Aimee Byrd

Inside the word. Outside the box.

You haven’t lived until you’ve raced the mailman across six, one acre lots in Rollerblades. Seriously, it is my new thrill-seeking adventure.

The thing is, my mailman is a bit lazy. He will not get out of his car to deliver a package if my dog is outside. I’m pretty sure it’s laziness, not fear. The last time, he didn’t even bother to leave the slip in my mailbox saying that he “tried” to deliver me something and that I could now pick it up myself at the post office. Another time, I watched him toss a Smith Island cake right out of his window as if it were a newspaper. No dog outside on that one.

So there I was, at the last leg of my rollerblading trek around the neighborhood. I was starting to run out of gas, but cruised on by my house and waved at my dog as I pushed myself to the cul-de-sac six lots down. And right as I was about to make my turn back home, we locked eyes. I could hear “The Moment of Truth” playing somewhere in the background.

Mr. Lazy Mailman was right in front of me, just five driveways from my house. I quickly scanned my memory. Yes! I had at least three potential packages that could be coming my way. Without losing eye contact, I gave him my game face. It was on. He hit the gas and I think I left some smoke behind as I tore off.

Although invigorated by the challenge, I was also starting to feel my age. Could I take him? I could hear him barely slowing down to fill the mailboxes in between as I continued up the small incline that led to my driveway. Could I beat the machine?

Turns out I could, with about three deep breaths of gasping for air to spare as I waited for Mr. Think-He’s-Gonna-Beat-Me-For-Sure to approach my mailbox. I tried to feign control of my breathing as he handed me a stack of mail. What? Crummy bills?! Is this what I busted my butt for? But then he muttered, “Oh, wait a second,” as he reached behind his seat (how does he know what’s back there?). A package! At this point my dog is barking and I am almost too tired to make it up my driveway.

But the mystery of my package helps me endure. Since I am always the multi-tasker, I manage to open it while travailing what now seems to be Mt. Everest in my Rollerblades. That’s when I first laid eyes on my major award. My official Mortification of Spin mug, with a picture of John Owen listening to his beloved podcast on one side, and its official Bible verse on the other: “If a man’s hair falls out from his head, he is bald; he is clean.” Leviticus 13:40. I feel snarkier all ready.

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So what’s the theological lesson? Run the race for the prize, of course. In this case it took physical fitness and perseverance. In the Christian life it takes theological fitness. Recording podcasts with Carl Trueman and Todd Pruitt takes a different kind of fitness altogether. But I continue to fight so that one day they will have a mug with an equally relevant verse for women. Until that great day, we can all drink from the same cup. Except mine will most certainly be filled with coffee, not tea.

*Originally posted October 14, 2013.

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