Running Races You Weren’t Meant to Run

There was once a time in my life where I fretted incessantly about being someone I am not. It was yesterday.

Truth be told, this time of fretting comes almost everyday until I mute it within my own mind or beat it out of my thoughts with the nuggets of truth I try hard to cling to. It is fed by the pictures my friends post, the wonderings of how my life appears, as I’m putting BB Cream on in the bathroom and looking at myself in the mirror.

It’s hot in Indiana this week, and this feels like the first summer in many summers that I want to jump headfirst into it and not tell a single soul. My first instinct in this world, in this information-overload-here-look-at-my-life-on-social-media world, is to tell you all about it. To blog about it. To write a post about it. To put on a filter on a picture of my kids looking cute and perfect and post it. Summer is good because I told you it was! And it’s a race I simply don’t want to run.

You with me here? You know how it feels to run lots of races simultaneously and then wondering why you’re so dang tired, or is that just me?

Running used to be one of my favorite things in the world. I would run until my legs felt like jello. I would listen to the music in my headphones so loud it would feel like I was running in my own concert of a world. But this me right now is not quite built for running like she used to be. I probably could be if I wanted to, but that’s not my race. At least not for today. I’m considering it a kindness to myself to not run when I know I’m not meant for it. Maybe one day.

My figurative running and where I go and the races I decides to race are highly important. I cannot do it all. I cannot live a life that caters to the people on the internet. I cannot try for some sort of perfection that means absolutely nothing in terms of eternity. I cannot run races I was never meant to run, or start races that I’m not ready for just yet. I have to know me. And this me is trying desperately to listen to the whispers and calls of Christ Almighty, not what appears to feel good, look good, or sound good.

And by God, may He let me know when I’m running when I don’t need to. May He stop me in my tracks when I’m over-exerting the strength that is mine and not His. May He be loud in my ears and my heart telling me when I’m a woman who is falling apart because she’s trying too gosh-dang hard to keep it together.

Everyday I’ll fret, wonder if I am who I am meant to be, or if I’ll ever become who I thought I wanted to become. And everyday, I’ll have to step out of that race, remind myself that I surely am who He knew I would be, and He’s got specific races, runnings, doings, and callings that were meant just for me. They’ve got my name written all over them, like He graffitied His lovingkindness and identity on my soul.

Know your race. Know your running.

Or else we’re all fighting for a spot in a race we weren’t all meant for. Or we’re getting out of our lanes, invading someone else’s space, making each other feel like we just aren’t enough for a Kingdom that’s got a place for everybody.

There’s room. So much room that we’ll never see the end of it.