While I run, my brain goes numb, so I do not know what I was thinking for those last 100 yards. I could have been drafting an essay for an upcoming test. Maybe I was predicting an impending confrontation with a dorm resident. Perhaps I was singing a carefree song. I don’t remember.
But I do remember my foot hitting the manhole cover. I remember faltering for a few steps with the intention of righting myself. I remember thinking that I was going to fall. I remember watching my keys skid across the path.
Pain shot through my right palm and left hip. Somehow these two body parts seem to be my automatic landing pad. Momentarily, I wondered if I could keep going. Then I pressed myself into an upright position and staggered three steps forward. Nope. My run was done. I would be walking back.
After a few blocks, though, I realized that I was not crippled. My gait might have been slower and harder, but I finished the course.
My Christian walk sometimes parallels this running wreck. As I easily jog through life, I relax my focus. Suddenly, I am stumbling, falling, crashing.
Pain surrounds me. I think that I have fallen too hard. I think that I am broken and unable to resume the race.
But I am not. My restart may be a slow walk, but God does not delay to uphold me. I may look foolish as I hobble, but I press on. Eventually, I will reach the end.
God is faithful, and he is a constant friend when our joyous run becomes a painful crawl.