Arms of an Angel.

I wanted to chicken out. All this time I had the assurance of God being with me and at the final moment, I just wanted… out.

It was the night before my race, and the night our medicine clinical exams ended. And though having the nerve-wracking exams over gave me a sigh of relief, adrenalin flowed through my veins like caffeine and gave me no rest. It was 2am, I had already had many late nights studying in the week, the stress had resulted in my worsening chronic diarrhoea (a completely benign condition called irritable bowel syndrom) and I knew I wasn’t going to make the timing I had planned for the race I had trained for.

The race meant a lot to me. I had been looking forward to it for months. It was the first 10-kilometre race I had trained for with a healthy mind and body ever since Recovery– during which, at the initial phase, training was out of the question. It was significant because it meant that running no longer had an evil stronghold over me. It meant that Ed had lost his power over me.

All this while, I felt God with me, and His approval for my returning to something I loved, without the taint of sickness or idolatry. I had eaten and trained well. And being able to finally hear my own voice without doubting myself, make my own sensible choices about running and eating, without the echoes of Ed, was a real breakthrough.

But it was 2am, my mind was rushing with thoughts and anxieties and for the first time, I realised that hardly anyone had wished me the best for this significant milestone in my life. We had just had the exams and everybody was swamped with activities. So, exhausted, anxious and discouraged, I didn’t trust enough that God would help me to overcome this hurdle-the little girl inside of me desperately needed encouragement and affirmation, but there was surprisingly none- I had kept a low profile about training this year. Oh God, I’m just not going to make it.

The more I mulled over my distrust in His healing for me and my fears, the more awake I was. And then these words from my tattered bible leapt to me, “Those that wait upon God shall renew their strength. They shall run and not be weak, they shall walk and not be weary.”

I had given myself a million excuses to forgo the run, but had forgotten that my strength and motivation this time came not primarily from my sleep, egotistical self-affirmation or needy affirmation from others- it was from God, and He wanted me to know it. Trust me, I heard Him say, just like you always have- every time.

And I fell asleep.

My legs were like lead the next morning. I checked my phone the last time and saw no text message of encouragement. Disappointment and discouragement weighed on my ankles like dead weights. But I remembered the words which lulled me to bed, and put on my running shoes. Trust me, I want you to learn that I am enough for you.

As soon as we started I wanted to turn back, wanted to fall out of the many thousand-fold pack and head home. But I saw a young girl who had given up by the wayside and ran up to encourage her- ” Hey, press on- you can do it.” I smiled encouragingly, and pushed ahead.

We had barely hit the halfway mark when fatigue crept in. The many stressful late nights spent learning about Parkinson’s, heart attacks and neurological disorders had taken its toll. I wanted to stop, but the same young girl caught up with me and said, “Can I run with you?”

Though she had hit a rough patch far earlier in the race, she recovered well while I struggled more and more. But every time I did, she cheered me on and in the final lap when I told her to go ahead, she waited for me, as if in thanks for my initial gesture of grace to her.

We ran, and I found strength encouraging others along the way.

When I was anorexic, running miles on empty was nothing to me, as empty pride, depression and puffed-up idolatry was fuel. At no point did I ever admit defeat. It was a powerful driving force, one that led to my demise. But well and healthy now, my acute awareness of my weaknesses, of my dependence on God have changed my perspective. Understanding the meaningless-ness of running without God gave me life again. (His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse, nor his delight in the legs of a man- Psalm 147:10) And paradoxically, that is what changed my life for the better, what resurrected me. At my 6th, 7th and 8th kilometre, when I felt like giving up, it was God, sent through a running angel by my side, and not Ed who encouraged me on. And when I recognised that, I wanted to cry.

She ran together with me to the finish line and her first question to me was if I believed in God, too. Born in China, she grew up in the middle east as a nominal moslem and found Christ only in Singapore. Immediately, tears ran down my cheeks. I also realised, that my timing was far from what I had aimed for, but suddenly, it didn’t matter. I trusted, He came through for me- and that was the prize in itself.

Sometimes, challenges in life can make us doubt ourselves. We make up excuses to avoid them because we fear to miss the mark we set for ourselves, based on our own pride and ego. We fear, because we do not trust.

I cried, because He came through for me. At every step of the way, I was vulnerable and weak- I could stop at any time. But I finished the race, He was with me through it all, and Ed was nowhere to be found.

So I cried, in the arms of an angel, because He told me to trust, I did- and as usual, He came through for me.