Feet graced the pavement methodically, resuming the pace that I have come to call my own and the rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins without ceasing.
And I was never tempted to stop. I never stopped.
I didn’t fight the queasiness, the doubting sensations of whether or not I would successfully make it to the finish.
Instead prayers echoed from within the pulsating walls of my heart and I knew, without a doubt in my mind that my God was running for me.
He has used life to teach me in the past that I am, but a vessel. A vessel to speak when words of truth quake within me, a vessel to write when words flood beneath the lead of my pencil, a vessel to run with the cause set before me.
And yes, the heart longs to give, to rebel in the midst of the storm, the heart longs to flee- when the rushing tide tempts to overcome the soul.
But God met me at the starting line that fall day before dawn and he gently whispered, “Welcome Daughter, I am with you and in me, you are victorious.”
So I ran with a knowing that long ago, before I even knew what keeping a pace meant, that God saw me speeding up at the Portland Marathon finish line.
And that is something that we should write on our ever so often-shaky hands,
we were made to conquer.
While you might have never seen yourself in the place that your heart now calls home, He knew.
Nothing has taken, nor will ever take him by surprise.
Yet we fear. We fear our mile 8s, when our body tends to give out, reminding us that we are fragile hearts merely attempting to dream bigger, grasping more grace than our feeble hands can hold, and barely standing on our weak knees.
We renounce victory, we desperately clench to control before things get too far out of our reach.
But God, the God who stands by you at the starting line as you jog in place is the same God at mile 8, who starts cheering you on and runs beside you to keep your pace.
He is the same God whose eyes light up with fierce joy as you fight to finish strong; He is the one who runs to embrace you at the finish.
I rely too much on my own strength. My tendency is tell my heart that enough is enough.
But thankfully, our life does not depend on “our enough.”
Our body does not depend on our strength to run the race that He has called us to run.
You see, we were always chosen for more.
We were always chosen to run…and we were always chosen to conquer.
I don’t want to remain the same anymore.
I don’t want to stand still when God has made me brave enough to move.
I don’t want to let my dreams go to waste and collect dust on a shelf full of worn-out memories.
I don’t want to go life without running a full marathon.
I know I can speak Spanish, so why stay silent?
I know I can love Mexico, so why not settle down and call it home?
I know that I was meant to sing, so why not sing?
I know I can run a half, so what is keeping me from running a full?
Jesus was enough for 13.1 miles and my Spirit rests in the certainty of knowing He will be more than enough for 26.2.
I am done living in fear of the starting line, because God is already waiting for me at the finish.