I have run my Asics into the ground, literally. The tread on the bottom is wearing out. The guy at the Runner, where I buy my shoes, says I have a light footfall. It takes me a long time to wear my shoes out. I will make a pilgrimage to the Runner and purchase new running shoes soon. The old ones go in the pile of shoes I wear in Mexico. They give enough support to collect dust and cushion my feet when I go in December. They do not give enough support to keep my knees happy on fall runs where the cool canopies and invites much longer jaunts.
Today I stood on the stage at Grace and told the community that at the end of the year, I will yield my pastor hat. I think it is what I am supposed to do next. And some time soon, the restlessness in me will be freed. It is a strange thing to believe that big changes are coming without knowing how they are going to play out. It is a hopeful thing to believe they’ve been Ordained. Tonight I feel like I am standing tiptoed at a fence I can’t quite see over, confident that there’s something good on the other side and considering jumping the fence so I can get on with it.
But it’s not time to jump the fence. It’s time to sort through my things and consider what needs to stay and what needs to go. It’s time to hand some things off. And it’s time to buy some new runners so that they’re broken in by the time the gate swings open and the broadness and open air of beyond fills my lungs with expectancy. Someone wise said that grace demonstrates itself in excess. I believe this is true.
Today when I stood on that stage, I was heavy-hearted. I wanted not the change that is coming. Here are people I love. Here is safe. But tonight (still a bit heavy-hearted), I caught a glimpse of what could be and wished I already had my new runners broken in. I see some things I want to run after. Hard. The excess that is grace is maybe finding that they’re already running after me.