Sometimes victory looks different than crossing the finish line. There are times in which success is not measured by the number of minutes completed or even the distance achieved. While I have spent the last 3 or so weeks training my physical body, today was a lesson of training the mind.
I have a set workout schedule where each day is mapped out with details such as resistance and incline levels, as well as amount of time needed to complete the task. I am also a list person with a dozen to do lists on my phone even. I enjoy crossing things off when completed, I appreciate the confidence and sense of accomplishment I feel when meeting those goals. Today, I did not meet my goal. And I walked away with my head down low and my heart grieved with disappointment.
It seemed as though I had failed, I had missed the mark of what I expected of myself. I was mad that my hip was hurting so much and I just watched my dream fade away. Come to think of it, what sillinesss. Would my dream really slip away by only doing 45 minutes instead of 60? Was I really a complete failure because I ddin't push through this one time? After some real talk, prayer, and thinking...I found the answers I needed.
The truth is that I am not a failure. I am not defined by what I accomplish or don't accomplish. My identity is not the goals with which I set for myself. And no, my dreams are not acomplished overnight. But it's a journey, a process...come to think of it, a slow fade. A slow fade from the foggy lies in which I sometimes vacation to the clear reality that I am learning to walk in. A world of possiblities, a season of grace, and a promise from God of great plans for me and my future. Oh it's a hard lesson to learn, but one of infinite value as I continue to cling to my Father's hand...even when my head doesn't know what I'm doing.
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