One morning, at least a year or more ago, I was running alone around Memorial Park here in Houston where I live. There was nothing unusual about the morning. It was still very dark, and I was one of the earlier arrivals at the park. Very few runners were out yet with me in the humid, still air we have in the morning here on the Gulf Coast. The crushed gravel crunched under my feet as I tried my best just to shuffle myself through a session of junk miles.

From behind, I started hearing footsteps--not the footsteps of one runner, but of many. And not the heavy "chunk-chunk-chunk" of the adult, weekend warrior. It was the quick, light "swit-swit-swit" of the competitor, a whole team of young competitors in fact.

A group of boys, teenagers by the look of them, floated past me as if the law of gravity had no effect on them. They were all in team kit, and their warmup pace left me behind within a matter of seconds. They were "the team" and they had things to do.

I've often wondered what it is like to be part of a group like that. On the one hand, you're never alone, always surrounded by team mates who can pick you up or kick you in the behind and make you better than you would have been on your own. On the other hand, when you're part of a team, you're not running for yourself anymore. You are expected to sacrifice your own comfort for the good of the team. People run better on a team, and one of the criticisms of American endurance sports is the way collegiate runners wilt and disappear after leaving the team environment for post-collegiate competition.

But that sense of belonging, doesn't everyone want to belong? Even if (like me) you're not a "joiner"? It's hard to explain what that sense of belonging is, or what it feels like. I might know its opposite. Have you ever experienced that feeling, on an elementary school playground perhaps, of being picked last for kickball or some other game at recess. That has to be the worst, kid feeling ever. Not only are you alone, you're alone and unwanted.

Well, last week we took a peek at the Heidelberg Catechism. And it's first question and answer tell us that we're not alone in this cold, dark universe. And we're not unwanted. We belong. We have been picked.

Question 1. What is thy only comfort in life and death?

Answer: That I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ; who, with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for all my sins, . . . .

The Book uses powerful word pictures to explain the intensity of this transaction--illustrations like a debtor/slave being redeemed, or a commoner being adopted into the house of a noble. But as powerful as these word pictures can be, as powerful as that memory of the "not picked" feeling, they are still inadequate. I need constant reminding that I was not bought with "perishable things such as silver or gold" -- or even credit default swaps or some other collateralized debt obligation. 1 Peter 1:18. No, I am not my own. I was bought with a price--a much steeper price. 1 Cor. 6:19.

Considering how much God overpaid in that transaction, boy, do I ever belong.

Now, go run. See you next week.

And now for something completely different.

Or maybe it's just another facet of the same jewel.

The Westminster Shorter Catechism, in all its Britishness, can be rather lofty and metaphysical and impersonal, as can I. Hence, it begins with the question about the "chief end of man," out there in the universe somewhere, rather than a question about me. Hence, I struggle with knowing God personally and "enjoying him forever."

But Westminster was not the only assembly in the reformation that sent its confessions to the New World. The Heidelberg Catechism was the first to reach the shores of Manhattan in 1609 because it was the part of the doctrinal standard for the reformed churches in Holland and Germany. As compared to the stiff upper lip of Westminster, these questions and answers are like personal letters, sometimes love letters, from The Almighty. All the questions are addressed to "you," and all the answers are from "I" and "my."

The first may be my favorite:

Question 1. What is thy only comfort in life and death?

Answer: That I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ; who, with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for all my sins, and delivered me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must be subservient to my salvation, and therefore, by his Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me sincerely willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto him.

I'll probably write more in the next couple of weeks to break this down into bite-sized pieces, but for now, notice how many times you see the words, "I" and "me" and "my"--indeed the notion that God has made "all things" in the universe second place to your personal salvation.

I was thinking about it tonight, and it reminds me a little of when I first read "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" from the Chronicles of Narnia to my daughter. She was only 4 or 5 at the time and barely up to paying attention to a chapter book night after night. But the thing that hooked her in was when I substituted her name for the name of Lucy, the youngest of the children in the book. It is Lucy, the youngest, who discovers the wardrobe, who remains steadfast in her faith in the magic when her siblings doubt her, and who remains faithful to Aslan, the Lion, even in his sacrifice and death. With my daughter's name in the book, the story became personal.

And that's kind of the point. Your name is in The Book. It is personal. It is your story. It is as if the book says,

"If God is for [me], who can be against [me]? 32He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for [me]—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give [me] all things? . . . 38For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate [me] from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:31-32, 38-39.

If God created us to glorify him, he also has made us the center of his own, personal love story. And we are redeemed as a result. Why? How, exactly? Why not some other way or some other person or creature? That's way above my pay grade, I'm sure. But even my little child brain can pay attention when I know I'm in the book.

Now, go run. See you next week.