What does surrender look like?
On a steamy track, the coach ran after my heels screaming with her timer, “Go, go, go!” No one talked. It didn’t matter how we felt. Sprints gave way to more sprints. Tiredness ended up sprinting. So did exhaustion. Near-death feelings were supposed to somehow push us harder.
With that little glint of belief in her eye, the coach non-verbally pressured us that there was “more in us”. So we somehow found it and kept going.
During tryouts the coaches hovered over me, trying to figure out where I fit in on the track field. Would I be a long distance runner? A shot-putter? A sprinter? A hurdle-runner?
As she assigned everyone to his or her spot, I imagined all the potential of one person: me. I imagined myself running fast and with intensity along with all these other pre-Olympian superstars. But when she looked at me with beads of sweat on her face and in her hair, she said, “You’re my race-walker.”
The loser. The one who looks all weird with her hips swaggering from side to side?
I wanted to quit. While everyone else was something, I was nothing. The embarrassment.
Have you ever felt like the things you dream of are blocked? Like you can’t access what you’re supposed to be?
That day, I stood on that field shell-shocked. Then, I started walking. I walked so hard and fast, a year or so later, I made it to the Junior Olympics and got a bronze medal. Oddly, this moment is one of the greatest joys and the greatest gifts of my life. That track team had heart and taught me heart. I learned it is not what you think you should do that matters, but what God has for you that fills your heart.
What if what you’re made for looks different than you think? Will you accept His best in belief that it will one day become yours?
This is surrender.