Tuesday, July 20, 2010

The Long Road to the Point

I am not a runner. No way, no how. I have in ingrown fear of exercise -- I fear losing weight.

Stay with me.

I've been a skinny minny all my life. I routinely add 5 pounds to my weight on my driver's license. I'm now at that age where I'd love for someone to cut a few slices off my muffin top, but leave the rest, thankyouverymuch. What if I set out to do myself some good and in the process, my arms get skinnier, and my hip-section retains its own personal hour-glass figure?

Still, in one of my favorite recurring dreams, I am simply running. It feels so good and I'm always amazed at how far I can run. Now Cory is training for a half-marathon and I'm freshly inspired, theoretically speaking.

I have a bucket of excuses at the ready, but tonight - I ran. And I walked-walked-walked-walked-walked and then I ran a little bit more.

I was alone. On the road I grew up on. The rain misted just enough to capture a muddy rainbow. I passed an old farm and saw my high school band teacher standing in the field. I passed by row upon row of field corn that dwarfed me. I heard nothing but my shoes on asphalt.

Before long, the rain came down harder - dripping down my face, soaking my t-shirt. I thought to myself, "I should cry!" In books the girl always cries in the shower or in the rain, "where no one can see my tears" (cue violin). It struck me - I have not one single thing to cry about. Dang! I was itching to try on some faux angst. Nothing sounded more sensational than a girl running on her home-grown road, two kinds of drops coursing down her cheeks, dripping from her chin.

Slowing down at the telephone pole, my near-miss with roadside drama averted, I was seized by the irrational fear of my High School boyfriend driving by and laughing at me. (It is clear even to me that should I opt to make walking-walking-running a regular part of my life, it would be wise to invest in a music-playing device or similar mind-wandering-restraint.)

I soldiered on, wishing the whole experience were half as euphoric as my R.E.M. version.

I was stared down by a herd of cattle who were largely unimpressed with my efforts.

I was so utterly content. Breathless, too. But mostly - content.

I started complaining to Jesus about Cory's job situation. Without weighing the truth or calibrating the consequences, I blurted out, "YOU choose!"

I was an exasperated child, tired of trying to figure it out.

You choose.


For the past two months, one of my fears has been that we would make the wrong choice.

I have no idea when I decided that this was up to us. I know better. I thought I did.

With rain in my eyes, with my ratty t-shirt stretching heavy, I came face-to-face with Epiphany. I was quiet enough, tired enough to hear the Truth.

Go on ahead, God. You choose. I'm just along for the run.