Whooooosh

In my small northern California town sprawled on a hillside, I was the kid who was always in a hurry.

Whoooosh. Three blocks to Food Lane for applesauce.

Zoom. Six blocks to the library to return books.

When people saw my short legs churning up the sidewalk, they probably looked to see who was chasing me. Why would a little girl run like blazes all over town?

The answer was simple: my sister Susan was counting. A typical prelude to one of my headlong sprints went like this:

Susan, at the movie theater: “Oh no, I forgot my glasses. Run home and get them for me, will you?”

Me: “They’re your glasses. Get them yourself.”

Susan, in an enticing, sing-songy tone: “I’ll coouunt.”

Me: Whooooosh.

The simple truth was that Susan knew what made me tick. She had figured out—and wasn’t ashamed to exploit—the fact that I couldn’t resist a challenge to run faster than I ever had before. Never mind the unscientific method of measuring my speed; once the gauntlet was thrown, I was off to the races. Of course, I now realize she never counted beyond three—the time it took me to scamper out of earshot—but, bided her time until I drew near enough to hear some random numeric sequence: “Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine.” The numbers always sounded pretty good, but I always knew I’d do better next time.

Ultimately, of course, God is the One who knows what makes me tick. Psalm 139 says He has searched me and is familiar with all my ways. He created me. And not unlike my sister, He has work for me to accomplish suited to my passions and talents, and He delights to see me rush eagerly to do it. In fact, He’s counting on me.