Mile Post 5

The brown, plastic mile post stood before me. "5" it read. I didn’t know where I was, but I wasn’t lost. I knew how to get back to the car, and I knew I wasn't really where I wanted to be. Where are the crazy hills that Sissy told me about? Where are the long stretches of never-ending trail? The longer I ran the more dead ends and logging roads I found and the more frustrated I became. I had come to Pack Forest to complete a tempo trail run with a good amount of elevation gain, and I had succeeded in accomplishing neither goal. I couldn't figure out the trails and ended up running short stints far slower than I had anticipated. I was on a timeline, too. I had a limited amount of daylight left and no headlamp to continue running in the dark. This is not super enjoyable. 

This run seemed like the "cherry on top" to an already emotional and unknown time of life. My husband and I had just moved to Hillsboro, Oregon after having to step away from our pursuit of international missions. The 8 months prior to our move had been a rollercoaster of emotions and plans. We had been accepted to teach at a missionary school in Prague, Czechia but were struggling to find the right mission organization for us. We filled out multiple applications, interviewed with multiple individuals, met with church elders, presented to the church body, and shared with countless individuals, and all of it eventually came to naught. After months of preparation for overseas, we were left jobless for the coming school year and bewildered about the next steps to take. 

As I ran portions of the Pack Forest that day, all the time becoming more and more frustrated and discouraged, it felt comparable to life. Where the heck am I? Where am I supposed to go? This was not my plan. This is not what I wanted. Like on my run, I didn't know where I was or how to get to where I wanted to be. Yes, my husband and I had found jobs at a Christian school in Hillsboro, but we had also left friends, a church family, a mission sending church, and a familiar rural lifestyle. I didn't understand why God had only provided job opportunities in Hillsboro. I didn't understand why we couldn't go to the mission field yet. I didn't understand why we were having to leave our community, too. Hadn't we been through enough with the whole mission process alone?

Life doesn't often make sense, and, then again, neither does trail running. (I mean why would you make the course to run straight up the hill when there is a perfectly good trail going around it? I digress.) Both are full of unknown hazards, stop-starts, unmarked trails, and dead ends. The only constant in trail running is the unexpected. Huh. That kind of sounds like life. God never promises to give us a map of life. More often it seems like He provides one-word clues that require us to ponder, pray, and listen. And sometimes, He gives the clue and doesn't say anymore. Then you're going forward in life, hoping you're going the right way. (Kind of like that orange piece of flagging that dislodges itself and makes you wonder for a whole mile if you are still on the course.)

Life is unknown. However, it is never alone. God is there the whole time. He might be silent, but He is there. I got back to the car after 6 miles of somewhat miserable, mediocre running. What was the point of all of that? But I knew the point. I had put in time on my legs and gotten some miles. (Coach has trained me well.) Am I willing to look at this "Mile Post 5" in Hillsboro the same way? It is time on my legs and miles logged. Not going to lie. It is definitely not where I planned on training for the mission field, but until the Lord shows me where trail map is, I guess I will continue to not know where I am while being fully assured that I am not lost.