A move is defined as: “to pass from one place or position to another”. A move, a movement, repositioning…it’s easy enough. I find the secondary definition more appropriate: “to advance or progress”. Movement in my life has taken the literal meaning of “repositioning”, but has more figuratively taken the latter approach of “advance and progress”. From first moving at age 3 to America, my life has been a constant bustle of advancement and repositioning. Gaining the ideal position for which to raise a family seems to be a key issue for my family as we have “repositioned” about a dozen times. These repositionings bear the sting of lost social identity, but the hope of renewal and individualism. After all, how can one get to know themselves, when the world around them defines their parameters?
I have moved across continents, across oceans and across cultural dimensions. It wasn’t really voluntary (after all few things in life really are), but rather, I was strung along halfway between fate and prudence just trying to appease and fit in with the natives. I have lost a lot of friends to the past throughout my moves, people that “will never allow me to change” as Rascal Flatts once sang. I believe that people are important, but you cannot base your life around them. My move from Michigan to Maryland (my parent’s like “M” states like Minnesota, and Maryland apparently) showed me that it’s not about who everyone thinks you are, but about who you truly are. There is not enough time in this world, nor love in your heart to deal with people who are always restraining your movement. Love without prejudice, love with all your heart, but love with your eyes open. God will always be there when people aren’t, God will always be there when you can’t see the finished line, He’ll always be there when you don’t know where or who you are.
I believe life is a series of movements, and to stop is to lose momentum. I believe we are all running the race, whether fast or slow, we are all getting there. As 2 Timothy 4: 7 says, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith”. After all, for me, my faith is part of my movement, sometimes I fall along the way…but I it requires a move of faith to get back up. At the end of my life, I want to be able to say that I have finished the good race, not just a race. Not a race of arms, not a race to “keep up with the Jones’s”, not a race for fame. I believe life should be humble, passionate, and loving, that we should live as runners do: striving for the finished line, and keeping our eyes on the prize.