Loving those who are lovin’ a runner

Funny, how life turns out. Mister and I have spoken this often, that nothing’s gone just like we thought; that life has turned out all different. What this means is that some things have been vastly harder than we ever envisioned; others, vastly more wonderful than we’d ever dreamt; and the only thing you can count on, is that there’s little you can count on (except Him), and it’s good we don’t get to know. Yes, it’s good.

While there’s a great deal of fun stuff, or big and glorious and wondrous stuff that I’ve not done, there’s a lot of the other kind that I’ve not had. I’ve never had a handicapped child. I’ve not suffered through bankruptcy. My health is good (so is my family’s), and we’ve never lost a child.

All of these are tight and painful shoes that I’ve never walked a mile in. And if I’ve never worn this pair or that one, I can’t know how they cramp toes, or rub tight to blisterin’, or how they cut into one’s skin. I can’t know.

There is, however, one pair that I’ve walked in, and that one’s called “loving a runner.” Before it happened to me, there was a lot I didn’t know, but there’s a lot that I sure do know now.

Before, when I saw others with runners, it was awfully easy to judge. To decide, “They’re too lenient, too this or too that,” and for this I have humbly repented. Because I didn’t know.

I didn’t know how a parent will question and writhe, will pummel and pound. On themselves. Didn’t know the second guesses, the “what if’s” and the doubts. Didn’t know the torment of regret.

Back then, before our son took off runnin’, I didn’t understand that not everything was mine to know, that those with runners just needed my love. Needed love and encouragement and prayers.

Oh, the prayers. How they needed those prayers.

I didn’t know this, that, too, what they needed was a few friends close by, circling ’round. Needed Aaron and Hur to hold up the arms that grew feeble and limp o’er the battle. I know now.

I didn’t know how a word at the Spirit’s kind prompting could lighten the load, restore faith. How a simple, “I care,” or a text message, checking, could turn the day’s tide, giving courage.

In all of these things that the Lord kindly taught me, there’s nothing of shaming and blaming. I didn’t know…because I couldn’t know. But He in His sweet mercy taught me.

And now I know (better than I did) how to love you who, too, love a runner. Today, I speak hope! Speak courage. Speak faith. We’ll leave all the judgin’ to Him.

God’s got a good plan (how I needed to hear this) for both your runner and you, and He’s faithful. He’ll complete the good work that He has begun, and meanwhile, He’s sending His love.

I send mine, too.

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