Running Away

So Savannah ran away.

Well, she started to run away and then changed her mind.

It all started when she didn’t feel great in the morning. No fever, just an ache or two. She didn’t feel like she could go to school.

She’s not one to make up these things, so we let her stay home. An hour or two later she started feeling better. Her brother had a track meet and she felt she could make it to that.

“Oh no,” we said. “House rule, remember? If you stay home from school, no other activities  that day.”

“But I’m better,” she said. 

Nope.

“But I’ll go to school right now. I want to go to school right now.”

We were pretty sure that when you call in sick, you can’t go in later. Nope, I said.

It may have been the busy weekend, the late night a few days ago or the way the planets are aligned, but our little one had a major melt. “You don’t even care about me,” she yelled. And with that she headed to the front door. “I’m walking to school.”

Alrighty then.

I know my girl, and coming in hard in moments like this usually backfires. So I walked out the door and followed her. She was still in her jammies and had no shoes on, but she was determined to walk the fifteen miles to CSCS.

She’d walked about a half mile when I reminded her of some construction up ahead. “You’ll probably have to go in the other direction. The sidewalk is out over there.”

I’m so helpful.

She turned and walked in the other direction and I stayed about 15 yards back. I pulled out my phone and turned on some worship music. I had to laugh out loud when the song  began to play, “Where can I flee from your presence?”

The chorus played as I drew up right behind her, matching her step for step. She picked up her speed. As did I. She may be running, but I wasn’t going to let her run alone.

Finally she slowed a bit and I came up beside her. “I really want to go to school, Mom. I feel better.”

“Well, we can certainly ask – and if they say yes, you can put some clothes and shoes on, and I’ll give you a ride. If they say no, you have to honor that.”

She nodded. 

We walked a bit further and began circling back to the house. “Only thing is, you have to apologize to me for yelling and for saying that I don’t care, when you know that I love you with all my heart.”

She stopped. Mumbled something. “What’s that?” I said, “Peas are orange?”

She giggled and mumbled something else. “You like strange hamburgers?”

She laughed out loud. “I’m sorry, Mom.” She said clearly.

“Oh,” I said, laughing too. “I forgive you.”

She hugged me close and then we walked back to the house.

As I walked, it didn’t take me long to realize I’m a lot like my 11 year old daughter. Sometimes my childish heart wants to run away. From pain. From loss. From circumstances. From responsibility. And sometimes I DO run, inside my heart. And I sense it. I know it. God follows a few steps behind, always present, protective – just waiting for me to turn and collapse into his arms. 

As my girl was walking away from me down the street, my love for her was so fierce and strong. How much greater the love of my God who gets me all the way to my core?

Even when I run.