It's Weird.

Isn’t it weird? I mean it has to be weird. It’s weird that God created us to need food, but He didn’t create currency. And we need money to eat, or else the bodies He created will wither away.

Isn’t it weird? I mean it has to be weird. It has to be weird that God created us to glorify Him…that God created us to be happy and joyful and to breathe in good air. Yet we openly choose toxins.

It’s weird. Most things in this life are pretty weird, including my hair. I mean my mom makes daily jokes about how we could use my dreads to mop the floor, which isn’t far from the truth.

But it’s weird.

Man, there’s this other weird concept to me. The God I was talking about? My Father, God. That one. The only one. Well, He does a lot for me, yeah? A lot for you, even if you don’t exactly see the contours of His love yet, He’s so specific. But anyways, God. He sits up there, and He dwells down here, and yet I ignore Him. He even sent a physical representation of His love to come down and shed blood for me, but sometimes my weary little mind that’s way too ignorant, and stubborn by choice flees. I mean I literally run the other direction because in the back or even front of my mind, I know He’s right. And I know He’s there.

It’s a sometimes-pretend life I lead. I can go to Africa and see the dimensions of His grace, I can hold a malnourished little boy praying all night that he lives, I can witness more miracles than I have fingers and yet I still deny; I still run.

It’s on my bucket list to run a marathon before I die, and if you accumulatively add up all the times I’ve run away from my Father, than I could cross that off my list.

So now I’m in training. I’m practicing what it means to run to Him. To fall on the floor at His goodness. To abide, to trust, and to seek. I’ve never been too keen on running, but if it involves His arms, then I’m all for it.

I will run this race. And it will lead me back to Him.