It's ironic how we always wanted to grow up faster, run faster, and be better faster when we were kids. The competition was paramount in our world, and we faced the challenge of being the best with open smiles and resolute determination. Fast forward 15 years and, hopefully, we have retained that drive we possessed as children. As an adult, I am proud of my desire to be better--to be my best self. I like to think that that desire stems from a childhood where I was pushed and encouraged by family and friends.

I was in the midst of my whirlwind of a life a couple of days ago, cleaning the apartment, mentally planning out dinner for that night--my head all the while percolating with ideas for a poem I wanted to write. I was in the middle of the five steps it takes to get from my kitchen to the bathroom when it struck me I hadn't stopped moving all day. I woke up, made myself some coffee (admittedly about 70% creamer and 30% coffee) and immediately started the tasks I'd mentally prepared the week before.

I remember glancing over at my husband, who sat contentedly on the couch, reading. I don't remember what he was reading or for how long but he looked content, more content than I felt buzzing around like a crazy woman. I wish I could say I had the good sense to go and sit down with him, even if just for a moment, but I continued on my insane cleaning schedule and finally finished.

A couple of days went by, and I continued my busy life. Days quickly turned into months, and I barely noticed. I think a lot of people do that same thing. Live their lives and forget that there is more to life. In just living my earthly life, I didn't realize that I was inadvertently running away from what I needed to feel fulfilled. Of course, I have the components of a full life, a loving family, a steadfast husband, and a satisfactory job, but I was feeling empty.

I was walking through my kitchen recently when I caught a glance of the beautiful wooden cross my husband gave me for my birthday hanging on the wall. I observed it for a couple of seconds, which was strange. It had hung there for nearly four years and, in all honesty, hadn't changed at all.

In that brief moment, I closed my eyes and prayed. I can't even tell you what exactly I prayed for or about, but I do remember that it was raw and honest. I realized that, although I was enjoying life, I was running away from my Savior by ignoring his presence in my life--even if just for a week. Sure, I prayed every night before bed but I was drifting, and I didn't realize it.

There's something to be said about God's subtlety and what he'll do to get our attention. Sometimes it's easily missed or disregarded as unimportant, like taking an extra ten seconds to look at an old wooden cross. Sometimes it's devastating or disturbing, but if I've learned anything, it's that he never stops chasing us.

If only we would stop running.