Learning to Run

Like many boys, war was exciting when I was young. There is something about the courage required, the hardships endured, and the call to heroism that speaks to many boys. I absorbed data by the bushel on tactics, weaponry of all disciplines, and great soldiers of the past and present. I still remember the thrill of reading about various battles and armies. Thermopylae, various Roman campaigns, both World Wars, special forces ancient and modern. For a long time I imagined myself as some hero in waiting. All I could think of was winning.

It took me a while to learn the cost of war. It’s hard to wrap your head around the scale of pain and devastation that a war brings to a people, especially when you are young. Once you have kids though, its hard to look at war the same. I understand the necessity of war, but only a fool would revel in it. When I have been privileged to speak with veterans in private, what they talk about is the personal cost. They talk of pain, of suffering, of memories that disturb their sleep and haunt their waking hours. And I learned something. Boys see war as a competition but men hate the cost of war.

I’m a survivor of a different war. A war I lost, a war that disfigured my soul. On days like today, remembering is brutal. If you’ve lost a great battle of your own, you know the truth of this. If you haven’t, please listen respectfully. Wounds hurt, no matter how or why they were inflicted.

I’m a survivor of a different war.

Sometimes, my heart hurts. For my wife, my kids, the church I used to pastor, friends I’ve lost. I see familiar faces in strangers and my heart lurches with joy, only to be dashed again. Many times I have almost called out to someone who turned to be a stranger. Faces sprint through my memory, and each one brings a bittersweet joy and a sincere prayer for their best.

It also hurts for those I sinned with. Those who were trapped in their own waking nightmare of terrible choices. I wonder if they are OK, if they got help, if their life-style put them in a box, if their family hurts like mine. Please understand. I do not desire to see them again, or to be friends, or to prioritize their healing over my dear wife. Yet their faces are seared in my mind, and on certain days I simply cannot forget.

I want to be clear. This is not a wistful wandering down memory lane. This is a traumatic reliving of the worst moments of my life. The triggers are unpredictable and the emotional results savage. Recently, my wife and I watched a video (of her choosing) that contained a stark rendition of the consequences and grief caused by infidelity. The emotional pain in my soul while watching is not easily describable. I sat beside my wife, shaking, trembling in paralysed horror while my memory screamed in pain. If you know, you know. If you don’t, please listen to me. All the supposed pleasure in the world is not worth one minute of that feeling. Nothing is worth that. It’s unmitigated hell.

But there are other feelings as well. Deep gratitude to Jesus who loves me and pulled me out. Thankfulness for my amazing wife. Joy for the amazing privilege of being redeemed and revived. Hope for today, tomorrow, and forever. It’s amazing to be free and loved! What an incredible life I have when I deserved NOTHING but destruction!

Knowing my God, I’m confident I will meet some of my former co-sinners in heaven. And we won’t talk about bad memories, old sins, or pain. We’ll talk about the relentless love of Jesus and the joy of forgiveness. We’ll remember when Jesus pulled us out, and we’ll talk about the blessings He gave us.

It’ll be a better day of remembering.

CPH