Running Over Snow

I am the kind of person who enjoys running in a straight line. It can climb or sink or follow undulations in the unkept sidewalk, so long as it continues in the same direction, or at the very least, does not turn around or stop at some dead end. I’ve come to this conclusion since I started running near the end of 2023. It wasn’t much at first, just maybe one mile a day. Now I’m nearing 3.5 miles every morning, with longer runs on the weekend.

One thing I love about running is how it offers perspective. It’s a whole half hour—sometimes hours—of the same looped motions: One foot in front of the other, one breath after the next. That’s a lot of time to think, even when overlapped by music or the talk of a podcast episode. A lot of times I’ll consider their words, or the moving shops and buildings and trees passing in front of me. Sometimes when I’m really drained, my head bows beneath its own weight, staring at the sidewalk being pulled from under me, one concrete block at a time.

This last run was a bit longer than usual, so during it, my head was often bowed. I ran 6.89 miles at a 9:13-minute pace. It’s not much compared to how more serious runners I know train, but for me, still very much a beginner, it was satisfying. Certainly, it was also difficult at times. At mile five, I became keenly aware of my body weight falling on each knee each step. The snow cushioned my sneakers but also made pulling them upward more difficult, inciting the back of my calves with a sharp heat.

Head hanging downward, I watched the ground pass under me, thinking that if I kept on going, eventually I’d see the familiar road leading up to my dorm. The solution lay beneath my feet. All I had to do was run.

The Race is Simple

Like youth pastors with a love for sports analogies, the Bible seems to enjoy comparing the Christian life to running. Paul likens it to a race and enjoins the church in Corinth to continue running, that they may obtain an imperishable prize (1 Corinthians 9:24). Solomon promises his son that God will “make straight his paths” if he preferred the wisdom of God to his own (Proverbs 3:5-6).

As I was running, I thought about what Jesus says in Matthew about the dimensions of the race:

“Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.” (Matthew 7:13-14)

I then thought about the path I was running on, half hidden by snow, so that every once in a while, it would elude me if I didn’t pay attention. What if the whole ground was covered? A nondescript plane of white, agnostic to direction. I think something like that is what Jesus means when He talks about the wide and easy gate that leads to destruction. There’s “freedom” in that you can go anywhere and pursue anything without the hindrance of rules or barriers. But then you’re lost.

Even though the path I was running on was partially hidden, I generally knew where it led: Straight ahead in a line, just the way I like it. And so, even when snow had largely erased the path, I could confidently take my next step. All I had to do was to keep on going. One step in front of the other, even where the path vanished.

In this way, the Christian life is extremely simple. It is to take the next step. It is also very hard. Take the next step, and the next, and the next, even when the wind pierces your skull, or the sun scorches the sweat from your skin; when the road is clear like glass or shrouded in blinding fog; the call is the same. Take the next step.

I think that’s the point of that verse in Proverbs 3. God does not promise to unveil the snow-capped path. Rather, he makes the path unyieldingly straight. He does not change, nor does His Word, nor do His promises. So, unlike the road I ran several days ago that slithered and bended slightly, I can trust where my feet will land, though the road be veiled, and where the road will lead, though miles lay ahead of me—when the road is paved by the perfect faithfulness of God. Straight ahead in a line, just the way I like it.