I run. While that could easily branch out into any number of deep thoughts, today I am referring simply to the action of running. Running as in marathons, expensive shoes, dogs chasing you, awkward encounters with cars and intersections. Old fashioned burn-off-your-legs running.
The route I typically take brings me under two sets of overpasses. One of these sets shadows a wider, more open section of road. But the other is built into a hill with the road lying closer to its cement legs.
Gosh I am sucking at writing today. "Cement legs?"
Here's the jist. When I'm running under the tighter overpass, I can more easily hear my footsteps. It used to annoy me because it made me self-conscious. My right foot falls louder (which I assume means harder) than my left. And since I don't know what that indicates, I don't like it.
I've come to accept the fact that one foot is louder than the other, and I don't care anymore. In fact, I almost find solace in the sound of my footsteps. To the point where I feel a sense of loneliness once I'm past the bridge. I'm back to being all alone. Just me and the road. For miles.
It occurred to me today that the echo is like God's daily presence. I'm not talking about Him moving or speaking or doing amazing things-- which He does :) But His simply "being" in my life. It's quiet. It's barely noticeable. But once I'm out from under it, I'm lonely. I want the echo. I want to hear and to know that someone's there. I can't see it. I can't touch it. But it's comforting, and I KNOW when it's not there.
Ha, another aspect of it that I just thought of is that we can run to it and run from it :) We all do one or the other. In fact, I'd venture to say that we're all choosing one of those options at every moment of our lives.
It's certainly not the strongest analogy I've ever run across ("run" get it?), but it was interesting candy for my brain this morning.
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