Whispering the Glory of God

I’ve just returned from a four mile run.  I am one of those who run for pleasure.  I find a hard sweat therapeutic.  Fresh air clears my lungs and my mind.  The accompanying endorphins are a mildly addictive stimulant - this introvert gets downright gabby after a good run.  It’s good for me – not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.  It makes me a better person.

Unfortunately, it has been a difficult season for running.  A severely sprained ankle at the tail end of summer and a mysterious ache in my lower back in the thick of winter have sidelined me for most of the last few months.  Only now am getting back to some light running.  I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I logged a few miles.

I live in a neighborhood well known for its network of paved trails -  trails that snake their way behind homes, through woods and wetlands, along streams that open into occasional ponds, touching the Seneca river for a moment.  Each season paints these vistas with a new color palette, beautiful in its own right.

Today, the paintbrush was loaded white.  As I left my house, snow was just starting to fall, each flake a work of art, unique in design, intricate in detail, an expression of God’s creativity.  I know this from elementary school science lessons and art projects involving folded paper and scissors.  Truth is, this is beauty that will go largely unnoticed.  These mini ice sculptures are too many and too fragile for my appreciation.  God makes them unique for his own pleasure. 

Here in the flurry I don’t notice the flake because I am caught up in the squall. These tiny works of art are being flung from the sky with excess.  Snow is falling with fury.  These are large, heavy flakes, obscuring my vision and coating all that is solid in a suit of white.    And here I am, running through this wintery blast with exceeding pleasure.  I am watching the painter as he works his canvas, transforming the dull browns of winter thaw into beautiful white.  Gradually, the landscape is being coated.  This is a wonderful moment to be running.  Like I am watching something special.

As I run, the heat of exertion and the cold of the atmosphere are entwined in perfect balance – a cooling sweat.  Mouth open with heavy breathe, I get a steady patter of flakes on my tongue, a delightfully cool moistness.  The sound is near silence.  Only the barely audible tap of collision between flake and this body in motion.  As I round the pond that my house abuts, I pass two geese strutting with majestic necks and deliberate steps, their bellicose honking silent in the stir.  Even they won’t disturb this moment with unnecessary noise.  Seems they save their voice for the hours before dawn when I am trying to sleep.  Here, in this moment, the world is in whisper, all voices in agreement – creation declaring (in a hush) the glory of God.


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