“You can’t catch me, you can’t catch me!”
I’m chasing her. She wanted to play. She’s laughing and giggling and I can’t help but smile. We’re running around my grandparents’ backyard, racing through the green grass and around the tall trees. She’s so happy, my little cousin, and her happiness fills the air and lifts my spirit. My own cold grown up “problems” melt away when exposed to the warmth of her beautiful simplicity. She’s not thinking about the past or the future. She’s four years old. There’s nothing on her mind but the moment. She’s lost in the chase.
“I’m gonna catch you Sophia, I’m gonna catch you!”
I imagine that God wants to chase me. He wants to play. I can feel him chasing me on road trips, as I roll down the highway and take in miles of sky and greenery. His spirit sprints after me in every note of music that pierces my soul. Through hugs and smiles, silence and laughter, sunrise and sunset; he is chasing me. Even in my heartbreak, I can just faintly feel his footsteps following right behind me. As my heart falls to pieces I can hear him say, “I’m gonna catch you!”
“Come on Andrew, let’s play!”
I want to be chased by God. I want to play. In order to be chased, I have to run. I have to decide that it’s time to move forward. Maybe then I can stop spending so much time trying to change the past and control the future. Maybe I can remember what it’s like to be four years old, lost in the chase. I say Sophia is simple, but maybe I’m just making things too complicated. So here I am God. I want to play. And even though I know you can, I’ll shout,
“You can’t catch me!”