Since I'm under the weather and longing for a tan, the smell of fresh bark mulch warming in the sun, and a good healthy run, I figured I'll share a post from summer, several years ago.
Last night I went running at around 8:30 pm.
Usually, I run a 3 mile route straight out through pasture land and back with
my ever-energetic boxer, Josie. She's ten years old this November--right at the
peak of her estimated longevity--but still going strong. We must be a sight,
the two of us. Nearing 40 (AGHHH) I know I don't look like the 20-somethings
running around in their short-shorts and tanks, looking perky and fresh. I'm
well-aware that, having given birth twice and lived twice as long, my body is
not as agile, blemish-free or attractive as it used to be.
About half way out--must have been around a mile--I stopped to walk. I've been
less motivated to work out lately, and this week, especially, physical and
emotional issues have been draining my energy. I was thinking, really, about
how old I am this year and how much harder it is for my body to recover from
workouts. About ten years ago I went to a chiropractor for an adjustment to my
spine--I have constant pain in my neck and lower back--lately between my
shoulder blades. I used to high jump (state champ 83) and play all sports
without a care for safety--co-ed flag football in the Army left me with
whiplash that has never really gone away. The chiropractor told me a decade ago
that if I didn't quit running, I would have trouble walking in my 40s. I'm 38
in August.
What struck me deeply, as I struggled for breath and kneaded my sore back, is
the awesome beauty of God's country. It is when I'm out and running and
breathing the air (hay fever and all) that God gently reminds me of His power,
His sense of majesty, His tender touch of glorious artistry.
I am a blackberry bush. Have you ever seen one? They are a local pest, often
tilled over and poisoned to make way for less painful plants...but oh, the
memories I have as a child, covered with its staining juices; blowing off the
bugs before popping them in my mouth; picking old margerine tubs-full to make
blackberry cobbler. Blackberry time was also when Grandma came to visit.
I am a blackberry bush. In order to harvest the fragrant, sweet fruit, one has
to know the secret--wear long sleeves and pants and prepare to be scratched.
Brambles overlie brambles, creating dense, enigmatic tunnels where, inevitably,
the hugest, most juicy berries hang in taunting safety.
I am a blackberry bush. God has given us all the ability to have a stinging
tongue and a sometimes defensive attitude, and I am no exception. Many don't
take the time to make it through the brambles, but when someone does, the
sweet, giving, very tender-hearted part of me rejoices and the brambles recede.
As Paul waxed, oh would that I could be bramble-free and share willingly with
the world what my heart yearns to give. Patience, as we know, is a virtue. It
will take someone richly blessed with it to withstand my scratches.
Romans 7:18 For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not.
Recent Comments