Even There, You Are Not Alone

The WordPress prompt was:
How would you describe yourself to someone who can’t see you?

I didn’t answer right away.
The question cut deep—past the easy stuff like job titles, appearances, or roles.
It asked for something real.
Something forming.
Something still in process.

And that’s not something you just spit out.

So I’ll start with a story.
Because stories are how we find each other.

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The Girl Who Went to Iceland

I had a student at Concordia years ago.
She was beautiful—not the kind you see in ads,
but the kind that carries a quiet fire,
like she’d walked through hell and still held light.

A scar ran across her face.
Deep. Unhidden.
But it wasn’t her.
Just a mark in her story.

She told us she went to Iceland.
It was a foreign exchange program back in high school.
But she didn’t go for the culture or the credits.
She went to run.
To get as far from the meanness and the pain as she could.

“I thought if I got far enough away,” she said,
“maybe it wouldn’t follow me.”

But it did.

“My demons came with me.”

Out there, under cold skies and distant language,
she learned something holy:

You can’t outrun what needs to be faced.

She came back—not patched up,
not perfect,
but true.
Humble. Real.

Her words broke something open in me.
I saw my own running in her story.

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I’ve Run Too

I’ve run plenty.

Into teaching.
Fathering.
Faith.
Work.

Into trying to be good enough
to drown out the ache.

The past didn’t hit me with a fist.
It whispered:

You’re not enough.
You’re too broken.
It’s too late.

Maybe you know those whispers.

Maybe you’ve got your own Iceland—
a job, a city, a silence—somewhere you thought the hurt wouldn’t follow.

Or maybe it’s more like Antarctica—
so far out and frozen, you believed nothing could reach you there.

Or maybe it’s your Tarshish—
like Jonah, you went the opposite direction from what you were called to face.

But that student taught me something I’m still learning:
The places we run from are where God waits.
Not to scold.
To hold.
Not to fix.
To form.

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Even There

There’s a verse that keeps me breathing:

“If I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there Your hand will guide me,
Your right hand will hold me fast.”
—Psalm 139:10

Even there.

In the shame.
In the scars.
In the nights when the past screams louder than hope.

You are not alone.

Rumi said:

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”

Jesus said:

“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened,
and I will give you rest.”
—Matthew 11:28

Not when you’re fixed.
Now.
As you are.

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Who I’m Becoming

Dallas Willard taught me
it’s not what I do—
it’s who I become.

Dan Mohler says it plain:

“You don’t get free by running from the devil—
you get free by running to the Father.”

Ruskin reminds me:
our words, our work, our love—
they’ve got to carry eternity’s weight.

And me?

I’m a father who’s missed moments I can’t redo.
A teacher who’s learned more from students than I’ve taught.
A man with wounds I didn’t choose
and others I caused.

But I’m still here.

Not because I’m tough.
But because grace is stubborn.
Because Jesus doesn’t let go.

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This Is Forming 2.0

This isn’t a program or a brand.
It’s a place to stop running.
To name the ache.
To let the Spirit shape us into who we were meant to be.

We’re building something real:

• Stories that don’t hide
• Art that doesn’t perform
• Faith that doesn’t pretend

A place to love and serve—
not from guilt,
but from overflow.

If your heart’s stirring,
you’re already with us.

You don’t have to agree with me.
You don’t have to join anything.

Just be here, in the struggle, with us.

A Quiet Invitation

Take a breath.
Ask:

What am I running from?
What if I faced it—not alone, but with God? With others?

Don’t rush to answer.
Maybe write it.
Maybe whisper it.
Maybe let it sit like a seed.

If you want to walk with us:

• Share your story in the comments. We’re listening.
• Pass this to someone who’s running—they might need to know they’re not alone.
• Stay. Forming 2.0 is just starting.
  We need your voice. Your scars. Your light.

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You Can’t Outrun What Needs to Be Redeemed.

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A Prayer

Jesus,
You see us.
In the dark. In the ache.
You don’t tell us to run faster.
You call us home.
Make us people who carry Your light.
Together.
Amen.

Tags:
Faith · Spiritual Formation · Healing · Grace · Identity in Christ · Vulnerability · Christian Living · Transformation · Stories that Matter · Psalm 139 · Jesus · Rumi · Ruskin · Dan Mohler · Dallas Willard · Forming 2.0 · Becoming · No More Running · Scars and Redemption · Kingdom Life