The manner in which we go matters, dearly,
And there is a special grace in going together
Through the mire and meadows of humility,
Embracing our strength and our fragility.
There is a meter in the music we run to,
Even in its variances there is a quality true
And unchanging, which will inform our route,
Our pacing for that present passing time.
Time transitions, so we must stay attuned
And watchful. Running in a pack prompts attack
From that divisive mindset, dark comparison,
So we must be smart and diligent in our care
For one another. Honor as sister and brother
Learning to be dependable co-runners
Who recognize each other’s pains and walk
Without guilt-tripping and talk with honesty.
On the path to being made perfect we none
Of us have yet achieved the goal so our role
Is to be genuine in our need and unbelief,
To allow ourselves to be brought into the tent
Of the medic who has run, is running, will run
This race through and who knows completely
Our insufficiency and so draws us to himself
Through one another so he may bind up
Our wounds and renew our road-weary spirits
As only the medic-creator can: with fullness.
Oh this medic is attentive, gracious, unafraid
Of our lack and brokenness for he can mend
Muscle and heart string and soul and his hope
Is that we will invite him to, so we may grasp
His hand as we learn to run again, healing,
Eyes trained ever on him, no fear of death.
It is in our continually maturing dependence
On him that his melody and rhythm sync our
Movement with his, pulsing out hope to those
We meet who share the invitation to come,
Follow where he leads. We must be active
In our welcome, in our encouragement,
In our calling forth and seeing one another
As he does. We must run in such a way.