Mile 11

My younger, stronger, in-better-shape running partner had ambitious goals for the day. This was her third half-marathon and she was looking to better her already good time. I decided to go for it and try to stick with her. We had a great run for 9 1/2 miles. The pace was good, the view was gorgeous and the company was superb. Great running conversation! But by the middle of mile 9 I could no longer ignore the growing pain in my calves as they clamped tighter and tighter with each step. Nor could I ignore the obvious need for a bathroom pit-stop.

Telling my friend that I was going to ease up a bit took me about a mile. In no way did I want to beat her, but competitive blood flows through my veins, and letting her go went against all my gut instincts, even if it was in line with my better judgement. I argued with myself for a mile and finally, somewhere in mile 10, necessity overpowered pride and I slowed my pace to better match my waning strength, giving her freedom to run ahead and make her goal for the race.

After my much needed pit-stop, I stretched my calves a bit, downed a cup of water, and resumed running for the last 2 miles. It was in this mile, mile 11, that I began to feel the real struggle to keep going. There were women with shirts that said, "Courage to start, faith to finish," and I was in need of faith as I panted up the long, long hill. My legs hurt, with every step, and though I was able to continue putting one foot in front of the other, my brain was so very aware of each individual step.

It was about then that I happened to glance up and see how beautiful the blue sky was. And as I ran and gazed above, an incredible thing happened, for four or five seconds I forgot that my legs hurt. So I tried it again, careful to look where I was going so I didn't trip, gazing at the green trees and blue sky and noting what a fantastic day it was. And each time I lifted my gaze the weariness and pain I had been so acutely aware of for several miles would dim, fading into the background.

And so it was in mile 11 God gently reminded me that life is like that. There are hills, and pit-stops, and the need to let companions go their own way and pace. There are circumstances that leave us alone, exhausted and in pain, and yet we keep going. And if we look at our circumstances, examine our pain or focus on how alone we are, these seasons can be excruciating. But if we lift our eyes to something beautiful, get our gaze off of the pit we're in, we can, even if it's just for a moment, feel less pain and loneliness.

In the gaze of grace, we assist in our own healing process - lifting our eyes from the trouble to the Redeemer, from the pain to the Healer, from our thirst to the Source of Living Water. It was in mile 11 that God gently suggested that I take time each morning to focus on who He is, anchoring myself in His nature and character every day. For when I truly gaze on God, everything else pales in comparison and falls into place.

So God, today I gaze on You, my creator, who - by the power of Your Word - made all things, and entrust my shadowlands to you.