January 27, 2011

Running

I remember running through the grass on a warm summer day. Not running because I’m late, or even because I have somewhere to go, just running. Feeling the warm sun on my cheeks and the tickle of the grass between my toes I lose track of how long I’ve been gone or when I need to be back; all that matters is the gentle rhythm of steps. Until suddenly my foot lands in a hole and I crash to the ground. Trying to avoid the pain I roll to my side and end up face down in the mud. My face covered in grime it’s a struggle to breathe, a battle to move, and a heartache to think of what I’ve just lost. Ever running again is unimaginable, how can I ever feel that way again when I’ve experienced the terrible, painful mud? How can I ever get back up? Eventually I roll to the side and watch the others run along peacefully. Nobody stops, but they all learn from my mistake and avoid the hole. Faces of curiosity, pity, disgust, and loathing march past in synchronized steps keeping their distance from the creature in the mud. That’s all I am now; a creature. Not a girl, not a daughter, not a wife. Just something that lays there in the mud aching for the past and fearing for the future. And that’s what life is now. Some people live their lives running through the grass in the radiant sunlight, while others lose control with one fatal step, given to a life of watching others live the dream. The dream of winning, of achieving, of living. The sun starts to set and darkness surrounds my cold and empty world. Runners return to their homes, hand-in-hand, side-by-side. The darkness deepens and I am left with nowhere to turn, nothing left to do but wait for another day of blistering sun and paralyzing sadness. At the peak of my pain I begin to feel a presence approaching. Help me! I plead through streaming tears, with all the strength I have left. Fear not, little one, I am in thy midst. The invisible Savior whispers to me, immediately filling my heart with the peace I had begun to forget. Arms wrap around me, lifting me from my solitude. The sun begins to rise, and again I feels its rays, warm upon my skin. I can still feel the bruises, remnants of the difficult life of a creature in the mud. As the sun warms I begin to crawl, using my Savior as a crutch. He guides me, ever so slowly throught the green grass sparkling with golden sunlight on drops of dew. The wetness washes the mud from my feet, from my legs, from my hands. Just as I gain hope again my strength gives out and I crash to the ground. This fall stimulates a series of painful blows to the leftover aches, but the mud is washed from my torso, my neck, my face, my arms. A little cleaner, I am a little stronger. Again I feel the Savior approach me and lift me to my feet. And I walk. I walk because there is nothing left to do, I walk because the runners are starting to take to the field, I walk because I can see again a grandiose view filled with peace and excitement. The farther I go the faster I move my legs, my Savior never leaving my side. He pushes me, convincing me that I am strong enough to try a little harder, to reach a little farther. I work and work through the pain in my body, eventually picking up speed. The sound of the wind in my ears echoes the song of peace I once used to hear as I ran aimlessly along, the tug of the air through my hair tugs my memory back to days of glory and propels me forward, seeking the same kind of joy. The liberating freedom of the Savior by my side allows me to run. I run and run, not because I’m late, but because I have somewhere to go. As I run I know that I will never run alone, I know that this is every joy I could have asked for, and I know that one day I’ll be home.