Rachel Whisman

Over the past couple of months, I have gotten back into running and was reminded how much I enjoy running hills. Some might say, “Eww, disgusting,” but I am practically a sucker for them. They pique my interest because they are essentially a puzzle to figure out, a challenge to explore, and they break up the monotony of a run. Upon coming up one, you size it up, evaluate its incline, try to stabilize your heart rate, and then calculate from there. Initiating the ascent, you shift gears as you lean forward, your cadence shortens, your breathing technique changes, and you embrace endurance with a side of adrenaline. You see the summit, pump your arms, and press on to complete the ascent. It’s a momentary challenge, and the acute hills- those with a sharp incline are my favorite because you know when it is going to be over. 

However, the chronic hills – those that slowly and gradually incline seem inconsequential and inconspicuous at first. The summit isn’t near, and is more like a hazy mirage in the distance. At the start, the run doesn’t seem all that different, but then your breathing becomes a little more laborious, and the fatigue starts to settle in. These hills I do not look on with the same interest. They feel harder, trickier, and grind at my pride. They play with my pace and humble me to slow down rather than strike the ground quicker to finish. As I was running, or let’s be real, jogging up one of these, a part of a verse came to mind from Hebrews 10:36: “For you have need of endurance.” Another version puts it this way, “Patient endurance is what you need now.” Translate patience into, “long-suffering and it was reality. It kept rolling in my head as my body ached with, “I. Want. To. Stop. Now” and “I can’t wait till this is over and I get to walk.” 

Hills are trials. Each of us will either walk, jog, run, sprint, or try to prevent ourselves from facing them, but at some point we are forced into the ascent and our hearts cry out in the same manner, “I want _____” or “I can’t wait til _______, so I can ______.” I wanted the comfort of the pain being gone; sometimes we want the pain of conflict to be absolved, a thorn of annoyance to be eradicated, or just something to change. I murmured that I couldn’t wait for my feet to slow down so I could walk and have peace. We look forward or even ask for things to come our way that we think will serve us best. In moments of pain, we want to short-circuit it, but what if that is the means that God, in his infinite wisdom, is using to purge us? I think of faithfulness in the mundane, day-to-day, as the weariness of the monotony sits in and tries to steal our hope in God. I look to those who are caregivers or raising kids as they tend to the needs of another for days, months, and years on end. 

The end of Hebrews 10:36 directs our gaze correctly, “…so that when you have done the will of God you may receive what is promised.” Your endurance is not in vain as you look to what is promised, which is receiving Christ Jesus our Lord. God calls us to endure as a means to completing his will for our lives. The pains of the hills are for us to plead for mercy, but also to realign our hearts to what we really should want and need. That our hearts would be molded to say “I want to press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 3:14) and to know deeply and truly that “the joy of our Lord is our strength” (Neh. 3:10).

“Knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.” Romans 5:3-5