The Crazy Runs

Pull up a chair for a minute… this one takes me back a ways. Back in the 80’s, my grandfather got hit with lung cancer. And I mean hit hard. Treatments back then weren’t what they are now and they are not good now. In that time radiation wasn’t some precise, laser-guided deal… it was more like, “let’s light up the whole county and hope we hit the target.” His back and chest were burned up, and the man stayed in a constant kind of pain that most of us would complain about before breakfast.

But here’s the thing about him… pain didn’t change what he loved. He still wanted to go to the cabin. Now when I say “cabin,” don’t picture some cozy Airbnb with Wi-Fi and a Keurig. This was an off-grid mountain place. No frills. Just woods, quiet, and enough space for a man to think and breathe. So one day he tells my dad, “Let’s go over there… and take the dogs. They need to run.”

That tells you a lot about a man right there. Hurting, worn down… and still thinking about his dogs.

We loaded up in an old F-250 with a bench seat. I was wedged right between them. Grandpa couldn’t even lean back because his back was burnt up so bad. Snow started coming down on us, and my dad… well… he believed in consistent use of the gas pedal. My Grandpa finally had enough and said, “My life’s already in jeopardy, I don’t need you helping it along. Slow this thing down.” That’s about as close to panic as I ever heard him get.

We got to the cabin, turned the dogs loose, and just settled in. Snow quit, everything got quiet, and it felt like one of those peaceful mountain evenings where time just slows down. But as night rolled in… no dogs. Grandpa said, “Those dogs are treed somewhere. You boys need to go get them.” Now Dad didn’t love the idea of leaving him there in that condition… but he also knew Grandpa wasn’t going to rest until those dogs were back. So off we went. Two little flashlights. No fancy gear we hadn’t brought a mining light with us. Just enough light to get you in trouble.

We walked a long way down an old logging road, finally heard the dogs, and let me tell you… they were a good piece off. Up one ridge, down another, through brush and mountain laurel or as I call it “the devils crop” that seemed like it had a personal vendetta against us. Finally got to them, snapped the leads on, and started back.

And that’s when things got… interesting.

We crossed what we thought was the same ridge we came over… and suddenly nothing looked right. Dad stopped for a second and said real calm, “I think we might’ve come over the wrong ridge. Not exactly sure where we are.” Now for him, that was just a minor inconvenience.

For me? We had just entered the Amazon rainforest, and I was fully convinced they’d find our bones years later with a note that said, “We ate the dogs before giving up.” Panic hit me like a freight train.

If you have never been lost in the woods then consider yourself sheltered. There’s something that happens when you get lost in the great outdoors. Folks call it “the crazy runs.” That fight-or-flight kicks in, and instead of slowing down and thinking, you just start moving. Fast, maybe even running through the woods. No direction, no plan, just… go. You think movement equals progress, but all you’re really doing is getting more lost, just quicker. I was about two seconds away from taking off like a startled deer. But I had my dad.

He said, “Slow down. Let’s think this through.” No panic. No rushing. Just calm direction. We walked a little, adjusted our path, crossed one more ridge… and there it was. That old logging road like it had been waiting on us the whole time.

We made it back. Grandpa was asleep. Dad was worn out. I was laying there wide-eyed, pretty sure I had just survived something heroic enough to write a book about.

But here’s the thing that stuck with me all these years…Being lost will make you do crazy things, and that ain’t just true in the woods.

The Bible says in Ephesians 2:12: “Remember that you were at that time separated from Christ… having no hope and without God in the world.”

No hope. That’s a dangerous place to live. Because when you don’t have hope… you start running.

You run toward money, thinking it’ll fix it.

You run toward success, thinking it’ll fill it.

You run toward relationships, habits, distractions… anything that looks like a sign pointing somewhere better.

But without Christ… you’re just doing crazy runs. Moving fast. Getting nowhere.

And then Romans 1:21 puts it plain: “For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God… but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened.”

Futile thinking. That means you can be busy… and still be completely off track. Just like the crazy runs in the woods. Covering ground, heart racing, convinced I was doing something useful… when really I was one bad decision away from making things worse.

But here’s the difference that night…I had a father with me.

Someone who knew what he was doing.

Someone who wasn’t panicked.

Someone who could say, “Slow down… let’s find the way.”

And friend, that’s the picture. We’ve got a Heavenly Father who’s not pacing heaven wringing His hands hoping we figure it out.

He’s steady.

He’s patient.

He’s saying, “Stop running. Sit down a minute. Let Me lead you home.”

That prodigal son in Luke 15? He went on a crazy run. Thought he was living life. Thought he was making moves. Ended up in a pig pen, broke, hungry, and wondering how in the world he got there, then something clicked. “My father knows the way.” When he slowed down and begin to think about his life that is when he turned around. Guess what, he didn’t get a lecture but he got a welcome.

So maybe today… you’ve been running. Chasing signs, chasing peace, or chasing meaning.

If you’re honest, you’re just tired. Maybe it’s time to do what my dad told me that night…

Slow down.

Think.

Look up.

And say, “Father… how do I get home?”

Because I can promise you this… The crazy runs ain’t gonna get you there.