Keep steady my steps according to your promise, and let no iniquity get dominion over me. Psalm 119:133

When I was young, my parents used to say I played “nervous music.” Whenever our family was getting ready for a special event, I was usually the first one dressed. I’d come downstairs, slip onto the piano bench, and launch into something fast and demanding—maybe a Bach fugue, maybe a string of Hanon exercises at full speed. It was my way of burning off the dread of being around people, my introverted heart bracing itself for crowds and conversations. What no one knew then was that my nervous music was almost always accompanied by a nervous stomach. My body was preaching a sermon I didn’t yet know how to hear: You’re pushing too hard.

This morning I woke up with the image of a sprinter in my mind; a runner exploding out of the starting line, using everything he has in the first stretch. He looks impressive for a moment, but he won’t win. The one who finishes well is the one who knows how to pace himself. A wise runner still exerts effort, still strains and sweats, but he does it with steadiness.

The same is true of a life lived for Jesus. He has never asked me to be the fastest or the brightest. He asks me to show up, to stay on the track, to keep moving with Him. The temptation, though, is always there to compete, to impress, to push past my limits so I’ll stand out. That kind of striving feels spiritual on the surface, but it ends in a crash. It’s not holy; it’s just adrenaline in a religious disguise.

I’m learning that my Father is not a taskmaster with a stopwatch; He is a Shepherd who graciously offers me the grace I need for a kind, steady pace. There is a deep stability in measured steps. Even in seasons when I have an abundance of energy and ideas, there is still a “right pace” for me, and God is faithful to show me how to channel it instead of being consumed by it. But when I feel myself driven, bearing down, and internally sprinting, I know it: I’ve slipped out of my holy gait.

Better to slow, breathe, and fall back in step with You. Help me. Amen