running and reverence

Today I ran just to run.

Why else would you run? my daughter asked in disbelief when I announced that fact at the breakfast table.

To be honest, most days,  I run for all the wrong reasons.  Sometimes I run because I ate too much dessert the night before.  Other times I run because I see my neighbor out running.  Still other times I run because I am afraid if I stop running I will never run again and I will turn into a great big couch potato.  Because, most nights, I eat way too much dessert.

When you run for the wrong reasons, running becomes a less than pleasant experience.  When I run to compensate for past excesses,  all I can think about is how far I have to go.  And when I run to keep up with my neighbor, all I can think about is how fast I have to run.  And when I run because I am afraid of becoming something or someone I do not want to be, I simply cannot run far enough or fast enough.  But today was different.  Today I just ran.

As I ran, I thought about all the parts of my body that were working together in that moment; the harmony between my brain, my heart, my arms and my legs.  And I listened.  I listened to the beat of my heart, the way it quickened as I climbed a hill and the steady rhythm it dropped back into when I came to a level stretch of roadway.  I listened too, to the sound of my feet hitting the pavement; the splash of water as I ran through a puddle.  And I remembered: people and places. birthday parties and Christmas and the lyrics to an old favorite hymn.  And I ran; just ran.

Reverence, Barbara Brown Taylor notes, is the act of paying attention; of looking twice at the people and things you might tend to run right past.    "It is one way," she writes,  "into a different way of life, full of treasure for those who are willing to pay attention to exactly where they are."

lightning strike

The other day, Mark asked if I was ever going to write in my blog again.

"What would I write about?" I said.

"I don't know," he said.  "Everyday epiphanies."

"Fresh out," I said.

The truth is, I haven't felt very inspired--or inspiring--of late, although, between the passing of a loved one and Amelia's graduation from high school, not to mention a new job and other life events I have had plenty to think about.  I just haven't felt like writing.

A friend whose blog I enjoy reading (yes, Jill, I read your blog) recently moved her family to Oklahoma by way of Virginia and other points south.  As if all that wasn't exciting enough,  when they arrived in their new home, they found themselves in the path of a tornado. Some tense moments watching the storm as it advanced and then hunkered down in the master closet made for great blogging.  "Why can't something like that happen here," I whined.

Another blogger whom I stalk (sounds creepy, doesn't it?) has the cutest kids (I've seen the pictures)  If her children don't do something cute, they say something memorable all of which lends itself to some downright precious blogs.  While my girls have their moments, few would consider their teenage hijinx cute and some of what they say should not be repeated in public.  Ever.

"Maybe," my husband offered, "it's not what you write about but how you write about it that makes the difference."

"Maybe," I said.  "But a little lightning sure would help."