Shoes of readiness, heart of reluctance

This afternoon, energised by a literacy day in Preston - a much shorter drive from my house than I normally have during the week - I decided to buy myself some running shoes. I've talked about buying running shoes for some time now - let's just say that the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. In Malaysia, I would just run barefoot or with sandals (they called them "slippers"), until I sprained my ankle - an unrelated incident - and my running career was cut short. Then I returned to Australia and it was winter and I was broke, and one thing led to another year of indifferent slumber from exercise, until we're where we are now.

But this week I requested my church small group to keep me accountable with buying running shoes AND actually using them, and this, combined with the fresh mind I had and the sunnier weather, prompted me to go to Northland and buy an affordable pair of blindingly white runners, and on returning home I set off with my runners, my iPod armed with a playlist of songs designed to spur me on and delight me, and off I went down Albion St towards Merri Creek, unable to see very clearly but happy enough with the blur of trees, long, green grass and the creek to my right.

There were some hills to climb and some mud which reduced the blinding whiteness of my shoes, and while I ran steadily for the first half, the second half saw me alternating between running and walking. A fairly constant stitch for the last few 10 or so minutes made me slow down, though I felt motivated when Josh Garrels' "Resistance" came on, and I found myself speeding up like the eternal spiritual war of good and evil depended upon it.

Yet when I came back to Albion Street, and the song changed, I stopped and took the final stretch at a slower pace. As I surmounted my street - the last hill before home - this song, also by Josh Garrels, filled my ears, and comforted me until, with perfect timing, I reached my door, and it ended.

These words in particular struck me as I walked through the front gate to my house:

"Not by my might, or my power, or by the strength of swords

Only through your love, my Lord.

All we've lost will be restored."

Yes, the spirit is willing, and today the flesh co-operated. We'll see if it happens again. But praise God for His strength in weakness, and praise Him for the beauty of a peaceful afternoon jogging in Brunswick, and the cool breeze on my face, and the knowledge that one day we will rise hill after hill and not grow tired.