Not My Mile

John 3:30

It was cold enough this morning to see my breath.
It took a few miles for my lungs to warm.
Around mile four, I finally felt like I was moving.
Perfect timing. Right when the rain began.
Forty degrees and a Southern rain cloud.

It smelled like wet trees and pavement.
I could still feel the cold dropletss of water against my face and arms.

It was uncomfortable. But it felt good
Good enough to rejoice in.

Your mile, not mine.
Your glory, not mine.

I’ve been in a strange season lately
one that started after Colorado, after the Ironman.
Didn’t expect it. Didn’t plan it.
It just came.

Like weather that rolls in without warning
and stays longer than you hoped it would.

I knew it’d be cold this morning,
but I didn’t expect the rain.
I knew following You would cost me,
but I didn’t expect this kind of pain.

All year I’ve prayed
that You’d teach me to love You
more than I love myself
to make much of You,
and less of me.

I’ve been told to be careful what you pray for

Somewhere along the way, I got prideful.
It didn’t shout; it whispered.
Came soft,
disguised as strength,
dressed up like growth.

I started to impress myself.
Started to think I was doing okay.
Forgot my brokenness
or maybe started boasting about it.

Then the bottom dropped out.
Like a flimsy paper box
too weak to hold what I’d been stuffing inside.
And suddenly I saw it
the weight I was carrying
was never meant for me.

Now I’m nearing the end of the Old Testament,
and the pages have gotten heavier.
Around Jeremiah, I started to feel the weight of sin
not just Israel’s,
but mine.

Lamentations made sense.
Ezekiel shook me awake.
Daniel gave me hope.
Then Hosea. Joel. Amos.

And the words got close
too close.

I read about sin…
and then I looked.

And when I looked at my own life,
I saw it there too.

And it hurt.

But even here
in the cold,
in the rain
I’m learning that Your grace still runs deeper.

Deeper than I will ever know.

You still run beside me.
Still keep pace when I slow down.
Still whisper through the storm:

“It’s My mile.
My glory.”

And somehow,
that’s enough.

Soli Deo Gloria