Notes
This was all I could give today between an exhausting weekend with 30 recruits and the foot acting up. but read below.
I started running as the sun was going down, about 5:45 PM. By the time I was about two miles in, the sun was completely gone, and the day's eerie fog had settled into the night.
Stevens Point is full of beautiful soft trails, but this time of year they are covered in snow and ice, so I took to the roads in the biggest town loop that I know. Wisconsin doesn't have gravel roads, but this particular route takes me on a stretch to the edge of town near the river. Far enough out to be eerie at night, yet close enough to have a few dispersed houses and the occasional Wisconsin-esque woods bar.
As the sun set, I turned into this section of the run. The fog blurred all visibility in front of me. There was no sunlight, but just enough scattered streetlights to dully illuminate the few steps in front of me. I would run out of the lights into a stretch of darkness, back into light, and so on for this three mile stretch. And to be honest, it was hell.
I don't mean it was physically challenging. I mean literal hell. I have often wondered what hell is like. Pop culture lead us to believe that it is fiery. But I think it's more than that, by being less than that. I believe it is nothing.
Those three miles I experienced almost a complete loss of senses. I could hear nothing except my own breath and footsteps. There was no wind, no cars, no animals. I could see nearly nothing but darkness other than the occasional illuminations of a dim, hazy streetlight. The fog created a sightlessness that I couldn't mentally handle. Nothing. It was hell.
I was terrified. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. But why? There was nothing. No critters, no crazy drivers, nothing. But that was exactly the issue. This was not serene or peaceful. It was terrifying. Even a distant police siren brought a marginal sense of comfort, for at least I knew there was SOMETHING out there.
I think I felt a sense of what hell is like. It's not fiery, it's empty. It is literally the absence of God. God is not there, and so it is completely washed of God or anything Holy. It is more than lonely, because it is less. It is nothing.
2 Thessalonians 1:7-9, "When the Lord is revealed from heaven with his mighty angels in flaming fire, inflicting vengeance on those who do not know God and on those who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. They will suffer the punishment of eternal destruction, away from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might."
Nothing is scarier than monsters. Literally, NOTHING is scarier than monsters. But why?
A complete lack of anything forces us to look deep into ourselves. I ran faster to run away from this feeling. I could feel the guilt and shame of all of my sins and flaws creeping up toward me. There was nothing holding them back. I was faced with the rawest sense of myself and the vices that I give into. I was terrified of what this meant for my future on Earth and beyond. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Hell meant nothing, and nothing meant the absence of God; the most terrifying sensation I have ever experienced.
I listened to a sermon recently about how nearly everything we do in life is a distraction. Everything we do distracts us from the sensation I just described; because when you are left with nothing, there is no choice but to go digging deep into your soul, and mutter around with the corruption and debauchery we delve into everyday. We know we are broken, and desperately grasp at anything that takes our attention from this tormenting reality. What really matters when you die? I have looked deep into this idea of distractions. Most everything we do is a distraction from ourselves; even inherently good things like working tirelessly at our jobs. Even though we live in the age of distractions, this is not a millennial condition, but an inherently human one.
After the terrifying stretch, I made it back to suburbia. I realized as soon as I felt safe that my tendinitis was excruciating. I had completely ignored it during the hell stretch, but now nearly limped in the final two miles back home. It was then I realized that I couldn't even rely on one of my most utilized distractions.
I'm not trying to scare you, I just wanted to share what I learned and remind you, and me, to always to think about the implications of what we do day to day.