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.