I've been feeling kind of grumpy lately. More than a little grumpy, I guess. And a little snippy. And a little cranky. And
A LOT snarky.
This morning I found a wonderful
article. After reading it, my mood lightened. (
Or maybe guilt replaced my grumpiness?) Anyway, I was going to just link it (because it's L-O-N-G), but I think I will actually copy it in because I want to make sure everybody reads it. But after the article, I've put some of my thoughts -- so please read those as well.
One great thing about moving to a new place is all the unexplored terrain there is to cover -- and I'm not just talking about top-priority destinations. It can be just as interesting to venture out even in rather prosaic little neighborhoods, which is exactly what I've been doing during my (abysmally sporadic) runs since moving to Boston a couple months ago. I've covered all kinds of interesting ground right around my home and found lots of paths I like, but because I've never quite managed to love running for the sake of running, I have to change my route up frequently in order to keep myself interested.
The other day, for example, I decided to venture out in a southeast direction along a fairly major road behind my place. Other than a briefly disappearing sidewalk that necessitated a quick crossing to the other side of the road, it seemed like a promising route. The road took me past some beautiful old brick homes -- covered in ivy still changing to various shades of yellow -- and past some rather promising-looking bakeries.
Then, after I figured I'd hit a good halfway point, I turned around. Almost immediately, I knew something was up. A rather dull burn began to build in my legs, and my breath started to come at something of a premium. I was running uphill.
Granted, it was a rather low-grade incline, but I've been living in the Midwest for the past six years; the only hills we have there are overpasses. So even this pathetic little excuse for a hill was enough to make me really feel it as I started to "climb."
But here's the thing: Just a few moments earlier, I hadn't the slightest idea I was running downhill.
Theoretically speaking, a slight slope like that should have made the trip down just as much easier as the trip up was more difficult, yet I completely failed to notice it. If things seemed to be getting easier, I probably just subconsciously congratulated myself on how well my run was going without even thinking the credit for it may be owed elsewhere. Yet when things got harder, you better believe it only took a second for me to realize something was up and pinpoint the source of the problem.
Even in that moment, it occurred to me that what was happening just then was a rather sad illustration of a routine trend in my life.
See, it tends to take a seriously easy stretch of time before I'll officially take note of the good things happening to me, the blessings with which I'm being showered. But when my path gets only slightly easier -- when things are consistently good, but in non-flashy ways? I'm ashamed to admit that those times are often mistaken for ordinary, flat road.
Of course, once that metaphorical road of life begins to incline even the slightest amount, you can bet I'm instantly aware that things have gotten harder, that some trial or inconvenience is making the path more difficult than it was the day before.
If I were to stick with the running analogy, I guess you could say that the stronger you become the less you notice the inclines, but it's actually the other side of the metaphor that's been on my mind the past few days.
Maybe for now I just have to accept the fact that I'm going to feel the inclines, that things will occasionally get tough and that I'm going to have to work harder to keep going at those times. But as long as that's the case, perhaps those inclines would be made easier if I bothered to take at least equal note of the downhill stretches.
Perhaps this came to mind now because it's Thanksgiving season, when my mind is slightly more inclined toward at least the concept of gratitude -- even if I still fail to notice all kinds of things I ought to be grateful for. But maybe I can use the season as a springboard to start an ongoing, aggressive search for those downhill moments in my life. Because once I'm in the habit of seeing them, it's just another small step to being in the habit of expressing thanks for them.
As G.K. Chesterton wrote, "thanks are the highest form of thought; ... gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder." And I'd hate to think that I'm missing opportunities to elevate my thoughts, to compound my happiness, simply because I don't bother to notice when things are good.
Which means that, for the time being, I may just need to forgo exploration as I run and stick to this familiar route for a little while -- at least until I can learn to recognize that moment when the path starts to slope down and my momentum allows me to slightly ease up on my effort. Once I do that, I can make a conscious effort to be grateful for it, to enjoy it, to save up some energy -- and then turn around and head back up the hill.
As I read her essay, I realized that I need to feel a
little more grateful for the
little things. Sometimes that means I need to look a
little harder for the good stuff.
I also like her running analogy. After our move, I've finally started running again (
I'm back up to about 3 - 3-1/2 mls/session - YEAH!!). But I've so far stuck to my treadmill -- no hills for me, thank you very much. The thing that struck me was that, by not doing the hills, I also don't get to experience any of those downhill runs that would give me a little break. It's just solid, steady running.
So I guess my thought is that I need to be grateful for those hills I'm running right now in my life, knowing that at some point there will be the rest when I go downhill. It reminds me of one of my favorite scriptures in
1 NE 5:5:
But behold, I have obtained a land of promise, in the which things I do rejoice.
Ok, why do I like this scripture so much? I think the key is the background to this scripture.
This chapter begins with the return of Laman, Lemuel, Nephi and Sam from the trip to Jerusalem to get the plates. But the first few verses is actually Nephi telling us what happened while they were gone. So, after traveling for a certain time in the wilderness, the Lord commands Lehi to send Nephi, Laman and Lemuel to go back to Jerusalem to get the plates. [A sidenote -- I started to write a sidenote here about this commandment, but took it out when I realized it was tangential to my point. So I will eventually write it up and put a link here.] Anyway, we're not told how long the four sons were gone, but it was long enough for Sariah to think that they had died. And she begins to mourn. And then she begins to complain. [Again, I don't want to get sidetracked. So I will eventually write about my thoughts about this woman and will eventually link it here.]
Ok, here's the point. Lehi is a wonderfully sweet husband here. When Sariah complains and tries to insult him, he shows her kindness and love. And, most important, he bears testimony to her. What does he bear testimony of? Back to Verse 5:
But behold, I have obtained a land of promise, in the which things I do rejoice.
But have they obtained the promised land yet?
NO! In fact, they are still
years away from landing there -- maybe as many as 10 or 11 years away using the dates from these chapters. But Lehi
still feels real joy because he has confidence in the promises he has
already received (e.g.,
D&C 64:32,
HEB. 6:18). And, because of that faith, he can feel
PRESENT joy for a
FUTURE blessing.
Or, returning to the running analogy, Lehi felt joy as he was running up the hill because he knew the downhill would be coming.
I've revisited this scripture over and over since I first found it. But it strikes me particularly today because, without knowing, Eric followed Lehi's example last night. I have become frustrated again lately by the uncertainty in our life (that has been going on for one reason or another related to this move for 17 months now). So last night, I was grumping and moaning and complaining. And my sweet hubs bore testimony to me of the tender mercies the Lord has shown us in the past, as well as the promises we have been given. He allowed the Spirit to comfort me.
Like Sariah who I can almost feel shudder with relieved joy when her sons return, perhaps I will not feel the real relief until the uncertainties have settled.
But I want to do more. I chose this picture (in spite of the woman's clothes -- or lack thereof -- that I'm sure my girls will call me on) because I saw something in it. She is running with enthusiasm and power not only up a hill, but up a hill that is covered in rocks.
I want to be like her -- I want to try to just relax and enjoy the run. Hills and rock and all.
