Refining Fire

As much as I’ve tried, as many hours and countless miles that I have put into it, and as much as I’ve tried to convince myself otherwise, I’m finally ready to admit something—I hate running.

That elusive “runner’s high” always seems a few steps ahead of me. My runner friends who talk about it like it, and I always think, “Maybe it’ll happen two miles in?” Nope. Just a nagging cramp in my side and waning motivation. “Four miles in?” Still nothing but excessive sweating and achy knees. “Surely five miles will do it?”

Unless “runner’s high” is what it feels like to question all your life’s decisions and wondering how strange it would look to people if I just laid down for a bit on the side of the road, then I still have no idea what it feels like.

I’m constantly second guessing and trying to figure out why it’s not easier. Maybe I need different shoes or my stride isn’t right? Maybe I’m eating too much or maybe not enough before my run or not breathing efficiently? I’ve tried to isolate and experiment with as many variables as I can. Each tweak brings back the same results: I just don’t enjoy running. And it’s probably always going to be hard for me.

You know what I don’t hate, though? Being done with my run. The taste of ice-cold water and a delicious recovery snack afterwards. Knowing that I did a hard thing. Somehow the physical and mental struggle of running always ends up being worth it (even on those scorching summer days here in the south when you feel like you can cut the humidity with a knife).

I love being able to feel my strength and endurance increasing over time. I love being able to chase my kids around the playground and feel my energy level lasting a bit longer into the night. I love knowing that it was worth it.

Also, when I use those excruciating moments during my run to reflect, I notice things about myself that I don’t in other circumstances. During my interminable runs, it becomes quickly clear that I really like feeling comfortable. And I have a hard time when I’m not (that one always hits me an entire five minutes into my runs). I also very much like being in control, and being unable to control my discomfort when I run makes that painfully evident.

Isn’t that how it goes with our walk of faith sometimes? We want to follow Jesus. We want to be in tune with the Spirit, knowing that everything we say or do is an expression of Him working in and through us. I want to reap the benefits of peace, contentment, and a selfless, compassionate outlook on the world that comes as a result of communing with the God of the universe.

But there’s no shortcut to getting there. It doesn’t come without some painful and necessary refining. Do you know how metal gets to its purest state? Through intense heat. Repeated hammering. The scraping off of impurities.

There’s a reason so many of the authors in the Bible use a metaphor of refining when talking about our faith. That refining process in our own lives can come from many different situations: periods of intense suffering or loss, or even from seasons of devotion to the spiritual disciplines during times when God feels distant. It’s uncomfortable and sometimes downright painful, but there’s a purpose.

“But he knows the way that I take; when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold.” (Job 23:10)

“This third I will put into the fire; I will refine them like silver and test them like gold. They will call on my name and I will answer them; I will say, ‘They are my people,’ and they will say, ‘The LORD is our God.’” (Zechariah 13:9)

“For you, God, tested us; you refined us like silver.” (Psalm 66:10)

“See, I have refined you, though not as silver; I have tested you in the furnace of affliction.” (Isaiah 48:10)

Without refining, a piece of metal can never be pure, would never reach its potential. Without refining, we can never grasp the depth of God’s love for us and His role in showing the gospel to the world through our lives. It’s how the impurity of our sin and the idols we seek after rise to the top and are exposed. Refining is how we become more like Jesus.

There’s a good chance I’ll never love running, just like I’m never going to love going through challenging or painful things on this journey of faith. I do know, however, that it will always be worth it. I will never regret that I went for that run when I look back on it, and I will always be thankful that a trying season helped me be able to look back and see God’s faithfulness through it. Always.

But also, maybe some better running shoes would help.

–Written by Stephanie Teague. Used by permission from the author.