I've always hated treadmills, and despite my best efforts to give it another chance, 2 miles later, I still hated it, vowing to never use one again.
Here's my qualm: while my legs are pounding, my back sweating, and my pulse racing, I'm going absolutely nowhere. Nothing feels more defeating than putting in the miles with no change of scenery and ending up right where I started. Running on a treadmill is like having to endure the same hardship twice because I didn't learn my lesson the first time.
Sometimes, life can feel like running on a treadmill. Who am I kidding? Sometimes, MY life can feel like running on a treadmill, at least I'm tempted to view it that way. A temptation rather easy to concede to, as I write this in the company of the purple walls and polka dot bed spread I've had since I was sixteen and as I daily walk the halls of my old high school and as I drive down all too familiar streets that hold fond memories but an uncertain future.
If I dig a little deeper, though, I can see God's purpose for the treadmill. I can see how He uses it to build my trust and faith because on the treadmill, I have to run in place. There aren't distractions or frills. I have to find beauty and contentment in the ordinary and the mundane. I have to believe that what was told to the saints in Philippi, "that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ," applies to me, as well. I have to trust that even when God asks me to run in place, He's still actually taking me somewhere.
Hmm, maybe treadmills aren't so bad after all.