God Was in the Thunder While I Was Running But Maybe Not the Way You Think He Was

When I started my run yesterday morning, the rain was an infrequent drip from a lightly overcast sky. I had worn my Luna sandals because I was extra tired from the week of finding out my mom had terminal brain cancer, and I thought I might be prone to accidents. But I was consciously going to run relaxed. I knew from experience that emotional venting during exercise can lead to long lasting injury. I had my car keys griped in one hand and my iPhone in the other, taking comfort from the idea that I could call for a ride any time I felt it was all too much to continue.
The sun just started to peep from behind a cloud, then slipped away like a shy two year old playing hide and seek behind a blanket. I ran lightly and loosely in my shorts and tank top, right away sensing that I was going to enjoy the motion of this medium short 6 mile run. However, within half a mile, the sky turned dark and rain began to pelt on me. I initially thought, “How appropriately dismal.” Until the thunder clapped, and I realized it wasn’t discouraging weather at all. God was crying with me.
When I saw the lightening, it wasn’t scary. It was like God was comforting me with the cleansing stream of His tears from the sky, while assuring me of His gentle strength that holds the universe. He who thunders and holds the lightening rod in His hands was speaking tenderly to me like a strong man who is most able to comfort because He is the only one who can guarantee anything. He is the One who is strongest, who has the only real ability to offer protection from all that assails my soul.
I ran on, the rain pounding into my face and dripping off my eyelids. My clothes were soon completely drenched. I was bleeding from somewhere on my leg, but it washed away in the flood. If it had been raining any harder, I would have needed a snorkel. Every few minutes I would suck air with my sobbing, wondering how it was that I could keep running at a fairly fast pace (for me) while crying so. Only the cries seemed to lift me off the ground and carry me along in a grace of form that expressed both letting Him wash my spirit and renew my heart.
As the rain slowed to a soft patter, I was almost disappointed, but He was just giving me a breathing spell. Soon, it began to pour again, and the sobs welled up through my throat in answer. But there was no tension. There was only the release of pain from my chest and head. My legs kept the easy flow of their rhythm, dancing through puddles, while a healing balm was permeating my soul.
It couldn’t go on all day, but it didn’t need to. I hadn’t felt unready for the day before, but now I knew I was ready. There was no need to struggle or pretend that I was strong enough, like some people think those who trust God do. There was no need to “keep my faith strong” like some well meaning people say to me when they are trying to be encouraging. He provides all the strength I need. He always has and He always will. All I have to do is let Him.