Several years ago, a friend allowed me to use his river cabin for a week to study and write. During that particular season of my life, the pressures of ministry were heavy and unpleasant, and I very much needed a moment of respite. The use of the cabin was a welcomed gift. I was thankful for the opportunity for the respite, and I was thrilled by the opportunity to enjoy this particular place. My friend’s river cabin had been the place of many church events and gatherings during my childhood and thus held happy memories for me. These memories, along with my awareness of how much I needed the opportunity to momentarily step away from the difficulties of ministry, filled me with hope, that the week I would spend there would be a blessing to me.

Looking back, I think I was in a more precarious situation mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and even physically than I realized at the time. The particulars and causes of why ministry was so burdensome during those days are no longer important. What is important is that every area of my life was being consumed by these burdens without any relief or space for other things. Though others contributed, the fault for this lay with me. I had not actively created healthy boundaries and space in my life. Having dangerously neglected my own need for these things, I was hopeful that a week alone at the lake would provide a lifeline that would allow me to persevere. The use of the cabin was a gracious gift. Even the timing of the week I would spend there was ordered by God’s grace. I arrived late in the afternoon of Labor Day. This is the last day of summer fun on the lake for many who have houses there. Not only did I have the cabin to myself, but because there were so few there after Labor Day, it felt like I had the whole lake to myself.

We pass them by every day on the roads that we travel without much thought or recognition. Little green signs, with white numbers marking the distance in miles from a starting point, blend into the scenery beside the road. These mile marker signs are part of a very long history that stretches back to the first constructed roads. There still stands today beside the roads that the Romans constructed stones engraved numbers indicating the distance from Rome. These stones are called milestones. With this long history, the word "milestone" has found a place in our lexicon not only referring to an object that indicates the distance from a specific point but also to a moment in time that has significance or distinction.

This past weekend I traveled to Columbus, GA, to celebrate a milestone with my dad, who is also named Ben Smith. On Friday, September 1, 1978, my dad started running. From the start, he recorded his running miles and eventually would add them to an Excel file to keep track of his total distance. I was a little boy when he started running, so I do not remember a time when he was not a runner. I do remember that over the years, I would hear him mention different goals that he was striving for. In the early 1980’s he was training to qualify and then run the Boston Marathon. Years later, as his total distance of running approached the distance in miles equal to the distance around the Earth at the equator (24,901 miles), he regularly made announcements as to how close he was getting. When he reached this milestone, he was running with some of his longtime running partners. They stopped and used a disposable camera to capture the moment then continued their run.

A few years ago, I decided to start running. Several reasons motivated me to start running but chief among them was I recognized that my health was not moving in a positive direction. It was not that I had a health crisis or had received some troubling diagnosis but rather I recognized that the combination of not eating well and a lifestyle that was mostly sedentary was conspiring to rob me of energy and endurance.

When I began running, I did two things. First, I dramatically changed my diet. I cut out things that were high in sugar and salt and I cut my portion sizes. The second thing was I began to run every morning. Well, more accurately I attempted to run every morning.