Some weeks ago in a sermon, Margot asked us to consider choosing an everyday object as a reminder of the presence of God in our daily lives. People choose things like clouds, certain kinds of trees, a specific bird, a certain color, etc., that they see often.
I chose running shoes.
I chose running shoes because when I am contemplating getting out of bed to put mine on, I often need a little encouragement. And once I have them on, and am at the gym or out on the paths in my neighborhood, I need a little encouragement.
When I saw on twitter last Monday that there had been explosions at the Boston Marathon, I (unsurprisingly) began to weep. I turned on my television, saw footage of the two blasts, and then, gasped -- running shoes.
This morning, the cover of Boston Magazine rendered me useless at my desk:
I chose running shoes.
I chose running shoes because when I am contemplating getting out of bed to put mine on, I often need a little encouragement. And once I have them on, and am at the gym or out on the paths in my neighborhood, I need a little encouragement.
When I saw on twitter last Monday that there had been explosions at the Boston Marathon, I (unsurprisingly) began to weep. I turned on my television, saw footage of the two blasts, and then, gasped -- running shoes.
This morning, the cover of Boston Magazine rendered me useless at my desk:
Hear these words from Louis B. Smith, Jr., whom I do not know, but who knows my running shoes.
This is my running
prayer, O God.
I run in praise of you.
I praise you with my motion.
You sustain my breath,
that I may sustain your praise.
All creation joining
in
.
Nothing in creation is still.
My world revolves as
I run across it.
The heavens move as I
run below them.
Everything moves in
praise.
I move as I run.
I run a trail of
blessings,
giving and receiving both.
As I run I am blessed
with moisture in the air
to cool my straining body,
plants and trees nourish my breath,
that I may run further,
with birdsong to cheer me on, joining in unending praise
,
with the supportive murmur of the flowing creek,
with passion in my arms and legs,
with burning in my chest, that I may know that I am alive.
I leave blessings in
my turn,
water for plants,
breath for the trees.
This run may end, the
prayer will not.
I may slow.
I shall praise you
still.
Your praise carries me
to the limits of my body and beyond.
Hands outstretched in
praise,
I run and collect bounteous blessings.
The rhythm of the
pavement sings
a percussive song of power,
not of my might,
not of my strength,
but of the persistence of your spirit.
A regular rhythm of
irregular melody
,
breath in windy
counterpoint
.
Still I run.
Still I praise
Ever the prayer runs
on.