“you need to run. and write.”

“You need to run. And write.” A sudden thought that pushed through the numb slogging of my brain right now.

This year has been hard. It’s been a stretching, pushing, angry, God-pruning kind of year. Where God and I always seem at odds about where my life is going and where it needs to be. Where obedience is reluctant and my routines and rhythms reveal someone trying to escape rather than someone trying to progress. The whole “I will go and do” attitude but with a heavy dose of “but when I have time to myself, I don’t want to hear from you because I want to do what I want for two seconds.” And that is who is writing this right now. Someone who has turned down the personal revelation volume in their life. Because I am afraid that station will keep disappointing me. Keep making me feel like a cog in a machine rather than an individual with hopes and dreams. So for much of this year, revelation was for other stewardships. Family, teaching, and church callings. And not for me. I thought it was better to be numb and ignorant. Going through the motions. Because if I allowed myself any more emotion than that, I would be angry and resentful.

And then, after an anxious week of comparison and dissatisfaction, I had a distinct thought break through the numbness and into my heart.

“You need to run. And write.”

So brief. So simple. And yet so distinct. Something only someone who sees and understands me on a deeper level could suggest. A nudge from God to push and stretch myself, but in places that will make me feel whole and abundant. A rhythm recommended not to help and serve someone else. But to heal and build my body and spirit. I am by no means a runner; but He knows it is a place I need when I am angry, overwhelmed, or frustrated. Just me and my body working through what my brain has thought and rethought into anxiety and anger. And writing? That’s where all that brain mush simplifies into words and paragraphs; and exits out of my head and onto the paper (or screen).

So here I am writing (the running will come into play next week/fingers crossed).

And stretching myself to listen again; to hear His words and the Life they provide, despite my circumstances or challenges.

Because this is what faith in God is. It’s messy and angry. It’s trying-but-not-perfect and here-believing-some-times-more-than-others. It’s learning to manage mortality, in a place that is so foreign and unfamiliar. Where we are separated from everything we know about God and ourselves. And somehow, some way, he makes it all work. Even when we don’t always see it.

I am come that they might have life and that they might have it more abundantly - John 10:10