I was 12. I got home from school, and my mom and my dad were sitting in the dining room.

“We need to talk.”  I don’t know if anything good has ever come of that sentence.  My stomach sank.  I immediately start thinking about all the junk I’d done.  I went downstairs to my room and hid my smokes and any other evidence I may have had on me.

I came upstairs, and my parents took me out on the deck.  Shortly after, my brother and my sisters joined me.  I could tell by their face that they were as clueless as me.

“We went to the doctor today, and got some results back.”  My dad says calmly.  ”Your mom has Hepatitis C.”

I had no clue what that meant.  I didn’t really ask any questions, I just sat there, knowing there was more to be said.

“It’s a disease in the liver, and it doesn’t have a cure.  Your mom will die.”

“How long?” I asked… not really wanting to know.

“The doctors told me I have at most, 2 years.” Mom said.

…
..
.

Silence.

I felt something in me, that I didn’t know what to do.  It felt like tears were about to come out, and it felt like my heart was pumping blood faster than my body could take it.  I could feel my face getting tight, and I knew if I talked, my sisters would hear the wavering in my voice.  I held it all in… As long as I could.

In a burst I had never experienced (at this level) I stood up, grabbed the chair I was sitting in, and smashed it.  I grabbed the table that was near by, and flipped it.  I started kicking the balcony, and screaming.  Not words.  Just screams.

I quickly made my way off of the porch and into the woods.  I had a place specially set aside for moments like this.  I jumped into the creek, and into my hiding place.  I sat there for what  must have been hours.  Hearing your mom has 2 years to live isn’t something you expect.   I didn’t say a word, I just cried.

I eventually calmed down enough to go back inside.  So I did.  Everything seemed the same.  The only difference was, now I know my mom is dying.  I still didn’t do my homework.  I still played guitar.   I still asked what was for dinner.  We didn’t talk about it. I guess no one wanted to see me get that mad again. I don’t know.  It wasn’t talked about.

In fact, the only time it seemed to come up was in fights.  My mom and I’d be yelling, I’d say my piece, and she’d say, “Is THAT how you talk to someone who will be dead in a matter of years!?!?”

That was her control.  That was my kryptonite.

I knew things were going to have to be different, I just didn’t know how different……

[to be continued]

I haven’t written a bunch this week. I’ve been resonating on some ideas.

Some pretty non-radical-radical ideas… if you know what I’m saying.

Anyway.  There’s a lot to come.

I promise.

This medal, although it has nothing to do with ranking or winning, means a lot to me.  See, this medal represents the moment I got off my butt and did something.  This medal represents a change in my life that I plan on holding on to until the day I die.  This medal represents the day I decided to not let my weight control me.  This medal is something that I’ve worked extremely hard for, and it’s a reward for my hard work. 

How was the Warrior Dash?  One word.  Awesome.  It started out with about a mile run (or so).  It was pretty hilly, but I was hanging in there, I felt good about my pace, and I was actually passing people. (WHAT!?)  We came up to the first obstacle.  It was a plank of sorts, basically, a balancing act on a piece of wood, laid on top of a lake.  I breezed over that, and immediately jumped to obstacle 2.  Wading through water.  That slowed me down immediately, and assured that I would have mud and rocks in my shoes for the remainder of the race. 

Obstacle 3, I got out of the lake, ran around a turn, and did the tires.  I rocked the tires. I actually passed several people, and moved forward to the wall climp/jump.  The walls were probably 4 feet high.  Which fortunately, are pretty easy for me to jump. (using the hand plant)  I think there were 3 walls. 

I started to feel pretty fatigued here.  I knew I had to keep pushing, because in my head I’m counting the obstacles, and realized that I still had a long way to go. 

The next obstacle was the junkyard dash.  basically a bunch of old beat up cars blocking your path.  That was fine, I made it over the first car, and realized that I may be able to actually jump the second car.  So…. in true warrior spirit, I tried. (clearly thinking I was still 18.)  The whole time I was in the air, I was thinking, “I’ve got this! I’ve got this!” Then my butt hit the car.  It was the very corner of the car, and my feet cleared it, but my butt hit the car, and it hurt!  I got up, finished this obstacle by climbing over an old beat up truck, and continuing on my way. 

Running.  Running.  Running.  Getting passed, and passing people.  Running.  Uphill.  Come around a curve, and I see a crew of folk standing there handing out water.  Praise God!!! I knew 2 things.  I NEEDED that water and that water meant I was halfway! 

I honestly, at this point, forget the order of the race, or how I did it, so I’ll tell you the obstacles until the last few.  Cargo climb.  I climbed up a cargo net, and then back down the otherside.  I’d say the net was 15 feet high, or so.  It was really easy for me.  There was a wall climb kinda, which was pretty much rope hanging down a sloped piece of wood.  It was a little slick from all of the other warriors climbing up it, but I breezed up that as well. The run through the forest was pretty intense. it was pretty much all uphill.  I ran, until I couldn’t run anymore and slowed to a walk, which worked out well, because this part of the coarse was pretty much single file, due to the narrowness of the trail, and everyone else was walking.  I broke through eventually and got to the top.  Crawled through some muddy tunnel, and then ran down a muddy hill.  Dangerous?  yes.  I slipped but did not fall. 

The end of the race was getting near, I could feel it.  I ran around a corner and noticed the mud pit. I knew I was close. I dove in to the mud, and started crawling.  I realized quickly that the bottom of this mud pit was uneven, and covered in gravel.  I could feel rocks cutting in to my legs.  I wanted it to stop, and knew the only way to make it stop.  Get through this! 

After the crawl, it was pretty much a stomp through deep, slippery, thick mud.  I fell 3 times, but was able to get up and keep pushing.  I ran up to a lake, and saw logs floating.  While I didn’t remember reading about this, I knew I could do this.  There were 3 or 4 logs, and I had to get to them, and get over them. (The water, for me was about chest deep)  I made it over those, kinda lazilly pushing myself through the water.  I make it out of the water, and I hear cheering.  I see fire, I know, that this is it!  I’m about to complete a race! 

Two lines of fire were between me and the finish.  I kick it in to high gear, and I jump the first flame!  A couple of steps and I clear the second flame!  I hear my name being shouted, I think my wife and sister, and I burst into a run.  I see the words “Finish”. 

I could have cried right there.  I didn’t, because I’m a man, but I could have.  All of the hardwork and determination paid off. All of the discouraging days, and the back injury.  All of the doubt, and fear.  overcome. 

I don’t know what to say about it, other than I did it.  I can’t believe it, but I did it.  Now.  Where’s the next race?

I have a scar on my stomach. It’s a scar that dates itself 4 and a half years. Every morning when I’m looking in the mirror, I see that scar and my mind is flooded with memories.

See. The day I was stabbed was the beginning of an end. Within that 24 hour period I was fired, evicted and stabbed. As I look at this scar, I remember the day my life changed forever.

That was the day I looked in the mirror at a cut up face, a stab wound and a meth addict. That was the day I was met with a real life dilemma. I needed to quit using, or end up dead. I hated my life, so it wasn’t as easy a decision as it sounds.

That night, I slept in a gas station bathroom in the dead of winter. I laid there fighting with myself. Freezing, lost and broken, I suddenly felt the strength that I needed. I knew, at that moment, I was going to live, and that I needed to sober up to do this.  I knew I had the strength to do so.

I was scared, nervous, broken and excited all at once. Looking back, there is NO mistaking that strength came from God. He first loved me. He saved me. He heard my struggles that night, and knew what I needed.

When I look at this scar, I’m reminded of the struggles i’ve overcome, and I’m reminded of His redemption.  I’m reminded that I can never do it alone.  I’m reminded that even in the darkest of days, He was there, looking after me.

I look at my stomach, I see more than a scar, I see healing.  I see redemption. I see a second chance.  I see love.  This scar will probably never go away, and I’m ok with that.

So, I say all of this to really say, embrace your scars.  They have made you you.  You are who are you are today because of scars, because of pain and because of love.  Do you have scars that you resent?  Do you have scars you want to disappear?  Think twice about that.  Without those scars you may not be the wounded healer Jesus wants you to be.

Everything seemed to be going fine.  Andrea and I were helping lead youth group at our church, I was heading up the tech booth, and aside from the occasional fight, we were good.  I mean… I thought we were good.

I hadn’t had a drink in several years.  I don’t remember the circumstances now, but somehow I had convinced myself and Andrea that having a beer or two was something I could definitely handle.  So, we went to the bar across the street from her apartment, and I had a beer.  (Or two.)  The next night, we went to the bar across the street from her apartment and I had a beer. (or two)  (Ok. Maybe 3 this time)

I don’t believe I was drinking every night, but for the most part, I was just having a couple of beers, so everything was cool.  As time progressed, when we were drinking, I was having a little bit more and a little bit more.  It got to the point where if I could, I would drink until I was sick.  Honestly, I didn’t think anything of it.  It was just ‘one of those nights.’  you know?  There were a few instances where I would get mad at Andrea when she tried to talk to me about drinking, or worse, ask me not to.  We got into an argument one night, and when she dropped me off at home, I went in, and instead of calling her to smooth it over, I passed out.  To this day, I wish to God I had picked up the phone and called her.

One afternoon, Andrea and I went out to “On the Border” with a friend of hers.  We ate.  Actually, I remember that day well, because I ordered a build your own burrito, but didn’t think that each item costed extra, so I built the worlds most expensive burrito.  Afterwards, her friend had to hit the road, but Andrea wanted to go across the street to Starbucks.

We got our drinks, went outside to sit, and then I realized something was wrong.  She didn’t go into much details-or I was just stunned and don’t remember, but the net/net was that she was breaking up with me.  My stomach went into a knot, which must have made room for my heart, because it dropped about 4 inches.  ”How could this happen?  We’re so happy.  Sure, I have some issues, you have some issues, but we’re perfect.” I said to myself.  Outloud however I said something along the lines of, “Ok.  Can you take me home?”

It didn’t really hit me until that night.  The next day, it hit me even harder.  Things went down hill quickly.  You know, when one second you feel like you have complete control of everything, and then the next second you only have control of a few things…. how you start to just…. try to control anything and everything you can?

It was going to be a tough time indeed….