My screen read, “Click Submit to Finalize Purchase.” I clicked the button confirming my arrival to Pittsburgh International Airport on September 3rd at 6:55pm and with it brought the realization that the Race will end. Will I be ready? Yes. Do I wish it was sooner than September 3rd? Sometimes. But isn’t that predictable? Isn’t it foreseeable that something so novel, something so fresh, something so enlivening can get old? With less than two months to go my mind is beginning to turn to the “after.” (I feel like I understand the 100% God/100% man controversy better now because I still feel like I’m 100% here every day, even though part of me clearly is not.) It’s seen in how the one-time exciting has now gotten old. Case in point.
We spent last week in Thessaloniki, Greece, where Paul preached and the scent of gyros saturatesseemingly every air particle, but when people ask how Greece is, my standard response was something to effect of, “A city is a city.” Ground that nourished the recipients of the letters represented in Thessalonians has been reduced in my mind to a place of materialism, tourism, lust, and modernity.
Last night, we were taking a 10:59pm train to Athens. We got on the wrong bus, so we ended up walking with all our gear to the station. After waiting, the train actually left the station closer to 12:15am. We were supposed to be in cart 7, but there were only six. Therefore, we boarded the last one not wanting to be left at the station. Long story short, we became stuck in the middle of a front and rear boarding cart with around 70 pounds of stuff, surrounded by more people than seats, until we saw them adding an additional cart on the end. Once blog worthy, now just a headache. 
I’m just tired. According to my bed count, I’m somewhere around 50 beds in the last nine months. Our last lodging had a shower, but not a working drain. I am slowly becoming addicted to Coke and/or similar products, and I haven’t had the motivation to do a push-up since Africa.
“Pity party? Your table is ready.” That’s not my point.
Things get old. What was once enthralling, now barely raises a heart beat past resting. Sometimes what we chase in life, what we value, cannot deliver the same fulfillment as it once did. Personally, I love Burt’s Bees lip balm, but when I have it every day the sensation loses its tingle. Life gets old. I’ll get old, which I tell my parents is somewhere around the age of 42. They disagree. It’s their job too. They’re old.
Worship. Whatever form it comes in, hasn’t gotten old to me. It’s one thing that comes to mind that Idesire more of as the Race goes on. Sitting in my room, reading and discussing God’s characteristics still intrigues me. Laying in bed listening to music opens my heart and mind to a place of peace and contentedness. Running up and up and up a car parking garage to look out over an ancient city at sunset is pleasant for awhile, but praising God’s name from the rooftop in song without concern for who’s listening still brings life well after the sun has gone to rest.
At our last Debrief we entered into straight organic worship, and eventually sang the word, “Hallelujah,” in unison for several minutes. For a brief moment I completely understood how heavenly bodies can spend eternity praising God’s name and it not get old.
What doesn’t get old for you? I’ll bet that if you really thought about it, it’s more than a favorite restaurant, more than a certain reality show, more than a travel destination, more than a sports event, or more than another night inebriated. I’ll bet, and I’m not a betting man.
PS: Mommy, I’d love to have bacon for breakfast the day after I return, and of course you’re not old.
PS: Thanks to Google images for the photos.
New Reader? Feel free to add your email address in the space provided on the left to receive blog updates.
