Running in Place

I love cats.

I'm not ashamed to admit it.

When I was a little girl, I had the tendency to run away when things weren’t shaping up the way I’d hoped or imagined.   When I was mad at my parents, when one of my brothers had upset me, when I didn’t get my way… I ran.  Into the woods, I would go. 

This wasn’t just spontaneous running… I prepared for my excursions away from my home.  The moment things were too much for me to want to handle, I’d run up to my room, slam the door, pack a backpack full of books and other things to keep me entertained and try to sneak out the front door without anyone noticing.  Before leaving our front porch, I’d try to scoop up as many kittens as I could carry- for they were a necessity as I escaped from reality for a moment. 

I should probably clarify…

Due to my mom’s inability to say ‘no’ to me on my birthday when I was being given one kitten, we walked away with two.  And then they multiplied.  Those inbreeds had all sorts of problems, but they were cute and cuddly and comforting when I needed them most.  We had litters of kittens gallivanting around our property often.

I remember going into the woods, 4 or 5 kittens nestled in my arms and finding a location in which to settle down for several hours.  I’d sit there and mull over the previous events that had brought me to the woods…and I’d cry.  I’d cry (and pet the kittens) as I thought through how wrong everyone else was and how right I was.  Running away would surely show them. 

The tendency to run away has carried into my adult years as I find myself ensnared with people that upset me, with situations where I don’t always get my way, when I'm angry, when I'm hurt… (the list goes on).   Only now it doesn’t seem as justifiable to literally run away, let alone take a bunch of small, furry animals with me (plus, I’d be judged for taking cats).  But… I still find ways to run.  I run in the ways that I avoid people and the ways that I close myself off.

As a little girl I eventually had to tuck in my tail and return home… and I find the same to be true now.  I sulkily come back and I recognize that in my absence I want people to have cared that I was gone, I want them to have noticed, I want to know that I matter.  I want them to be thankful for my return…like the Prodigal Son, or something.  

The running away is always about me—no matter how you look at it.

What a wretched thing.

What are you running from? Why?

What would it look like if you were to stop running and actual deal with the things in front of you? 

I’ve grown weary of running—and have slowly begun to recognize the need to work through things with others and myself, the need to slow down and not let my irrational heart get ahead of me.  It’s hard to keep my feet from moving sometimes—but I'm finding the beauty in what it means to persevere.

Whatever you’re running from today, I’d urge you to stop (unless it’s from temptation and such).  Be willing to go through the hard stuff, be willing to live out of grace for others, be willing to try and communicate through frustrating miscommunications, be willing to admit that there’s stuff in you that needs to be dealt with.

Running gets us nowhere.

We always have to come back…in some way or another…to deal with others and ourselves. 

Slow down, my friends. 

And pet a kitten for me.

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