A Better Story (Part 1)

I love being home. After a semester of gritting my teeth and whining and complaining about being away from where I wanted to be, it is a relief to be here. To wake up early and drink coffee with my dad. To look out my front door and be greeted by a snow-covered mountain view. To have family movie night with Mom, Dad, Grandma, and BFF. Home is happy.

Yesterday morning my dad and I took our dogs for a walk at at Fox Run. We met lots of other people and dogs, and I got my first puppy time of the season. When we got back in the car, I looked over at the mountains and thought "It's amazing how much this place feels like home, even though I never have lived here." Because Colorado, as a place, is much more of home than Kansas City. Don't get me wrong, I love Kansas City. But I find much more rest and joy in just being in Colorado...even if it is the opposite side of the state.

I've started to read Acts again, and for some reason unknown to me, I love the book. I suppose what I have learned in the last few days is that it is a book that resonates with the world I see right now. Jesus, having just left his disciples, has left them with quite the task in front. And as they receive the Holy Spirit and encounter the idolatry of the time, they begin to fight back against the hopelessness of the world. They bring the news of Hope, though it is a news that is fought against. It is a news that leaves people stoned and running for their lives.

It is a news that seems to tell people "You don't have life figured out, and you're killing yourself trying to find value and worth and meaning and life in temporal, slight, and meaningless things, in idols."

Sounds a little bit like the world today.

So after I read some more of Acts, about Judas's bowels splitting open, I pulled my butt off the couch. I changed my clothes and grabbed my iPod and forced myself out the door. It's running time.

I got across Vickers and realized that it was going to be a difficult jaunt. I love Colorado, the blue sky, the...thin air? I managed to run for a bit, then got angry.

I hate running, I thought to myself.

This sucks.

I can't even breathe a full breath in, my lungs hurt, and I'll never get in shape at this rate.

As I rounded a corner, I was smacked with a perfect view of Pikes Peak on a clear, sunny, chilly morning, dusted with snow. I stopped running, and just looked for a moment, before I decided that I would much rather walk. I switched my playlist from Glee singles and pop hits that kick my butt into gear to Sara Groves.

So then I thought about how the cold air hurt my lungs, a slight burn that exercise and altitude combined creates. And as much as I dislike the sensation, I realized that it's a reminder of hope. How? In a world that is seemingly dead, barren, and frozen, cold air wakes us up. It opens our eyes and moves our muscles and reminds us that there is something there. That life is behind us and before us and among us. That the dry bones will be renewed, that the desert will bloom again, that injustice will be righted, and that hope is here.

At least, that's the way I felt it today.

This semi-revelation continued throughout my morning walk, and I'm eager to formulate the thoughts. To be continued...