In the dark
"Mother," I said. "I just have to shake out some cobwebs. I'm going for a run. See ya later." With that, I jumped into my running clothes and headed into the night.
Earlier today, Mother and I arrived at the Montrose Writers Conference. The opening session was inspiring with the promise of a strong conference. But still, my travel over the last two days had plucked my last nerve and infringed on my run time. The evening was beautiful, the quaint village streets quiet, the open road begging me to come.
It felt good. Really good. There is something special about night running. It caresses and cradles. It offers a false, but pleasant, sensation of speed. It lures you down the lane, up the next hill, around the curve, soaking in the smell of freshly cut grass, the fragrance of wildflowers, and the crunch of gravel beneath your feet.
But, sometimes it's really dark. Yes, at 10:30 pm one expects darkness. But often, a glimmer of a streetlight or even the moon glow can allow you to see outlines. But tonight, I got to a section of road covered by the heavy drape of tree branches. I couldn't see squat. Not the hidden houses. Not even the edges of the road. I was running blind. Though not a new sensation, it still isn't all that comfortable. I just had to keep moving and trust my feet to feel the way.
It's not unlike our spiritual journey. Sometimes we find ourselves in the dark because we just don't know how the Designer planned out the roads; we don't know the twists and turns. We can't see the caution, yield, or slow down signs. We don't know if there are hairpin turns or roundabout circles. We strain to see anything that would give us some perspective.
I was in a dark place tonight. But as I continued step by step, a strange thing happened. I looked up to see a sliver of light up ahead. I still didn't know where the road was leading but I knew that if I moved to the light, the way would become clear. Soon, I was running free and confident.
Tomorrow, if I run the same road I will better understand where I was tonight. So, let's not fret when we can't see where we are going. Relax. Sometimes God needs us to be content with waiting until tomorrow before we can see where--and why--He has taken us.
Earlier today, Mother and I arrived at the Montrose Writers Conference. The opening session was inspiring with the promise of a strong conference. But still, my travel over the last two days had plucked my last nerve and infringed on my run time. The evening was beautiful, the quaint village streets quiet, the open road begging me to come.
But, sometimes it's really dark. Yes, at 10:30 pm one expects darkness. But often, a glimmer of a streetlight or even the moon glow can allow you to see outlines. But tonight, I got to a section of road covered by the heavy drape of tree branches. I couldn't see squat. Not the hidden houses. Not even the edges of the road. I was running blind. Though not a new sensation, it still isn't all that comfortable. I just had to keep moving and trust my feet to feel the way.
It's not unlike our spiritual journey. Sometimes we find ourselves in the dark because we just don't know how the Designer planned out the roads; we don't know the twists and turns. We can't see the caution, yield, or slow down signs. We don't know if there are hairpin turns or roundabout circles. We strain to see anything that would give us some perspective.
I was in a dark place tonight. But as I continued step by step, a strange thing happened. I looked up to see a sliver of light up ahead. I still didn't know where the road was leading but I knew that if I moved to the light, the way would become clear. Soon, I was running free and confident.
Tomorrow, if I run the same road I will better understand where I was tonight. So, let's not fret when we can't see where we are going. Relax. Sometimes God needs us to be content with waiting until tomorrow before we can see where--and why--He has taken us.
It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure.
(Psalm 18:32)
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