The peace and quiet necessary to get close to God is not often found out on the street, but in a quiet Cathedrals. But not yesterday, yesterday I found it among century-old maples.
It has been hot here lately. Yesterday morning was bright and warm. But late in the morning we had a cold front move through the shed its water through frequent heavy downpours through the day. I watched the radar all day in hopes that I could get my run in and avoid the purgatory known as the treadmill.
Just about 6 o’clock yesterday evening, the clouds cleared as we were eating dinner. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees and settled in the mid 50’s with a steady light breeze.
As soon as I could, I threw on my running shoes and drove over to a nearby (flat) neighborhood for my scheduled easy run. I parked my car and jumped out to run, leaving my usual headphones behind in the car.
5 minutes into my run, I knew it was gonna be a good day. Cool. Easy. My feet turning over effortlessly as I felt like I glided down the country lane. Many of the trees that surrounded the lane and covered it in a canopy have seen over a century of evil in their day, but, like angels, seemed unchanged by their witness.
The weather was perfect, the running was effortless, and the quiet was everywhere. So quiet. Cathedral quiet. I passed by the house that P.G. Wodehouse lived in for the last 20 years of his life and turned onto the street he walked every day of those 20 years. The peace I felt was overwhelming and beautiful. I was high as a kite.
Just as the sun set, the quiet was broken by a man standing in his yard, playing a mournful tune on the bagpipes to mark the end of the day. But to me it sounded like a hymn of thanksgiving.
God is so good.