Monday, April 04, 2011
When I jog without my IPod, I am left to just run. Inevitably I find myself running down a road, and thinking down a path. This was Sunday morning’s run.
The clouds are dark, heavy on the distant horizon. Storm warnings will surely soon blast.
So many of us stand are watching our own approaching storm:
A widowed parent is 600 miles away, and starting to show the first signs of Alzheimer’s. You are far away, feel guilt that you are not there, and wonder what you can do from a distance? The looming clouds are low and dark.
A child, disabled, survives with your support, encouragement, and ability to wander through the maze of services. Every time you look in the mirror you are reminded you are older and one day will not be there. Thunder sounds, thunder rumbles.
The doctor was professional and compassionate. No one wants to hear that dreaded word: cancer. She speaks of treatments, hope, but speaks honestly of the worst possibilities. No avoiding this storm.
I too face the distant horizon. I can prepare only to some extent. I can pray. And yet I see the storm on the horizon.
Certainly I cannot avoid the storm. I can do some things to prepare. I can look for shelters of hope.
Yet, if I only focus on the storm I can miss one thing that I have. I have today. Today is a fine day. The sun is shining; there is laughter with friends – a good day eating. I have a fine run where birds sing, a bakery has fresh bread. The sky today is deep blue and the few white clouds only make the blue seems deeper. Today is a day of joy.
Sometimes I look at the coming storm and it’s all I can see. I miss the joy of a good day. It occurred to me on today’s run that my worry and gloom at what the coming storm may mean will not prevent the storm. It will not make it better. It can rob me of many days of joy.
I will prepare, as much as I can for the storm that seems so sure to come.
But it seems to me today is a day I should be thankful for and celebrate. I need to focus on this day.