It’s the first full week of the new year. The ominous grey skies of Arizona have had the promise of rain in them since this morning. On and off all day, the rain has spattered quieting the dust. The desert is so green; greener than I have seen it since I’ve been coming south, especially in January.

December was one of the most memorable months I’ve had in Nebraska. O’Niell was still my most consistent residence. And I got to spend Christmas quietly enveloped in fog with my family, until a surprise calf in the cornstalks grabbed our attention. It’s been a while since we have had a Christmas miracle baby. Carharts and sweatpants were my attire for the day, and my new sweatshirt from Riley Wakefield which reads:  “It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

I chuckled when I unwrapped the gift. Several practice sessions in the roping pen, yielding less than favorable results, usually led me to this type of mindset: It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine. When it should be more than fine. I’m roping, I get to be on my horse, sharpening skills with elite ropers, and enjoying the day. I should be more than fine anytime it is above 50 degrees in Nebraska in December.

Since receiving that gift, it’s kind of been the theme for the past few weeks. Two days after Christmas, Grams and I loaded up for our inaugural trip south. This was my first time traveling without other horse haulers, but I felt confident I could do it. And I was glad to have my trusty guard dog, Dutchy, with me. Grams got to sleep in the comforts of Hampton Inn and Best Western’s, while I dry camped in my LQ wherever we laid over with my horse. I like being able to check on him whenever I want to, even if it’s just a peep out the window to see him standing, breathing, and still there.

The last time I wrote to all of you was about perspective. Since then, there’s been quite a shift in perspective, both literally and figuratively in my life. Some perceptions I’m still praying through, sorting through, and diving into, while others have brought revelations of joy I haven’t felt for a while.

In the roping pen, my mental game has been the greatest shift I’ve had since I started the sport. I realized in my results oriented mindset, there was no room for joy in the process. I’ve been using my performance journal every day, documenting where I rope, what happened, my performance percentages, and what solutions I’m looking for. I especially like that there’s more room on the page to write down what went well rather than the synopsis of what happened.

Before the rain set in, I was struggling with what mental performance coaches would call a yellow light. This is a negative thought that begins to try and take over your mental process. It shifts to a green light when you identify the thought, and replace it with something positive. But when the thought goes from negative to damning, that’s when red lights come in. And you can’t perform your process under a red light.

We have a tough practice pen, and there were several I thought I should have roped, but didn’t. I ended my practice roping two or three more really sharp and handled my cattle well for my heelers. At times I need to take time away from the sport before I can dive in so I can think rationally rather than emotionally about what happened. When I went through my runs I realized, Wow! This was the highest catch percentage I’ve had since I got to Arizona. Why was my mind trying to tell me I was having a poor practice?

 I know I’ve written before about the scriptures in Romans that talk about renewing your mind and the battles of the mind. It’s very real. We can give this battle more control than we think in a hurry. But what I’ve started to deepen into is this idea that the process doesn’t have to be fun, but it also can’t steal my joy.

Whether it is the burn of lifting heavy weights, CrossFit competitions, long distance running, or fine-tuning roping, there’s more there that I would describe as laborious than fun. Sure, I enjoy what working out does for my muscles. I enjoy the mental task of running. I enjoy roping, greatly, even more so when I have more to figure out. But when the battle begins to steal my joy, the gratitude and ability to do the task, that’s when everything isn’t fine.

One of my favorite quotes from long distance running comes from Steve Prefontaine:

“I’m going to work so that it’s a pure guts race at the end, and if it is, I am the only one who can win it.”

The thing about a pure guts race is your mind and body are literally telling you your body are on empty. And you have to tell it right back, confidently, “No, you’re not.” A pure guts race is pushing past all limits you have set for yourself, going to a place you haven’t been before. I admire this quote so much from Steve, but I’ve taken a slightly different take on it.

Whatever race I’m running, like Steve, I want to be at the end of myself, pushing past any and all limits I have placed. For me, this means pushing to a place where the Holy Spirit can do whatever He wants to do. It is full surrender to the end of myself, and letting Him have His way.

The last scripture I read in 2025 was in Esther. The queen must go to the King, unsummoned, which is punishable by death, in order to save her people. And her response to the task is, “If I perish, I perish.” (Esther 4:16)

You see, making it a pure guts race isn’t about winning the performance. It is about completing the task, regardless of the cost. I used to read Prefontaine’s quote with the mentality that if I’m operating in pure guts, that means I win first. On the contrary, the only way we win our race is to make it about the Holy Spirit, not about us. And that doesn’t always mean first place on paper. Whatever race you’re running in this season, find the end of yourself so God can do what only He can do. Although most of us won’t be facing death in our races we enter, give it all so God can work. And when He is at work within us, there is joy, peace, and wisdom beyond a title or winning first. That my friends is when we elevate from being “just fine, I’m fine, everything is fine” to a place of joy and gratitude that we could be so fortunate to run the race with guts and the Holy Ghost.