Running is something that I do. Sometimes for fun but most of the time for necessity. Every runner has stories of unfortunate moments that only occur when you’re a few miles out from home. They never happen when you’re almost home.
One day I was out running, on a long run, about a seven mile run. It’s a brisk day but not cold. As I’m running along I feel the first drop. I don’t panic yet, but just hope it fell from the tree above or something. But then there’s another one. And another one.
I turn around to head home.
The wind picks up, and the drops become steadier. But again, I don’t panic. However, with each pound of my foot against the pavement there is a pound of rain against the pavement. Harder and harder it pounds.
Coming down the final hill of our neighborhood I can see our house. It’s inviting and warm like it was built just to greet me home from this run and this run alone. By this time my shoes squish and water seeps out. My hair is matted to my head. And my eye lashes flick drops off onto my face. I’m only a few yards away now, and yet I still feel so far.
A little over a month ago the beloved Billy Graham released his thirtieth book just before turning 93 years old. There is nothing spectacular about releasing a book when it’s your thirtieth. That is what Billy Graham does – speaks and writes.
But it’s the title, Nearing Home, those two words, and that he wrote it at 93 years old, that evoke such feelings of confidence, peace, and anticipation like when I was running, running hard to get home that day in the rain.
The walls of home are security, warmth, protection, and love. It’s where we are able to fully be ourselves without the conditions of the world beating down on us. It’s where we belong.
Except sometimes my home that I ran to so fiercely in the rain that day isn’t made of walls of such stature. And the world. The world often invades my front door. Or even gets invited in.
At ninety-three years old, Billy Graham knows where his true home lies. He has run the race. In the cold and in the rain. And he knows that there is a place built just for him to welcome him in.
We are all nearing home.
Christmas is what built the walls.
Because Love came down no longer do have to fret over ninety-three years old. Or three. Or thirteen. Or thirty-three.
Because Love came down no longer do we have to yearn to know our Maker.
Because Love came down no longer is this world without hope.
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