Don't Tread Lightly

A burned out motor and my disintegrating physical condition prompted a family decision to purchase a replacement treadmill for our home. Smart move. Easy sell. A hard road.

First, ordering the thing online was as frustrating an e-commerce experience as I’ve had, essentially because my Internet browsing software wasn’t compatible with the online merchant’s Web site, and because one of the merchant’s customer service agents wasn’t compatible with me. But in the end, to neither their nor my credit, we worked out the purchase.

Sixteen days after finalizing the order, the new treadmill arrived last Friday – all 324 pounds of it. To move the beast from its perch on the truck to the first floor of our home required an ascent of either a snowy hillside or a steep staircase. The delivery driver – the unaccompanied delivery driver – pitched a bit of a fit about his employer’s lack of concern for drivers responsible for such massive pieces, then told me the best he could do was leave it in our garage. The online ordering process guaranteed “inside delivery” of our new equipment; I guess we should have asked inside what.

Saturday was the day to move the monster to its final resting/treading place...our living room. Now, we all have our strengths in life, but strength is not one of mine. So my and Shari’s role in the transfer was to appear to assist, but more accurately, encourage and applaud my stepson Jake’s efforts to pull the thing up the staircase. “This is insane,” said our fitness fanatic housemate of the unit’s weight. He/we persevered, however, yanking and dragging the thing to its new home, along the way taking out one of the windows in our back door.

After assembly – by far the easiest step in this process – I took my first trek; it felt great to know I was back on track (or tread). Spurred on by naive enthusiasm, I walked 30-40 minutes both Saturday and Sunday, using a variety of speed and incline combinations.

Today is Monday. My leg muscles are on strike. They have not announced when (or whether) they will return to work. Chances are I will use the treadmill again tonight – at markedly diminished settings – not because I feel like it, but because I think I have to fight my way back into a fit lifestyle. I covet your prayers.


As you may covet our prayers if you’re fighting your way back into a spiritually fit lifestyle. Do you know the one to which I refer

* The one in which you worship, not because you grew up in a church, but because your life bursts with joy and gratitude to the one who animates your life?

* The one in which you pray, not because someone drummed into you a “Now I lay me down to sleep...” spirituality, but because God is the spiritual parent with whom your heart demands an instant messaging system?

* The one in which you regularly feed your spirit and grow your faith through intentional acts of learning and service?

* The one in which you manage stress, fatigue, and fear by powers and authorities beyond your understanding, but not your reach?

* The one in which you discover that personal meaning and importance have almost nothing to do with yourself, and everything to do with the one to whom you give yourself away?

Most of us have experienced seasons of life when we felt spiritually fit, when our habits, disciplines, and relationships reflected a healthy focus on what matters. But the same number or more of us have also experienced seasons of poor spiritual health, when we knew our thoughts, beliefs, and actions were not rooted in nurturing soil, but rather in weedy, malnourished dust from which evidence of a God-centered life departed long ago. This Express piece is for that latter group.

I tell our new treadmill’s story for those who know they have fallen into spiritual disrepair and want to do something about it. If it’s been a while since you felt connected to God, if Jesus is for you an intriguing but not particularly inspiring character, if your heart aches for more satisfaction than your current life provides, please know there is a way home; you can get fit again. Just don’t expect such fitness to arrive on your terms or to take its place in your life without your efforts.

In fact, getting then staying spiritually fit is very hard work. Occasional workouts will not work out. Quitting in protest of unproductive worship or prayer experiences will complicate, not resolve the problem. As our treadmill cost us time, money, exertion, and floor space, so will your efforts to get spiritually fit cost you time, focus, and sacrifice. If you want to restore your connections to God, you can. Just expect to struggle. Expect your spirit’s muscles to ache. Expect an inner voice to recommend alternative remedies to your spiritual distress. Then expect to have to make a choice.

Tonight I will get back on our new exercise machine, achy, breaky legs and all. The next time I wander a spiritual wilderness, I pray I will act similarly. . . . And I pray I will meet you in the clearing.


Pray with me:
God, there are days when I am hungry for you; the other days I starve for you. May my need for you be matched by my desire for you. May my need from you meet your provision for me. Invite me to your table. Show me my place. Be my God. In the name of Jesus, Amen.