I'm running as fast as I can. My lungs burn, sweat stings my eyes, my legs feel like jelly. Still I push. Farther, faster. I haven't looked behind me in a long time. Possibly, the danger is gone. Possibly, I am alone. But i can't slow down, I can't turn to check. I can't lose ground.
Sometimes, in the darkness I hear His voice. It is barely more than a whisper. Nearly drown out by the thundering of my feet, by the pounding of my own blood in my veins, by the screaming of my fear. Yet, when He speaks, my ears strain to listen. For in His voice is the promise of hope. The promise of peaceful stillness, the promise of freedom. Above all else, I yearn for freedom.
They are sweet words, cooling whispers to my tired soul, and heaven help me I am tempted to stay. To follow the voice and let go. Surrender calls to me and I believe it would be an easy release.
But I am afraid. So afraid, the terror makes my chest feel a hundred pounds. I have been running so long there is no familiarity in stillness. Nothing more than a poignant memory of quiet. I fear that which I do not know. I fear escaping one plight only to replace it with another. I fear a trap. A promise too good to be true. And so I continue to run, wishing I could stop my legs. Lean against a tree a rest for a moment, take a deep breath or the cool air of nightfall, open my ears and my heart to the Voice and let It consume me.
I run, praying for nothing me than that He would catch me.
Sometimes, in the darkness I hear His voice. It is barely more than a whisper. Nearly drown out by the thundering of my feet, by the pounding of my own blood in my veins, by the screaming of my fear. Yet, when He speaks, my ears strain to listen. For in His voice is the promise of hope. The promise of peaceful stillness, the promise of freedom. Above all else, I yearn for freedom.
They are sweet words, cooling whispers to my tired soul, and heaven help me I am tempted to stay. To follow the voice and let go. Surrender calls to me and I believe it would be an easy release.
But I am afraid. So afraid, the terror makes my chest feel a hundred pounds. I have been running so long there is no familiarity in stillness. Nothing more than a poignant memory of quiet. I fear that which I do not know. I fear escaping one plight only to replace it with another. I fear a trap. A promise too good to be true. And so I continue to run, wishing I could stop my legs. Lean against a tree a rest for a moment, take a deep breath or the cool air of nightfall, open my ears and my heart to the Voice and let It consume me.
I run, praying for nothing me than that He would catch me.
