13 November 2012

11 November 2012

running is a metaphor

On one night in March of 2011 I became a runner. I had picked up running before, tossed it around a bit, every time eventually fumbling it as I tried to juggle too many pieces of life that claimed higher priority. But this time was different. I had never run more than a mile before, but on a warm spring night down lazy neigborhood streets I felt like I could keep going forever. A silver parachute floated down from heaven with a gift of five miles, and when I came in the house at midnight and woke Kalie up to tell her about it, I was hooked.

17 months, 1166 miles, and 1 heart surgery later, I ran a marathon.

This long process of committing myself to excellence at something I have no natural talent at, and doing the daily work to train my body to achieve what had been a ridiculously implausible goal, has been incredible. I was weekly humbled by the Holy Spirit's gracious gift of his own strength and sanctifying discipline as I regularly faced runs that I lacked the willpower and stamina to accomplish and he trained my spirit to pursue wisdom and discipline at the cost of my own comfortable inertia. This wasn't just about running; it was about God working bigger things in my spirit and using running as a metaphor.

Thank you to those of you who encouraged me, rolled out of bed with me at 5 am during summer vacation to run before sunrise (that's you, sisters!), made sure I didn't leave the house without water (Gram), took me out for breakfast after my first 5k (331 girls), and drove two hours with handmade signs to cheer me to the finish line (Kim & Jill).

Here's me coming down the finish stretch after running 26.2 miles (getting smoked by Girl in Pink):

But it doesn't stop here! Thanksgiving 5k with the sisters, coming soon!