A few years ago, I went out for a run one evening that, ironically, stopped me dead in my tracks. I was about a mile into the route, rounding a hill, when I began to tear up. My breathing got heavier, and I had to physically stop running before the tears ran down my face. There was no injury. I didn’t sprain my ankle, twist my knee, or anything else. The issue wasn’t physical. It was emotional.
A few months prior to that run, I had one of the roughest months of my life. I had to provide counseling and grief support to around 80 soldiers and cadets, for issues ranging from cutting to sexual assault. All of that happened in the span of 3 weeks. And it was all brought on a one cadet committing suicide.
I ran myself ragged for those three weeks, doing everything I could to help people process their grief, guilt, and issues. And in that time, I never really gave myself the space I needed to process my own feelings of guilt, shame, and grief.
Until they stopped me dead in my tracks one night months later when I was running.
There’s a story in 1 Kings, where Elijah, this incredible man of God, stops dead in his tracks. Continue reading