I started running when I was a sophomore in high school. My best friend was on the cross-country team, so I thought I’d join the team to spend more time with her. What started as a pretty impulsive decision has now become my longest-running (pun intended) hobby. I’ve run consistently in every season of life. I ran through college and my first full-time job. I ran as a newlywed. I ran through frozen New York winters, and then the sweltering southern summers when we moved to Charleston. I ran through pregnancy and postpartum, and on into this season with young kids. Running is a mental reset for me; it’s my alone time.
Of course, running has looked different in each season of life. Before kids, I used to run marathons. When I was pregnant, running might not be the most accurate term for my movement. It was more of a jaunty shuffle/walk. Now that our family schedule is crazy, I run whenever I can squeeze it in. Today is Monday. The sanitation department collects our garbage on Monday, and my son is absolutely obsessed with the garbage truck. So every Monday after school drop-off for the big kids, I set my son up with a snack in the jogging stroller, and we see how many times we can catch the garbage truck. Our garbage truck run is the highlight of his little week, and the smelliest run of mine. On Wednesdays, my daughters have gymnastics after school. So after they head into their class, I head out to log a few miles while they’re busy.
I don’t think 20-year-old Elise would envision running loops around the neighborhood looking for the garbage truck. 20-year-old Elise would’ve looked down on a quick afternoon run around the gymnastics building. 20-year-old Elise logged so many more miles. She was way more worried about pacing. But 20-year-old Elise didn’t have a family to take care of. 20-year-old Elise wasn’t a teacher and a worship leader and a wife. She had more capacity to fret over mile times. And you know what? A run is a run. The miles still count. I still move my body, I still break a sweat, and I still clear my head. It all counts for something.
I remember lamenting to my pastor when my oldest was a baby. I was so tired. My schedule had been upended, and for the first time in my life, my days weren’t my own. My daughter needed me around the clock. As a result, my sweet, peaceful, quiet times of prayer and Bible study weren’t happening anymore. They were shorter and less focused, and I was sad about it. As I told all of this to my pastor, he responded so compassionately by saying, “Isn’t it great that your relationship with God isn’t dependent on what you bring to the table? He’s happy to meet you whenever you make space for him.”
He was right. The time in prayer still counted, even if it was just for a minute or two. The scripture study still counted, even if that meant keeping a Bible open on the armrest of the couch where I feed the baby. It all counted for something.
Now, I’m not saying that we shouldn’t strive to make space for God. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t carve out those intentional times of prayer and scripture reading just because our lives are busy. That’d be as good as me saying that my marriage would be fine without any honest, face-to-face, interruption-free conversations with my husband. That’s not how relationships deepen. I am saying that some seasons lend themselves to silence, and some don’t. And God is happy to meet you whenever you make space for him.
We all have a picture of a holy woman’s spiritual life. She wakes up before the sun to pray. She journals and memorizes scripture. She is never flustered because she can see God’s hand in every situation. She’s at peace and always ready with a prayer and a word of encouragement. All of these things are beautiful, good, and worth pursuing. But I’m God’s daughter; chosen and dearly loved. I’m called by God. I know that God speaks to me and works through me. And my life doesn’t look like the picture I just painted.
I could discount my relationship with God. I could call it ‘not good enough,’ I could get down on myself for not having this ideal spiritual life. Or, I could be honest about my life: my family, my responsibilities, my capacity – all of which God knows about, by the way – and say ‘God, inhabit this season. Inhabit my day. You want my whole heart; you want to be Lord of my whole life. And this is my life; I won’t pretend to have any other. Your gospel is good news for everybody, including me. You call and equip and counsel and sanctify your children. And I’m your child. So work in me today, amidst my schedule.’
God will meet you in silent times of prayer, journaling, and Bible study. He speaks in a still small voice. He can be heard when we make space for Him to speak, when we’re still and clear away distractions. And also, He has never been constrained to a certain setting, a certain environment, a certain time of day, or a certain set of practices. God speaks over sibling squabbles. He speaks in the midnight bottle feeds. He speaks in the carpool line, on the sidelines at soccer practice, at the grocery store, and on the playground.
This spiritual season might look different for you. You might lament what you’ve lost, or what has changed. But if you bring God what you have, and invite Him to meet you where you are, it still counts. It all counts.
Elise
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