Hebrews 12: 1-2 “And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.”

It was the type of afternoon that reminded me why I love to run.

The big blue sky was mostly clear, but only to the horizon, where the rolling clouds were putting on a colorful show. Ahead of me, the sun had just dipped just below the trees, which kept it from blinding my sensitive eyes, and created a crisp atmosphere with a slight comforting breeze. I passed several harvested fields, and admired the rolling landscape. It was obvious that this was the Earth’s last breath of summer, right before it exhaled nasty storms and ugly leafy debris onto us overworked and weary college students. I wanted to enjoy it. KB blared through my earbuds, I found my Tempo, and settled in for a couple of miles of heavy-breathing bliss.

About a mile into my route, I was passed by another jogger, a middle-aged man in a white t-shirt. I chuckled to myself, and fought embarrassment at my sluggish pace. What came next caused my giggle to erupt into full-blown laughter—following the man a few seconds behind was his dog, an older chocolate lab with a blue harness collar. The kicker was, the dog wasn’t on a leash. Normally I would be concerned as a runner seeing a dog off his leash, but this one looked harmless, even sweet. What’s more, the dog was intently focused on the runner, and paid me no mind as he passed me.

Intrigued by this strange scene, I continued to observe the dog as he followed his owner. Despite his age, he wasn't phased by the hills or pace. Maybe he knew he had it in him, or maybe he just didn't care, because he knew he had a job to do. All he was focused on was following.

I thought, Look at how faithful he is to his master.

And immediately after, I thought, Am I as faithful to mine?

I rolled my eyes at myself, not impressed with my hokey Jesus metaphor, but my mind was hooked on the track. I continued to watch the dog, so impressed. This dog was nothing like the dogs that I have grown up with—though mine were always tame and pretty sweet, they were also often times disobedient, and sometimes just plain rude. This dog was different. He was disciplined.

But alas, the dog wasn’t perfect—he looked away once, perhaps distracted by a movement or a noise in the weeds. But once he fixed his eyes on his master again, he picked up his speed to recover, and stayed on course.

And it wasn’t like he wasn’t chasing after some stranger. He was chasing the man who fed him. Who provided for him. Who took him to the vet when he got sick. Who got him a license. Who claims him. Who corrects him when he chews on his shoes, and pets him and calls him a good boy when he obeys. Who calls him by name when it's time to come inside. Who loves him unconditionally.

My next revelation was powerful enough to make me stop in my tracks. Jesus doesn't use leashes, but if he did, would he have to use one on me?

I don't want to be the Rottweiler dragging Jesus ahead on the leash at my own will, or some pathetic Chihuahua who’s being pulled from ahead, too timid to go forward. I don’t want any leashes involved. No incentives, no selfishness, no strings attached. I want to follow because I’ve been chosen, and because it’s what I’ve been created for. I want to follow because of who He is. I want to run the race with my eyes fixed.