I found this in my prayer journal from last January. Somehow, even though it was written reflecting something else, it still applies to a different thought today.
My muscles are strained, tense as I crouch in starting position.
They begin to ache, crying out for the starting gun's noise to release.
The running lane ahead looks alluring, promising. But I can only strain to keep still.
When will the gun go off? When will I attain the prize?
My hands are supporting me, keeping me on the ready.
Sweat runs down my face. I stare ahead focusing on the finish line.
Feet on the running blocks. Feet asking to run. Feet still waiting.
Where is the peace in this waiting? I thought the race was beginning.
But I am still. Waiting
for the gun.
I imagine the wind in my hair, the release of energy as I race. Feet hitting pavement, eating up miles. All this as the starting gun is silent, invisible.
A flash. A noise. I'm free.
Running, sailing, heart thumping, muscles rippling.
The end is closer. The finish line looms.
I have given my all. I am spent. And the prize?
Too glorious for words.