green thumb envy... · it's a runner's world... · who knows?

run your pace…


A few days ago I came across the sweetest little yellow rosebud that I ever saw.  She was hanging on for dear life,  on the rose bush in front of my house.  Here, in mid-November, she is a bit of an anomaly, waiting patiently to bloom.

She has a hard road a head of her over the next couple of nights when the temperatures are supposed to drop and the wind is supposed to pick up; normal weather for November, but, not for delicate yellow roses.

I can’t help but wonder how she feels about it.  Does she feel like she’s blooming at the wrong time?  maybe misplaced? or dismissed?  There are times when I can identify with her – in many parts of my life, but specifically in my running.

You know, I wasn’t in good shape as a younger person when it would have been normal or convenient.  When others were playing ball,  beginning new sports or even running, I was sitting on the piano bench practicing for hours at a time and days on end.

So now, here I am at forty, just now taking up with being healthy and I feel like such a late bloomer.  I know that this path I’m on has been carefully laid out for me by the Heavenly Father himself.  However, that doesn’t help me sometimes.  When running with a friend, or with my husband, when I’m working out trying to improve, or running in a race –  I’m slow.  painfully slow.  And I find myself trying to run at someone else’s speed – desperate to keep up with others.

Do you know what I’m discovering? I can only be myself.  A little late to be learning at 40, right? But, I’ve arrived at this moment in my life, by His hand. I can only be who He’s created me to be. Regardless of what others are capable of – I can only run my pace.   No matter how wrong it may feel at times, He’s created me and He’s thinking of me at every step.

I love this reminder from Psalm 139:14-17

I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Marvelous are Your works,
And that my soul knows very well.
My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.
Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed.
And in Your book they all were written,
The days fashioned for me,
When as yet there were none of them. 
How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God!
How great is the sum of them!

Sometimes it is cold and windy, waiting to bloom in November, but I am not a mistake. and I am not alone.

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