Running woman

Somewhere between mile 2 and 3 I was done. D-O-N-E, done stick a fork in me. My arms ached, my lungs were plotting to kill me if I took another breath. My spine was threatening to face plant me into the asphalt with every step. All my thoughts were telling me what a fool I was for running a race. Why did I start off at this pace? Why did I think I could do this? I was ready to give up and walk. My only consolation was telling myself I'd never do this again. I told Jesus, he's got to sing to me to get me to finish.

Then I look up and there is the finish line and I'm almost done. My pace quickens, I catch my breath, my posture corrects and my stride lengthens. I can see my kids cheering for me - my hubby picking up his things to meet me at the finish line. And then just like that I'm done.

That's how it so often feels to me in my spiritual walk. I'm tired, I threaten to give up, I'd rather walk then run, and I tell myself negative crap. I complain about my current condition rather then the joy at the end of the race. And in the end, looking back, that race seems shorter and less difficult than it seemed while I was running.

Perspective. I'm in desperate need. Pray for me. I need it.


To my surprise I won first place today. And it didn't matter how much internal whining I did. It didn't affect my prize at the end. That gives me a little comfort.