An excerpt from my opening remarks at our Rhetoric School Awards Ceremony.

The most important things in life cannot be captured on a certificate.

When my wife gave birth to our children, she was not handed a certificate. (Oddly enough, each of them were!) When a man dies at the age of 93 having lived a life of faithfulness to his wife and family, he does not win an award. The reward of these two examples of faithfulness is not any sort of certificate or recognition, but rather the thing itself. Sacrificial service to another person is the reward. Faithfulness is the reward. Those of us who have experienced glimpses of these things know this to be true.

But many of you have not experienced these things. I know you don’t like to hear this, but it is true: you simply have not lived long enough to experience all of what life has to offer, at least not in its fullest sense. But you will. And what do you now affects the way you will approach the rest of your life.

Which leads me to my second point:

It is worth recognizing—on paper and in front of your peers—those things you have done this school year that are pointers towards the really important things in life.

Grades, in the end, do not matter. But Faithfulness matters a great deal; it can make or break entire families, communities, and nations. And being diligent to give your best effort on homework, even when no one is looking, is a pointer towards the sort of faithfulness you are called to walk in throughout your life. A practice of regular faithfulness now on things that carry little weight is precisely what prepares you for faithfulness when it matters most.

A scrapped idea for this year’s Easter Vigil sermon that I think would be interesting to pursue eventually:

I think you can find many, if not all, of Kübler-Ross’s five stages of grief in the various reactions to the news of the Resurrection of Jesus found throughout the Gospels.

That is as far as I got before moving in a different direction, but hope to come back to it some time.

Today I completed a 365 day run streak. I have run at least one mile per day for the past year.

To mark the occasion, below are some initial reflections, interesting stats from the past year, plus a thought about what comes next.

Initial Reflections

You can do just about anything once a day. Most days it was inconvenient to fit in a run. Some days it was nearly impossible. But when the question was when—not if—it somehow became more possible.

Days are different. There were some days where an 11-minute mile felt like a beating. Other days, a 10 mile run at 10-minute pace felt like a breeze. (Time of day, hydration, nutrition, and stress level were all major factors.)

I am certainly not faster than I was when I started, but I have far more endurance.

For some days, weeks, or seasons, the bare minimum is all I had in me. A mile a day for three weeks beats zero miles a day for three weeks.

I have not had a major injury this year. A lingering case of plantar fasciitis has remained, and my legs have been sore for a year, but I did not have an injury that sidelined me entirely.

Running with a stomach bug and running with hiccups and running after a drink or two are all very unpleasant experiences.

My wife picked up a running habit in the past year, and generally runs with me at least one night a week. This has been a great addition to our marital tool belt. (If she asks me an uncomfortable question, I can still run away!)

Interesting Stats

• 567.5 miles total
• Average of 1.5 miles per day
• Longest runs: 13.1 miles (Dallas Half), 10 miles with Ben, and a few 9s around White Rock.
• Latest run: 11:30pm

What’s Next?

While I am not entirely sure what I plan to train for, I do plan to continue running every day except Thursdays and Fridays starting this week. The streak was a great way to become a runner (again), but rest days are going to be crucial if I actually want to become a better runner.

Best Run Pictures from the Year

Frozen 10 miler with Ben … before his 50 mile race.

Dallas 2-miler with the Family the day before the Half.

Solo run on Pre's trail in Eugene, OR.

We are all beginners in the liturgy, really. All of us—from the first-time visitor who finds himself pain helplessly through the Prayer Book wondering what is happening, to the aged priest who has known it all by heart for half a century—are only on the lower slopes of worship. If the great seraphim themselves cover their faces in the presence of the Divine Majesty, who of us will claim to be experts at the act of approaching the Throne with offerings of adoration and praise.

From The Liturgy Explained. (The old edition)