Those four little words captured my attention a few weeks ago as I scrolled through my Instagram feed. They were the theme of several local churches for December and were penned in beautiful fonts against the background of starry night skies, rustic manger scenes, and snow capped tree boughs.

It was on a run, of course, that God took those four words out of my IG feed and reformatted them as a question to me:

“Does hope thrill you?”

He didn’t ask it in a condemning tone. Just matter of factly.

I spent most of that day’s run pondering His question. My answer was really another question directed at myself. “Am I THRILLED about the message of hope?” And for that matter, “What is it about this season of the year that thrills me?” I started to list off stuff in my head. My train of thought went off in many directions from the gift of salvation to Christmas shopping to race PR’s. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I was confusing “thrill” with “adrenaline rush.”

I mean really, if you asked people to list their top ten of what thrills them, I’m willing to bet the birth of baby Jesus would not make the cut. Now since it’s December – with so many images and reminders about Jesus being the reason for the season – maybe the percentage would be higher. But what about the other eleven months of the year?

Back to those four words…I couldn’t put my finger on their origin until last Wednesday when I met up with some friends for our usual prayer walk in Central Park. I felt more excitement than usual perhaps in anticipation of Christmas just four days away and that it was our last prayer walk of 2017.  What is a prayer walk you ask? It is exactly that – a time to walk and pray. No agenda. Except to set aside the busyness of the day and draw closer to God’s heart for the areas He wants us to cover in prayer.

These “walks” seem to naturally begin with praise and thanksgiving as we take in the seasonal beauty of the trees, hear toddlers playing in the distance, see teenagers catching air in the skateboard park, and feel the wind blowing the flags outside City Hall. Flags that seemed to be flying at half mast more often than not in 2017. All the more reason for our weekly prayer walks.

As my friends and I rounded the connecting middle school track, I couldn’t stand it any more. I had to ask “Where are those words from?” I wasn’t sure if it was Scripture or a Christmas song.  All three of us simultaneously did that thing you do when you’re not sure the order of letters in the alphabet – you start from the beginning and sing the whole thing:

“O holy night the stars are brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new glorious morn
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels’ voices
O night divine
O night when Christ was born
O night divine o night
O night divine”

Boom! There it was. In a song that I’ve heard every year since I could utter the word “Christmas” as well as dozens of times this month on the radio and even my own iPod playlist. How did I miss it all this time, all these years?

After realizing the context of  the words “a thrill of hope,” the remainder of our walk moved in the direction of praying for “souls to feel their worth” as the song expresses so poignantly. As well as the hope that when you truly know your worth in God’s eyes, the magnitude of the Savior’s birth will drop you to your knees. We prayed this for our city leaders, employees in the surrounding office buildings, school administrators, students, families, local businesses, local churches, pastors, government, and even (or especially) the teenagers catching air.

When I think about all the times those City Hall flags have been at half mast in 2017 alone, it is discouraging. But each time, the wind would cause those flags to unfurl – sometimes fiercely – so you could still visually distinguish their representation of city, state, and country. Perhaps this is an object lesson capturing a snapshot of God’s heart and how I need to respond when I hear His heartbeat: thrilled with hope. After all, without hope, our prayers have no effect. They’re just words. Like flags without the wind.

Over the years, I’ve learned to take God at His Word quite literally. I can’t help it; He made it too easy with all the running references. This Christmas, the account of the shepherds RUNNING to see baby Jesus in Luke 2 (MSG) changed my perspective on “a thrill of hope.”

‘“Let’s get over to Bethlehem as fast as we can and see for ourselves what God has revealed to us.” They left, running, and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in the manger.’

[Later on] “The sheepherders returned and let loose, glorifying and praising God for everything they had heard and seen. It turned out exactly the way they’d been told!”

Earlier I said that I was confusing “thrill” with “adrenaline rush.” But what if God intends for the thrill of hope in Him to also give you an adrenaline rush? Those shepherds experienced the trifecta of adrenaline rushes that Christmas Day by hearing the angels proclamation, running a PR to see the Savior of the World, and telling everyone about the thrill of hope they’d just personally witnessed!

This may not go down as recommended speed training by most running coaches, but I actually did this the other day: ran like I’d just heard the Savior had been born. Yep, I pictured my finish line as the stable with baby Jesus and ran all out until I got there. I think I might’ve even pushed passed a few shepherds along the way.

As I wrap up 2017, there’s much for which I’m thankful and hopeful. My prayer going into the new year is to be SO thrilled with the things God reveals to me that I can’t help but run and tell everyone.

When I hit mile 22 and saw the lone drummer boy amidst the spectators, I had to smile. It was at that moment TobyMac’s version of “Little Drummer Boy” happened to play on my iPod shuffle.

The day began before sunrise with a 3:45am wake-up call, customary pre-race breakfast, and lining up for the 5am start line shuttle. I hadn’t slept well all week. I never sleep well when Dave is away on business trips. It’s gotten worse this last year. At any hotel, I usually request a higher floor away from the elevator and ice machine. This was my sixth year staying at the CIM host hotel which is ideally located steps from the shuttle buses and minutes from the finish line at the state Capitol building. There have been a couple of years sleep did not come easy due to street noise from late night events at the restaurant below or hotel Christmas party with amplified music and an energetic DJ.

Lights out before ten has always been a struggle especially recently. Even when I was a teacher, going to bed before 11pm was not a habit I ever developed. So when I tucked myself in at 9 and settled in with a good book, I was pleasantly surprised to feel my eyelids getting heavy. Lights out at 9:30. And then the drum beats began. As well as loud voices entering the room next door. The drum beat got louder. Now I was wide awake.

I didn’t want to be “that” person who called front desk to complain, so I laid in bed with a pillow over my head trying desperately to tune out the noise and praying another hotel guest would call. After what felt like an hour of this, I finally gave in and called. They were very nice and said they would send up security. Then I thought “Oh no, I don’t want my neighbors to be mad at me.” Yeah, they were mad. I heard some swearing and choice words before the music finally stopped and guests left for probably another party elsewhere. Maybe another room next to another poor runner.

The next sound I heard was my iPhone alarm going off. Another loud, unpleasant drum beat. But I felt surprisingly refreshed. My last prayer before falling asleep had been for God to grant me restorative rest – no matter how brief – and to rely on Him no matter the circumstances. As I ate my breakfast and read my devotional from good old Oswald Chambers, I got my marching orders for the race. The theme was “not by might or by power, but by My spirit.” I was pumped and felt good despite having slept four hours.

My first thought after the bus stopped – besides hitting the porta potties – was to find Lisa. I had met Lisa five years ago at the start line of what would go down as “2012 CIM Monsoon Year.” I noticed Lisa not because she was a pace team leader holding up her three foot wooden stick with the bright red “4:10” sign, but because she was with a small group of runners praying. I snuck in and joined them as they were finishing their prayers for all runners to have a strong, safe race. As the wind picked up and rain poured down, I added my own prayer to the group’s from Joshua 1:9 which I had been praying continually since seeing the weather forecast days before.

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” NIV

That’s how Lisa and I became friends. And what I now look forward to every year at CIM: our pre-race prayer time. I found her email through the CIM pace team page and have kept in touch over the years. She’s even invited me to stay with her in Sacramento the night before the race. Maybe I’ll sleep better if I take her up on her offer next year.

We both actually had tears in our eyes after our prayer time yesterday minutes before race start. I think we sensed a lot of “life” had happened since our last prayer time together. Lisa was pacing the 4:07 group this year. A few years back, I ran with her and managed to keep up until mile 17, but was nowhere near that pace this year. As the starting gun went off and I saw my friend leading her group, it was such a beautiful picture. She would encourage others over the next 26.2 miles and provide valuable coaching as she did for me. I have Lisa to thank for correcting my poor, inefficient arm swing. Who knew that a slight bend of the wrist could make a difference?

And just like that, on a gorgeous chilly but perfect morning, we were off. Me and 8,000 of my closest friends running my sixth CIM and 44th marathon.

I don’t always race with my iPod. Some of my best finishes were without music. This year I was feeling festive and added 20 Christmas songs to my playlist of 70. Just for fun, I try to aim for a total playtime close to my marathon goal time. Lately it’s been around 4:45ish. Then the goal becomes to cross the finish line before my last song ends.

When my girls were little, our December bedtime routine was to sing Christmas songs together. “O, Come All Ye Faithful” and “Hark, The Herald Angel Sings” were favorites. They would take turns requesting different Christmas tunes each night. Sometimes ending in arguments. So much for peace on earth, goodwill to men.

My personal fave is “Little Drummer Boy.” I found several upbeat versions done by groups I love including TobyMac, Pentatonix, and For King and Country. Alphabetically, the three versions were nicely spread apart on my playlist. Turns out they were perfectly spaced out.

I was feeling pretty good from the start which I have not always been able to say. After all, I was armed and dangerous with some key Scripture and tunes yesterday. Pacing was good. I’d even surprised myself a few miles and was wondering how long I could hold that pace or if I was going to regret it later. It’s been documented that there is an optimal BPM (beats per minute) for music used in enhancing runs. When I look back at my Garmin mile splits from yesterday, it’s not a coincidence that my best paced miles were run with certain songs. However, for me, it’s not always about the BPM. Often, it’s about the lyrics. My pump up jam yesterday was one line from my favorite Christmas song:

“I played my best for Him.”

Traditional, long-loved Christmas songs are really worship songs. And worship songs are really songs that help turn worry into wonderful. Yesterday, for 26.2 miles, I got to worship Jesus.

For 4:38.43, I was able to focus on just how good He is and lay my worries down on that pavement. I didn’t think about our businesses in Indiana with the newest restaurant opening in two weeks. I didn’t think about talking to my parents about the senior community I had visited last week. I didn’t think about my kids’ jobs and finals. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t praying for them during my race; I simply wasn’t allowing those thoughts to steal the joy of running God’s race. In fact, if there was a visible thought bubble over my head, you would see the words “Your race, Your pace” over and over again. As if to the beat of a drum.

Mile after mile, breath after breath, step by step, with each beat, I was closer to my goal: Honor Jesus in my race.

“So to honor Him, pa rum pum pum pum,
When we come.”

Which I modified to “When I run.”

“I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum
That’s fit to give the King.”

If you really think about it, what gifts could one possibly give to God? Even harder on a daily basis. Lately I’ve been struggling a lot with this – feeling like anything I do is eternally worthwhile. It’s been over three years since I left the classroom. Feels like a decade since my own kids truly “needed” me as they are now both adults. Empty house especially when Dave’s away on business. Meagan even took our beagle Oski off to college with her. Earlier this year, I resigned from a principal position. But if I really think about it, were ANY of those things fit to give God either? The danger in assigning worthiness to titles and tasks is that it is completely subjective. I am definitely a work in progress in allowing God to transform my notion of self-worth. However, yesterday’s race galvanized for me the fact that giving Him my best has very little to do with the actual job or task; it has everything to do with the heart and effort behind it.

“I played my best for Him, pa rum pum pum pum.”

Which I modified to “I ran my best for Him.”

I’ve spent many a blog post recounting how Jesus is in the details of races and training runs. But exactly HOW DETAILED is detailed? Detailed enough to provide that lone drummer boy at mile 18 exactly when this song came on:

“Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum
Me and my drum.”

Which I modified to “Me and my run.”