I RAN AND FOUND LIFE
Last weekend, I tweaked my ankle running bleachers. I usually try to run 2-3 times a week, and so I figured I'd just stay off my feet for a couple of extra days to let the pain pass. But I started to get antsy just a couple of days into my hiatus. Tuesday morning I had the time in the morning to run, but when I put weight on my ankle it felt a little funny. Frustrated, I resigned myself to another day without the rush of "runner's high."
I started to realize how important running had become to me. It made my body feel good, helped my digestion, gave routine to my week. Most importantly to me, it offered me a moment of being truly unplugged: no cell phone, no urgent fires that needed to be put out, just me and the road ahead of me. I found that running often cleared my mind of the noise, so I could relax . . . or so God could say something to me.
The next morning, I tried to put my running obsession into perspective. I told God with not a little reluctance that I was willing to be on the shelf for as long as He wanted. But if it was OK with him, I was going to give the ankle a try today, because I missed this way of being in touch with my body and being in touch with Him.
After my morning devotion and a quick bite to eat, I threw on my running gear and stepped gingerly onto the pavement. I had told myself I would do a short run, just to go easy on my ankle; but once I got going, I knew I wanted to hit a longer loop. I made up my mind to do my jaunt to City Hall and over to the Art Museum, and quickly lost myself in the mindless daydreaming that helps me to block out the physical pain of running.
It occurred to me that I was only feeling good on my ankle because God had allowed it to be, a thought that caused my heart to leap a little with praise. God cares enough about me to allow me this little joy, this joy of running. Like Eric Liddell in Chariots of Fire, when I run I feel God's pleasure. I couldn't help but break out with a wide grin, even as I was grunting along Benjamin Franklin Parkway.
Just then, my ears registered someone calling out my name. I am usually so locked in on my runs that I could pass by the Pope and not notice. But for some reason, I turned around to see who might be calling my name. I located a young black man with facial hair smiling at me. It was Wayman, a young man who was in my youth program five years ago but who I had last seen two years ago. The last I had heard about Wayman was from a friend of his who was also in my program, who had told me that Wayman was dead.
I bounded over to Wayman and gave him a great big bear hug, ecstatic that someone who I thought was dead was actually quite alive. He was wearing a uniform, and told me he was working as a greeter at one of the hotels in downtown Philadelphia. He looked good: happy, grown-up, and not at all dead. I stifled the urge to tell him, "I thought you were dead." Instead: "Wayman, man, it is really good to see you!"
We chattered for barely a couple of minutes, and then he had to run, and so did I. At this point, I am simultaneously beaming and tearing up. What a wonderful God, to fix up my ankle and nudge me to go on my Art Museum route, just so I could "randomly" bump into a young man who I thought was dead. And what an exhilarating thought, that this young man who I had mourned over a few months ago for being cut down at such an early age, had his whole life ahead of him to live and to grow.
With all of the mental distractions and spiritual blessings, the run turned out to be an easy one, since my mind was diverted from the pain and monotony of running. And my ankle felt just fine afterwards, too. I'm just so glad to have back this avenue of connecting to God, feeling His pleasure, experiencing the joy and preciousness of life.
Last weekend, I tweaked my ankle running bleachers. I usually try to run 2-3 times a week, and so I figured I'd just stay off my feet for a couple of extra days to let the pain pass. But I started to get antsy just a couple of days into my hiatus. Tuesday morning I had the time in the morning to run, but when I put weight on my ankle it felt a little funny. Frustrated, I resigned myself to another day without the rush of "runner's high."
I started to realize how important running had become to me. It made my body feel good, helped my digestion, gave routine to my week. Most importantly to me, it offered me a moment of being truly unplugged: no cell phone, no urgent fires that needed to be put out, just me and the road ahead of me. I found that running often cleared my mind of the noise, so I could relax . . . or so God could say something to me.
The next morning, I tried to put my running obsession into perspective. I told God with not a little reluctance that I was willing to be on the shelf for as long as He wanted. But if it was OK with him, I was going to give the ankle a try today, because I missed this way of being in touch with my body and being in touch with Him.
After my morning devotion and a quick bite to eat, I threw on my running gear and stepped gingerly onto the pavement. I had told myself I would do a short run, just to go easy on my ankle; but once I got going, I knew I wanted to hit a longer loop. I made up my mind to do my jaunt to City Hall and over to the Art Museum, and quickly lost myself in the mindless daydreaming that helps me to block out the physical pain of running.
It occurred to me that I was only feeling good on my ankle because God had allowed it to be, a thought that caused my heart to leap a little with praise. God cares enough about me to allow me this little joy, this joy of running. Like Eric Liddell in Chariots of Fire, when I run I feel God's pleasure. I couldn't help but break out with a wide grin, even as I was grunting along Benjamin Franklin Parkway.
Just then, my ears registered someone calling out my name. I am usually so locked in on my runs that I could pass by the Pope and not notice. But for some reason, I turned around to see who might be calling my name. I located a young black man with facial hair smiling at me. It was Wayman, a young man who was in my youth program five years ago but who I had last seen two years ago. The last I had heard about Wayman was from a friend of his who was also in my program, who had told me that Wayman was dead.
I bounded over to Wayman and gave him a great big bear hug, ecstatic that someone who I thought was dead was actually quite alive. He was wearing a uniform, and told me he was working as a greeter at one of the hotels in downtown Philadelphia. He looked good: happy, grown-up, and not at all dead. I stifled the urge to tell him, "I thought you were dead." Instead: "Wayman, man, it is really good to see you!"
We chattered for barely a couple of minutes, and then he had to run, and so did I. At this point, I am simultaneously beaming and tearing up. What a wonderful God, to fix up my ankle and nudge me to go on my Art Museum route, just so I could "randomly" bump into a young man who I thought was dead. And what an exhilarating thought, that this young man who I had mourned over a few months ago for being cut down at such an early age, had his whole life ahead of him to live and to grow.
With all of the mental distractions and spiritual blessings, the run turned out to be an easy one, since my mind was diverted from the pain and monotony of running. And my ankle felt just fine afterwards, too. I'm just so glad to have back this avenue of connecting to God, feeling His pleasure, experiencing the joy and preciousness of life.
Comments