A Gift for Life

This window puts us on the edge of our witness to the world. The dark red reminds us not only of Pentecost but also of the sacrifice of so many whose lives have brought vitality to the church. The array of several rod, staff and cross forms challenges each of us to pick up our own cross, to follow, to journey forth in witness to a hurting world.

— Jay Hanke

TODAY: Remember the words of Morrie Schwartz (the subject of Tuesdays with Morrie): “Don’t be preoccupied with your body or your illness. Recognize that your body is not your total self, only part of it.”

Christmas morning two years ago, I was filled with anticipation as I looked at the wonderful gifts beneath the tree, in particular the one with the stunning wrapping and beautiful bow. As the morning began and presents were opened, I waited my turn, but put off selecting that one package with the beautiful bow.

When I could wait no longer and the package was given to me, I carefully opened the box, thinking about all the nice things it might contain. When I reached inside, there were two pieces of paper and each one was a completed entry form to the Chicago Marathon for myself and our daughter. I was stunned and in a state of panic and shock. What was I to say? Thank you?

But ... I had no answer to give. I knew the task ahead would be one of misery, long training hours, pain, agony and sore muscles and a time commitment that would take all my weekends and evenings from this moment until the next October. I was filled with fear.

I tried to be gracious and said yes, we would take on this 26.2-mile marathon and be better people because of it! Our daughter and I began training in January. It was tough. I was used to my 3- to 5-mile daily routine on the Reston, Va., paths at lunchtime, a sort of leisurely trot. Now we were increasing our mileage each week by two miles, so that by the middle of summer we were at our peak miles and suffering from heat, injuries, bugs and pure agony.

As the summer wore on, we started to prepare by running several warm-up races, including the Annapolis 10-miler. After that race, I felt terrible, and the next day while walking the dogs I had intense chest pain. My first thought was that I had been poisoned by the food or drink at the race. However, the doctors confirmed that I needed to undergo a bypass operation. It was a success, and today I am back to running my leisurely trots through the woods of Reston.

When I reflect upon the Christmas gift, I realize today that if it had not been for that intense effort during the training and the subsequent discovery of the blockage, it probably never would have been discovered in time. One of my trots through the woods of Reston might have been my last. So the gift from our daughter that raised such trepidation and fear saved my life.

There are many gifts that come wrapped in pretty paper and bows and some that don’t, and we often miss the true meaning of the contents.

— Scott Tilley