The fog was so thick in the pre-dawn dark, I felt I was running in a wet tunnel. Normally, I can see the lights of farms miles away. Normally, I can see the light that marks my turn-around for just over four miles. Normally, I can see the squashed jug in the ditch telling me I’ve hit the five-mile spot. Normally, I can see the outline of little building in the cemetery. Normally, even in the pitch dark of a new or waxing moon, pick-ups can see me in their headlights. Today, my running shoes met the ditch more than once and ended up in the fog-wet wheat field, when the pick-up didn’t see me.
It has lifted some now, yet still hangs thick and grey on the day. Some days are like this, when we feel burdened by what goes on in our world and we cannot seem to make our way through the thick grey wet. Oh, we try to rely on our senses and our technologies, but somehow we still come up wanting and straining for that breath to fill our lungs one more time and keep going.
I find strength and solace in the Psalms and in prayer and in family. I love the joy in the Psalms, and the praise and singing, but I relate to the anger and the loneliness and longing too.
O Lord, you, God of vengeance, you God of vengeance, shine forth? Rise up, O judge of the earth; give to the proud what they deserve! O Lord, how long shall the wicked, how long shall the wicked exult? …Understand, O dullest of the people; fools, when will you be wise? He who planted the ear, does he not hear? He who formed the eye, does he not see? He who disciplines the nations, he who teaches knowledge to humankind, does he not chastise? …But the Lord has become my stronghold, and my God the rock of my refuge. Psalm 94