I have noticed that our kids tend to run through the house. If we tell Malachi to brush his teeth, he runs to the toothbrush. Zac bolts to the kitchen to get a sippy cup. Lexi slams the others to the ground and darts toward Nana when she visits. They’re quick footed and task oriented, not having given up the fight against gravity. I love that.
By comparison, I do a lot more steady walking and even ambling through the house. I like to meander, percolate, and even stroll. Part of this has to do with my relative mass compared to the rather narrow corridors of our home. Oh, I can run. A couple of miles, even. But I’ve been jabbed by too many a pointy cornered furniture to do that when the doorbell rings.
Jesus said “let the little children come to me and do not hinder them.” I imagine that children ran to Jesus. They would bolt, dart, and even slam. They knew too little (didn’t care) but knew enough to run to Him. In thinking about this, I realized that I do more meandering to Jesus than I do running. I’d rather run. “Oh, to be a kid again!” Indeed. Starting now. I want to run to Jesus like nothing else matters, as if that very moment is dedicated to the purpose of getting to Him.