I sat in on a Bible study with Seth last evening. The college group read through and discussed Romans 8. I didn’t weigh in on much of anything (new surroundings and people I don’t know very well–some not at all). At one point, the group was talking about how the Spirit gives us life. Like, we were dead (or some of us are dead) and the Spirit changes this. Seth described it as an “Ahh” moment. Ashley, the girl next to him, related it to a person sitting on a couch versus a person up, walking around doing something. I was inspired by a different metaphor.
One of my favorite vacations was during college: my dad and us three girls went to Daytona over winter break for just a few days. The weather was freezing–especially for us being so far south. We were called “northerners” by the lady at check in. During the day, we walked around the almost abandoned town and enjoyed the sun. When evening rolled around, we enjoyed the indoor pool a little and enjoyed the outdoor hot tubs even more. One day, we decided it’d be fun to see how far we could go into the ocean. The freezing ocean. So, we suited up and, shivering, ran toward the lapping ocean. Dad was able to get to about his waist, I made it to my thighs, Elsie to her knees and I think Josette got a toe wet, or something. We decided to turn back. Suddenly, we realized how flippin’ cold we were and started moving quickly so we could get out of the harsh, icy ocean. This is when things became more difficult.
Running in knee-deep water is a challenge, to say the least.
First, there’s the splashing: water– salt water –splashes up into the eyes. Flinching– the face flinches hoping to keep the water out of the eyes.
Then, there’s the difficulty in the actual running. Keeping the legs in the water makes it almost impossible to get anywhere; the water produces too much resistance. It’s easier to run like a soldier, with high knees and elbos. But not much.
Compared to running on a flat, dry surface, running in knee-deep water is killer–especially for a chick like me, who’s been called deceptively unfit (twice, by Rachel Sullivan!). (Sadly, this is true of me most of the time; I’m only fit toward the end of summer.)
After escaping the water, I naturally ran on sand all the way up the steps and to the rinsing shower (which poured even colder water on me) before jumping back into the hot tub to dethaw. While I don’t seem to recall many details about that quick jaunt across the sand to the steps, I do know that it was much easier. I was free. I could run with all my frozen adrenaline all the way to the end.
This reminds me of the difference between my Christian walk before and after my miraculous transformation last June. For the eight years beforehand, I was making progress; I was tredging along. It took more effort than I even realized, though. It was like I had been trying to run through my life, knee deep in pain; every effort to move was in resistance to my burdens and bitterness; and I couldn’t enjoy the scenery for all the flinching fear that I would be hurt again. All the while, I was screaming, “Anything else, God, and I’m done with Your people!”
Once freed by the love of God, the amount of progress made was exponentially higher. No more soldier running. I can now make straight, simple progress by the Grace of God. No more water resistance. The experience is there, but the pain has been healed–the hurts soothed. And, since I no longer flinch at the fear of something hitting me in the face, I can enjoy the view: the rolling sand ahead of me, the sun high in the sky, the clouds swooning at God’s creation, and even the water, where I used to be bound to running with little results. I can look at the water, too, and realize what God taught me during that time– patience, patience, endurance, endurance, and endurance… love.
Thank you, God, for Your Miraculous Works, Your Grace, and the Lessons You teach. Thank you for making me vulnerable so that I can learn from You more. In Your gracious Name I pray continually…