|Photo courtesy of islandcrisis.net|
But I kept at it.
Even through cancer, I ran when I was able. It was hard but I still ran. When I was able.
In December, I ran a half marathon. It was hard. Through the cancer, I didn't run so regularly. I mean, who could blame me? The thing is when it got hard and time got tight and I didn't feel like it, I just didn't. I didn't put my shoes on, I didn't break a sweat and I didn't pound the pavement (or the treadmill) in the nasty winter months.
So the half was hard. It took a long time to recover. I didn't want to start running again. Ever.
But my oncologist told me I needed to. So I hired a trainer. I paid him. He
But last week.
Ahhhhhhh, last week.
The weather turned spring and I remembered this.
I wrote it almost two years ago when I started running.
There's just something about spring. The sun. The sights. The shadows. The smells. I'm truly thankful I get to run today. Outside. It's a little gray but it's spring! And I really need some clarity so I'm lacing up my shoes!
First posted May 20, 2009:
Last night I was reminded why I used to run. Why I loved it with all my heart at one time in my life. I began running regularly when life was cra-zy. I had an extremely stressful job with minimal support. I was overwhelmed each day to the point of paralysis. I started suffering from migraines. I became depressed. Exhaustion claimed my weekends and responsibility weighed me down really, really low. Tears were my best friends. All forty jillion of them.
I began to run each afternoon. After a few short weeks I was running for an hour each day. Sixty minutes carved out of my day where no stress could touch me. No conflict could pull at my emotions. Failure was trailing somewhere far behind me on my well-beaten path.
Sixty minutes gave me the strength I needed to stay in that hard place as long as I did. Sixty minutes of silence gave me the focus I needed to hear the spoken word that clarifies the written. Sixty minutes of nothingness inside my head brought positiveness to the surface. Sixty minutes was all it took to prioritize. Shoving the junk aside for what is really and truly important.
Last night all it took was twenty minutes.
I loved the silence.
I love complete.utter.silence.
I seek it.
I crave it.
What is happening in that twenty minutes is nothing short of miraculous. I'm not talking about me running without stopping. Although that is miraculous. What happens is in the silence, I disappear.
I cease to be me. My life fades. My problems fade. My requests fade. My responsibilities fade.
I have found myself to see what the psalmist so frequently repeats, "Help us for the glory of your name. Save us and forgive our sins for the honor of your name." (Psalm 79:9)
I have no other reason to be but for the glory of your name, Lord. I run for your name and renown. Save me, help me, make me successful for your name's sake.
To give you glory. Because of who you are. For your name.
In the silence it becomes clear. Crystal.