Limitless
Tightening my tennis shoes and stretching my unused muscles, I whispered a silent prayer. Because I never thought I would be able to do it.
After training almost three months for a half marathon, I injured my foot just two weeks before the race. I rested those two weeks, but I still came to the start line on that cold Saturday morning, my heart and lungs ready to run, but my foot joints and tendons waiting silently to declare the outcome.
The Chosen 5K and half marathon is an annual event in Texas that benefits organizations related to adoption and foster care. This year was extra special because one of our short-termers organized a team to support our infants in distress ministry, and what started out as a dream and desire turned into the second largest team at the race. I was simply honored to be there, to be a part, to see friends and familiar faces, and to meet others who were running for babies in Burkina. So at the start line, I told myself that even if I had to walk the whole thing, I would be worth it.
"Ten, nine, eight, seven..." I geared up with the people around me, a group of six that I knew from their visits to Burkina.
"Six, five, four, three..." We had decided to run together, but I seriously doubted that I would be able to keep up...or even run at all.
"Two, one, go!" My feet took the first steps they had run in over two weeks, and off we went.
There is something beautiful and empowering about watching the sea of bobbing heads before and behind you. Knowing that all these people are running for a cause. I picked out the ones wearing green team shirts that I knew were running for us. I looked to the right and to the left and chatted with my group around me. This environment was so different from my solo training runs in Burkina Faso, that I was swept away in the excitement, energy, and camaraderie of the race.
Before I knew it, mile 1 had come and gone, and my foot was feeling okay. As people started to space out, one friend and I settled in and committed to seeing how far we could make it. He had only ran once in his training - a 4.5 mile run - so we made quite an unlikely pair, yet we both had the ridiculous goal to run the whole thing.
I just wanted to see if I could make it to mile 3 or 4 first, but when we arrived there and still felt like going on, we decided to make it to 5 because that would be his longest run. When we kept going, I got discouraged when it seemed forever to make it to mile 6, but then was pleasantly surprised when we arrived at mile 7 having missed the 6 mile sign. (No wonder it seemed to take a long time!)
"Just one more mile," my running buddy kept saying when I commented about my foot. He wanted to "push our limits," he said, "because you never know how far you can go until you push yourself."
So we pushed ourselves and said "just one more mile" all the way to the finish line, and we both did something that seemed so impossible two hours before. We ran the whole half marathon...me on a bummed foot and him on one 4.5 mile training run.
While we were still running and talking about pushing our limits, we were also feeling the reality of it in our tight muscles, heavy breathing, and small aches and pains and pinches. While feeling our own limits, we talked about the limitlessness of our God, who never grows tired or weary, who never sleeps, who never gets tired of us in our limited and sinful state, who doesn't hold onto anger forever, but whose love is higher than the heavens, whose faithfulness reaches to the skies, who removes our sins as far as the east is from the west.
To have no limits? That's a God I long to worship and follow with all my heart.
My half marathon was a spiritual experience. Everything can be if we let it. I learned that running this race of life in community is a lot better than running it alone. I learned that I can either focus on my pain, or I can enjoy the beauty around me. I can focus on what hurts and listen to my heavy breathing and screaming muscles, or I can tune into the voices of people beside me and ultimately the voice of Christ within me. I can choose to run like an injured person, or I can run like I am free. I learned that resting brings healing. I learned that we can go a lot further than we ever imagined when we just keep taking one more step, going one more mile, and focusing our eyes and heart on the finish line.
And perhaps most of all, I contemplated the vastness and limitlessness of God, which makes me feel so wonderfully small and weak. In my weakness, he is so very strong.
After training almost three months for a half marathon, I injured my foot just two weeks before the race. I rested those two weeks, but I still came to the start line on that cold Saturday morning, my heart and lungs ready to run, but my foot joints and tendons waiting silently to declare the outcome.
The Chosen 5K and half marathon is an annual event in Texas that benefits organizations related to adoption and foster care. This year was extra special because one of our short-termers organized a team to support our infants in distress ministry, and what started out as a dream and desire turned into the second largest team at the race. I was simply honored to be there, to be a part, to see friends and familiar faces, and to meet others who were running for babies in Burkina. So at the start line, I told myself that even if I had to walk the whole thing, I would be worth it.
"Ten, nine, eight, seven..." I geared up with the people around me, a group of six that I knew from their visits to Burkina.
"Six, five, four, three..." We had decided to run together, but I seriously doubted that I would be able to keep up...or even run at all.
"Two, one, go!" My feet took the first steps they had run in over two weeks, and off we went.
There is something beautiful and empowering about watching the sea of bobbing heads before and behind you. Knowing that all these people are running for a cause. I picked out the ones wearing green team shirts that I knew were running for us. I looked to the right and to the left and chatted with my group around me. This environment was so different from my solo training runs in Burkina Faso, that I was swept away in the excitement, energy, and camaraderie of the race.
Before I knew it, mile 1 had come and gone, and my foot was feeling okay. As people started to space out, one friend and I settled in and committed to seeing how far we could make it. He had only ran once in his training - a 4.5 mile run - so we made quite an unlikely pair, yet we both had the ridiculous goal to run the whole thing.
I just wanted to see if I could make it to mile 3 or 4 first, but when we arrived there and still felt like going on, we decided to make it to 5 because that would be his longest run. When we kept going, I got discouraged when it seemed forever to make it to mile 6, but then was pleasantly surprised when we arrived at mile 7 having missed the 6 mile sign. (No wonder it seemed to take a long time!)
"Just one more mile," my running buddy kept saying when I commented about my foot. He wanted to "push our limits," he said, "because you never know how far you can go until you push yourself."
So we pushed ourselves and said "just one more mile" all the way to the finish line, and we both did something that seemed so impossible two hours before. We ran the whole half marathon...me on a bummed foot and him on one 4.5 mile training run.
While we were still running and talking about pushing our limits, we were also feeling the reality of it in our tight muscles, heavy breathing, and small aches and pains and pinches. While feeling our own limits, we talked about the limitlessness of our God, who never grows tired or weary, who never sleeps, who never gets tired of us in our limited and sinful state, who doesn't hold onto anger forever, but whose love is higher than the heavens, whose faithfulness reaches to the skies, who removes our sins as far as the east is from the west.
To have no limits? That's a God I long to worship and follow with all my heart.
My half marathon was a spiritual experience. Everything can be if we let it. I learned that running this race of life in community is a lot better than running it alone. I learned that I can either focus on my pain, or I can enjoy the beauty around me. I can focus on what hurts and listen to my heavy breathing and screaming muscles, or I can tune into the voices of people beside me and ultimately the voice of Christ within me. I can choose to run like an injured person, or I can run like I am free. I learned that resting brings healing. I learned that we can go a lot further than we ever imagined when we just keep taking one more step, going one more mile, and focusing our eyes and heart on the finish line.
And perhaps most of all, I contemplated the vastness and limitlessness of God, which makes me feel so wonderfully small and weak. In my weakness, he is so very strong.
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