A Race

In middle school and high school, I was apart of the track team. I competed in sprinting events. I love to run fast. I always have. I think this from my dad. I can remember as a little girl watching him play softball from the dugout. When he ran the bases, I just assumed he was the fastest man around. And he was, at least to his adoring daughter. One day after track practice in eighth grade, I was feeling pretty confident with myself. I challenged my dad to a race. He was wearing jeans and cowboy boots while I was in full track attire. He smoked me. Needless to say I was brought back to reality.

In a matter of seconds, I was reminded that my dad, at age 35, was faster than his 14 yr old. That is the sure thing of a sprint race. You know the results quick. As an adult, I have attempted long distance running. When I say long distance, I mean 3 miles. I have learned that I do not have the patience to pace myself. I just want the running to stop after the first mile. I give it up to the ladies and gents who run and train for 10Ks, half-marathons, and so forth. I will cheer you on from the sidelines. My problem is I know one speed. I once ran a 5K at 28 minutes. I would run fast for 1/2 mile and walk 1/4 mile then repeat. I am sure you would not find that training regiment on the internet. I started sprinting regularly back in the spring. I try to go out 2-3 days a week and run 100m X 8. I am enjoying it. The children go with me, and I am done in 10 minutes.

This posture that I have towards running spills over to other areas of my life. When faced with a difficult situation, I am ready to find my way out or resolve the matter quickly. I am becoming convinced that this is due to my lack of patience and trust in what God is doing in my life and in the lives of those I love. Recent examples:

It has been 7 years since I have potty trained a person. This time around, I have a little dude who is determined to do it his way. My sweet husband reminds me that this is a short season and toddler Joe will eventually get it. It is hard to see that though when I am cleaning poop out of underwear or consoling my boy when his belly hurts because he refuses to go in the toilet. Not a sprint, but there is an end.

Twenty months ago, we welcomed a sweet baby girl into our family. We knew that adoption was highly possible but may take time. I never imagined it would have taken this long and entail all the drama and continued court hearings. Not a sprint. Possible end in sight.

Our sweet girl has been diagnosed with a seizure disorder. The neurologist also tells us her brain is not normal, but he does not know exactly what is abnormal about it.  May never know. Watching her development is key. When she was released from the hospital after staying for a week in March, the neurologist said, "This is the beginning of a marathon." Me..."Um, excuse me, I don't do long distance. Not what I want to hear. Can't you find something quick and treat it so we can move on from this?" I didn't actually say that, but I thought it. Not a sprint.

I want so much for my ten year old to see sin rightly and run with abandon to Christ; not pining for the temporal pleasures of this world. Not a sprint.

These are just snippets of circumstances the Lord is giving me to respond in faith and trust in His sovereignty. I like quick answers, but God's timing is perfect. Results may not come when I expect, at all, or how I want it to turn out. Here is what I do know. I am Christ's, and he is mine.