Walk or Run

Life often throws us curveballs, leaving us feeling weighed down and exhausted. We find ourselves in overwhelming situations, carrying burdens that seem impossible to bear. During these times, the stories of individuals from the Bible rushing toward Jesus resonate deeply. They didn’t saunter over like it was just another day; they ran, swam, climbed trees, and pushed through crowds with a fiery urgency. Why? Because they understood something profound — Jesus wasn’t merely an option; He was the solution. And here's the amazing part: God doesn’t just sit back and wait for us to piece it all together. He approaches us with that same relentless urgency, meeting us exactly where we are. Take Peter, for instance. In John 21:7, he’s out fishing with the other disciples when they see a figure on the shore. This man tells them to cast their nets on the other side, leading to a catch so massive they can barely pull it in. In that moment, Peter realizes it’s Jesus. Rather than waiting for the boat to arrive at shore, Peter jumps into the water, swimming desperately towards Him. Why? Because he couldn't bear another moment away. This is the same Peter who, just days before, had denied Jesus three times. Picture the shame and regret he must have felt; yet, none of that held him back. His leap into the water wasn’t about what made sense or what was easy — it was a raw expression of love and hope, a powerful statement that reuniting with Jesus meant everything.

Now, let’s consider the father of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15:11-32. This story shifts the perspective. Instead of focusing on someone rushing to God, it highlights God rushing to us. The son, after hitting rock bottom and squandering everything, decides to return home, fully anticipating rejection. He rehearses his apology, ready to plead for a spot as a servant. But the father? He spots his son from far away and does the unexpected: he runs to him. At that time, it was considered undignified for a man of his stature to run. Yet, the father didn’t care about societal norms or appearances. His love for his son overwhelmed everything, and he sprinted to wrap him in an embrace, cutting off the son’s apology before it even started. This is the essence of God’s love for us — unbridled, unwavering affection that closes the distance the moment we take even the slightest step toward Him. These two narratives — Peter’s leap and the father’s sprint — are powerful illustrations of how we seek God and how He seeks us. Every time we take even the slightest step toward Him, He’s already rushing to meet us. It’s a profound meeting of grace and longing, transforming everything.

I understand this truth because I’ve experienced it firsthand. During my college years, I was running away from God with everything I had. After being hurt by a church that had once been my sanctuary and identity, I felt lost. Without that foundation, I struggled to find who I was. My purpose, my community, and my sense of belonging vanished, leaving me with an emptiness I couldn’t seem to fill. Instead of turning to God for healing, I turned inward, making selfish choices and seeking anything to numb my pain. I disregarded the people I hurt and the bridges I burned along the way, focusing solely on survival — or so I believed. Then there was a night that changed everything for me. I found myself aimlessly driving, engulfed by bitterness and a profound sense of loss. Eventually, I ended up in the parking lot of a strip club. I sat there for more than an hour, caught in an internal struggle. A part of me wanted to go in, convinced that it would be an escape from the pain, even if only temporary. But another part of me, one I hadn’t listened to in a long time, understood the truth. I knew that going inside wouldn’t solve anything; it would only add more regret to the already heavy burden I carried. As I sat there, staring at that building and fighting back tears, I felt something I hadn’t sensed in months: the presence of God. It wasn’t loud or overwhelming, but it was a steady, undeniable feeling, like a gentle whisper in my heart that said, “You don’t have to do this.” By God’s grace, I didn’t go in. I drove away that night still broken but with a glimmer of hope that perhaps God wasn’t finished with me yet.

That moment didn’t magically resolve everything. The healing journey was gradual and often messy, but it marked the beginning of a new chapter. I started running—not away from God, but toward Him. Like Peter, my leap was uncertain and awkward, but it was a beginning. And like the father of the Prodigal Son, God met me in my brokenness, rushing toward me with open arms. He didn’t wait for me to sort myself out or be perfect. He welcomed me as I was, scars and all. Here’s the remarkable truth: Peter’s leap and the father’s run aren’t merely uplifting stories — they’re heartfelt invitations. They remind us that no matter how far we’ve strayed or how broken we feel, God is already coming to meet us. He’s not waiting for us to have everything figured out or to be “good enough.” He longs for us to take that first step. And when we do, we discover that He has been pursuing us all along. So, why settle for a slow walk when you can take off running? Anything that’s keeping you stuck — be it fear, shame, or doubt — can’t compare to the power of God’s love. The instant you reach out to Him, He’s already bridging the distance, ready to restore and heal. Whether you’re jumping into the unknown like Peter or making your way back home like the Prodigal Son, remember this: God is on the move toward you, with arms open wide and eager to welcome you. Don’t wait. Don’t hold back. Run. The grace that awaits you is worth every step you take.