Discipline.

I really dislike the idea of discipline. It is a vile word. It makes me feel constrained, controlled and inhibited. It seems so "old school", tight and itchy like a wool turtle neck sweater. The official definition from dictionary.com doesn't help this negative reaction to the word.

dis⋅ci⋅pline /ˈdɪsəplɪn/ –verb
+ to train by instruction and exercise; drill.
+ to bring to a state of order and obedience by training and control.
+ to punish or penalize in order to train and control; correct; chastise.
Synonyms:
+ chastisement, castigation.
+ see punish.

Drill? Control? Punish or penalize? I don't think I want anything to do with that. It's all very unromantic and regimented. And yet, I think I am going to begin a season of discipline. Allow me to explain this, because so far, this appears to be the last thing I would want to do.

This idea of discipline keeps coming up. I was talking with a friend about wanting to be in love with God. About wanting to genuinely love people. I want those things to come naturally. I want to posture myself as a bringer of love, peace, forgiveness and grace. But let's be honest here, that's not natural. Well at least for me it's not. Much to my annoyance. Another thing I'm not a natural at is running. I'm a wheezer, I'm ridiculously slow, I have a little more padding than most born-runners and I can fairly easily convince myself that staying bed is better than lacing up my sneakers. I will say this though, I love it. Absolutely love it. Need it. Crave it. I seriously have withdrawl affects at times.

It wasn't always like this. I remember many days while training for my first big race, wondering what in the world I was doing, trudging through the snow, wet, sweaty and cold, breathing like an overweight smoker climbing a flight of stairs. After many mornings and miles, a funny thing happened. I started to enjoy myself. I started looking forward to my treks. They were rhythmic. Wonderfully predictable and at the same time gloriously unpredictable. I was completely alone and yet surrounded by the city. I felt a sense of accomplishment and release.

I went for a run today on some trails in a park just down the street. Thank the Lord because I was beginning to really, really hate the suburb loop I've been doing. I actually laughed out loud as I turned a corner and an uneven wooden path rose, fell and wound away in front of me, covered in yellow leaves, bathed in golden light from the fall sunlight. Absolute bliss.

To get to the point, it took time to fall in love with running. It took discipline. As much as I hate to admit that. And so perhaps, perhaps part of falling in love with something takes some level of discipline. In order to begin to just love people "naturally" I need to continually make choices that are compassionate. Maybe it means volunteering consistently. Or unloading the dishwasher. Or writing letters. In order to fall in love with God's word, I need to have a little discipline and read it. Consistently. Not just when I feel like it.

So maybe it's just about consistency? Because when something becomes a part of you, part of the fabric of who you are, you miss it in it's absence. Like when I don't run. But I need to return to discipline because-I'll let you in on a little secret- I suck at consistency. Just ask my family and friends. So even if consistency is where it's at, I still need to invite its annoying Uncle Discipline along.

And so it begins. This dabbling into discipline. I'm worried about becoming legalistic and rule bound. Losing the mystery, spontaneity and excitement of it all. It's just a trial period. If I start wanting a buzz cut and uniform I'll pull the plug. But for fun, let's just see what happens. I'm hoping the end will result in an addiction to love and Love.