Obedience is overrated.
Regardless, I’ve spent time on those tracks. It’s really easy to be obedient, you just
have to like being on rails. There’s no
room to change your mind, because you cannot turn a train unless the track
turns first. As I said, its easy.
I was that girl.
The one you look at and wonder why she would ever be content as a doormat. I
liked to imagine I would have been a very pretty doormat with a screen print of
a pitcher of Tea and Two lemons on it, and a clever little saying like, “When
life hands you lemons…. Squeeze one into a glass of iced tea and thank God
you’re a southern girl”. I valued myself as something pretty to look at in
passing, but forgotten after the moment is passed.
Even though I was raised to be a strong independent woman, I
fell into a habit of being someone else’s ornament.
Ornaments have no purpose except to be looked upon and
admired. They’re hollow inside so they
have no feelings that need regarding, and their importance is only as deep as
the memories you associate with them.
They have no opinion on where you display them; they simply hang from a
thread wound through a hook. Their entire existence is dependent on the idea
that the thread will hold, and that the hook won’t slide off a branch on the
tree that shelters them.
The obedient wife attends community meetings and volunteers
on committees of her husband’s choosing.
This type of ornament knows exactly how much to take on so she does not
over-shadow her hard working spouse. She attends her husband’s work functions,
dressed in shoes that pinch, with a false layer of paint smeared across her closed
mouth in an effort to be ideal. Her
purpose is not to be brilliant, or to contribute depth to a conversation but
simply to be funny enough to be entertaining, and smart enough to follow along.
As soon as she is neither of those things, she is no longer
useful, and she lives in fear of being cast aside in favor of a shinier
ornament.
Sometimes, after babies get their hands on
them, ornaments get a little sticky. For
the purpose of prettiness, sticky is complicated. It’s tough to rub the sticky fingerprints off
of the thin shell without damaging the beauty or leaving the residue from the
dusting cloth.
Ornaments are tough to polish without changing the finish.
And so the obedient ornament had to find a radical new way
to clean the outer most layers. The ornamental
usefulness was only as good as the “pretty”, and the ornament was definitely
looking a bit worn and dust covered; it wasn’t pretty in that condition. To restore its usefulness it needed something
and it needed something drastic. Something
like running.
Of course, who knew that running and I were such a
destructive force?
With every run my ornamental shell became stronger, but
different. The shape changed, until one
day, the hook was superfluous. The
ornament no longer needed the branch to hold itself up.
My muscles grew stronger, and their strength influenced my
will. A deep understanding of what I was
capable of began to grow within me. This
new understanding grew until it filled the hollow space. This visceral strength came from knowing I
owned my own destiny. If I wanted to run
a mile, nothing could stop me, except me. I knew that I could run any distance
I wanted with training. I had proved
it.
I no longer wanted to volunteer on committees to please my
spouse. I wanted to volunteer at my own
events, and on my own committees. I had
my own functions to attend, at which I was valued as an interesting and
entertaining contributor. My thoughts
and opinions mattered, and were viewed with respect and authority.
If I could go back and tell myself not to lace on the Brooks, would I do it? No. Even
though it ultimately changed my life in a catastrophic way, I cannot look back.
Running and I are soul mates, and it was worth it. I would never give up the joy and release that running
brings for the temporary peace found in obedience.
~savor the run~
