Finishing Well

I've recently been contemplating a paradigm shift regarding a popular life metaphor: "life is a marathon." According to one well-respected physiologist, who works with pro athletes and FBI agents on a regular basis, life actually resembles a series of sprints.
In context then, I feel like I just finished one sprint and am in need of replenishment because I can see the starting line for my next dash. I am having to learn to breathe differently and fuel myself more efficiently because of my altered view on what it takes to finish well. Currently, I am marking time at my job. That's about it. The good news: the end is in sight. It's both scary and exciting to realize that this portion of my race is almost over. This past year has been so much more than just work woes, however. It's been a bunch of hurdles which I can retrospectively recognize as developmental challenges in character, patience, and humility. (I have the 'skinned knees' to prove it!)
As previously stated, my next taking-off point is almost visible, but I have no map of the course. All I can do is respond to the starter's gun and try not to stumble out of the gate.
I'm about to set off with a slightly different identity and purpose. I hope that I pace myself well enough to reach the end of the next leg of my journey successfully. What does that success look like? I'm not sure, but I think it has a lot to do with navigating whatever lies ahead with integrity and the right perspective: that my life will resemble a dynamic, challenging series of sprints in which I'm tested constantly. I want to finish well. I want to do well enough to hear applause streaming from the bleachers. Fortunately, my audience is only one.


Ben Wilcox

In dire need

"an·a·bi·o·sis ( P ) Pronunciation Key (n-b-ss)n.
A restoring to life from a deathlike condition; resuscitation.
A state of suspended animation, especially one in which certain aquatic invertebrates are able to survive long periods of drought.
[Greek anabisis, from anabioun, to return to life : ana-, ana- + bioun, to live (from bios, life).]"

Every year, without fail, Easter rolls around. Somehow, although I consider myself a long-time Christian, I forget about the importance of Easter. I usually place more emphatic expectation on the Christmas celebration. Why? Is it because of the gifts I will recieve? Or, is it because of the commercial & retail sales boon and all its entrapments? Whatever the case, somehow Easter gets relegated to second place behind Christmas--at least for me.
This year I got to have some input into my church's Easter service. After seeing a little of the rehearsal and hearing some of the songs that will be sung, it struck me that the greatest gift I've ever received doesn't come to me in December. It doesn't sit wrapped under a tree, teasing me for weeks on end. You can't buy it or take it back---even if there were a receipt involved. It's the gift of a redeemed life. In the redemption process, something that has ceased being useful is rendered productive and lively again. If you knew any of the horrible decisions I've made, you would recognize that I am a walking miracle. Because of the countless times I chose to drink and drive, I should be a dead man. If you had seen what had gone on behind my closed door, maybe these words would have come to your mind: "Dead Man Walking." Back before my life was redeemed: before I found restoration. Before, I had rendered myself useless. I was in need of resurrection. Someone brought me back from my "state of suspended animation."
I sincerely hope that you take the time to celebrate Easter this weekend. You may just receive the greatest gift you'll ever get. . . a word you may have never heard . . . a word you, like me, may not be sure how to pronounce: anabiosis.
Every year I need the reminder---of just how alive I am.




Ben Wilcox

Benny Madison

Oh, back to school
Back to school
Try to prove that
I'm not a tool

As a thirty-year-old junior, transfer student, you notice some things upon re-entering the classroom. First, I am old. Not so much "creepy-old," but 'old' none the less. Second, I can't see diddly-squat. Time for the ol' Lasik. Thirdly, I still hate math of any kind. You can't fool me by calling it "Basic Statistics." There's nothing basic about it and it is math. If it involves a calculator, I suck at it. Lastly, there are some things that have changed for the better. Nobody has knocked my books out of my hand and onto the hallway floor yet. My lunch money is intact as well. This could be because the students assume I'm a teacher, a cop, or a sasquatch.
Whatever happened to recess time?




Ben Wilcox

We Don't Need No Stinkin' . . .

We sometimes wear our inclusion in certain groups as a badge: Lutheran, Catholic, Union worker, Republican, Evangelical, and heterosexual, for example (This is NOT my badge, just examples). All of these labels serve to categorize our indentity and focus our ideals. While none of these titles is necessarily bad, it's all too easy to allow them to muddy the waters of our true self-worth, esteem, and identity.
When meeting someone, one of the first questions we inevitably ask is, "What do you do?" We know that our job occupies a large amount of our time and effort. What I struggle with is: Does, or rather-Should-my job define who I am? As I've written before, who I am becoming is more important than what I am doing. I believe that God is more concerned with our character than our job title.
So, how do I label myself? What identification should I carry? My friend would call me 'religious.' Whatever that means, I'm not sure. I guess I would concede 'devout,' but otherwise, I generally identify the term 'religious' with 'mindless regularity.' Hence, you can be religious about anything: smoking, eating, filling up your car with gas, cursing, etc. Therefore, I'd rather not flash the religious badge to anyone. Rather, I hope that my identity is 'a work in progress.' 'Under construction' would be my street sign. I saw a great t-shirt the other day that read, "MEDICATED: for YOUR protection." That's fitting for me (pun intended). While I think everyone is a work in progress; some aren't really cognizant of it and do not seem to be aware of their effect on others. This does not make me a better person necessarily, but I do hope I have an above average level of self-awareness. So, what badge would you find on me if you were to conduct a 'wallet biopsy?' I have a Union Card. I have a driver's license. I hold an NIU student OneCard. I even have an ordained minister I.D. I carry an Illinois Firearm Owner IDentification (FOID), but I neither own, nor have I ever really discharged, a gun. There's a gym membership that should be cancelled for obvious reasons. None of these define me, though. You will find some things in my wallet which do characterize me: pictures. From the photos I carry, you'll discover I am a son, a grandson, a brother, a step-brother, and an Uncle--to my sister's son and to my best friend's twins. Finally, you would also find some scripture memory cards. These define me, too. They denote that I am committed to learning: learning who God wants me to be becoming. That's not a typo either. These little, business-sized cards with words that remind, scold, encourage, and challenge me don't make me religious. Hopefully, they keep me humble--humble enough to admit that my identity is really found somewhere else--somewhere intangible: in religion. "But wait!" you ask. "Didn't you just say that you avoided the religious moniker?" Yep.

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." James 1:27

So, if you've never seen me before, I'm not hard to find. Look for the sign "Under Construction." I'll be the guy reading the inside of his wallet because I just screwed up again. It's OK to approach me. Don't worry: I am medicated, for YOUR protection.








Ben Wilcox