does before the wedding; just as long as he stays out of jail, out of the way, and shows up in time to say some words, slip a ring on her finger, and pose for some pictures).
It was mid-afternoon of July 3 that I started out. I should tell you that central Maryland of 1982 still contained a good deal of rural country side. It was only then beginning to lose its farming country to urban housing developments and new real estate ventures. In fact there was a country
 |
| I liked jogging for exercise. That was back when I was much younger -- and stupid! |
But it was still a good road for jogging. It was overhung for much of its uphill path by beautiful oak and maple trees; an abundance of undergrowth made portions of this stretch look like real back country. I started out on Barnes Road, heading uphill on its gravel surface. To do so meant I was mainly heading north – though I really didn’t think about that too much at the time. (I wish that I had for it would have helped me later.)
The main thing is, it was uphill, and that meant, when I got up to the top end of it several minutes later, I was a little winded. But in the world of jogging, man, you just keep on going no matter what, until the entire run is done. So I did. Remember I was only 28 then, so I had reserves of energy and endurance which vanished years ago.
At the top of Barnes Road, you actually found yourself in another Maryland county! Frederick, instead of Montgomery. I thought I knew what to do after that, and I sort of did. At the top of the road crossing my path in a “T” was the Bethesda Church Road – so named because as it ran northeast, it took one too (and by) the Bethesda United Methodist Church. Sure enough, as I came out of the forested hilltop onto the Church Road, I could see the Methodist Building off to my right which gave the road its name. I got over on the grassy shoulder on the other side of the road, and started jogging. In a few seconds, this took me past the church cemetery, which was on my right
 |
| I passed the Bethesda Church Cemetery. It was fairly quiet. . . . |
The building is built at the corner of two roads which joined at the front (south) corner of the sanctuary. But at the time I didn’t know about this intersection – the intersection, that is, of Bethesda Church Road and Kemptown Church Road.
I hadn’t seen the buildings up close and I hadn’t studied any maps; so I stopped jogging and took a stroll around the entire physical plant. As a new preacher I was very interested in how different congregations arranged their buildings.
So I walked around the whole place, and as I came near a road on the other side I saw a playground. “What a great idea for a church!” I thought. And because I have always been a sucker for children’s playgrounds, I stopped and got
 | |
| THERE IT WAS: THE FAMOUS KEMPTOWN CHURCH BUILDING . . . |
After all I had been up and down Bethesda Church Road to the little crossroads of Browningsville (which is where I thought I was heading); but I hadn’t been down it enough to recognize the lay of the land for certain. So, while running on a level plane for several minutes, I
 |
| Finger Board Road is a real place!! |
was somewhat bewildered to find myself crossing an intersection which named my road the “Kemptown Church Road”.
Wasn’t this the way home? Isn’t this the road that would take me southeast to Browningsville, and then back to the Clarksburg Road? Hmmm. Well, I thought so anyway.
Then I had another thought which kept me from turning around right then. I thought that maybe, as in other parts of the nation, they had one road that changed names in the course of its meandering up hill and down dale. (The town I live in now is like that, for instance.) So I kept on – heading north, as it turned out, thinking that this would eventually become or connect with the Clarksburg Road – the road which ran right past my future in-laws house.
It didn’t. Instead I found this road weaving through some really nice residential areas with
big, new two-story houses. And then quite suddenly it came to an end at another “T” – but it wasn’t my cup of “T”! The road ended with a new sign that said, “Fingerboard Road”. Damn! What the Dickens was that?! Now, I knew I was in deep doodoo. But I also reasoned that if I kept turning right whenever there was a chance it would sooner or later connect me with Clarksburg Road – and “home”.Wasn’t this the way home? Isn’t this the road that would take me southeast to Browningsville, and then back to the Clarksburg Road? Hmmm. Well, I thought so anyway.
Then I had another thought which kept me from turning around right then. I thought that maybe, as in other parts of the nation, they had one road that changed names in the course of its meandering up hill and down dale. (The town I live in now is like that, for instance.) So I kept on – heading north, as it turned out, thinking that this would eventually become or connect with the Clarksburg Road – the road which ran right past my future in-laws house.
It didn’t. Instead I found this road weaving through some really nice residential areas with
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| Running in the rain -- I felt like a damned fool!! |
In thinking this it turned out I was right – finally! About a quarter mile later (and I was walking now to get my breath), here was the intersection of Fingerboard and Clarsburg! I was glad to see this, but I was also mixed up in directions. Fortunately I went with my original plan and turned right. I had no idea I was still a good mile and a half from the house from which I’d started. But that’s when it started raining! (Did I mention this was Maryland? Where they actually get quite a lot of rain?”)
It began sprinkling along about that last intersection, and well before I came sloshing into Browningsville itself, it was pouring down – complete with thunder and lightning. Whoosh!
Now I was sort of jogging by faith. That’s because I had never driven down this part of the Clarksburg Road – from north to south, that is. And I had never entered or exited Browningsville
It began sprinkling along about that last intersection, and well before I came sloshing into Browningsville itself, it was pouring down – complete with thunder and lightning. Whoosh!
Now I was sort of jogging by faith. That’s because I had never driven down this part of the Clarksburg Road – from north to south, that is. And I had never entered or exited Browningsville
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| THERE I WAS -- AT YET ANOTHER *&^%$# CROSSROADS! |
itself from the north. So when I came to that little hamlet, I wondered what it was. At that time, fortunately there was still one main building which bore the name of the town – Browningsville Hall, I think. And as I passed into the town, I saw the intersection with the Bethesda Church Road label on it, and I knew what I’d done. Sheeesh!
I was still jogging and soaking wet when a mere quarter of a mile later, I saw the familiar porch coming into view – and recognized my old Chevy Chevette (remember those?) parked around behind it. I was “home.”
I had some explaining to do, of course. So I did it in a way which didn’t make me look like a complete fool (at least I hope I did); I acted as if I just decided to go a little further, to see more of the country and get a little more exercise. But when I mentioned Fingerboard Road, that’s when I think the last shred of my credulity was threatened beyond repair.
I guess if nothing else, I learned two things which apply to my own Christian walk – and maybe also to yours. First, I got side-tracked by something that wasn’t entirely in keeping with the journey that I set for myself – namely in this case, the church buildings and its park. The
 |
| That's right: one of them was sitting there waiting for me to turn up; and with a big "shit-eating" grin all over his face -- the varmint! |
confusion that came from getting off the main road and looking at that “side show” got me lost. But the second lesson I got from this long run was one of faith. I found that once I was back on the right road (according to the road sign), I needed to stay on it, even if all the land marks that were off the road did not look familiar. And so it is in our relationship with Jesus Christ.
He lays out a normally clear path for us. There are distractions along the way; we would expect that. And if we attend to them excessively they will get us off of His path.
He lays out a normally clear path for us. There are distractions along the way; we would expect that. And if we attend to them excessively they will get us off of His path.
On the other hand, just because we are on this journey does not mean all parts of the journey will be recognizable or easy. But we follow His markers and His path, and we do always eventually arrive at His destination. That’s what I learned anyway! I’m writing this down now, so that – God willing – you can learn it too.
LBC
