We are in the midst of some spiritual training in our church family; the idea is to get spiritually ripped.  My husband’s creativity with sermon titles makes me smile; he’s good.  I, though, am not a weight lifter – well, unless you count lifting babies, vacuum cleaners, dishes, laundry baskets, and the occasional heavy piece of furniture that I’m not supposed to lift.  I’m a runner.  I love the first whiff of fresh air as I step out of my door, be it sunny, rainy, snowy, hot, warm, crisp, or freezing. That first breath is my “Yes” to the invitation for my soles to hit the pavement and for my soul to fall in step with my Jesus once again.


I have very few and very short amounts of “alone time” with God, and that’s alright because Jesus had very few while He was on earth too.  (I mean, He even climbed a mountain or two to have alone time and people still followed Him there!)  Nevertheless, when I can steal away with just my Jesus, I find breath, life, completeness, joy, peace…a piece of my eternity right there in the two to three mile loops near my house.  I talk, He listens; He talks, I listen (hopefully).  All that seemed muddled before I stepped out my door, seems to have cleared up by the time I return to my driveway. I pray; I share my heart.  He teaches; He shares His heart.  Some days I feel like I’ve been given literal wings, and some days (like yesterday) I am overcome with just Who He is, and I get weak in the knees and just about fall right there on the side of Pony Tracks, hardly able to take another step as I glimpse His glory.

Running, though, is not always easy…
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