I was struck today while running my usual route around St. Anthony Park that this place has a lot of history for me. With each step I took I remembered running the same route with a friend who is now half a country away and another friend who I haven't spoken to in a very long time. I remembered walking the same road not long ago with people who have influenced my life in all sorts of great ways and people who have left their scars.
This place has a past suddenly that I never expected it to gain. There are memories here that push me forward--good things, bad things, all shades of things. Isn't it amazing that you can be somewhere for so long and never realize that it is a hell of a place? This is a hell of a place. Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes it seems like a passion drain, but then the memories start to germinate. I can't walk down the road without thinking of friends, struggles, triumphs, grace and pure joy.
Who knew that seminary was so sneakily building me up all along? Who knew that I'd get this far? Incredibly, I get it. I feel at home. Everything is connected: the triumphs and the tragedies. There's no regret, just life. I'm not looking back but pushing forward. The history I've gained demands just that--that I don't make the mistake of thinking that this road won't be a memory worth having. And that's a good enough reason to run it as hard as I can.
Thanks be to God.
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