Seven months ago, Keleigh and I decided to run a half marathon. We had started running together towards the end of freshman year, and then after a “long run,” or so what we thought was a long run before we actually began the long runs, the idea was thrown out.
“This isn’t crazy, right?”
“No! So many people do it. If they can, we can, too.”
That next month, we hammered the nail in and registered for the St. Jude Memphis Marathon Weekend. What a journey we were signing up for. Sitting on a couch in San Clemente, California, digging the cookie dough out of a Ben & Jerry’s container, we were just two best friends, laughing about 13.1 miles, no idea of the beautiful ways Jesus might use them.
There is nothing special about our journey to the finish line, compared to the THOUSANDS of others who crossed that threshold yesterday afternoon. We didn’t struggle in ways others didn’t. We didn’t win first place, although in my mind…we absolutely did. We didn’t experience six months of absolute running bliss. We ran the St. Jude half just as so many others did.
But the thought heavy on my heart this morning is this: the journey to that finish line was so rewarding. The journey to that finish line reminded me a lot a lot of the journey to J’s finish line…our heavenly finish line. And before you say “HA this girl is so cliché wow,” I’m just going to say this: one is not allowed to label this idea cliché until one has run 13.1 miles in one sitting. Just saying. #whoswithme
Let’s start from the tip top of this running journey. The meat of the training started once I moved into my dorm for this semester. It was the beginning of a season for very early-morning alarms and jaw-dropping sunrise runs. I would come back exhausted and spent, ready for bedtime to roll back around, but instead was greeted by lots of Band-Aids and class. One day, my roommate spoke wisdom and truth into my complaining ear. As I sat on my floor, rubbing my calf or ankle or toes or whatever it was I had decided was wrecking my world that day, but was actually so very minuscule, she told me a story from when she was running for cheer. Long story short, she gave me three words that proved to be some of the biggest motivators of them all: “Jesus hurt more.”
Bam. What a perspective setter. An eye-opener!!! A truth giver. A “you’re doing this for the wrong reasons” reminder!! It forced me to take a couple steps back and think about what I want this journey to mean. What do I want to learn from this, J? I don’t want to be a quitter again. I don’t want this to be about me. How can these next few months spent running in diligence be special?
The semester carried on, and the training plan followed suit. Mile after mile after mile we logged into our journals, constantly weighing the consequences of sleeping in and pushing the run to another day against waking up and feeling accomplished. It’s hard for me to tell you which argument won most often. So I’m just gonna leave that one up to your imagination. Like those children’s books where you get to choose the ending…that should be fun for you.
As each week dragged itself along, it became harder and harder and harder to lace up those tennis shoes and press start on the Nike app. It was colder, our bodies were tired, and it felt as if God was handing us road block after road block. The semester turned into a season of hardship and confusion, not a season of diligent training and success like we had planned for. Week after week, my suite would come back to our dorm we like to call our house, and sit on each other’s beds, wondering out loud why everything seemed to be falling apart. I just wanted to scream Why!!!! at the top of my lungs. Why is running so hard. Why is life so hard. Also, for comedic relief but a serious question, why is it so hard to say no to my nightly chocolate ice cream cravings.
But time and time again, the Heavenly Father intervened, speaking the sweetest words over my crying heart. I began to see a bigger picture of this race I had begun to dread.
The decision to sign up began to look like my decision to follow Jesus. Such an easy thing to say: “I’m running a half marathon.” Just as it is easy to say, “I am following Jesus.” But the decision to run the race brought so much more pain and frustration, excitement and happy hearts than expected. Just as my journey with Him brings heartache and sorrow, forgiveness and joy everlasting!!
The training for the race began to look like my life as a Christian. There were seasons of training where I completed every single run of the week with flying colors, racing faster and faster to that Memphis finish line, but there were also weeks where I didn’t even know where I had left my tennis shoes and pepper spray (you’re welcome, Mom). Just as our walk with Christ can be…we can find ourselves on a fast track for Jesus, the finish line burned on our hearts, diligent in our time with Him. But then the next week, the next month, we can and do let Him go. We tell Him that “it’s okay, God, I can do this on my own without you,” and then we hang our Jesus out to dry, crawling back when we fail.
Training for the big 13.1 with Keleigh began to look like how we, as brothers and sisters in Christ, should strengthen and support each other in our race to Jesus. On the days one of us didn’t want to wake up, we’d open the bedroom door and wake the other up ourselves. On the days Keleigh wanted to only drink Coke and sweet tea, I would order her water. On the days Satan gave me a side stitch for four miles straight (boy, lemme tell ya), Keleigh recited scripture to me and we kept going. And on race day, I would not have finished if she hadn’t have stopped when I stopped and made me start again. Just like our brothers and sisters in Christ. Holding each other’s hands and pulling each other to the finish line…what a beautiful picture, is it not?
But the sweetest comparison, the one that brought the most emotions yesterday, was how precious and joyful and relieving and exciting and thankful it was to cross that finish line. That race was the Hardest, with a capital H, thing I have EVER done in my life. My legs burned out, my feet felt like they were both two big blisters, it felt like I had nothing but water in my body, and I eventually didn’t even have the energy to name the dogs we saw on the side of the road (a game Keleigh and I play anywhere and everywhere we go). But we rounded that corner, and I saw my friends screaming and smiling and jumping and yelling our names. And then I saw my mom and dad and brother, who surprised me that morning, and they had signs and tears and joy. And then I saw the finish line!!!!! And Keleigh and I crossed it, holding hands and smiling big, greeted by grass to lie down on. The sweetest time of my life.
But oh how much sweeter and more precious and joyful and relieving and exciting and thankful it will be to cross the finish line that is Heaven. Our everlasting Home. The finish line is so precious. And this journey to 13.1 has been the most surprising gift of them all.
“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light, momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but things that are unseen are eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:16-18
FOREVER thanking the Lord for bodies and legs and feet that can do crazy things like run 13.1 miles!! And for friends like Jack and Keleigh who push you through it!! Race #2 let’s go.
Xo. A
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