Lately I have realized how much I long for the treadmill. Not the literal one, but the invisible one we spend so much of our lives running on. The one that promises that if we just keep moving, keep achieving, keep planning, and keep everything under control, we will eventually arrive at the place where life feels secure.
The treadmill has a familiar rhythm. Work hard. Achieve goals. Build financial security. Keep everyone healthy. Raise successful children. Create a comfortable home. Plan for retirement. Enjoy the rewards of your efforts.
I wonder if I have confused my pursuit of a well-managed life as reflecting a life of success.
There is nothing wrong with many of those things. Wisdom matters. Responsibility matters.
Planning matters. But somewhere along the way, I wonder if I have confused my pursuit of a well-managed life as reflecting a life of success.
I long for smooth pathways. I recoil at difficulty. I find myself wanting to protect the people I love from disappointment, hardship and pain. I pray for peace, but often what I am really praying for is for circumstances to change.
More success.
More security.
More health.
More certainty.
It depends on everything going according to plan. And life rarely does.
I tell myself that if everyone I love is okay, if the future looks secure and if the plans are working, then I will finally be able to rest. But that kind of peace is fragile. It depends on everything going according to plan. And life rarely does.
Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” (John 10:10) I believe those words. I cling to them. Yet sometimes I wonder what that life looks like because it does not always resemble the life I imagined.
Where is the “life to the full” when circumstances are difficult?
Where is the easy yoke and light burden Jesus promised?
Perhaps I have misunderstood what Jesus meant.
Perhaps the abundant life is not found in having a smooth road.
Perhaps it is found in knowing that God walks with us on every road.
A difficult season for one of my children recently exposed something in me. He reached a point where he had only six dollars left to get through an entire week. His work shifts were limited and erratic, and his car registration became due.
My first response was fear. I wanted to fix it.
My first response was fear. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to step in. I wanted to remove the uncertainty and make sure he was okay.
As a parent, that instinct is understandable. But as I prayed about it, God began to show me something deeper. I discovered that part of his financial struggle came from his generosity, giving money away to others.
God began to reveal that my reaction was not only about his choices. It was also about my own story. It was about the years when I had experienced uncertainty and the fear of not having enough. It was about the deep desire I carry to protect my children from hardship. It was about my longing to know that they were safe, secure and following a path that made sense to me.
God... was teaching compassion, generosity, faith and dependence on him.
What I had labelled as messy, God was inviting me to see through different eyes. Not necessarily that every choice was perfect, but that he was at work. He was shaping a person. He was teaching compassion, generosity, faith and dependence on him.
The question became less, “How do I get my child back onto the path that makes me feel comfortable?” And more, “Can I trust God enough to allow him to write a story I could not have designed?” Because when I look at Scripture, I don’t find many examples of people who stayed comfortably on the treadmill.
I find Joseph, betrayed by his brothers and sold into slavery before God used him to save a nation.
I find Ruth, a grieving widow gathering leftover grain in a foreign land before becoming part of the family line of Jesus.
I find David, anointed as king but spending years hiding in caves.
I find Paul, beaten, imprisoned, shipwrecked and rejected, yet declaring that he had learned the secret of contentment.
I find Mary, a young woman who surrendered her reputation and her plans to carry the Son of God, only to watch Him suffer and die.
Their lives were not marked by ease. They were marked by faithfulness.
Perhaps the people who make the greatest impact are not those who run the treadmill the fastest.
Perhaps the people who make the greatest impact are not those who run the treadmill the fastest. Perhaps they are the ones willing to step off when God calls them somewhere else.
The Good Samaritan did not make an impact because he stayed focused on his schedule. He stopped.
He allowed another person’s pain to interrupt his plans. He sacrificed his time, his comfort and his resources because love mattered more than progress. He stepped off the treadmill.
The widow who gave her two small coins caught the attention of Jesus, not because she had accumulated much, but because she trusted God with what little she had.
The rich young ruler was invited by Jesus to release everything he held onto and follow him. His struggle was not simply about wealth. His struggle was about whether he could surrender the things that made him feel safe. Jesus was inviting him into a life that could not be measured by worldly success. And perhaps He invites me into that same life.
A life where I stop measuring success by how smoothly everything is going.
A life where I trust God more than I trust my plans.
A life where hardship does not mean failure.
My children’s lives were never mine to engineer. Their stories belong to God.
As a parent, I still want wisdom for my children. I want them to make good decisions. I want them to know the joy of healthy relationships, meaningful work and financial stability. But I am learning that my children’s lives were never mine to engineer. Their stories belong to God.
What if the things I desperately want to protect them from become the very things God uses to shape their character?
What if disappointment teaches compassion?
What if struggle develops resilience?
What if unexpected seasons deepen their dependence on Christ?
What if the greatest evidence of a life well lived is not that everything went according to plan, but that God was faithful through every unexpected turn?
Many of the great hymns of faith were not written from places of comfort. Horatio Spafford wrote "It Is Well With My Soul" after the tragic loss of his four daughters at sea. Fanny Crosby, blind from infancy, wrote thousands of hymns that continue to encourage generations.
They impacted the world because they followed God wherever He led.
Missionaries such as Amy Carmichael and Hudson Taylor endured illness, sacrifice and hardship, yet their lives continue to bear fruit. They did not impact the world because they stayed on the treadmill. They impacted the world because they followed God wherever He led.
Maybe the “life to the full” Jesus promised is not a life where nothing goes wrong. Maybe it is a life where we are fully alive to God in the middle of whatever comes. So today I am learning to loosen my grip. To plan wisely, but not worship security. To love deeply, but not try to control outcomes. To pray more than I panic. And to step off the treadmill when God calls me into something deeper.
The safest place we can ever be... is in the hands of the God who created us.
Because the safest place we can ever be is not on the path we have carefully created. It is in the hands of the God who created us. Perhaps the greatest gift we can give those we love is not a perfectly smooth road. Perhaps it is the freedom to walk with God on theirs.
After completing degrees in Theology (Perth Bible College), Communications, and Public Relations (Swinburne University), Dianne Fraser has worked in the Christian Education sector in Australia developing her communications, marketing, and public relations skills. She is currently the digital communications officer for Christian Schools Australia, overseeing the national communications for the largest network of Christian Schools in Australia.
