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.