Why am I running?

Why am I running?

A queue was forming on the Underground’s escalators. With British obedience, I joined, while the commuting hub-bub grew louder above on the concourse of London Euston.

‘Rush hour,’ I thought. Only worse.

The ‘severe winds’ had created equally ‘severe delays’ to all train services. Some had been cancelled. Including mine.

With a more reluctant obedience, I entered the sea of brief-cases and trench coats stationed below the departure boards.

‘We do apologise for the disruption caused to your journey,’ said an insincere machine.

The Herd

This brief period of forced inactivity was met with squints and sighs. Thumbs twitched over phones, scrolling through emails and travel updates.

Doing nothing for thirty minutes seemed impossible. So when the platform number finally appeared, a stampede found its feet.

Like wildebeest – or sheep – person after person began to run, as though they were making up for lost time.

Like some confused animal, I soon found myself running. I ran with the herd – the flock – until we all found a seat on the train.

The Stray

We do what others do. Whether it’s running from task to task or literally running to a train, we follow others.

While squinting and sighing on that station concourse, I noticed a commuter who was reading, laughing and enjoying the moment - a stray from the herd.

I don’t know whether he was a Christian, but he exposed me. Why am I running? My tireless attempt to bring an unpredictable life under my control was both obvious and wrong. 

Trusting God who’s in control of my schedule and whether I get a seat on the train means I don’t have to sigh and squint. I can laugh and enjoy the moment he gives me.

With God working all things for my good, I can walk while the frantic herd leave me in their dust.