(This is a follow-up post to “The Barefoot Legalist” in March; check out that story for context.)

My dad speaks of “the expulsive power of a new affection” as one of the surest remedies for a broken heart. It’s not necessarily a rebound crush, although that would probably work too, but love has its curative properties and this seems to be one of them. Honestly, it’s little comfort to someone going through relational turmoil that “Oh, it’ll all be fine when someone else comes along,” but I found Dad’s words ringing in my ears over the past few weeks when a cute girl—call her Amie—caught my eye.

Now, I had learned my lesson a little about the legalistic tendencies of my own heart, especially as regards relationships, and so I really tried not to be the controlling perfectionist that I was on the last go-round (“scheming” is how I describe my heart when it tries to take over story-writing responsibilities from God). Ditching perfection turned out to be not so hard, because whereas with my last girlfriend I could’ve talked your ear off about how we were just right for each other and why she met every relational benchmark I had and then some, things with Amie were a lot messier. I knew that it would be wiser to get to know each other more as friends first. I knew she had just come out of a long-term relationship. I knew that on paper, the timing was ill-advised in pretty much every respect. When I sat down to tell the story to my mentor, I could only throw up my hands and laugh about just how chaotic, confusing, and unpredictable the whole thing was.

It became clearer and clearer that my interest in Amie was unrequited. I could feel the old controlling instincts and sense of entitlement rearing up in me, and I hated them. I prayed. I wrote. I talked to Tim, and he prayed too. Amie and I had a few long conversations, to the delight of my insatiably analytical nature. And I ran—a lot.

It was the first running I had done since my jubilant, guiltless runs over Spring Break. I ran completely barefoot, and there was no trace of obligation as I blasted my music, soaked up the sunshine, and dodged little pebbles on the sidewalk and cigarette butts in the grass. But I was absolutely running for stress relief most of the time, and my faced screwed up into all sorts of emotional contortions as I acted every inch like the strung-out endorphin junkie I am.

Today, I literally ran an errand and did a longer, harder route that would take me by the grocery store. My old injury showed up for a visit on the way back home; I’m writing with ice on my knee. I don’t worry that this is the end of running for another couple months, but as I walked the last half mile back to campus, I thought to myself, “Well, you pushed yourself too hard. That run was too long and the terrain was too tough and if you just hadn’t overdone it, none of this would’ve happened. You better not be turning back into a legalist about running!”

And then I laughed at myself for being a legalist about legalism. I had almost started believing that legalism caused running injuries, and that if I could just obey the “rule” against being a legalist about running, then everything would go well for me. I imagined some Wormwood or Screwtape trying to get me to hold that absurd contradiction in my mind and God chuckling as I blinked the scales out of my eyes like backwards contact lenses.

It was the same with Amie. I hadn’t exactly given up on “scheming,” and my heart still desired to be in control. I was more willing to admit that I couldn’t achieve relational success on the basis of how perfect the relationship looked, but I wonder if some part of me thought, “Okay, not being a legalist is the way to get what you want—that’s the trick!” I believe there was some genuine surrender and humility going on throughout the whole  journey, and I’m not saying I’m against plans and preparation and hopes and dreams. But God’s graciously reminded me that I’m always looking for ways to manipulate him, even if my plan is to manipulate him by not manipulating him.

There! I figured out what you were trying to teach me, God! Now can I have a girlfriend?

But just kidding.

But seriously.

But just kidding. Seriously.

I started running seriously again in the spring of 2011. Especially after a dreigh winter, the Scottish spring can be enchantingly beautiful: the sun comes out, sometimes the temperature is in the 60s (Fahrenheit), and it looks like God has turned the Saturation filter way up high on his photo-editing software (as Tim describes it).

I ran to soak up sunshine. I ran to keep from going stir-crazy. I ran jubilantly, with a mad grin on my face and grace pouring down my ears in the form of fast-paced songs. I started running barefoot in the park for stretches of 10 minutes or so, because I’d heard it would keep me from injury (shin splints, my old nemesis) and because taking off shoes felt like I was removing the chains on my feet.

Back in America that summer, I was a camp counselor. That July in Oklahoma was the hottest month anywhere anytime in US history. I didn’t do much running for a couple months.

Towards the end of that summer, I started running again. I had to. Almost every day during the last week of camp, I woke up a half hour early and ran a few big circles around the ball field. It was introvert time, time away from my campers, time with Jesus; my body and soul thanked me, even though I got less sleep.

Also toward the end of that summer, I fell in love with a girl that I had always considered out of my league. Our dates went swimmingly. I was beside myself.

Camp ended. I kept running. I kept in touch with the girl. There was one run I remember where I was so happy that I flung my arms wide, breathlessly panting a praise and worship song and smiling as I sprinted the last hundred yards. There was one surprise visit I made to see the girl that couldn’t have done more to confirm my attraction to her, my pleasure with the relationship, my confidence in our compatibility and mutual encouragement in Christ.

I did more barefoot running, and bought a pair of minimalist shoes so I could move my paths out of the boring safety of the college campus. I wrote letters to my girl, called her on the phone, sent her flowers once. I had never enjoyed running more; I had never felt more lovestruck.

Things got rocky. The girl and I started having some miscommunication. I didn’t realize it, but I was trying so hard to be the perfect boyfriend that I had stopped trying to be the kind of boyfriend she wanted or needed. When reality didn’t correspond to my plans for a perfect relationship, I became disappointed, insecure, maybe even resentful. I can only imagine that it was unpleasant and stressful to be my girlfriend. We broke up, and I was bewildered and bitter for months, because I had done nearly everything the “right” way.

I kept running. I needed the endorphins more than ever. I drove miles to a park to go trail running. I ran a long circuit to the heart of Tulsa’s downtown. I thought about doing a half-marathon in March. And then, in early December, my left knee started stiffening up when I would go running. I wanted to power through it, but the tightness couldn’t be ignored, and I was afraid I’d only make things worse. I had a miserable, cold run to downtown, and on the next one I gave up a third of the way through and walked painfully back to campus.

I finally had to quit after a short experimental run on campus. My knee hurt, my stamina had gone way down, I couldn’t do the distances I used to do, and I didn’t even like running anymore. But it was so hard to give it up—running represented health, joy, relaxation, being fit (and hence being good looking, and hence being desirable). And, after all, I’d done it “right”—I’d landed on my forefoot, not my heel; I’d had short strides; I wore correct shoes.

It was a brutal thought that I couldn’t run anymore, that I didn’t have the girlfriend I’d liked so much, that things were in general not turning out how I’d expected or wanted. I had also had to give up my two-year tradition of completing “reading challenges” because I had no time  and little inclination for pleasure reading in January. In short, I was failing all over the place and my springs of happiness were successively running dry on me.

For months, I ran because I enjoyed it and it felt good and it brought me closer to God. For months, I dated camp girl because I liked her and it was fun and it pointed me more to God. And somewhere along the line—maybe when I started to feel dependent on running or on the girl, or maybe when it looked like she was starting to pull away from me and I was going to have to stop running—running and romancing became things I could succeed or fail at. Especially in defeat, I became a legalist concerned with performance, not joy.

It is good to do hard things. It is good to challenge yourself and not grow complacent. It is good to strive for a healthy, affectionate relationship. But I so easily switch my motivation for doing those things from a desire to please Jesus and live by his Spirit to a desire to be in control, to have success, to fashion the kind of life I want for myself. I won’t say I’ve learned my lesson, but I understand my legalistic tendencies a little better now, and I see God’s grace and forgiveness and patience as more wonderful than I saw them before. Praise God for the sanctification of sore knees and broken hearts!

I’ve gone running three times in the past week or so without any knee pain. I want to keep running, and I may even set running goals or challenges at some point, but this time—joy, not achievement. God’s glory, not mine.

Calvin & Hobbes on falling in love. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Many months after its inception during a Microeconomic Theory lecture, “The Love Song of the Economist”—the nerdiest song I’ve ever written—has finally been recorded for your listening pleasure. It took me forever to get good enough at the finger-picking to record a decent version, and while it’s still not great, it’s so very John Lepine.

You can also listen to it (and my other songs) here.

The lyrics, laden with economics puns:

Girl, concave preferences aren’t rational
And I know I’m unbalanced and extreme
Grandma said, “Moderation in everything”
But baby, will you hear my plea, and misbehave?

Oh Dream, if you would choose me I would swear
To do my very best to monotonically transform myself
To be more optimal than everyone else
To outlie that curve shaped like a bell—well, I’ll try, at least

Dear-heart, you’re not marginal to me
Not just one more good of many
And I’ve got no commodity fetishes
And I’ve got no kinky preferences
My one inelastic wish is this:
To put gold on your finger
On your finger
On your finger
Gold and a diamond too