Faith for the Vision

Far above Cayuga's waters, my alma mater stands proud and tall, sprawling across countless... hills.

Of all the memories I've left campus with, many of them include the relentless treks up to class. Can you imagine walking hiking 480 ft. up Libe Slope when the snow wasn't shoveled yet? Back in March of 2017, when we had the worst snowstorm the region's seen for some time, students celebrated the first snow day in over a decade by skiing down the slope. It's the scapegoat for why we're late to class, the curse we mutter under our breath when we get to class all hot and sweaty in February, and the vantage point to see the best sunsets over the city.


Just looking at it is enough to make you wish for a ski lift to take you to class. Libe Slope is a beast, a formidable Goliath.

It took several months before I mustered up the courage to run up Libe Slope to access my favorite trails by the horses and gardens. Let's face it, it's kind of embarrassing to run half way up the slope, and then walk the rest of the way, while half the school is sun-tanning and watching. Every time I'd look up wistfully, I'd shake my head. There's no way I'd make it up there. But I did, and I was able to do it again and again. So what changed me?

I had a friend who doubled as a running coach the few times we ran together. The first time, he graciously agreed to my many requests to take a break. The second time, he pushed back. We were at the end of our run, going up the steepest stretch, and my calves were burning. The hot May afternoon wasn't helping, and I panted, "I don't think I can do it."

He looked back and pointed to his head. "Yes you can. It's all up here."

I remembered this moment today when I was at the track listening to Sadie's recent sermon, Following Jesus into the Unknown, based on Matthew 14:22-36, when Jesus called Peter to walk on the water with Him.

“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”

“Come,” Jesus said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”

You've gotta love Peter for trying. He was bold to say, "I'll come if you ask me to!" Kudos to him for actually stepping out. But once he redirected his attention to the storm and realized what was happening, he began to sink.

There's times when we're excited to do something but hesitate to take that first step and push beyond because it seems too big. It's not that we can't see the vision and don't know where we're heading. In fact, we see it a little too clearly and it frightens us. The issue is that we can't understand how we could ever do it, how we are doing it, and that fear of the unknown keeps our feet nailed in place.

I'm certainly quick to give up when I don't see a clearly charted path. Or maybe I do see a path, but it's the steepest and I haven't done anything in the past that assures I'll make it. But what if there is some alternate route that's not yet paved? What if He sends a running buddy to power through the trek alongside me?

I'm always waiting to be perfectly prepared for the race. Before I start, I need to be prepared to go all the way, to be confident that I won't stop in the middle and embarrass myself. But if I waited to be perfectly conditioned, I'd never go anywhere.

The first step of my run, the last step of my run, and every step in between has to be a leap of faith. A leap that takes me over the mental roadblock of "I can't do it" to "I'm going... Now keep me going."