Look Up

Just to avoid any misconceptions from the start, I am not a runner. I never have been. If I had to put myself into a category (which on principle I never do), I would say I fall squarely in the realm of “brisk walkers.” When I do run, it’s with the excessive energy of someone who is trying to make up for a month of non-running in one go, resulting in a burst of speed and a quick collapse. 

But once in a while the stars align. When I have just the right playlist, my Nikes are already out of my closet, the weather isn’t too hot or too cold or too dry or too humid, I think, I should go for a run. Last Friday was one of those rare occasions. 

As I turned the first corner (let’s be honest) winded already, the sun fell behind me, shooting my shadow out in front of me. I watched it bounce in front of my toes, like something stuck to my shoe that I couldn’t shake off. A weird, monochromatic version of me, with my frizzy hair and skinny legs, moving at an uneven, awkward pace. 

With each step, I felt that shadow critiquing me. Stand up straighter. Run more smoothly. Have a bit more confidence. Pull yourself together. Maybe you should just quit. You think having a pair of Nikes makes you a runner? You’ll never be a runner. You’re undisciplined and out of shape. How embarrassing. Go home. 

I kept staring at that shadow, trying to square my shoulders, measure out my steps, and squelch the commentary by pushing harder. 

Then I rounded another corner and my shadow fell behind me. At last I looked up. 

It was a beautiful day. 

I saw that the sun was filtering through the trees and falling on the wet grass. The world was sparkling and alive and so was I. 

And I ran. Not to punish myself, but in celebration of living in a world that is beautiful, with a body that pumps blood and breathes and feels the warmth of the sun. I couldn’t stop thinking about how glorious it was to be alive and healthy and free.

Sometimes I get so caught up critiquing and assessing and self-improving that I forget to look up. I try so hard to be the best version of myself that I can’t see anything but me. My faults, my struggles, my goals to do better tomorrow. I stare at the shadow on my soul, criticizing me. Be more generous. Stop being so judgmental. Speak with more confidence. More humility. You think going to church makes you a good Christian? That God is pleased by your little attempts at prayer? How embarrassing. Maybe you should just quit trying.  

It makes a lot of sense at the time that listening to the criticisms is how I will improve. I focus on everything that needs to be fixed, putting all my conscious effort into beating my spirit into submission. Until all my efforts lead me to the same place they always do, to discouragement and anger at myself. 

But then I look up. And I remember a promise that I am infinitely and unconditionally loved by a God who looks at me and sees His son’s perfection where I see only failures.  Loved by a Creator who made every beautiful thing so that we could see glimpses of Him in the sun and the rain and the mountains and the wildflowers. And that kind of love makes me better, softer, and stronger. Less like an anxious, lonely wanderer, and more like a child who is being held by the One who loves her more than anyone in the world. 

So look up.