I am a runner.

In late summer this year, I will celebrate twelve years of running. I started running when my daughter was a toddler, training with Team in Training for The Lymphoma Leukemia Society and raising money for a little boy Emma’s age named Jake who had leukemia.

I have precious memories of my little 3-year-old coming into the bathroom after my long training runs. Her sweet feet would shuffle in glee when she poured big buckets of ice into my recovery baths as I braced myself and squealed. But my “yes” to endurance running began with recognition of my unsettled spirit.

Things at home, even though it was years before our divorce, were becoming tense. The metaphor is simple: I longed for an escape and a challenge, and that’s exactly what running gave me.

Running has continued to be a nice, healthy escape for me over the years. Some years I run less than others, but I’m back to training now, my next half marathon in just a few weeks.

Perhaps it should be no surprise that once again, as the mileage is climbing, I find myself in a season that is unsettling. I’ve confessed to some friends that I’m unsure if what I’m working through is a faith crisis or a mid-life crisis; maybe it’s a bit of both.

This past Sunday, Palm Sunday, I had the awesome opportunity to be a part of the Passion reading. This year, as I read the familiar passages, I was struck by the behavior of Jesus’ most faithful followers. In the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus scolds several of them three times for sleeping and not keeping watch. Later, as things intensify, the disciples abandon Jesus altogether.

They run. They escape. Runners: all of them. 

The scriptures on Sunday went from the triumph of Jesus being hailed in Jerusalem all the way to the empty
tomb. The same people who loved him on the way in become an integral part of his undoing. Even when placed in a modern context, this would hardly be surprising.

Fear and death are powerful forces after all. But neither is more powerful than love. 

The thing that really struck me as I experienced the scripture from my current vantage point was that the sacrifice of Jesus wasn’t dependent on those runners. What God was accomplishing through His son wasn’t dependent on whether they believed, or helped, or even if they stuck around.

So much of what we are trying to accomplish in this life relies on the support of friends, family, coworkers, or our so-called “followers.” Projects come to a halt; sales don’t soar; dreams aren’t accomplished without support. But it is not so with God. He keeps moving in spite of the runners like me.

He doesn’t give up on a great plan even when everyone else is looking for an escape plan. 

And when I apply that miracle to my own life, it’s truly humbling. It is a source of real hope to think that my unbelief, my unsettled spirit cannot stop His plan for me. He is always seeking me and loving me even when I’m not returning the sentiment.

This Sunday I’ll be celebrating the miracle that was not at all dependent on me, or even the faith of the disciples who went before me. I’ll be remembering the greatest gift of love this runner has ever known.

Tupelo honey

I love to run. Though I’ve been sidelined a bit the last couple of years with a car accident and a bout with melanoma, I love the challenge of my feet on the pavement, pushing forward for how ever many miles my body and mind can take me.

Sometimes I listen to music when I run. A few years back, I was freshening up my running playlist and came across Van Morrison’s “Tupelo Honey” in my music library. I hadn’t heard the song in years. I had forgotten I even owned it in any digital form though I’m sure a cassette tape or CD was in some dusty state somewhere.

I dragged the title over to my playlist without much thought. The song wasn’t really the right tempo for running, but I wanted to reacquaint myself with the favored old tune.

It’s the song I walked down the aisle to on my wedding day. I probably at least had unconsciously avoided it for that reason and more. My former husband was a big Van Morrison fan, so we listened to his music often. When we planned our non-traditional wedding, we chose music that represented us including two Van Morrison songs. We left the chapel to “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen to give you an idea of the flavor of the service.

No offense to brides and church organists everywhere, but I just couldn’t do the typical wedding march thing. I don’t have anything against classical music. I have studied both violin and piano, and I work part-time in a music library that is filled with the beautiful songs of mostly dead composers.

But the sentiment of love expressed in “Tupelo Honey” was just right for us. Though perhaps deeper meanings are implied, there is reason to believe Van was expressing love for his wife when he wrote the song.

As I stood in my 1990s white princess gown (puffy sleeves and all) in the foyer of the chapel on our college campus with my dad, panic set in. I distinctly remember saying to him, “I don’t think I can do this.” He just laughed, looped my arm in his and said, “Yes you can.” And he wasn’t just saying that because he and my mom had dropped a huge chunk of change on our wedding. He knew that I could step forward into that day and into the unknown of the years to come.

And for us, the years to come would eventually mean the end of an almost 13-year marriage after a decade of ups and downs, several years on a counseling couch, and eventually three years of separation.

I can say in hindsight as I have walked with other friends in a struggling marriage that it’s easier to be bitter and pissed, to de-humanize the good memories of a once-loving relationship that has ultimately ended in death.

Pain, if we let it, has a longer shelf life than the beautiful moments that have gone before. 

And unfortunately, sometimes your friends and family, even good Christian ones, will amp things up by regularly reminding you of why your marriage is not working. At the end of it all, no matter how long that end takes, you can wind up angry and stay angry for decades. That may be justified in certain cases, but in my case, I am happy to say that a simple act of putting my wedding song on my running playlist did me a world of good.

It was a long training run on a beautiful Tennessee Saturday. I had gotten up early to get my miles in. “Tupelo Honey” was near the bottom of the song order. As that signature gentle intro with piano, flute, and guitar began, I almost stopped in my tracks, but I kept going.

I let the lyrics of the song wash over me fresh and new. And the memories flooded back about my wedding day along with so many other great days that I had with my husband. And this time, I didn’t push those thoughts away. No, I ran, and I pushed right through the pain to the glorious sweetness of it all.

I let myself remember how bright the sun was on that October day in 1995, and how we left hand-in-hand through the doors of our college chapel. I remembered the way my husband smiled at me that day and how he looked years later when he held our baby girl for the first time.

While I was out on that run, I reconciled with so much in my past marriage relationship. By hearing those words, “She’s as sweet as Tupelo honey,” I was able to realize that someone did feel that way about me at one time, even if those feelings had changed. That may seem overly simple, but it was a turning point in my healing process over my divorce.

Tears rolled down my face as I rounded the last turn into our parking area. They were tears of joy. I celebrated the fact that I was loved with purity on that day. I celebrated that fact with a new wisdom and peace. The music swelled and with it my realization that I no longer had to hold that day in a place of sadness and grief.

My wedding day wasn’t a mistake. Yes, things had changed but that didn’t have to diminish those moments of joy and love as sweet as Tupelo honey.

P.S. Last summer, I got to see Van Morrison live in Edinburgh, Scotland. He didn’t sing Tupelo Honey at the concert, but he didn’t have to. I had made my peace years before with the tune and all the memories it held for me. When I hear it unexpectedly now, I turn the volume up, enjoy the groove, and a warm smile lights up my whole face.

Writer’s Note: This post is dedicated to one of my best friends, living in my favorite state and soon to be mom to Oakley. She knows why…