I have said it once and I will say it again: I am excellent at running. And I don’t mean the kind where I lace up my Nikes and go running through the streets of New York City—though I do this and enjoy every minute of it.

I mean that I am excellent at running in the way I navigate emotions away from whatever makes me feel uncomfortable or afraid, especially when it involves love. And most of the time I manage to find a good hiding place while I am at it.

I run away in fear,—maybe it’s because I am still angsty and figuring myself out—I run away because it’s what I’ve taught myself to do. It’s my coping mechanism.

But recently, I’ve discovered that running was never apart of the deal—keeping in step with myself, means submission to finding the His pace, direction, and not avoiding the inevitability of difficult or scary situations.

A couple days ago I was walking to my subway stop, all by myself with my thoughts racing through my head. Fall air running through my fingers and moving my hair every which way.

I thought of this quote:

“I won’t run when it looks like love; I won’t hide beneath the fear of how my past has come undone. I won’t run when it looks like love; I can’t spend another night alone regretting what I’ve done. Our hearts shake when there’s risk that they could break. Yeah it’s a chance I will take.” 

I started thinking about how that is exactly what I do: I run. And when it looks like love—from the Father, or my family, or a boy, or a true friend—I play this messed up game of hide and seek where I run away and don’t come out of hiding until the game is over.

Though I don’t intentionally do this, I realised this because when I hurt, or when something doesn’t go my way, I tend to become numb to those around me. I start to get over protective of myself and I alienate.

It’s challenging myself to not run away that scares me the most. But I challenged myself this almost a year ago now when I wrote I Should Be Engaged. A challenge I now regret because it forces me to close in on the finish line of a race I never intended on running.

I just finished reading Blue Jazz by Donald Miller. He’s sassy in the way he talked about Christian spirituality and I love the sting of it.

I found myself reading  in the subway yelling “NO” at my book again and again and having people look at me like I was a crazy lady—which, I probably am if I am yelling at a book and getting that engrossed.

He wrote about self-absorbency and faith and prayer in most chapters but then chapter eighteen slapped me in the face. I felt like I needed to vomit as my eyes sprinted across the pages.

He wrote about how we use economic metaphors to describe the relationships we are in. Words like value, invest, and priceless, filled my head and ran across my eyes. But as I read through the list, I added a few of my own too: risk, loss, waste, rebalance. 

That’s when I knew I had a problem. I think of love as a commodity. I use it like money, withholding it from people who don’t agree with me and lavishing it on others who do. My love is frugal.

It’s a sad sort of barter, and setting the paperback down for a minute, I’ve realised I’ve been doing this with the people all around me. I want to change people or their minds without taking a minute to love them.

What I’ve been doing is selfish. It’s wrong and it doesn’t work.

Recently, I broke. I cried in front of my mom, threw myself on the floor and said I couldn’t do this anymore. Life is hard and when God throws loss my way I tend to run away from Him and those around me even more. I broke because I am tired of running this marathon that this life is. My lungs sting and I feel like I have too much lactic acid in my bones.

I don’t want to use love as an economic metaphor anymore. I want to love the people around me because I’ve been first loved by the source of love itself. I want it to overflow. I want to have an abundance. I want to double my assets of love and the love I give. I want to mirror Him in the way I love others.

I want to risk love on friends and strangers and family and maybe even a man one day, because Jesus risked His love on me knowing full well I’d reject Him for the temporaries of this earth.

I want to release my white-knuckled singleness and let someone else in without fearing whether it will be the last or not. I don’t want to doubt this system God has made and I don’t want to be selfish anymore.

I’m wired to love—you are too. We are all wired to love others fearlessly and furiously in intimate friendships and relationships and family togetherness—and in communion with Him.

“…To be in a relationship is to be loved purely and furiously. And a person who thinks himself unloveable cannot be in a relationship with Him because he can’t accept who God is; a being that is love. We learn that we are loveable or unloveable through other people. That is why He tells us so many times to love each other.” Blue Like Jazz

I run away and constantly question those who love me because I feel inadequate. I feel secondary. I feel unworthy. I run because I feel like I can only run a sprint and not a marathon.

But I remember this list of truths:

“You are beautiful.” Ps 45:11, “You are unique.” Ps 131:13, “You are deeply loved.” Jer 31:3, “You are loved.” Dan 12:3, “You are cared for.” Eph 3:17-19 “You are strong.” Ps 68:35, “You are important.” 1 Pet 2:9, “You are forgiven.” 2 Cor 5:17, “You are protected.” Ps 121:3, “You are empowered.” Phil 4:13, “You are chosen.” Jn 15:16, “You are family.” Eph 2:19, “You are mine.” Is 43:1 

At first glance this list is just a fluffy bunch of things meant to boost a false sense of confidence. But take another look and you’ll find it’s not.

If you want to understand the gravity of this love that we have been running from, we have to push into the identities that it entails. We have to let Him name us and tell us who we are. WE are free souls who stand under such extravagant love, we cannot afford to name the people around us anything other than the same.

I’ve decided I am going to stop running. I am going to start loving. I am tired of running around in circles and pushing my friends and family away. I want to, yet again, be engaged with those who love me. I am almost out of hiding places. I am tired of loss; I have a negative balance and I want to change that.

I rather hide in the safety of the One who wove together the depths of my heart before I could even draw my first breath. I rather be buoyant—deflationary in how I give my love and expansionary in how I accept it.

And so far, it’s been worth it. Instead of retreating to the comfort of isolation, I challenge you to do the same. Stop running from the souls around you. I’ve met a lot of new people recently and I know for a fact I am not the only one tired of this marathon.

I will spend more time interacting with the souls around me whom I’m called to serve and love and treat with kindness.

It’s a scary thing opening up to another person who can reject you at any moment in time but I think it’s something I need to do more of, because I’m living in the freedom of someone who died so that I could never stay rejected.

I’ve always thought there is too much risk in loving—it’s a game that mimics the risk of the economy—but I’m also realising there’s too much risk in not loving.

So, I’ll stop running when it looks like love—especially from my Father.

Maybe I’ll take up yoga? I’ll keep you updated.

Uptown Maven