claus·tro·pho·bic

 adjective \ˌklȯs-trə-ˈfō-bik\

of a room, space, etc. : not having enough space for people to feel comfortable : causing claustrophobia

: having a fear of being in closed or small spaces : having claustrophobia

: not having or providing enough freedom

I do not like to watch fish swim around in little bowls or even giant tanks. I have tried to enjoy their beauty and fluidity, but I can't get past the way they bump into the glass...tap-tapping...over and over again only to rise to the surface and sink once again to the rock filled bottom.

Whether or not a goldfish cares about its freedom is irrelevant to me. My chest feels tight and I take a deep breath.
Yes...
watching a fish live in a bowl makes me feel claustrophobic. 

Do you think God felt that way? I mean, do you think that He just couldn't sit and watch this human race remain captive any longer...banging our heads against the walls of sin and shame..trapped, watching His beloved creation struggle in captivity, His heart longing to set us free, so He took on the form of a man, still being God, and lived this claustrophobic life, breathing in and out our depravity...just to set us Free?

Galatians 5:1
"It is for freedom that Christ set us free. Stand firm then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery."

So...
Why do so many of us, as children of God, get back in that little fishbowl of captivity when He is offering us the freedom to roam the oceans of His endless love and grace? 

(Don't worry Zibby...Mommy isn't gonna flush Dorothy down the toilet and wish her Bon Voyage!)

But...

I'm sure ready to leave my old "fishbowl" behind. 

The trail and the trial...

By the grace of God I've had the opportunity to run three marathons.

Each one has been a different journey than the other.

Each filled with its own set of challenges.

The first marathon was fast, flat, open, crowded, and exhilarating.

The second, sweltering, lonely, winding, mentally taxing (double loop), and surprising.

This past weekend I ran my third. It was called a trail marathon. There were only 300 participants...250 finished. I saw runners cry, crawl, curse, and crumble. And although I ran for the longest amount of time in my life (over five hours) it felt like the shortest marathon I've run. It was raining and even hailing. We crossed rushing streams, pushed up muddy mountains, and barreled down the other side. We ran behind waterfalls and were treated to one last "hill" at mile 26. It was hard and I loved it. I wasn't setting any records. I'm no elite athlete. But, we finished...me and Jesus. This marathon taught me so many good truths about our journey through life as a child of God. One of the many treasures He spoke to my heart was this...more people fall going downhill than fail going up. When you have struggled up a mountain side kind of trial and you feel so grateful to have made it to the top, don't underestimate the challenge of going down the other side. Watch for stumbling blocks. Don't let your guard down on the trail....rocks come out of nowhere and if you are not concentrating on the path because the way is easier...you might fall. The hardest part of this marathon for me was going downhill. I was tentative and always getting passed by these gazelle like runners who were used to both sides of a mountain. They were prepared. I want to be like that....on the trail and in this life. 

 Green and new, 
 bud and bloom, 
 twelve years a child free. 
 Change and glow, 
 come fall I know, 
 a woman now is she.