It would be a lie to run away:

Hi, my name is Sara and I have been an emotional runner for almost 10 years now.
'Hi, Sara.'
...
I can run away for miles without stopping.
If my emotions had a face, it would be Forest Gump's.
Full beard.  Gnarly hair.  And a hat.
I think my legs have fallen off again and I dislike that.
This is the situation wherein my predicament lies:
I can't run away if I have no legs.

Usually, my M.O. is to run away from God.
Away from areas I can't control.
Away from situations I don't like.
Away from people that bug me... or that I like like.
A while ago, I decided I didn't like this running away thing anymore.
My legs kept falling off and God had to keep sewing them back on
So, I started running to God.
That's good right?
Well, sort of.
I figured, if I run to God, I'll be good.
That was proved false.
Why?

Because here I am, exhausted and frustrated because my legs fell off again.

I've been here staring at my legs - bones with shoes on really.
I've just been sitting and staring at them.
I tried to pick them up and stick them back into my hip bones one time.
That didn't work out so well.
Then I tried to paint them and make them look like flesh.
I ran out of paint.
So there they have sat for about a week now.
And in turn, here I have sat staring back at them.
In my pondering while staring at my old legs yet again, I have concluded this:
Yes, this is a hard journey.  No, this is not a slave train.
I continued in my thought...
This is how God and I talk:
(Welcome to my quite unique brain.  Sorry for the mess.)

So, God.  I'm pissed. 
...
Oh, ok.  You don't want to talk now?  Fine.  I have plenty to say.  Why did you take away my plan?  Portland was nice, right?  I did things the way you wanted.  I prayed, asked for prayer, read my Bible, sang, journaled, thought things through. I did all those things! SO WHY AM I HERE AGAIN? 
Why are my legs detached again.  Why.
khjjgvjhnugtycrdrewatwrszxtghbopolhmvyksdsvkrghkykrjtbdmfnglsethgr!?!?!
Ok.ok.ok...
This is a journey, right? 
Right.
I know that much is true.
What does a journey look like? 
Hard, full of adventure, companions, excitement, silence, freedom. 
Oh... Freedom.
Right.  I chose this.
And yet, I have turned you into a slave driver and myself into a slave. 
If I ran away, I wouldn't be telling the truth anymore.
If I ran away...
I would be...
a liar.

Ok now, come out of my thoughts and back into my words.
First of all, thank the Lord for his GRACE.
Second, I have no idea when or why I turned God into a slave driver.
He is more like Sacajawea was for Lewis and Clark.
(I know, lame...)
God is taking me along on the journey BECAUSE I gave him my hand.
I said yes.
I agreed.

So here I am, again.
With my legs next to me,
Bones with shoes on.
I know God will sew them back on...
OVER TIME.
They need to heal properly and I need to learn to walk with God.
Then I can run with God.
Not away from.
Not to.
With.

God.
Thank you for putting up with all of my impatience.
I'm sorry for being a punk.
Please restore these dry and weary bones.
By your name alone I can say:  Amen.