A thought

You can't appreciate the finish until you've run the race.

I'm sure someone else has come up with that analogy before, but that's what hit my mind last night. In the midst of struggle and hard times, I find myself redirecting my thoughts to that idea. The championship never tastes as sweet if you never knew the pain of getting through it. Sure we wish were all exempt from the hard times, the scary moments, the questions, the doubts, the pain, the insecurities, but when's the last time you looked back on it and didn't appreciate it for some reason? The materials to mold you.

Received a letter from a friend today that said I was carrying my cross beautifully. That was a statement that struck me. It makes me stop and stare at what my cross actually is. What is that I have to carry? What is this weight on me in these moments of pain and absolute confusion? The answer comes back in an echo that bounces off the hollows of my head. "I AM" It's the answer that makes me groan and feel so small. I didn't want it, but it's the truth. I run the race because I was asked to. And I chose to. My cross is of love and faith.

Someone else mentioned to me today that God will not violate someone else's free will to make us happy. I don't need to win the race by cheating. I will win it by asking for perserverance and joy. If we instantly felt the pain during the race, when our muscles scream to stop, then we would quit if we didn't beg for perserverance through that pain. The dangers of a feeling heart. Which I have. So what will I do with this feeling heart? Let it defeat me or let it mold me?

I often find myself rearranging my thoughts for others, replacing bad ones with happy ones, for the quick fix. I never stay in the moment. I never ask for the pain to grow my spirit positively or show me something new to learn. I always ask for the end. I ask for the finish line. As we all do. But He never said we'd get there by being exempt from pain. His Son was never exempt. Walking this earth for the very people he knew would kill and abandon him. But a prayer. Perserverance. He didn't want the process either, He asked for the end, but ultimately surrending to the process. The moment. The pain. I still, in this moment, find it hard to compel myself to give into this. There's too much loss there, I think. But I want to finish don't I? So here I have to contemplate what the race really means to me. It means not only winning but learning. Learning that the race is not possible without pain.

Hallelujah. O sings my soul. Hallelujah. When I want to scream and curse and cry, I fall to my knees and don't want to say Hallelujah. But out of my lungs escapes the praise, the curse, and the pleading. I ask for perserverance, I ask for faith. Let me run. Let me run. Carrying my cross of love and faith all along. I will win that race.