I don’t remember when it started, but “pushing through” has become almost a life motto somewhere in the parts of my brain I tend not to examine even though I follow their incessant advice. Life’s hard? Push through. Tired? Push through. Not sure what to do next? Just push through.
But I gotta admit it’s flat out tiring. Always pushing means constant effort, if not necessarily always constant movement. Where’s the rest in always moving forward? When’s the time to slow down? And the trouble with slowing down is that it might just mean you miss something.
So the real question comes down to a matter of risk: Which one’s riskier–plowing ahead on fumes or pulling off at the next exit to fill up but missing the event?
I’m really not one for dwelling on missed opportunities. I have too many and I’d rather not think about them than to possibly drown in a sea of self-doubt. But even in admitting that, there’s a part of me that always wonders if I’m about to miss the real thing coming my way. I’m not sure what this ephemeral “real thing” is, but I’m sure it’s a thing and I’m sure it’s really out there somewhere, beneath the pale blue sky.
I serve a Savior who ministered on the Way, taught on the Way, lived on the Way. His pace of life exhausts me. And I’m never sure whether I should chalk that up to “he’s Jesus and I’m not” or “time to be like my big brother.” Either way, I know that movement is as certain as the earth making another revolution each day. So the movement isn’t bad.
The problem comes when I’m pushing through to get to the endgame, ignoring everything on the way. Shoot, even at the end when Jesus set his face toward Jerusalem, he still stopped along the way to heal and to teach his disciples. His destination never got confused with his passage–both were important and he didn’t neglect either.
I, on the other hand, push through Now to get to Then. Even taking the time to write this almost feels torturous because I feel like I need to do something more, like I’m not driving toward a goal. I’m just writing and it’s as meander-y as this blog’s namesake. I forget that King Jesus could meander like nobody’s business. A sharp turn into random never seemed to bother him. He could meander with purpose. Or perhaps he could aim with freedom.
I’m just afraid I’m not brave enough to follow in those particular footsteps.