Over the last decade I’ve been pulled deeper and deeper into the world of endurance sports. Very few of my friends and family understand what drives me to want to do the things I do. There are so many reasons why I enjoy events that push me to find new limits to what I am capable of. But the one that means the most to me is the spiritual connection that I’m able to make with God over the course of training for and participating in these events. By putting myself in situations that seem far beyond my own abilities I’m forced to fully trust in Christ. I’m forced to rely on him in ways that I don’t experience in the everyday rhythm of life. There are moments in every event where I realize that I’ve exhausted my abilities and that I cannot finish on my own. Usually those moments happen late in the race but sometimes – like this past weekend – those moments come early and often.

This past weekend I joined my friend Troy in an attempt on the Dirty 130 route. The Dirty 130 is one of the three routes that make up the Tennessee Gravel Triple Crown. Conquering the Triple Crown had been a goal of mine for 2023 but after a complete rupture of my bicep tendon in April I didn’t think it was going to happen. The bicep injury had to be surgically repaired and with the physical restrictions that I was under following the surgery I just wasn’t able to train like I needed to in order to take on these monster routes. So when Troy reached out to me last week to ask if I wanted to do the Dirty 130 over the weekend my immediate answer was “thanks but I’m not up for something that challenging right now”. But I kept thinking to myself that God had been my strength in so many situations like this and that I wasn’t truly and fully trusting him. So I texted Troy back and said “Man, I’m in!”.

I won’t bore you with a full ride report because that’s not what this is about. What I do want to share is how God used this time to remind me who he is, how he has always been my strength, has always been faithful, and that I need to fully trust in him. Throughout the ride his presence, his provision, and his strength were shown in ways that I’ve never seen before. I’d like to share a few of the ways that God showed up in a big way on this ride.

1. Around 2:00 in the afternoon on the first day we hit a two-mile road climb. The sun was beating down on us and the heat was radiating off the asphalt. I could feel my body temperature rising with each pedal stroke. I knew if I didn’t find some relief from the heat fast I was at risk of a heat issue like heat exhaustion or heat stroke. But there was no relief in sight – no shade, no creeks, and no breeze. It was in this moment of desperation that I said “Lord, I’m in trouble. I need relief from this heat and I need it soon. Finding that relief is out of my control so I give it over to you and trust that you will provide”. Not long after my plea I rounded a corner and saw Troy sitting beside the road in a set of adirondack chairs nestled in a shaded little grove of trees. God had provided the shade and the cool breeze that I desperately needed.
2. After cooling off we started the five mile gravel climb up Starr Mountain. I was already feeling the early stages of dehydration, down to one bottle of water, we were heading deeper into a remote area, and I had no idea where the next water source was. My legs and hands cramped the whole way up the mountain. By the time we reached the top I was in trouble again. Troy could see it and I knew it. We sat on top of Starr Mountain knowing that we could either backtrack thirteen miles to the last water source we passed or press on in hopes that we would find water on the other side of the mountain. In that moment I said “Lord, you are a faithful provider and I trust in you. I trust that you will lead me to water somewhere on the other side of this mountain”. And once again at the bottom of the mountain we found Yellow Creek. I quickly downed two bottles of water, filled them back up again, and poured cool refreshing water on my head over and over. God had once again provided in my time of need.
3. After a restful night, we started rolling early the next morning. And for the next six hours it rained. But after the previous day’s heat we welcomed the rain. By lunch time the rain had progressed from a steady refreshing rain to a pretty severe thunderstorm. We stopped at the Reliance Fly and Tackle Shop for some rest and food and as we sat on a covered bench outside the store we heard a loud explosion. We were pretty sure it was a lightning strike and the owner came out to let us know that they had in fact just been hit with lightning. Hearing this Troy turned to me and said “I’m out. Finishing this is not worth risking my life”. I wondered if I needed to make the same choice but once again turned to the Lord and said “Lord, I know this is just a bike ride. But you have been with me in a way I’ve never felt before. If you want me to finish this I need you to be my protector.”. The rains slowed and the lightning strikes seemed more distant and I set out to knock out the last 30 miles of the ride. Within fifteen minutes the rain and lightning stopped. God had once again shown that he was my protector.
4. After leaving the tackle shop the only major obstacle that stood between me and the finish was the 10-mile climb up Little Frog Mountain. The climb was steep and rocky – unrideable at times. The sun had come out and the rain began to evaporate. You could see the steam rising up from the ground. I covered the first four miles without any problems but by mile six my strength started to fade, the climb had become a brutal hike-a-bike, and once again I was low on water. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could carry on but the only choice I had was to keep moving forward. But how? By mile seven I was taking a few steps, resting, and then taking a few more steps. At this rate it was going to take several hours to reach the top of the climb. I stopped to rest and cried out “Lord, MY STRENGTH IS GONE. I can’t do this on my own.” And as I stood there, all of my body weight draped over my bike, eyes focused on the dark and muddy ground below me I saw this beautiful, pure, glistening white rock. Immediately I thought of Psalm 18:1 and Isaiah 1:18. At that moment I was reminded of who God was and what he had done for me. I leaned forward, picked up that rock, put it in my pocket, and started climbing again. Within the hour I reached the top and started the descent to the finish. God had once again reminded me that he was my strength, my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer.

I love you, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies. Psalm 18:1-3

Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord:

though your sins are like scarlet,

they shall be as white as snow;

though they are red like crimson,

they shall become like wool. Isaiah 1:18

I don’t write much anymore. I can’t really say why. Maybe because I am self conscious about sharing these very personal encounters with God. Or because I often feel like my posts come across as self serving. Or simply because I don’t know that anyone cares to read them. But as I experienced God at work throughout this ride my thoughts kept coming back to 1 Peter 4:11 and the hope that somehow God would be glorified.

Whoever speaks should do so as those who speak God’s word. Whoever serves should do so from the strength that God furnishes. Do this so that in everything God may be honored through Jesus Christ. To him be honor and power forever and always. Amen. 1 Peter 4:11

Eight years ago Alison and I sat in a conference room with the Pediatric Heart Transplant Team at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital. Two days earlier we had heard doctors talking about us going home soon. But then Witt turned blue and was rushed to the ICU and put on life support. Now we were meeting to discuss evaluating Witt as a candidate for heart transplantation. Going into the meeting I was in disbelief that they could perform a heart transplant on a little baby but the team assured us that it could be done and in fact they performed heart transplants on infants regularly. We knew that Witt’s options were very limited and that a heart transplant was likely his only hope and the transplant team confirmed this. So with us in agreement to evaluate Witt for a heart transplant they began to discuss what it means to undergo a heart transplant. They outlined the risks in the transplant surgery, a lifelong increased risk for infection, an increased risk for cancer, the medications he would need to take for the rest of his life, the side effects of those medications, reviewed the 1-year and 5-year survival rates for children that undergo a heart transplant, and discussed the need for another heart transplant in the future. While all of these things weighed heavily on us we agreed to move forward with the transplant evaluation.

Two months old. On life support waiting on a new heart.

Five months later, Witt received a wonderful gift – a healthy new heart. The transplant procedure went smoothly and while the recovery was pretty rocky Witt was able to go home three weeks later. Over the last eight years we’ve watched him grow up and live a surprisingly “normal” healthy life. Sure, he’s been hospitalized several times, takes medications daily, has frequent doctor appointments, and every two years has to undergo a heart catheterization to evaluate the function of his new heart and to look for coronary artery disease (one of the risks associated). But Witt has always taken these in stride and never once complained or questioned why he needed to go through all of this. But recently, with another heart catheterization approaching, I’ve been thinking a lot about what he goes through, the risks he’s been exposed to, and the idea that he’ll need another transplant someday. As these thoughts run through my mind something has troubled me deeply. Lately I’ve thought a lot about “what he doesn’t know”. There is so much about Witt’s future that he’s too young to comprehend. Up until now we’ve not had to explain much about the tests Witt has to undergo or the medications he takes or why he seems to get pneumonia so often. We’ve tried for the most part to keep him blissfully unaware. But Witt is getting older now and he’s asking questions. Just this week I casually mentioned to Witt that he should pack some things for the hospital visit on Friday. Hearing this Witt questioned my previous statement – “wait, I’m just going to the doctor”. We had planned to tell Witt about his heart catheterization the night before but he’s getting older and more perceptive. Which means he will begin to become more aware of what lies ahead. And that weighs heavy on my heart.

But then something amazing happened. Like he had done many times before Witt showed us that you can’t let your circumstances steal your joy. Witt awoke at 4:30am the morning of his heart catheterization happy and without worry. He gathered his favorite things – white bunny, blue bunny, his Champ stuffed animal, his Nintendo DS and happily got dressed. We arrived at Vanderbilt at 6:30am as instructed and began the check in process. Witt happily answered all of the questions from the nurse, the anesthesiologist, and cardiologist. When the cardiologist began to explain what they would be doing he paused for a moment and asked if we would prefer to have this conversation in private – somewhere that Witt wouldn’t overhear what he was about to say. Thinking that he was just explaining the procedure itself I thought that it would be good for Witt to hear. But then he began to discuss the risks associated with the procedure – bleeding, abnormal heart rhythms, blood clots, infection, stroke, heart attack, embolism, and death. With each of these risks I wondered what Witt would say. Would he be scared? Would he still willingly go through the procedure? Would he question why he had to do all of this? Would he say this isn’t fair? His response totally amazed me.

Following the discussion with the cardiologist Witt enthusiastically sampled all of the flavor choices for his anesthesia gas and objectively debated the merits of each flavor before settling on a mixture of cotton candy and skittles. Then he got out of his bed and did the Village People’s YMCA dance for the doctors and nurses. He joyfully played with blue bunny and white bunny. He did all of the things that he would normally do at home. He never once showed any fear. He never complained. He never cried. And when they said that it was time to go back to the cath lab he didn’t hesitate. He hugged us and told us he loved us and calmly walked down the hallway with the anesthesiologist and nurses. Following the procedure the anesthesiologist remarked at how brave Witt had been – that the cath lab can be a little intimidating and scary but Witt walked right in, climbed up on the table, and followed their instructions happily. She said that as the anesthesia gas was administered he fell asleep to “one cotton candy and skittles, two cotton candy and skittles, three….”.

I’m sure I will continue to think about “what he doesn’t know” and it troubles me to think about the fight ahead of him but I know that whatever lies ahead that Witt will approach it joyfully and bravely. And I will continue to be inspired by how he lives his life.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13