He Will Run to Us
If Christ promises to come "with healing in His wings", why do I feel like it is taking Him so long to get here?
This poem was born on an 8-hour bus ride in Ecuador after an experience that completely changed my perspective of Jesus.
40+ missionaries crowded into a small classroom, pulled out our scriptures, and listened intently as our leaders began to teach us an important principle of the atonement of Jesus Christ using Alma 7:11-12.
“11 And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.
12 And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.” (Emphasis added)
Our mission president and his wife explained that in Spanish, the word succor is socorrer. The verb correr means “to run”, which helps us understand that, in the act of giving succor, or divine help, Christ will run to our aid in our times of need.
A lesson aimed at 40+ missionaries penetrated my heart as if it were meant just for me, and God spoke to me personally at that moment, reassuring me of the validity of that principle.
My mind began to race as the implications of this newfound knowledge settled into my soul, and my pen put itself to paper and began to write. What followed over the course of that journey home and the following week was one of my favorite poems I have ever written, the one you will read shortly. It is a sacred piece of my soul, a tender insight into my heart and my feelings about my mission, but I hope that as you read, you can see how it applies not just to me, but to anyone running this race of life. Enjoy :)
"He Will Run to Us"
It's a bright, happy day, perfect for a race.
The sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, anticipation is in the air.
I've prepared my whole life for this.
I'm ready.The gun sounds, the race begins, and I'm off like a bullet.
I've prepared my whole life for this.
I'm ready.2 miles in, and my breathing starts to get heavier, but it's ok.
I've prepared my whole life for this.
I thought I was ready.The miles continue on, and the once beautiful sunlight begins to blister and burn.
Maybe I didn't prepare correctly?
Maybe I wasn't ready.My feet turn into boulders, my heart becomes as heavy as granite.
But I know I prepared for this.
I am ready.People fly by me, as if on wings.
I watch them pass as I stumble along,
Wondering how they prepared.
They sure were ready for the race.The miles keep continuing on, the clock keeps ticking, and the finish line keeps moving further and further away.
Feet, once tapping in anticipation, begin to drag in despair.
Eyes, once looking around with love and excitement, see only the dirt and rocks threatening to make me slip and fall.And yet. I continue.
There is no other choice.
The race must be completed.I try to lift my foot, try to take one more step, but my obstinate mind, having already made its decision, stamps its foot in indignation, and my body gives way.
Rocks scrape and scratch,
Bones split and crack,
And I am alone.
Broken.
Hurting.I was not prepared for this.
I will never be ready.As I sit there, nursing my tender wounds, I hear feet pounding the pavement.
Coming closer.
Content to let another racer pass me by yet again, I don't even look up.
Until I feel it.
Two scarred hands,
Strong, Sure. True.
Lifting me up, and cradling me in two arms,
Strong. Sure. True.As I lift up my head, ready to tell the stranger it's not worth it, that I'll never make it, my eyes meet his,
And I know those eyes.The stranger speaks,
And I know that voice,
And he is no longer a stranger anymore."Don't worry," says my Savior,
"I have run this race before. I did not pave the way for you to stop halfway through."His hands, Strong. Sure. True, bind up my wounds, and set me back on my feet.
His voice, filled with power and authority, assures me,
”You've prepared your whole life for this."
"You are ready."
"You're not racing alone."We start off together,
Slow.
Halting.
At first.But little by little, the race gets easier.
My feet become lighter.
My heart becomes happier.
I look up, and for the first time in a long time, the finish line begins to draw closer.I start to sprint, tripping over myself in anticipation of the joy awaiting me.
And finally,
Bruised and battered,
We cross the finish line together, my Savior and I.I fall into the loving embrace of my family and friends and feel the truth sink deep into my heart.
I had prepared all my life for this, but I was not preparing alone.
I may have not been ready,
But luckily enough, someone else was.And He ran to me, as He surely runs to you. Even now.
Take His hands,
Strong. Sure. True,
And He will carry you home.
Love you :)
Live laugh love
Anj
Angie, you read this poem to my FSY company last summer and I loved it so much. It helped me then and it’s helping me now. Thank you so much for sharing :)