Bear one another's burdens

Way back when I was a wee lass of 49, our family joined a gym. I had never lifted a weight in my life, so to say I was intimidated by a two-story building full of meatheads would be a gross understatement. 

Ben was a 4 am gym rat, so obviously I wasn’t going with him. I took my younger son, but what 16-year-old wants to be seen in the weight section with his middle-aged mother?

So I did the only sensible thing: I found a Pilates class full of women, which I went to faithfully twice a week. Then I added some yoga, and I amused myself the rest of the time on an elliptical or stationary bike. 

Then one day a yoga friend invited me to a class called Strive, a weightlifting circuit. It was one hour, and the instructor would show me exactly what to do. She said it would be fun. (Never believe this lie.)

So off to Strive I went. The class starts with each person choosing which machine they will begin on. I chose the one I knew how to operate, the leg press. 

Tony the trainer came bouncing into the middle of the circle with his handy stopwatch and started barking motivational tidbits like “Your mind wants to stop long before your body has to! Don’t quit!” Then “3-2-1, begin!”

At that point you start doing whatever you do on your machine—in my case, leg pressing—until he yells stop and gives you a 15-second break. Then you do two more 45-second rounds, and then switch to the next machine. 

Woo. Such fun. 

Tony could sense I needed a little coaching when I got on the shoulder press backwards, so he took me under his barely-18-year-old wing and basically held my hand all the way through that first class. 

It was the beginning of a lifelong friendship, which included pushing me beyond anything I ever thought I was capable of. With Tony’s help I reached my lowest body-fat percentage ever and was stronger than I’d ever been. And I learned to love it, which is saying a lot. 

One day shortly before I turned 50, I was on a machine doing something when Tony came by and said he wanted me to run a 5K for my birthday. I replied, “Pfft. I’m not a runner.”

As he turned to walk away, he did that little head-nod thing and said, “You will be.” I wanted to argue with his punk attitude, but I knew I would do whatever he told me to do because I enjoyed being amazed at what I was capable of. 

Here we are doing wall sits on my 50th birthday. (Sorry for the terrible cell-phone photo.)

A month after my birthday, I ran my first 5K. The next month I ran another. Then a 10K. I started running longer distances on my own, and Tony suggested the next spring’s Marine Corps Historic Half Marathon. 

Before I could argue, he said, “Look, if you can run 3 miles, you can run 6. If you can run 6, you can run 13.”

What could I say to that logic? I was already proving it true.

And so I did. I ran my first half marathon at age 50. I’ll be forever grateful to Tony for that kick in the yoga pants. 

Tony quickly became part of our family, coming over for dinner often and eventually coming to church with us. 

I had shared Jesus with him many times during class, yelling over the blaring rock music to make my points, and he always listened and seemed to want to know more. 

Finally one Sunday night, Tony put his trust in Jesus and became a new creature in Christ.

He started bringing his girlfriend Cori to church, and she became a Christian too. They were married and had three sweet little girls. They are a picture-perfect little family. 

Then in 2019, Tony was diagnosed with ALS—Lou Gehrig’s disease. No cure, few available treatments. 

Watching their family navigate these dark waters has been awe-inspiring. They have continued to follow the Lord, glorifying him in every single thing. Tony has continued in his role as youth pastor, showing another generation what it looks like to fully trust God with your life. 

Cori has done a phenomenal job of keeping their family going with such a servant’s heart. She has cared for Tony’s increasing physical needs and continued to find ways to earn income while also raising their three little girls. I’m so beyond proud of them both. 

The hardest part of this story is that apart from a miracle, this disease will continue. Tony is not getting better, and though we pray for his complete healing, we trust that God is doing the best thing even when we don’t understand it and want something different. 

They are at the point now where they need a handicapped-accessible vehicle and a better wheelchair. There is a GoFundMe account set up for this that I’ll link below if you feel led to help. 

Tony and Cori’s GoFundMe

One more thing: I also have a nephew who is battling ALS, another young man with a wife and small children. The fact that I know two young families being ravaged by this disease is mind-blowing to me. Maybe you know someone too. 

I realize you can’t give to everyone, to every good cause. But most of us can give a little to one. I’m asking you to pick one and give, whether it’s money or time or a meal or childcare or prayer. These families are suffering and God calls us to bear one another’s burdens. Let’s do what we can.