It would be more than 12 years before I realized how greatly I had missed the point in those months and years following my commitment to Jesus Christ. In January of 2010, I started my first fast. Although the church Jessica and I attended was celebrating the start of the new year with 21 days of prayer and fasting, I decided my first time would last only a week. God was not concerned about the length of time, He was only concerned about the obedience to making the commitment. Obedience. I had already decided that would become my “word of the year” for 2010. I knew that if I ever wanted to take my relationship with God to the next level, I would have to learn to obey. That week of praying and fasting was the best week I have had in many years, and as my hunger for food grew each day, it was replaced by my hunger for God. Two days after it was over, God revealed to me what I had been missing all these years. I recently read a parable that I believe sums up my experience, and the eventual revelation from God quite nicely:
Once upon a time in a land of boredom and drudgery, exciting news spread: “There is going to be a race! And all who run in this race will grow strong and they’ll never be bored again!” Exciting news like this had not been heard for many a year, for people experienced little adventure in this ho-hum land, beyond attending committee meetings, waiting in lines, sorting socks, and watching sitcom reruns.
Excitement grew as the day of the race drew near. Thousands gathered in the appointed town, at the appointed place. Most came to observe, skeptical about the news. “It’s too good to be true,” they said. “It’s just a silly rumor started by some teenaged troublemakers. But let’s stick around and see what happens anyway.”
Others could not resist the invitation, arriving in their running shorts and shoes. As they waited for the appointed time, they stretched and jogged in place and chattered among themselves with nervous excitement. At the appointed time they gathered at the starting line, heard the gun go off, and knew that it was time to run.
Then something very curious happened. The runners took a step or two or three across the starting line, and then abruptly stopped. One man fell to his knees, crying, “I have crossed the starting line! This is the happiest day of my life!” He repeated this again and again, and even began singing a song about how happy this day was for him.
Another woman started jumping for joy. “Yes!” she shouted, raising her first in the air. “I am a race-runner! I am finally a race-runner!” She ran around jumping and dancing, getting and giving high fives to others who shared her joy at being in the race.
Several people formed a circle and prayed, quietly thanking God for the privilege of crossing the starting line, and thanking God that they were not like the skeptics who didn’t come dressed for the race.
An hour passed, and two. Spectators began muttering; some laughed. “So what do they think this race is?” they said. “Two or three strides, then a celebration? And why do they feel superior to us? They’re treating the starting line as it were the finish line. They’ve completely missed the point.”
A few more minutes of this silliness passed. “You know,” a spectator said to the person next to her, “if they’re not going to run the race, maybe we should.”
“Why not? It’s getting boring watching them hang around just beyond the starting line. I’ve had enough boredom for one life.”
Others heard them, and soon many were kicking off their dress shoes, slipping out of their jackets, throwing all this unneeded clothing on the grass. And they ran--past the praying huddles and past the crying individuals and past the jumping high-fivers. And they found hope and joy in every step, and they grew stronger with every mile and hill. To their surprise, the path never ended--because in this race, there was no finish line. So they were never bored again.
Excitement grew as the day of the race drew near. Thousands gathered in the appointed town, at the appointed place. Most came to observe, skeptical about the news. “It’s too good to be true,” they said. “It’s just a silly rumor started by some teenaged troublemakers. But let’s stick around and see what happens anyway.”
Others could not resist the invitation, arriving in their running shorts and shoes. As they waited for the appointed time, they stretched and jogged in place and chattered among themselves with nervous excitement. At the appointed time they gathered at the starting line, heard the gun go off, and knew that it was time to run.
Then something very curious happened. The runners took a step or two or three across the starting line, and then abruptly stopped. One man fell to his knees, crying, “I have crossed the starting line! This is the happiest day of my life!” He repeated this again and again, and even began singing a song about how happy this day was for him.
Another woman started jumping for joy. “Yes!” she shouted, raising her first in the air. “I am a race-runner! I am finally a race-runner!” She ran around jumping and dancing, getting and giving high fives to others who shared her joy at being in the race.
Several people formed a circle and prayed, quietly thanking God for the privilege of crossing the starting line, and thanking God that they were not like the skeptics who didn’t come dressed for the race.
An hour passed, and two. Spectators began muttering; some laughed. “So what do they think this race is?” they said. “Two or three strides, then a celebration? And why do they feel superior to us? They’re treating the starting line as it were the finish line. They’ve completely missed the point.”
A few more minutes of this silliness passed. “You know,” a spectator said to the person next to her, “if they’re not going to run the race, maybe we should.”
“Why not? It’s getting boring watching them hang around just beyond the starting line. I’ve had enough boredom for one life.”
Others heard them, and soon many were kicking off their dress shoes, slipping out of their jackets, throwing all this unneeded clothing on the grass. And they ran--past the praying huddles and past the crying individuals and past the jumping high-fivers. And they found hope and joy in every step, and they grew stronger with every mile and hill. To their surprise, the path never ended--because in this race, there was no finish line. So they were never bored again.
I had accepted Christ in those North Carolina mountains so many years before, but in that moment I had simply crossed the starting line and begun to celebrate being a race runner. I was selfish and a little conceited, considering myself among the fortunate who had made a decision to follow Christ. My mistake was thinking that merely starting a race was all that Christ wanted from me. My mistake was being so thankful for having started the race, that I was now living in hope of Jesus returning, or my own death which would take me home to live with him. I forgot, or should I say ignored, God’s calling on my life while I was still here on earth. For the 12 years after making my decision, I lived a life contradictory to what I professed, and it was because of my lack of obedience to taking up my cross and following Jesus.
God’s revelation to me following my fast was that while we are living in the body here on earth, we have a great work to do for Him, through Him. I no longer concern myself with the desires of the flesh; producing great wealth, acquiring great things, or meaningless and wasteful pursuits. My passion is now focused on living a life of service dedicated to Him. What He has for me, I do not yet know. I do know that He has only good things prepared for me, and that through my obedience, many lives will be saved by the gospel of Jesus Christ. And that is a wonderful feeling…
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