Firmly Plant Such Wayward Feet

Tonight was the second time in the past few months that the Lord brought to mind the words of a poem He'd given me last year. Still in process toward the belief that I am an actual writer, it feels odd to have vocabulary that you've carefully arranged come to you in moments of prayer. Four hours ago, I sat with my left leg crossed over the right, bent forward, head down, palms up and tears surfacing. The band played and the music enveloped me, but my mouth was like the desert and my vocal chords refused to utter a singing sound. All I could hear were my own words from months ago reaching out from a distant place and planting themselves upon my mind, then my lips, finally taking root in my heart. These words became my prayer:


"Firmly plant such wayward feet
    prone to run
      escape before I'd come undone..."


The message tonight was on relationships and for me, like most, they are the source of my greatest pain and woundings. God has spoken new life into me over years that now mark my past; my present life holds such a different perspective and hope. Yet, even as I live that truth and reality, my old habits try to resurface--I'm just thankful when I notice them before I choose to give way and flee. Yes, flee--I'm a runner.


I never thought of myself in this way, but about this time last year I actually started to run. This had to do with exercise and not relationships, mind you. I remember telling my physical therapist (I had been injured in an accident) that I was not a runner. Shortly thereafter, she had me on the treadmill running sprints of all things. Sprints! I gave my best and oldest excuse of shin splints and stress fractures from days gone by, but she wouldn't have it. She and my chiropractor provided me with exercises and icing strategies and sent me on my way. The funny thing is, all of that stuff worked and before long, I was running sprints with no pain. Even more astounding, I loved it. I still do.


Becoming a runner of sprints has taught me something about the other kind of running I do; namely, I now see my choice in the matter. Intentionally choosing to run has produced a new confidence inside me, I've felt empowered, my body has grown stronger and more capable of other physical activity, I've toned up and I rest more easily. The changes are significant and I miss it when I'm not consistent. 


My other form of running has largely been marked by running away from anything that looks risky or scary relationally.* I tend to witness myself opening up by letting someone in and before they or I know what hit us, shut it down. Danger! The warning sirens are shrill, loud voices, announcing all of the bad things that could happen and I'm on my way--running away--toward 'safer' shores. And my rewards are depletion, feeling a deep sense of rejection, anxiousness and restlessness. 


In the quietness of my heart tonight, I took deep physical breaths and spoke these words to God. I asked Him to firmly plant these wayward feet that are prone to run, to escape before I come undone. You see, in December He asked me to begin praying for something very specific. It was a very challenging thing for me to pray for because I wanted to put conditions on it... I wanted to say, "But, God, if this doesn't happen, it's okay--Because THY will be done!..." 


I wanted to manage my disappointment before the prayer was uttered. I wanted to choose how I would feel when He didn't answer it. And, because He knows me well, He was extremely clear that I was not to caveat this particular prayer with those words that are so true ("Thy will be done..."). He could see my motive because He knew my heart. God was inviting me to trust Him--not only with the prayer itself, but with the disappointment I anticipated I'd step into given my belief that He wouldn't answer it anyway. Sad, yes?


Yes.


"Firmly plant such wayward feet..." I kept repeating the line over and over and over again. Tears crossed the wall of my lashes and I took deep breaths as I wrestled with them. I don't really want to run away this time. I mean, I do, but I don't. Everything around me seems to point to the reality that these are empty words, meaningless in the big scheme of things. I continue to want to give Him a way out--"Maybe you meant this instead..." I'm grasping at straws for a formula that will make my heart feel better in the waiting. No formula is capable of it.


I once read in a book that: "...a relational wound requires a relational solution." How true. And, how difficult. And so, I keep praying. I continue living in the tension of what He has asked of me, having no idea what the outcome will be of the asking. Finding that I'm looking for clues as to its meaning everywhere lately, I reminded myself tonight, "You are deeply loved, totally known, pursued. HE is your Home, your place of Safety, your Refuge." 


One day, and I hope it's much sooner than later, I pray the only running I do is at the gym. 


*Don't get me wrong, there have been some unhealthy relationships along the way and I've established healthy boundaries and put distance between myself and those individuals in appropriate ways.