I Didn't Run

I’m a serial runner. To all my athletic crew, feet to pavement isn’t quite what I mean. You see, ever since I encountered one too many Jeromes, I was done. Done with getting my heart broken, stepped on, and set on fire. I decided if I wasn’t wanted then I didn’t have to be here, there, or anywhere he was.

So anything that looked like, felt like, or smelt like pain, rejection, or my demise, I was out of there like an Olympic 400 dasher. I know Shekinah Glory sang my soul says yes, but mine was singing no. No to you sir being the catalyst to my identity and value amnesia again.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t just good at running from alluring men, but I was good at running from God too. Every year we go through this. God unveils the thing He wants me to work on and give myself to, and every year it takes me all year to somewhat halfway kinda sorta do it. When I reach the top of a new year, most of the time, I sense I’m still in the last one trying to complete something unfinished. As this one draws to a close, I feel the same way.

Unfortunately, I wasn't just good at running from alluring men, but I was good at running from God too.

My One Word Resolution (which ended up being two this year) is committed and courageous. And I feel everything but. As I stare at uncompleted books, sites, and projects, I slouch my shoulders in defeat. All year I doubted myself, second guessed if anything I had to say mattered or would be good enough (and for me, it’s never good enough). So my work is left on blinking cursor waiting for me to get back to my next thought or rush of confidence.

As I looked at my two words, I didn’t think any of my work or God’s work in me had been accomplished to that end. That was until my sister reminded me with three words that all was not lost: I didn’t run. Ever since I got the uncanny suspicion that this certain man was creeping into the folds of my thoughts and heart, my feet have been set to run away from him. And for the past two years I’ve been my toddler racing up and down the hall chasing the excitement and horror of being caught.

And I was. Love caught me by the coattail unexpected and beautifully. And yet it was a mess because I couldn’t stay. And so if you’ll recall, I marched myself right out of there in surrender at the beginning of the year. But I was left unsettled. No peace. I never got the chance to explain my position and that I never wanted him or me to go; I just felt like we had to. So when the opportunity came for me to share my heart midyear, I thought I would finally be able to lay all to rest. However, I wasn’t.

What was supposed to be the longest-shortest goodbye turned out being longer than expected. And because so, I fumbled in words, actions, and intent the whole way through, causing more confusion, frustration, and pain between us both. I was selfish. I just didn’t want to hurt. And staying felt like the promise of more soft tears drops and silent longings of my heart. So, I kept trying to impose closure, all the while threatening that I’d do it if he wouldn’t.

But each time I got ready to put on my Nike’s, I set them aside. I finally realized that the risk of love is loss and hurt. I didn’t need to try to run away from an inevitable thing. I just needed to embrace it. Not just for me but for him. I decided that I was willing to stay with a struggling heart because I cared for his. And I wanted his to be ready and willing to let me go too.

Even though I knew that was the goal, my heart stammered in resistance when it finally became a reality. I didn’t want it. I don’t want it. But I’m finding a way to accept it. These are the moments in life when you know the answer to your why questions, and yet you still don’t quite understand why.

Sometimes our why questions sound like this…

• God, why did you let me meet this person if this was going to happen?

• God, why did they have to be the one to leave such a beautiful (or painful) imprint on my heart?

• God, why can’t you just fix this or change that so that this can work?

• God, why did Abraham get to keep Isaac, but it seems you’re asking me to kill mine?

I remember during one of my questioning tirades, God responded. But not in the way I would have thought. He just said, “Trust Me.” I can see with more clarity why I should have as I take inventory of what walking through this relationship has done for me.

I’m more healed. More kind to myself. More determined to take next steps and finish the unfinished. I recognize areas of needed growth. One being to be less selfish and demanding, wanting my way on my timetable. I'm reminded again of my deep need for God and to cling to Him alone. The things I thought would be impossible for my tattered and leery heart, I now know are possible. I was humbled to receive. I've overcome the fear of opening my heart again and learned to love and trust again. It was messy, and yet it was beautiful. God intentioned this relationship to complete a work in me. A woman a bit more committed and courageous than I had been. Though I didn’t stick to much of my goal list for the year, and I cowered back in fear, in this one thing I didn’t. I stayed. I didn’t run.

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Sometimes we can become disheartened because it seems like we aren’t making much progress. I was reminded while reading the last of my New Morning Mercies devotion for the year that “God’s work in [us] is a process, not an event. It progresses not in three or four huge moments, but in ten thousand little moments of change.” As you look back over your year, find that inch of movement and celebrate it. Perhaps it’s bigger than you think. Perhaps it was the one spot that needed to be dug up just before you discover gold.

God's work in you is a process, not an event. It progresses not in three or four huge moments, but in ten thousand little moments of change. Paul David Tripp, New Morning Mercies