Saturday. 18 miles.
I set out in the direction of the blue skies and fluffy clouds. I’m starting to get over the “Oh my…I could be running for 3 hours or more.” I’m already looking forward to hitting my sweet spot of mile 5 where I clip along and enjoy the run. The wind plays with the clouds and I stand in awe at all the different views I soak up. The dark rain clouds tease me to the right while the high wispy clouds dance behind me. I loathe miles 2 and 3 but keep on staring into the sun for encouragement. When I hit mile 5, I’m going up hill and like clockwork the rain clouds have shifted to directly over my head. There I am. Running uphill in the kind of rain that stings and makes you wonder if your ipod will survive.
But.
This is mile 5. I’m ready. My muscles are warmed up. I’ve settled into my long run pace. I know better than to stop. I keep running. I can’t stop the rain. I can’t change the circumstances. I can’t outrun the downpour. So, I just run in the rain up the hill.
God meets me there. Brings me back to a conversation on that couch where I hold a pillow and play with my earrings thinking nervously about what my body language says as I find myself crossing my arms here and there. In the midst of the words, a thought is held in my heart.
Have you ever thought that maybe God knew… God knew and trusted that you would keep running the race. He knew that the rain wouldn’t pull you out of the race, but would only strengthen you and that you wouldn’t stop. He knew the time when you could handle the rain. That’s when He let the rain fall.
I don’t know. But maybe…maybe the same’s true for the desert and the tears and the breaking because really deserts and storms are awfully similar.
p.s. I finished in under 3 hours.
have you kept running in the storm? or turned back to strengthen your brothers like peter after you fell? thoughts?
b'ahava 