Surrendering My Running Shoes

I hobbled through a 4 mile run this morning - literally hobbled. I know this to be true because I observed my shadow dip unevenly in and out repeatedly. Reaching about mile 1, my leg was screaming at me, reminding me something is still wrong. I pressed on, hoping with the repetitive and stretching motion my muscle would loosen up and the pain would subside. At about mile 2, I determined my mind to take over. I tried to forget the pain, letting the endurance side of my thoughts prevail. At mile 3, I knew I should stop, but my pride took over and carried me right through the last mile. This incident would really not be such a big deal if it were a one time occurance. I've been living with this injury for about three weeks now. And yes, I've been faithfully running 4 to 5 miles three days a week for the past three weeks. Habits are so hard to break. Especially the ones that feed into my false sense of security.

I realize this is just a metaphor for how I've been living my life for the past year. In a sense, I'm walking in denial. I've been a runner now for about 26 years. Twenty-six years gives me plenty of experience to know when to stop and let an injury heal, or at least slow down and reevaluate my training plans. But....I like my routine. I'm addicted to my "runner's high". I'm a terrific pretender when I hurt. I want everything in my world to be alright. I want everyone to think I'm fine. Sometimes I'd rather suffer through intense pain than admit my world is shifting.

I set up this blog to write about my precious Meekia. It's been so theraputic, and a strong reminder of His constant presence and goodness. My struggles with Joy have been so profound, so personal, and quite frankly hard. I suppose I thought her challenges would be the defining obstacles in my life. Each step we survive together brings us closer to Him, and takes my mind to a place of completion. I can honestly say there are seasons I never want to travel in again. I cherish the big "sighs of relief" moments. Those big "sighs of relief" were earned through much pain, struggle, and tears.

So, when sensory-integration disorder began to stick it's terrible head back out with my little Promise I pretended not to see it. When my little Faith revealed she also is in the battle, I started praying fervently against it. This time instead of staring this disorder down and putting on my gloves for battle, I retreated into denial. I pleaded with God to let this one pass. I reminded Him (as if He needs a reminder!) just all I've walked through with Joy. I showed Him again my excellent plan of attack and how well our schedule is working for Joy. I pleaded with Him to keep us from change. I told Him I couldn't bear the weight of living with three sensory-seekers. He let me cry. He let me roll around on the floor and kick and scream. He answered my prayer and gave me some more training. And now, He's commanding me to get up off the floor and stop pretending.

Hate is such a strong word, but I hate sensory-integration disorder! I crave control. I crave order. I crave acceptance. Sensory-integration disorder has no regard for any of these. It reeks havoc on anything in its path. It is rearing its ugly head out and revealing a much different side this time. I feel blindsided, unprepared, and deep feelings of hurt. I'm ashamed to say I've actually laid blame this time. As if blaming another could actually help my Promise or Faith. My girls' stories are so hard, and so unfair. I've been "running" and fighting the way I was trained with Joy, but "running" just isn't working this time.

I thank my precious Redeemer for the metaphor. Starting today, I need not live in denial. I am afraid, but He promises I have nothing to fear but Him. He, the great I AM is here. This time I don't think He's going to let me run, and run, and run, and keep running the endurance race to the finish. I'm going to have to lay aside my stubborn pride,stop pretending I'm not hurt, and fall into Him. I trust He is refining me, refining them, and making all things new (Isaiah 48). I trust He withholds no good thing when I chose to give Him my heart and walk uprightly (Isaiah 48:5,11).