My Newly Broken Heart

At first it was just a stretching, pulling, relaxing and constriction…the natural and nauseating beginning pains of child birth.  The way it is supposed to be. No child would stay in the womb forever…no mother would want it so.

This separation begins, it pulls and stretches until she slips free and with all that new beginning, there is a new breaking of my heart.

It's a good broken, a necessary broken, to cleave you must first be broken kind of broken... pieces bond together as again and again she latches on for nourishment. My soldered heart, beating stronger in this new bond.....

I stare at her grey eyes...

                        and I can't imagine how....

                                        her flesh came from my flesh, my thoughts, my actions....

How could she not be a piece of my soul?

My life put on hold, my life just begun... to hold and love and continue to create someone from this new piece of my newly broken heart.

The breaking continues, slower now, but seems so fast as one moment right after another she chooses her path, breaking and cleaving only to sever again.

She fails, and we break together. We share the pieces of our always breaking hearts and build again something different, maybe stronger.

She succeeds, and my heart bursts into a billion new pieces of joy and she scoops it up and adds it to her own. 

And that bond heart is new and sinewy and strong and it stretches and somehow is still a part of me and I can't help but hold it close. Like the newbie I am, I hold too tight and she pulls even harder until I let go too soon and she falls slipping through my clenched fingertips. We pick up and brush off and patch up and move on. Constantly recreating as we learn that whatever she is, she is still a part of me to hold with open hands.

Day after day she builds her own heart, beating strong and sure and sometimes scared. She takes pieces from here and pieces from there, some light and some dark, building and breaking, blood flowing with passion and poison.

 She doesn't give up, although sometimes I think she has, my preference for speed threatening to rush what can't be rushed. Even that speed she must have a piece of... that impatience that I'm still working out of my own heart...she takes that too, and leaps and falls maimed... but leaps again.

I feel her heart even when I can’t see her; her fears and hurts, jagged lacerations in my own heart, telling me she is breaking. I can't fix her, she rightly claimed that piece for herself, it's natural and nauseating....but assuredly, the broken pieces drum the rhythm that she came from something stronger and infinitely sure... 

and we bond through the broken
both cleaving, leaning
on the Infinite Broken Heart.

Then without warning she makes that final tug and I feel the wind sucked out of me as my whole body contracts and on its own, pushes her out. It should be familiar....

...no child would stay in womb forever, no mother would want it so...

but the pain is raw and I am left with open, empty hands as this time, she bonds with someone new.

Is this what joy is?

My heart misses her pieces everyday and breaks a little more as I try to find all the pieces to build a whole heart. It works.... mostly, and life drums on and my blood pumps through my veins and my smile is still there...but barely. 

I do smile... we share so many heart pieces....I smile because I know she is a part of me still and someday....when she feels that first stretching and pulling and inevitable first tear, 

I will feel it too...

and my heart will gladly break again for her newly broken heart.

Third Time's a Charm

I have a need for speed. Running, biking and yes, sometimes even driving; the wind in my face and the ground flying by can be an addictive rush. A rush my body craves and seeks out at some un opportune moments.

Today was one of those.

Three times in less than two hours I tried to sooth the broken hearted and failed. The sobbing infant, the defiant child and the sick boy who puked on my shoes before I could slow down enough to read their pain. 

They will all be okay. The infant had a dad, the defiant child was schooled by his mother and the sick boy is home tucked in bed. No real harm done, but a reminder none the less.

A reminder to slow down. More times than I wish, I've payed for my speed with my pride and hard earned cash. "I didn't mean to speed, Officer," has been my honest plea. But, as I drive away with that ticket tucked deep in my purse, I wish I would have headed the warnings; sometimes I'm going to fast for even those, but I know they were there. 

Today I saw the warnings. People know when they're being rushed through and checked off your list, especially the young ones. All is fine today, and as I ease up off the pedal, I am thankful for the warning.

Did it really happen

I fell asleep on the couch this morning after I dropped the kids off at school. In the middle of unpacked boxes and a kitchen buried in last nights dinner and all our life's paper work that still needs to be refiled. My stomach grumbled for my missed breakfast and I slept.

I haven't shaved my legs in three weeks, a record for even me because who has time? 

Not me.

I am buried in projects that can never be finished, things that can never be organized, and of course last nights previously mentioned dinner. 

I broke last night and cried at my kids; I don't think I've done that before. Cried with them, yes. Cried for them, yes. Cried in front of them…but not at them, blaming them for my inadequate self. 

So I slept. Maybe I really needed it, maybe I should have shaved my legs instead, or maybe I just needed an escape into nothing before I go back to everything again.

How long can it take to organize a house anyway? Week three is disappearing fast and here I am still trying to figure it out. It's not just a house after all, it's a home. One great thing about moving is the opportunity to start with a clean slate. Throw out the trash, question new bills and old schedules. Maybe get it right this time. I know it's worth the time.

I think back to a month ago to life in the hotel, or three months ago to life in Colorado and it feels foggy, distant and lost in all the emotion of moving and leaving a home that I didn't know would be a home and hoping that we can find that again. Sometimes making a new home feels disloyal to the old. 

I will always love the old. 

Buried on the couch I dreamt of walking through the woods in the rain (it always rains here) with my kids. As we came through the trees the scene opened up to a fast flowing creek making it's way down from the mountain peaks that were now right before us. The rain had turned to snow and it was beautiful. We turned in circles admiring our new surroundings and I knew it was put there for me. I also  knew it was a dream. I breathed deep, sucking it all in, daring it to be real; to prove itself to me. The snow was soft and cool, my nose was even started to feel cold. I held my kids hands and we turned around one more time as the horizon went flat again. I knew it would and I was grateful anyway. Grateful for that moment and grateful for this moment.

I just want to remember that.

Time to let go

We went to the ocean this summer. It had been calling me for so long. For a girl who was raised amongst mountain tops I wonder at the deep pull that immense salty place has on my soul. In the mountains I feel at home….they keep me oriented…I know where I am and where I need to go. I love the feeling of looking up at their depth and height and the awe of looking for miles from their towering peaks.

When we lived in the south and there wasn't a hill in sight I often felt desultory….like a stranger roaming and lost. The only comfort was at the ocean, feeling the salt on my skin and the wind on my face. It wasn't the same as my mountains that beg me to climb, to conquer, to be in them…feel the rugged path under my feet and grit under my nails.  I can't swim…not really, and the uncontrolled impulsive power of the waves scares me. Yet there I stand, as long as I can, watching the waves roll and crash; only my feet brave enough to withstand the teasing waves. It soothes my soul, clarifies my thoughts and orients my perspective. Even now as I sit here in my mountain home I feel the pull of the rolling tides.

"The Lord still moves mountains, and still calms the raging seas." I heard in church today.

It made me wonder (but not really wonder) why I find comfort in the things that only God can control.

Rhythm Recognized

My little one strikes out in anger

fear in motion.

I gather him close.

Wrap him tight, arms full circle

my cheek on his.

I rock him back and forth

His tense body relaxes into mine.

He rocks too...deepening the rhythm.

Physical pressure

controlled rhythm

witness that he is recognized

loved.

Later I find myself striking out.

Anger filling my body.

 My smile, my touch, is all it should be

but the battle rips through me

jagged and bloody.

I try to mend it with logic, 

all I know to be real.

Breathe deep, refocus...

tomorrow will be better.

But it still burns.

I cry out

I'm done

I want it gone.

I feel the peace wrap around

music, rhythm rocking me

applying pressure to my spirit

witness that I am recognized

loved.

My body relaxes, sways with the melody.

I sleep.

superlative

satan likes to whisper 
"wicked, unworthy, waste"
i listen
running in the dark
black shadows press
consume.

do i have a choice?

distant light
not yet pink
i think maybe
he lies.

breathe deep
run faster
not panic...
need

need to suck deeper
wake sleeping places.
legs and heart that want more
elevate me to runner's high,
superlative.

light encircles 
dark shadows.

beauty outlines 
the dim unknown.

illumination clarifies 
what once was feared.

fierce crave awakes...
faster,
i need to go faster. 
use it all til i'm empty
ready to be taken
filled with what matters.

autumn's claim burns gold
leaves and grass blaze around me
celebrating light
bright and warmth
full on my face

i seek it
suck it in
savor it
praise it

Random Acts of Kindness...Year 5

I'm often surprised at how real, deep and even overwhelming the grief can still be. It's been five years. Five years to get used to not calling her when silly things happen. Five years to get used to not seeing her at family gatherings. Five years to get used to not sharing my life with her. I've done a lot in the last five years, but getting used to having my sister gone is not one of them.

However, I do have a better understanding of where she is and what she's doing. A better understanding of Heavenly Father's love for all his children. A better understanding of the comfort given by the Savior's atonement. A better understanding of how all life's mess can make me a better person....and that is why I love Random Acts of Kindness.

Random Act of Kindness began as a way to remember Ruth, Nick and Audrey, because that's how they lived, because that's how we were blessed during our initial loss, and because now that's how we choose to live our lives.

Now, when I feel that gaping hole threatening to rip me clear through, I can think kindness instead of pain.  Sometimes it comes on fast, when I need a quick save....hurry, smile at the next person you see.... make eye contact....say hello...ask and listen about how they are, what they need. And sometimes it is a little more deliberate, following through on a phone call or an invitation I've put off way too long. Little by little neurons are trained to be kind instead of hurt, to look out instead of in.

As the kindness habits grow it is impossible to not see the kindness I receive. A good friend taking my kids overnight, not just feeding and housing them, but caring and comforting....even taking my son to soccer practice. Ten total kids and she still manages to take mine to soccer. She is kind, I am grateful.

I notice the kindness that comes even when there wasn't a need.  The kind that comes for no other reason but that you are loved. I was up early, so happy to be spending time with my husband, but wishing just a little I could be with my family as well. We were on a morning run in a strange and beautiful park. We ran up and around huge red rocks and reached the top in time to see the sunrise. It was red from all the smoke from summer fires, and made for an amazing view. Who knew this was what my sisters were doing at the same moment...waiting for that sunrise...it wasn't planned to all be there together miles apart, but there we were. Even God couldn't resist getting in on a day of Random Acts of Kindness.

How Gentle God's Commands

It rained again this week and all is right in the world. The clouds moved in low and slow all Wednesday, easing the panic pace of life. For the first time in weeks is seems, we had time to just sit together and listen to the rain.

It came down in small steady drops,

not

one

was

 wasted.

 It rained all night and a day leaving the ground wet trice as long. The entirety of Friday was used for the storm to clear. Watching the sky as "that hand which bears all nature up" lifts, parts and swirls the clouds, left me in awe....

nothing doubting.

How gentle God's commands!

How kind his precepts are!

Come, cast your burdens on the Lord

And trust his constant care.

Beneath his watchful eye,

His Saints securely dwell;

That hand which bears all nature up

Shall guard his children well.

Why should this anxious load

Press down your weary mind?

Haste to your Heavenly Father's throne

And sweet refreshment find.

His goodness stands approved,

Unchanged from day to day;

I'll drop my burden at his feet

And bear a song away.

This for That

Remember that old poem about the footprints in the sand and the guy looking back on his life and realizing he'd been carried through the hardest parts of his life?

I get that.

But it seems a shame to wait for the end of your life to recognize that He has been there all along. Jesus says, "For my yoke is easy and my burden is light," if we will come unto Him. But I still  heft my way down the trail, thinking that it isn't until I reach the destination that I will find relief.

But that's not what He said.

It's not "my yoke will be easy, and my burden will be light." It's right now, in the middle of the muck, and sinking fear that He says,

Take this, I've got that.

The "this" offered for our "that" is to follow His example of love and meekness, and find rest. I'll admit, that I have been strengthed when I thought I couldn't haldle anymore, that impressions and peace have been felt when fear circled all around....but to actually feel the easy rest of his yoke compared to occasionally stopping to catch my breath and then continuing on my own, that has been a new experience.

So I take this, unconditional love and He takes that, my selfish desires. I take complete trust and He takes my fear. I take an ability to serve with my whole heart and He takes my pride and stubbern grudges. I take complete obedience and He takes my every failure.

This for that...

I know I don't deserve it, and sometimes I want to trade back, slip into the comfortable, instead of learning the new way, but I know there is no other way.

Prone to wander, Lord I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love:
here's my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above.

This, my whole heart, for that, all that He has.

The Work

"But now O Lord, thou ART our father; we ARE the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand." -Isaiah 64:8

 

Humility is more than just recognizing your weakness, your faults and your inadequate offerings; it is also seeing your divine potential in His hands.

They both can be a little scary.

I want more

"Why a true Christmas may be painful" ..That was the title of a blog post I saw in cyberspace this week. Unfortunately, 'tis the season for not having enough time to read (let alone write) blog posts. But that phrase has stuck in my mind. I suppose Christmas could be painful for a lot of reasons here among the have and have nots.

I love Christmas...all of it...even the hassle of gifts and the tipsy balance between commercial craze and simple joy of giving. But I have to admit that Christmas makes me a little greedy, and every year I want more. I want more of the music that sets the mood, I want more of the traditions and time spent with family, I want more of the babe in Bethlehem, and I want more to understand what He wants of me.

But painful?

This is the season of giving and anyone who has given knows that giving is the best gift received. But it can hurt. If giving means that you lose something or someone that you love with your whole heart. If giving means that you see how much you have but how little you have to give. If giving means that you just hurt because no matter what fantastic Christmas scheme you come up it doesn't even come close to what is really needed. If giving means to mourn with those that mourn, not just to offer sympathy, but truly mourn with them. It can hurt.

Painful....and usually humbling.

I think of Simon's words, "Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net." and I know there is more that can be done. Miracles happen every day, and with a little faith and guidance I let down the net, and stand in complete awe as it begins to break under the load.

just flip the switch

The music bounced around the car blending and becoming one with the voices of the 3 tween girls in the back seat. I smiled and chuckled to myself...but it was a nervous chuckle. Wouldn't it be so much easier if they were still singing along to primary songs or the love between peanut butter and jelly instead of these love sick lyrics. I wanted to just turn it off...perhaps some would have...but I didn't, some lines I don't cross.

I remember my own mom letting us listen; suggesting other alternatives or simply just talking, but usually letting us listen....and letting us make fools of ourselves as we sang along. Once she even pulled some lyrics out of a song for a hopeful teaching moment. "Ooh Baby do you know what that's worth ~ Ooh heaven is a place on earth" sparked a  lesson about how our homes can and should be heaven on earth. Genius. I'm pretty sure I rolled my eyes at that one.

But this wasn't memories of my goofy behavior at that age, this was MY daughter in the back seat; singing along to lyrics I'm sure she knew nothing about. So instead of silly memories it was if every wrong choice I've ever made steamed back to the music I listened to at such an impressionable age, and I fought the urge to shut it off...just flip the switch...like it could be that easy; just turn off this music and she would never make the mistakes I made, in fact, she could grow up perfect in a controlled little bubble.

There are always lines that should never be crossed and those that should. There are lines that I enforce with consequences and love, and fear that they might choose to cross anyway. There are lines that I sometimes cross in hopes of keeping them always safe, and lines I'm afraid to cross for fear of failure. I say there is nothing I wouldn't give to ensure the safety of their souls as I cling to the extra change in my pocket. Such a little amount...why would it be needed? Daily I give millions freely, but this little bit I keep hidden...

just in case...

..just in case it's not enough.

Lately I find myself slipping out a nickle, or even a dime. Inching over that line, still scared, but not as much.

People survive them all the time...

It seems every time I start a post I feel like I need to apologize, or at least explain why I haven't been here, when this is such a place I love to be. I say I'm busy...too busy, for this and that and way to busy to write it all down; who has time to sit and write it all down...there is so much to write down. Nothing spectacular I suppose, just the day to day events of a slightly rebellious, often humbled daughter of God.

There is nothing noteworthy in the fact that once this week I succeeded in getting my house clean or even that it all came crashing back down around me two days later. Nothing original about sending my youngest off to preschool and then having my heart jump then fall to my feet at the sound of silence in my car. And who hasn't felt the exhaustion that comes, not of physically doing the daily mundane,  but from constantly wrestling heart and mind with the decisions that will both protect and prepare your kids for the life they are already living every day? I don't suppose that these things are any different than what a million other souls deal with, and yet it is all different and all so mine; and when I pray with my heart full of thanks for every minute of it all He answers with a peace that is designed just for the way my mind works and exactly what my heart understands.

Last night the storm hit hard, and I wasn't surprised...it was in the forecast...the awe came with the clarity of the stars afterward. In the beginning as the winds started to blow I kept telling myself not to stress...after all, storms are quiet common, people survive them all the time. As the rain turned to hail we took shelter under established routine, pushing through, ignoring the darkness; until it was over and all that was left was the darkness. And then the stars...clear and bright, not so bright as to show the damage that surely surrounded, just bright enough to know the storm was over. It was beautiful.

Running at 10,000 Feeet

All week the dirt has been gathering...

...in the corners and under the table.

It would probably bother me more if I had time to stop and look at it. I'm running and I can't catch up...but I'm enjoying the run anyway.

(nope...no way...not gonna post a pic of my dirty kitchen)

Kids left for school and once again I question everything...so many contradictions...what is good and bad and what is best.

Tomatoes, green beans, the last of the corn, peppers and still the weeds...

...oh the weeds, someone should tell them they have lost battle and need to go home.

Have you ever tried running at 10,000 feet?

More specifically 10,500.

Nothing works like it should, my stomach forgets how to handle a sip of water but still cries for more. My lungs feel unused but my muscles ache from lack of oxygen...

...and yet I, my whole self, can't get enough.

Farther and farther up and around the next curve, longing for the top. My friends are done but I can't get enough.

I always knew these mountains were a part of me.

Later I will completely crash, but now...I just enjoy the run.

Necessary Heat

As I pulled the decaying muck from my pitchfork, I could feel the heat through my gloves. I had been working this compost pile all spring…keeping it moist, turning it over and over; and yet I was surprised by the heat.

Did you know that an orange peel left setting alone in the desert heat will crinkle and dry, but take months…if not a year to decompose? Take that same orange peel and add a little moisture, pressure and a little oxygen; and a transformation takes place…the result is soil so rich, it is call black gold.


“The ability to qualify for, receive, and act on personal revelation is the single most important skill that can be acquired in this life.”

Simply hearing His word, or casually reading it keeps His true message dry…inactive in my daily life. But to ponder, and ask for that personal witness, creates a heat that changes the stagnant into eternal value.

“Revelation can come hour by hour and moment by moment as we do the right things. When women nurture as Christ nurtured, a power and peace can descend to guide when help is needed. For instance, mothers can feel help from the Spirit even when tired, noisy children are clamoring for attention, but they can be distanced from the Spirit if they lose their temper with children…. It requires a conscious effort to diminish distractions, but having the Spirit of revelation makes it possible to prevail over opposition and persist in faith through difficult days and essential routine tasks... Because personal revelation is a constantly renewable source of strength, it is possible to feel bathed in help even during turbulent times.”

Quotes taken from an address given by Julie B. Beck; “And upon the Handmaids in Those Days Will I Pour Out My Spirit”

my word against hers

As testimony fills my heart,
It dulls the pain of days.
For one brief moment, heaven’s view
Appears before my gaze. “Testimony”



I looked her in the eye and denied her accusation. Her ice blue stare shot back disgust, proof of her disbelief. I had no alibi, no way to convince her of my innocence. I had never felt so hurt and alone.

Since that moment I have been keenly aware of my lack of vocal persuasion. I’m not one that can suggest an idea and have everyone jump on board, in fact, it usually falls flat pretty fast. So when it comes to the things that matter most, the things that I know without a doubt, it is a relief to know that I am not alone; “No man can say that Jesus is the Lord, but by the Holy Ghost” (1Corrinthians 12:3), and that the Lord has a backup plan for our unconvincing words.

“When a man has the manifestation from the Holy Ghost, it leaves an indelible impression on his soul, one that is not easily erased. It is Spirit speaking to spirit, and it comes with convincing force….”
“Through the Holy Ghost the truth is woven into the very fibre and sinews of the body so that it cannot be forgotten” ~Joseph Fielding Smith Jr.

I will continue to fumble along, blurting when silence is called for and forgetting to speak until the conversation is passed; hopefully learning this skill of vocal communication, bu always knowing when truth is concerned, He's got my back.

Can you hear me now?

I haven't seen my sister in a long time and I miss her. I don't know if I can remember what it was like just to pick up the phone and call her. But sometimes, she comes and whispers something in my ear or even hangs out for a while. Sometimes I'm too busy to even realize she was here until I think back and hear her laughter and encouraging spunk mingled throughout my ordinary day; as real as the laundry, and I gratefully fold and tuck those memories away with the others.

I'm different now. I suppose loss changes anyone, you see things differently, appreciate things you never noticed, and cherish more what is really important.

But it's more than that.

I'm a different person without her here. Bad or good...probably a little of both, but definitely different. I see more of myself, I'm more responsible for my decisions and more accepting of my shortcomings. I feel more united with all kinds of people and more confident on my own.

She stopped by last week and stuck around a while, reminding me of funny songs to teach my kids, helped me do a spring cleaning on my list of priorities, and celebrated new found grit.

I'll always miss her...she left an un-fillable hole. She made me a better person when she was here and when she left. In some ways I like this form of communication better. Simple and uncluttered. Better than any phone plan available.

Lengthened out all the day long

He kicks his feet up, smashing the hymnals in the wooden pew in front of us. I pull his legs back only to have him slam his head back into my chest. He twists and I relent, his little body flopping to the floor. Less than a breath later he’s climbing back up on my lap, pulling at my shirt and wrinkling my Sunday best. He snuggles in and I rock back and forth and he breathes…and then it starts all over again.

“...I have thought of the Lord’s invitation to come unto Him and to spiritually be wrapped in His arms. He said, “Behold, [my arms] of mercy [are] extended towards you, and whosoever will come, him will I receive; and blessed are those who come unto me.”

The scriptures speak of His arms being open, extended, stretched out, and encircling. They are described as mighty and holy, arms of mercy, arms of safety, arms of love, “lengthened out all the day long.” ” ~Neil L. Anderson 

Even when I squirm.

Sister Sweat

I feel like I've been talking a lot about running lately. Maybe it's the time of year; the time of year when running is in the air....I can smell it. Running is a blessing, even a talent, but mostly a gift. A gift I depend on. So it's not with ease that I give up my morning run....my communion....for a jog.

I wait in the dark, van still running, tying my running shoes and singing to forget I'm scared. Soon anther car pulls into the parking lot, chasing away fear and by the time I'm out and locking my door, we're all here. This isn't the only time I see these ladies, my sisters; we sing together at church and they teach my kids. Sometimes we gather in mixed company with loud spouses and too much food.

Not this morning.

Kids and husbands left in weekend slumber, we sneak out for exercise....so we say. All different, sisters always are, but we meet together with pony tails and breath mints once a week to sweat. I'm the one who questions, with the hole worn sweats, and who drives in from the sticks.

Blood warms as we talk of whatever..... and everything. Worries and funnies that are dressed up, pinned back, for church tumble out easily, flapping in the breeze as we work our way down the river. Strange, that as we move side by side down a dark path, it's so natural to run exposed. Celebrations of years of school finally done and marathons run. Lost babes and stolen innocence, growing kids and amazing balance...or not so much. Sisterhood offerings, embraced and strengthened.

Not all is spoken, we share a similar, familiar path, and this binds too. In college, my running sisters, twice daily training warriors, were so close our cycles lined up; hormones emanating through our sweat. Yet this weekly gathering, this sister communion, is tighter; based on more than just a desire for speed, we share a desire to emanate His love....training warriors.

The sky is a little lighter as we stretch and cool. Plans are made for next week and we part, visions clearer. This sister gathering, all it should be, is a favorite gift. How do you gather with your sisters?

Euphoria

Training, diet and mental desire all align.....and I run.

*Euphoria.

What happens to the body that has been conditioned with healthy nourishment, that habitually strains and stretches, that desires to be more? Is the idea so strange; to find peace in the race? Not in slowing, but in pushing, thrilling with the growing strength of each step. What once was painful becomes a natural state of being, and I find rest.

But they that await upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.~Isaiah 40:31

When fatigue shows it's fearful face, tired distractions clutter my day and my misguided desires land empty at my feet, it's not a break that I need.

The need is for exercise of winded faith, words grow tired without actively following truth. The need is for scarfing nourishment from His word, storing up what is needed to improve performance and recovery. The need is for falling in step with His will, speed is of little importance if you are on the wrong path, and His race is the only one we can win.

"....let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us."~Hebrews 12:1

I think God is a runner.

*"...runner's high is thought to be ... a product of the natural, rhythmic motion of running and the mental calm caused by the meditation-like focus of long distance runners." (livestrong.com)