More Precious and Rare than any Run

I had run the day before yesterday, and it had been a good trails and hills workout. Pushing out of the house at 9:41am, and over the next 1:41 hours I put down 6.87 miles, ascending 1623 feet and descending 1638. For most of my run I danced along with some serious, driving Christian rock music that seemed to mirror a wild, crazy streak in my running heart that morning. The sun was rich and pulsating, and I wanted to cry out like the old traditional song, “You can have all this world, but give me Jesus….” The trails and the day were gorgeous. And I wanted another rocking good time with God dashing through the woods just like a few days ago. Now it was Sunday afternoon and I had just conceived of how I could slip a run into the remaining day. I was hungry for some trails.

For a few days now I had been saying to my 13-year-old son, “Hey, let’s go for a walk and I’ll show you the woods I’ve been running. You can bring your camera and take some cool shots. It’ll be great!” The typical response was something like, “Yeah, maybe….” So anyway, I was setting up for my run, changing clothes, filling my hydration pack, grabbing my watch, and then…. “Dad, let’s go for that walk.” What did he say? My thoughts bounced between the run and the walk. My hesitation was no more than a blink of the eye. Of course the walk; it held far more worth and promise than just another run in my life. Runs are great, but sons (and daughters) are far more precious and rare than any run will ever be. Plus, sons his age are not usually looking for ways to spend time with their dads. This was a special, rare gift to me on a quiet Sunday afternoon. I redrew my ideas for the afternoon, and a short time later we were out in the forest and on the trails enjoying the natural beauty, the trails, and the countless other things to catch the eye and captivate the mind and imagination in a bustling woodland in springtime. We wandered along. I showed him the west ridge trail and east ridge path, the twisting, climbing pathways, drop-offs and quick descents, and the views from the highest points in Birch Island Park. We practiced careening down a loose sand and gravel slope, and walked on the railroad tracks because they were there. Sure, we were careful to listen for trains, and we heard bees and squirrels. And we saw the sun brilliant through the trees and reflecting full-glorious on the shimmering water of a little marshy lake. And I think our hearts heard things other than words, things shared and enjoyed together, good memories of a quiet Sunday afternoon and a walk in the woods with my youngest son.