I’m more of a walker than a runner. But I untangled double knots this morning and strapped on an Ipod, determined to run. I ran through one song and walked through another. Sarah Groves whistled lyrics while I breathed in and out, like timed contractions, jogging to the soft tempo.
But soon enough my body begged to stop and my feet ached beneath dark asphalt. And thoughts slipped in, quietly drowning out the music.
“You’re not a runner, why even try?” and then like a game of follow the leader, another stomped in, loud and clear.
“You’re a mother, not a teacher,” and I second guessed the lesson plans that sat on my desk ready to be taught.
But softness played into my ears of how God makes beautiful things. And as the morning sun peaked through acres of thick trees, I realize there is always a choice to make: continue or quit. Walk or run. Stroll or sprint. And my feet came off the ground, one in front of the other, in a quiet rhythm of up and down and the jogging continued.
And it’s true, I’m not a runner, but there is peace in pursuing truth and seeking the lovely that God lavishes on us each and every day.
And I’m not a teacher by trade, but my soul stirs and bubbles over watching creativity spill onto pages and into the hearts of the children I love.
And continuing on is easier when I know I’m not doing it alone. There is one that runs and walks alongside my tired steps in the mornings and in the afternoons and moments when I need Him most. And it’s that promise that keeps me going.