Running out of the Wilderness
“I hate running.” “It’s too long and boring.” “You don't have the discipline to train.” “You don't have what it takes.”
These are some of the internal thought patterns I face every time I think about a long-distance run. And by long distance, I mean five miles. I consider myself physically fit, but I've never called myself a runner. There have been seasons where I’ve run consistently, and I admire that disciplined version of myself. But starting is always the worst. The first few days are brutal. Each mile feels like a fight — a constant temptation to stop, walk, or give up.
But after the first week, something changes:
I hate running. → Running isn’t so bad.
It’s too long and boring. → Long and boring is relative. As you get stronger, it gets easier.
You don’t have the discipline. → Take it day by day. With patience comes progress.
You don’t have what it takes. → You have what it takes.
This is why I have a love-hate relationship with running. I don't enjoy it, but I recognize it as an opportunity to train my mind to fight back against fear and doubt. In this season of my life, if I want to sharpen my mental resilience, something tells me running might be a tool to help. So it pains me to say... I think I need to train for a marathon. Just typing that hurts. But I have to take every opportunity to confront the thoughts that rise in opposition to my progress.
The Call to Adventure
About a year and a half ago, I felt stuck. I was bored at my job, too comfortable in Atlanta, and felt like my growth had stalled. Having a child changed some things, but surprisingly, not enough to meet the deeper need in my soul. My wife, coincidentally, felt the same way. We were both longing for something more. We wanted adventure.
Adventure requires action. It demands facing fears, taking risks, and venturing into unknown territory. It challenges comfort. Every real adventure includes setbacks and requires faith to keep going. That’s also true of walking in your God-given purpose. I believe that pursuing your calling is the ultimate adventure.
In preparation for our next adventure, we prayed the following:
"Lord, open new doors for us. God, please only open a door if it is meant for us to walk through and keep all other doors closed."
Slowly, we opened up to the idea of moving to a new state and starting new jobs. Our first answered prayer came when my wife was accepted into a fellowship in Dallas, Texas. That’s right — we’re leaving our comfortable life in Atlanta with a soon-to-be one-year-old, moving to a city where we have no friends and minimal family support. She’s starting a new job in an unfamiliar hospital. The adventure begins.
For a while, my job situation stayed the same. I reminded myself of the prayer we prayed — that God would only open the right door. That gave me peace as I applied to countless jobs and faced rejections. I just needed to remain patient. And then, a few weeks ago, I received an offer for a role at a new company — one that checks all the boxes.
But even in that blessing, doubt crept in:
You’re not qualified enough. vs. God doesn’t call the qualified — He qualifies the called.
It’s too hard — quit. vs. Pray for strength to continue.
Stay where you are — it’s safe. vs. Go — God will provide.
These thoughts mirror the same ones I deal with while running — thoughts that stand in opposition to my progress.
Lessons from the Wilderness
I’m reminded of the Israelites during Moses’ time. God gave them a miraculous escape from Egypt and a mission to reach the Promised Land. But when they got close, they sent out scouts. Two kinds of reports came back: one group said, “We can’t defeat them, they’re stronger than us.” But Caleb said, “Let’s go up and take the land — we are well able to overcome it.”
From a practical sense, maybe it is true that the Isrealites could not defeat them by their own strength. However, they failed to remember that it was not Moses's plan to take them from Egypt to the Promised land, it was God's. Therefore, the outcome was certain as long as they were obedient. Caleb understood this.
Unfortunately, the Israelites were convinced the wrong ideas. As a result, they wandered the wilderness for 40 years. An entire generation missed out on the promise — even though they were very close.
When I was younger, 40 years of wandering seemed like a ridiculous outcome. But as I approach 35 and can see 40 around the corner, I get it. Time flies. I see people my age stuck, not because they lack talent or resources — but because they believed a lie about themself and about God. They allow God's promise to be clouded by fear. I struggle with the same tendencies: fear, doubt, impatience.
What will my story be at 40? What thoughts am I allowing to shape my future? What prayers have I forgotten were already answered? Where am I stagnant or stuck because I’ve believed a lie or let a habit take root?
Without facing these issues head-on, 40 years can pass in a blink. Believing thoughts in opposition to your progress will keep you stuck.
The Legacy I Want to Leave
Moses’ story ends with God showing him the Promised Land — but telling him he can’t enter it. "This is the land I promised... I have let you see it with your eyes, but you will not cross over into it." That line hits me deeply. If Moses — one of the greatest prophets — was disqualified due to disobedience and doubt, how will my own forgetfulness or stubbornness impact me and my family?
Could I be within arms reach of my blessing, but too impatient, scared or blind to my sin to receive them? Too often, we stop at potential. We dream, but don’t move. And only later — too late — do we realize how close we were.
I think about future conversations with my son often. What stories will I tell him? I don’t want to say, “I saw the Promised Land, but didn’t enter.” I don’t want to explain how fear or complacency stopped me. I want him to say, “My dad lived by faith. He didn’t just talk — he moved.”
Hopefully, my life can be a case study for courage. I want him to see that I took risks because I trusted God. That I accomplished things because I believed. And that because I trusted God, he can too.
Running a marathon won’t fix everything. But through training and showing up daily — with the help of the Holy Spirit — I hope to confront the thoughts that stand in opposition to my progress. As those voices get quieter, I pray God's voice gets louder. The story isn’t over. The Promised Land is still within reach.
