My spiritual season changed that summer from dry and stagnant to flooded with opportunity and activity until my life spun out of control. I was more than exhausted, but I couldn’t stop. No, I wouldn’t stop.
“I’m worn out,” I whined to my long-ago friend in her newly-acquired wheelchair, fully expecting either sympathy or a stern lecture. The sympathy I wanted; the lecture I would deflect.
As only an eighty-year-old could, she slammed the door on my pity party. “That’s good!” she said, jabbing her finger at my chin. “Huh?” My whimper slid down to my toes. “You’re BUSY. Do everything you can. Do it now, while you’re young and able.” Funny, I wasn’t feeling young. My menopausal body felt rather cranky, actually.
“I’m old,” she persisted. “I can’t write, I can’t walk, I can’t do anything. I help stuff envelopes now,” she sneered. “Envelopes!” Her finger jabbed again, lower and harder this time. “Don’t worry about being tired. Now is the time to do as much as you can. Someday you won’t be able to.”
Dumbfounded, I nodded, swallowing hard. “Permission granted,” my heart screamed at my head, waving a huge banner, but my head still didn’t get it.
The seasons changed yet again, and another long, dry spell beat my willing hands into frustrated fists and crippled my eager heart. I waited for ten long, soul-deadening years. Finally, the door swung open on a new opportunity and I ran. No, I sprinted through that door. I pulled all-nighters, worked furiously, and I smiled.
There is a season to run; a time to dive into the deep end of the pool with one’s clothes on and swim furiously without stopping. This abandon isn’t politically correct. This passion is not balanced. Balance stifles, blinds and patronizes the heart’s running leap. There is no balance in the Kingdom. Rhythms of quiet and rest, joy and delight, restraint and energy, yes. But not balance.
Jesus did not practice “balance.” He taught until he had to run from the crowds to survive. He healed “all who were ill” — ALL. (Mt. 12:15, NIV). He went out to be with His Father and pray –all night. That is not balance, it is passion. All-out whole-hearted running to the will of the Father, doing the delight of His heart and doing it with abandon. He waited thirty years, but He ran like blazes for three.
“They will run and not grow weary…” says Isaiah 40:31, after the waiting. There is a season. If your heart draws you, and the pieces fall in place; if the door opens and you cannot be restrained; if the question comes and you must say yes, then run. He who calls you says “Now!” It is your season to go “all-in,” to do the very thing you were created to do, to “leave no doubt,” and to burst through every door.
Run, run my soul, and do not grow weary!