Your Super-Natural Fan

Photo provided by Unsplash.

In 2005, my wife, Sharon ran the New York City Marathon, her first marathon. It was a big deal for our family because Sharon has spent so much time of her own life cheering each of us on; this was our opportunity to cheer for her.

The marathon was on a Sunday, and because I lead a church in a suburb of New York City, we decided that I’d teach at the first morning service and then head directly to the eighth mile marker to cheer on Sharon.

After spending a lot of time and effort elbowing through the large and energy-charged crowds in the city, we finally made it to the marker and waited to see Sharon pass by — only to eventually come to the horrible conclusion that we had missed her. Sharon was running faster than we had anticipated, which was, of course, a good thing. But we were disappointed that we couldn’t see her and support her. More importantly, I knew she had planned on seeing us when she passed the eighth mile marker, and she must have been discouraged when she didn’t. 

We quickly figured out that the next opportunity to see her was at the seventeenth mile marker, and when we arrived, we found it to be what we assumed was the most crowded spot in NYC. Despite the crowd,I managed to wrestle my way to the front divider, and minutes later, I saw her — but she was on the opposite side of the street. I yelled her name at the top of my lungs and waved my arms like a maniac, trying to get her attention. She briefly lifted her head and looked around, but — not noticing us — put her head down and kept running.

A sense of desperation overwhelmed me. I knew Sharon needed the encouragement of seeing us, and we needed to see her, to encourage her. So I did what any normal, reasonable, and supportive husband would do: I took off running to try to catch up with her — not caring who or what was in my way and totally separating myself from my kids and the others who were with us. After missing her another time, I flagged down a sympathetic police officer who suggested that the next reasonable place to see her would be in Central Park, close to the finish line.

So, again, I took off running, this time in a full-fledged sprint, across Manhattan toward the park. By the time I got there, I was literally drenched in sweat, I was starving, and I needed to use the restroom. But I stood there for an hour and twenty minutes, waiting to spot Sharon. After watching thousands more people pass by, I finally saw her, visibly exhausted and in pain. As she trudged toward where I stood, I screamed out her name: “Sharon! Sharon!”

In a beautiful, cinema-esque moment, her eyes met mine. I immediately jumped out from the sidewalk, told her how badly we had wanted to see her, and encouraged her to keep running. I ran the last mile with her, stopping just before the finish line. 

Here is part of what I learned that day: Though I already intuitively understood how much Sharon needed her family to cheer for her, what really surprised me was how much I needed to cheer for her. I needed her to hear me yell her name, to know I was there for her, to understand the depth of my love and encouragement. 

Now, what am I trying to communicate through this story?

Call me crazy, but I believe God shares a similar desperation to cheer us on to our futures. He is the ultimate witness to our lives, invested in every detail from beginning to end. He desires us to feel His support on the sidelines, to hear Him shouting our names amidst life’s challenges. 

Can you hear His voice — “like the roar of mighty ocean waves or the rolling of loud thunder” — shouting your name (Rev. 14:2)? Shut your eyes and listen. Listen carefully. Listen with the depths of your heart. He knows your victories, and He knows your defeats. He wants your God-inspired dreams to come true, the very ones He planted in you. He wants you to help make His world what He originally intended it to be.

God is for you. And if He is for us, how can we not believe that our best possible future is within our reach? Better life than we can imagine awaits, and God desires it for us even more than we do.