On day one post-marathon I was convinced that running may truly be an activity I’d have to refer to pre-May 2013. Six days later, I think my right foot is finally starting to forgive me. Perhaps I will run again someday – hopefully next week. Hopefully.
As I sat painfully stretching, examining my mystery injury, I considered Romans 10:15.
And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!”
My foot looks lovely enough, I thought, but it feels like an unforgiving failure. What was most definitely caused by overuse and under-attention has kept me limping for the better part of the past week.
Oh, foot, I can surely relate.
I have to admit I was a little worried about pulling off my daughter’s eight-year-old birthday party on Friday when the pain wasn’t subsiding.
How can I bring good news to others if my feet can’t take me where I need to go? And if I go despite my pain, how will I ever heal? Now I know why the Lord gave me a pain-filled foot post-marathon.
My only answer this week has been hope. Hope. Hope that I wouldn’t live out the rest of my days full of pain and run-less. Each day I told myself, “Tomorrow will be better.” And each day I woke up without a better-feeling foot. But hope repeated, “Tomorrow will be better.” Six days went by without any better-ness. In fact, I’m positive there was some worse-ness mixed in there somewhere. But today is day seven. Today is Sunday. Today is Mother’s Day. New beginnings are bound to burst forth. I’ve refrained from running for an entire week and rested as much as possible with three children running circles around me. I’ve kindly attended, stretched, and slept. My foot is finally forgiving.
But will my feet be beautiful today? I can only hope. Here’s the good news I’ve brought to make them brilliant:
Some days we’re called to run. Some days we’re called to rest. When we get the two confused, pain ensues and failure is imminent. As Christians, we will receive the prize of eternal life with Christ. But that’s not until day seven. First, he’s promised us six days of suffering, sacrifice, persecution, and pain.
Bringing the good news to others often means limping when you want to lounge. It means providing when you feel the most pain. It means resting when you really want to run. Most of all, it means hoping against every hesitation of hell – especially when there is no bona fide better-ness in the here and now.
Limp. Humility always precedes valuable ministry.
Provide. Give freely that which has been freely given to you.
Rest. Running wild without repose is a remedy for retardation.
Hope. When the present is harsh, hellish, unhealthy, and unhappy, fix your eyes on the future. Hope is holy. It is brought by our Great Helper – the Holy Spirit.
For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? 25 But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. ~Romans 8:24-25