Dad in the Crowd

When I was in high school I ran, but sometimes just “power walked,” on the West Forsyth cross country team. I remember that first season...I would run the first half mile with the team in the back of the pack, and then sneak into the woods with my buddy Jon Hipp. We would chillax with the lawn chairs and a cooler of Gatorade that we had set up prior to practice. We were hidden enough so that WE couldn't be seen, but with the perfect view so we knew exactly when to exit our island oasis and rejoin our worn-out teammates. It seemed like the perfect plan until "time trials" came around and I couldn't make the 28 minute minimum 5k time required to run in the first meet. Pretty humiliating.
After a few weeks, sitting in the woods for 20 minutes while the rest of our friends actually trained, started to not feel quite as cool… so we bid the forest farewell and began actually attempting to run. I puked a lot that season, but no matter how hard I trained or how many bananas I would eat on race day, I was never fast enough to be in the top 7. My ultimate goal was just to beat Julie Smith. Now understand, this wasn't too shabby of an aspiration, Julie was one of the fastest in the state, but the catch was that the girls’ race started a full minute or two behind the guys. Even with that big lead, I'm pretty sure I never actually finished a race before she did.
I got beat by girls; I never finished in the top 7; And I often ran so hard that I threw up...so why did I keep running? Maybe I actually thought I could get better? Maybe because I didn't want to get lazy and fat? Maybe because I enjoyed the team camaraderie?
It was a little bit of all of those, but deep down, I think it was for that indescribable feeling I got for a few seconds each race. During a seemingly never ending 3.2 mile race, I’ll never forget those few seconds that made me keep going while I was struggling up that mid-race hill. I was at the point where I wanted to give up, but then I heard it, in somewhat of raspy yell. “Go Drew! You got it! You’re gaining on him! GO DREW GO!!!”

There’s nothing like the voice of your father cheering you on.

If you know my dad, you know that his yell sounds a little angry. This is simply due to the fact that he has a paralyzed vocal cord that leans against the other one from his college days of refereeing intramurals. I like to think that when he speaks, the raspy sound has more of a manly, yet sexy, almost Batman-like quality. But when he yells, most would think it just sounds plum scary. As for me, I knew the sound of my dad’s voice, and I knew that his hollerin’ wasn’t in anger, but in love. It was meant to push me to the finish line, to encourage me to complete the race, and to give it all I had. His words were like NOS for my Nikes, a virtual turbo boost for my bones, if you will. While the roar of the crowd, or the few parents that actually served as our minimal spectator fan base, would give me goose bumps, it was my dad’s voice that made me run faster.

These last few weeks of doing Young Life at Arapahoe High School have felt a little like that uphill part of the race. I’ve often been discouraged and just wanted to throw in the towel. It’s crazy how humbling rejection from a high schooler can be. But just last week, when my head started to hang, I heard my ever faithful Heavenly Father cheering in the crowd. This time His words came in the form of a letter.
This was not the kind of letter that Mackenzie found in his mailbox in “The Shack,” this was a real letter that came to our apartment, only it was sent by an old friend.
In 1997 I became a Young Life leader for the first time at Northern Durham High School. I remember feeling many of the same emotions that I feel when I go to the high school today: fear, loneliness, and ultimately, dependence on Christ. That year I met a group of freshmen guys that I still call friends today. Some of them were in our wedding, some of them are now following Christ, and some of them are still searching for answers. Last week, I got a letter from one of the guys. It immediately brought me to tears. The note was simply four lines just thanking me for investing in his life. He included with it a check to Young Life, telling me that he wanted to financially support Arapahoe Young Life with a monthly donation. Wow. Eleven years ago I never would have guessed that one of those crazy freshmen guys would be now a Young Life donor, giving away his hard earned money so that I could keep loving kids with the love of Christ. When I opened that note, it felt like God himself was cheering me on from the sidelines. I’m gonna keep runnin' up this hill…

 

My first time climbing Mt. Chrysolite at Frontier Ranch with the boys from Northern Durham High! (after we had all died our hair: Russ, Mike, Luke, Josh, Cleve, Me, and Andrew)