Almost three years ago and encouraged by my daughter I enjoyed joining in at the local Park Run with her on a Saturday morning. It was great fun. At the same time my wife began using a tread mill at the gym having never run in her life before, apart from school days and the odd late bus. One Saturday morning she agreed to join in with us at the park run, a sort of family outing. On one level this experience was joyous because we three ran together and yet it was sad because our eldest daughter, living in Abu Dhabi, was not able to run alongside us to complete the family group.
Around the end of the first lap it became apparent that the pace was too slow for me and I found it difficult to hang back. This was not encouraging to Cheryl and Hannah, I recall the word annoying! So they invited me to clear off on my own and leave them to their pace. The following week a colleague from work suggested I run with her. By the end of the first lap of three required to complete the 5K I was struggling. With long drawn out breathless words I said, ‘This – is – a – bit – faster – than – I – normally –run.’ She replied that her normal pace achieved 5K in around 28 minutes. The pride I had carried round each week in my 37 minute best time was shattered. Pressing on until my Achilles tendons in both legs gave way I thought about how I should have run my own race. Limping to the finish line that day I achieved a new personal best. I have however, never run since! In fact I could hardly walk for a few weeks after.
Until the restrictions closed the Park Run down I became a coat holder each Saturday clapping and encouraging those passing where I faithfully stood. A new enthusiasm developed in me for those who walked round taking 50 minutes. Their faces showed determination, overcoming, pride and often pleasure as they crossed the line. Some Saturdays I marvelled at the speed of the early finishers touching the tape as it were at 17 minutes. Many people kept going after these slick, super runners had reached home, even had a shower! They kept going because they focused on their own journey rather than those on the same path. Each started at exactly the same place, the clock tower, and everyone finished on the bridge. Yet all had their own race at their own pace, with their own target yet between the same start and finish. Even those holding the coats, resting or encouraging were part of the journey.
My wife and daughter continue to go from strength to strength running 5K three times a week and looking well for it. Who knows they may take me out on a slow recovery run one day, I wonder if they will hold back for me!
Looking at how the disciples interacted with Jesus tells us a lot about that uniqueness that brings each of us to faith and along its path. Andrew was scratching around following John the Baptist looking for God and spotting Jesus he dumped John and followed Jesus – still looking for God. Of cause Peter, Andrew’s brother, carried on fishing until Andrew took him to Jesus. Quickly Peter became the noisy one fully engaged, mouth open before brain in gear, as it were. Andrew becomes a background figure. These two brothers were on the same path but at a different pace. You know, every one of us must approach God in this way, individually and out of our uniqueness. If we all had the same taste preferences food would be boring, we’d live on porridge. If we were of equal physical stature we’d have no sports. If our temperament was all the same we’d be characterless. Well, I suspect encountering God is about travelling the same path with all our wonderful uniqueness, some running others walking and occasionally we might find ourselves on the side-lines cheering others on. The journey is so much richer when we acknowledge each other on the path.
Rob Wykes 