Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.
Half way through the mile introduction of walk/run, I was tempted to lay down and give up. As we passed the driveway for the first time around, I begged to turn in. Wallowing in the ditch would have been okay, too. But I kept going. One foot in front of the other.
And it hurt. And today it hurts worse, and I still have a mile jog to look forward to. Cole, my newly donned personal trainer, tells me that he'll adjust the schedule on week three if I still can't keep up. Groan. A long winter of sitting in my comfy computer chair has caught up with me.
Perseverance is not my strong suit. I want the instant glory. I want the tone abs and thighs without the pain. I want the medal of the race without the training. I realized that I don't particularly like even being in the race. The sidelines are fine. But nobody asked me if I wanted to be in the race of grief. I likened every step on that training course to grief. I started out strong. It felt good to stretch muscles that I knew were there. Until the stop sign kept getting further and further away no matter how many steps I seemed to take. The small victories - a telephone pole, a line in the road, a mailbox- spurred me on.
On my knees before God this morning, I felt like I did out there on that road yesterday. Like just laying down to have myself a pity party. I'm tired of this. I'm worn out. My heart feels ready to burst. But just one more step. One more step. One more step towards victory. I realized that the strength to continue doesn't depend on me on this faith walk. It's God who's waiting for me to wear myself out in my own strength, so that I finally depend on His. I never said that I wasn't slow.
I guess sometimes it's just a long way home.