The People Who Run Beside Us
Cross-country season is in full swing at our house, which means Saturday mornings often begin much earlier than Saturday mornings should. We watch Justice and his teammates take off from the starting line, and then our own race begins. We hurry across the course trying to get to another spot before the runners do, wait a minute or two for a few seconds when our kid runs past, count Hebron jerseys to figure out how the team is doing, yell whatever encouragement we can squeeze into those few seconds, and then start moving again toward the finish.
I have always loved watching Justice run, but this year I am noticing those few seconds a little more because this is his senior year. There aren’t many more of these races left. Like so many things in parenting, you spend years doing something that feels completely ordinary until suddenly you realize there is a last time coming.
Maybe that is part of why this week has felt particularly emotional for me. On September 5, Allison and I celebrated our 28th wedding anniversary. I am incredibly grateful for the life we have built together and for all those years have held: joy and laughter, disagreements and forgiveness, children and parenting, unexpected turns, deep grief, new adventures, and countless ordinary days that have become our life together.
Then came September 8, Mercy’s birthday. She would have been 15 this year.
Mercy was only with us for 13 days, but those 13 days changed our lives forever. Every September 8, I find myself wondering who she would be now. What would she love? What would make her laugh? What would she be interested in? What would her relationship with Grace, Justice, and Righteous look like? Those questions don’t have answers, but they are part of loving her and remembering her.
Part of being human is that our lives don’t divide themselves neatly into seasons. We can be grateful for what is and still grieve what isn’t. We can celebrate an anniversary while missing someone we love. We can cheer for a son running his senior cross-country season while already feeling a little sadness that this chapter is coming to an end.
In the midst of all of it, I keep thinking about what happens in cross-country. Every runner has to run their own race, but they also run as a team. As much as I might want to help Justice up a hill or make that last mile a little easier, I can’t run it for him. But that doesn’t mean he has to run alone. There are teammates running with him and people scattered along the course watching for him, calling his name, and reminding him that they are there.
Isn’t that what life in Christ is supposed to look like? Paul told the church in Rome to share in one another’s joys and tears. We cannot run someone else’s race. We can’t take away someone’s grief or make a difficult season disappear, but we can show up for each other. We can pay attention. We can celebrate the good miles and encourage one another through the hard ones. Sometimes loving someone simply means knowing where to stand so that when they come around the corner, they see a familiar face cheering and calling their name.
This Sunday, we will welcome our newest members into the life of Aldersgate, and I hope you will join us. Joining a church is a decision to share this life of faith with other people. It is choosing a community that will celebrate with us when life is good, grieve with us when it hurts, and stand somewhere along the course reminding us that we aren’t running alone.
This has been an emotional week for me, filled with gratitude, grief, pride, memories, and probably a few feelings I haven’t quite figured out yet. But maybe I don’t need to sort all of them out. Today, I am simply grateful for all the people God has placed along the course of my life.
And I am grateful for the people who run beside me.
With Gratitude,
Rev. Rodney Whitfield
Senior Pastor
Aldersgate UMC