Running Away

When I was in High School, I was decent at a lot of things. I was reasonably smart, reasonably athletic, reasonably well adjusted, etc. It wasn't until I tried distance running in High School that I thought I was really good at something. After quitting baseball because I sorta hurt my arm, I sorta never started, and sorta hit below the mendoza line, I needed to do a sport or my parents would make me get an after school job. My dad was a good distance runner, so I figured trickle down economics told me I'd benefit from that. It made sense to me, partially because my academics were so off kilter at that point in my life I just blended classes together (in this case Economics and Biology) if I could make the logic into a standing house of cards. Turns out that house of cards got me there, as I was a pretty good miler.

I kept at it with running as it finally felt good to be good at something. I didn't so much enjoy the act of running per se; I enjoyed the purist competition and I liked my teammates and friends, but running itself was a chore most of the time. The first year and a half were great. I loved being good at something, I loved being able to tap into ability more so than others seemed to be able to, and I loved hearing my name announced over the loudspeaker. I'd been playing baseball for 10 years and I never made an All-Star team once. That first medal was a long time coming in my mind. After just missing qualifying for the State meet my Junior year, I realized I might accomplish something that only a handful of athletes ever do; compete in the state finals for a sport. I knew that as a Senior, being bereft of any competition from those older and more seasoned than me, I was a shoo-in for the state meet.

After that though, things took a turn for the worse. At the halfway point in the year, I really collapsed into a brooding depression. Things had been spiraling downwards for a few years now at about this time of year perennially, but Junior year was when the floor caved in from under me. That third lap per se of the academic mile, like the regular mile, was always the toughest. I had always put sports and my social life above my academics, and until now had just barely skated at the edges of respectability. My grades would always drop to the athletic minimum, and I would be grounded, but I was allowed to stay in sports because they kept me out of trouble. Junior year was different though. Two F's in Spanish and Calculus combined with poor grades in other classes left me without a leg to stand on (I hope you like running jokes) and I couldn't run anymore. As I had built so much of my self esteem on running, I didn't know what to do.

My family was supportive, but I hadn't allowed myself to rely on them emotionally. I had built myself up so much as a great man of independence and personal accomplishment (totally unfounded, by the way) that I didn't know how to reach out for help. I just focused intently on how much I sucked; how worthless I was; how I kept telling myself I'd spite the world and prove my awesomeness but never did. I constantly had something to prove to everyone, except nobody actually was waiting for my proof. I kept looking inside myself for that super ability to just surge it out at the end like I did when I ran, but it wasn't there. Life isn't running. I couldn't just be awesome and get there anyway on natural talent; I needed help. I didn't know how to or want to get help, so really, I was pretty much doomed.

Fortunately, that's not how God operates. God came down and showed me how he had been helping me the whole time. He'd lead me through Church my whole life to give me a net for when I collapsed in shame. He lead the school to already have plans in place to lead me out of such academic rigor and ease back into a doable schedule for me. He already told my therapist that perhaps something else was afoot other than regular teen stress and anxiety. The night when I collapsed and prayed to God to fix everything I didn't even know how I had started, he already had plans in play. God swooped in and quieted my heart, separated the daunting from my horizon, and instead put his yoke upon me. Suddenly I found myself with a straight road in front of me instead of a windy, hill laden pass which I had picked out. I learned quickly that, on my own, I pick challenges out that I have no intention on actually completing. God only plans challenges for me that he equips me to deal with.

Everyone's got snow globes in their proverbial houses of life. If real life is a house which requires extensive upkeep, everyone has snow globes that they can shake up all they want with the knowledge that it doesn't matter. Some people shake up a sex snow globe; others a party snow globe; others a gaming snow globe. They have their sub-lives that they can experiment around with and jeopardize because it doesn't matter if they screw up; their real life is what matters. Somehow in high school, real life became my snow globe to my figurative running house. I focused all my efforts on being a great runner, and every now and then shook up my real life just to keep myself entertained. When the snow globe hit the ground, I forgot how much it really mattered, and God had to pull me out of it. I thank God every day that he put running back into its globe, reassembled himself as the house, and gave me a detailed guide on how he'd help me keep it up.

When God comes in and finds you crying on the floor over a snow globe, don't run away. Embrace his love and let him fix everything for you. For me, when the time came, I knew my choice. How could I deny the only thing that had the sole power to fix everything I had ruined, and yearned for me to allow him to do so?