Lately, my little people want nothing more than to be chased. “Mama, chase me, chase me!” rings out from all corners of my house.
With my new prosthetic, I’m more inclined to chase them at the park and today, I soaked up their smiles and shrieks of laughter as almost-spring sun streamed through bare branches.
And I realized: we’re all desperate to be chased. People don’t really change.
In high school, I thought that if I could get a boy to fall in love with me, that would be the marker that I was enough, something worth chasing. Looking back, God used some ridiculously low self-esteem to save me from ever putting myself in a bad situation in pursuit of a guy.
And then, God sent Matt into my life. He asked me to prom and I knew he was a catch when he laid out his plan to keep my updo from being ruined if it was raining when we left the restaurant.
Funny thing, though: his pursuit of me, while delightful, was not enough. This gaping hole that I’d been trying to stuff with achievement and friends and adventure and even a boy still yawned in front of me.
And then that skinny, bespectacled boy laid out the gospel and that was it. The answers fell into place, the hole was filled.
It’s so upside down (doesn’t He always work that way?): once I finally caught the answer I’d been chasing, I realized it wasn’t enough, but that Someone had been chasing me the whole time.
And I still run: I doubt, I’m selfish, I do wrong. And still, he pursues and pursues and pursues. It’s not all fun and games like a day at the park, but the feeling of being loved and held is there–and it’s greater.