Jane

Jane sat at the kitchen table with the little prayer journal open in front of her. Somehow, it had become a lifeline for her again.

For this page, she’d decided to journal her feelings on a sheet of paper and tuck it inside an envelope she’d affixed to the page.

She stared at the blank page in front of her.

Lord,

While I still have some of my old insecurities, something inside me has changed. I don’t even know if I’ve lost a single pound, but I’ve never tried so hard for so long. Every time I finish a workout or turn down dessert, I feel so strong—like somehow the chains that have kept me bound up are starting to loosen.

I feel like, for the first time, I might actually be successful. I think I can do anything.

Jane smiled as she reread the words. What a difference it made to take care of herself.

After she folded the paper and slid it inside the envelope, Jane walked outside. She had a date with an elliptical.

But before she got in the car, she looked up and saw the long stretch of road in front of her. What if she didn’t go to the gym today?

What if she exercised outside? A walk wouldn’t be too bad, even though the sun hid behind the clouds and the temperature chilled her to the bone.

Jane stood on the road, bundled in a fleece sweatshirt, scarf, gloves and stocking cap. To any passersby, she most likely looked ridiculous, and it would be even more ridiculous for her to try to run.

But in her mind, she pictured herself jogging down to the corner.

But it’s so cold.

Excuses. She had plenty of them. Running was something she’d always told herself she could never do.

Was God challenging her perception of her strength?

She started trudging down the hill of their neighborhood and out onto Peony Place. She’d walk out toward the edge of town to avoid the watchful eyes of anyone who might be out and about. What she didn’t need were comments on the fact that the fat lady who broke the chair in the church was huffing and puffing up the hill.

She could practically hear what they’d say. It’s about time she did something about her weight. Or I hope she doesn’t keel over and die right here on Main Street. Or, worse, Oh, I can’t watch her bouncing up the hill like that. I’m so embarrassed for her.

She shoved the imaginary insults out of her mind and listened to the sound of her feet hitting the pavement.

Before long, the chill went away and Jane started to sweat. She inhaled the crisp winter air and it coated her lungs with a coolness that made her cough. Behind her, the blocks she’d already traveled seemed like nothing. She was so out of shape she wouldn’t even make it a mile. As she walked, she thought about all she’d been through in the last six years. Every tragedy—big or small—had driven her to the kitchen. She ran straight for the comfort of the food. She ate at night when everyone was sleeping, hiding the chocolate and the cookies to uncover later when she was alone.

Run.

The word came at her like a fly buzzing around her head. She slowed her pace to catch her breath. She knew God’s voice. She’d learned to listen to it, but He never talked to her about food or exercise. Or had He? Had she simply chosen not to listen?

“I can’t run.”

Run.

She laughed. It had to be God because she’d never tell herself to do something so ludicrous. But why would He want her to run? Why did it matter? She looked up ahead. About three blocks of highway away was a Speed Limit sign. She could run to that, couldn’t she?

“This is insane.”

She could barely walk a distance, and here she was, thinking about running.

Jane stopped and stared in front of her. “Run. Okay, God. Here goes nothing.”

She started with a brisk walk and then, without thinking, she picked up the pace until finally she jogged toward the Speed Limit sign. Her feet pounded on the pavement and she could feel her body protesting. The fat parts of her legs and stomach were displaced and then put back together in such a way that she imagined tomorrow she’d be bruised. The pain of it struck her with extreme force, but she kept going.

“I hate this,” she said out loud.

Run.

She wouldn’t quit. She couldn’t. But she’d never become a marathon runner or someone who enjoyed exercise so what was the point? As she neared her intended finish line, Jane started to slow down.

You’re not done yet.

“No, I am. I’m done.”

Don’t quit.

Jane couldn’t be certain it was God speaking to her anymore. At this point, she imagined it could be her own delusions from the lack of oxygen to her brain. But she listened and she forced herself to keep going. One more foot in front of the other. As she ran, she thought about how hard it would be to make the decision every single day to eat healthy foods. To move her body. She didn’t drink or smoke or do the things other people did. So she liked food. Was that so bad?

But look what she’d done to herself. Her breaths grew shorter and shorter as she struggled, but she kept putting one foot in front of the other.

“What . . . am I . . . running for?” She struggled to speak, though she wanted to yell at God with everything she had left. Why did she have to run?

Jane forced her feet to move. They felt like cement blocks by now and her breath stung her throat, cold and weak. Her body ached and she didn’t want to go one more step.

But she kept moving forward, sacrificing comfort, giving this struggle as an offering.

The run was a physical expression of what she felt inside. She’d never pushed herself like this before. And all these years, she’d been running to the refrigerator when she should’ve been running to God.

Like pictures on a movie screen, Jane saw those moments of crisis playing in front of her as she pressed forward. The months following Alex’s death, she spent on the couch with ice cream. The months after Sam’s birth, she spent hidden away with cookies from the bakery down the street. As recently as a few weeks ago, when she broke the chair on the stage in front of Lori and the rest of the congregation, she’d comforted herself with a bag of potato chips and French onion dip.

And she’d eaten the entire thing.

Hot tears stung her cold cheeks and clouded her eyes as she pushed herself to take just a few more steps. And then a few more. And a few more.

She’d done this to herself because every time something bad happened, or something good—she ran to the food.

Run to Me.

The words echoed in her mind.

She’d chosen the food over God every time. Every single time she needed comfort. And look what it had done to her.

Food was not a faithful friend.

The tears came quicker now and Jane’s light cry turned into a deep sob, straight from the gut. She finally slowed her pace and bent over, struggling for air. And in that moment, she knew what she had to do—and she finally had the courage to go for it.

She’d proven to herself that her body wasn’t the problem—the battle was in her mind.

If she failed tomorrow, she’d try again the next day.

She’d been running toward the wrong things, and that had to stop.

Finally, she understood. Her life depended on it.