Sixteen years ago last month, we met. She thought she needed
help with Spanish. She could not see her strength. Could I?
I see her now. She is running on my desktop. She’s running up a hill into the rising sun. The early morning sun electrifies the horizon mist washing out and blurring all distinction in a fiery glory. She runs resolutely, steadily toward that glory. Acceptance or hunger, which of you draw her onward? Already she’s 100 feet ahead of me. Will I ever catch her?
Is it the rain, the rain that fruitlessly yet incessantly and
unyielding in its efforts to pierce my glass barrier and staunch the warm drive
within, is it this rain that tempers my heart? That gives rise to the tremulous
thoughts of stumbling and slipping into solitude? And what do I do with these
thoughts? Do I embrace them and wallow in their stickiness? Do I reject them and
heedlessly proceed knowing in Whom I trust?
He comforts me. He reminds me that her constancy runs deeper
than my fears. Her depth, like the stamina on which she draws to run that hill
and pull away from me, humbles me. How do I complement someone so strong in so
many ways. She forgives when in my calloused pride I fail to recognize my
offense. She absorbs the manifestations of my pain. Somehow, miraculously He
helps her recognize the pain of others. And she listens while she runs. She can
hear Him. She absorbs the pain of so many.
Wilt Thou extend to me Thy strength? I want to reach that hilltop
with her. I imagine the fire. I imagine the message. I too want to hear. Can I absorb
and deflect with equanimity as she does? I hunger for this. My knees and chest
ache. My strength alone will not get me up this hill. Wilt Thou share Thy
strength?
