With? Wind

A while back Jeremy, the guy who leads the music part of Harmony's worship gatherings, talked between songs about the passage in John 3 where Jesus says, 'The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.' It's a verse I've often wrestled with because it implies, among other things, that the movement of God in our lives is not predictable, easy to see or particularly comfortable. I like to have solid things that I can hold in my hand and see and understand - at least at some level. Comparing God's movement to the wind makes that pretty much impossible.

Of course, the first image of God in Scripture does this - the spirit (wind/breath) of God is hovering (brooding like a mother bird) over the chaos/darkness of creation. No telling how long that went on before God finally spoke light into the darkness. Soon, God is breathing that same windbreathspirit into human beings, giving them life. And, it's clear repeatedly from that point forward that often in joining ourselves to God's story there is an uneasy balance between darkness (absence of God / disorder) and light (God's presence / hope) and being caught up in the wind and standing still. Sometimes those things go on all at the same time.

Anyhow...that Sunday afternoon I ran 8 miles or so out Crumbaugh towards Lemon's Mill Road. The sky was filled with those big puffy cumulonimbus clouds that are about 9 shades of white and gray. At that particular moment they appeared close enough to reach up and tug off a handful like cotton candy. It felt like a storm was brewing, although I don't remember now if one ever came.

What I do remember was that as I turned west at the intersection of Crumbaugh and Johnson Mill Road the wind almost instantly slammed into my face.  The first thing I noticed was the wind. And I didn't so much notice it as get overwhelmed by it. My breath was literally taken away. My steps became laborious, as if I were trudging through water. And the sound. Not sure how to spell what filled my ears. Something like WWWWWHHHHOOOOSSSSHHHH!!!!!!!  But, not really. Doesn't quite cut it. The podcast I'd been listening to was completely drowned out by the roar. It was just incredible.

Over the 1.2 miles of that stretch of road, the effects of the wind were unmistakable.  Evergreen trees bowing. Blackbirds held motionless in the sky. Tall, brown and gray grasses laying on the ground. And the constant rush of sound.

I had to fight for most every step I took, especially on the 3-4 lightly rolling hills - not normally much of a challenge, on this day strangely steep.

And the clouds - they filled more and more of the sky as they were shoved across the sky. I was afraid I'd get a face full of their cotton now, no longer tempted to reach up and pinch off a piece of their sweetness. They grew darker, taking most of the sky's light with them as they headed east.

As I neared Lemon's Mill, a ray of sunlight first poked and then burst through one of the puffiest and darkest of the clouds, its beam illuminating a patch of pasture where a group of fat, dirty cows laid in the mud and grass ignoring the entire experience. Apparently none of this impressed them nearly as much as it did me.

I couldn't help but recall Jeremy's words from the Gospel of John. I'd certainly not seen this coming, had not an ounce of control over it, and was finding being overtaken by the wind a bit more strenuous and uncomfortable than I particularly liked.

Aren't Biblical images of God and God's spirit meant to be comforting, encouraging? The whole, 'I won't leave you or forsake you' thing sounds good. Until that presence means gasping for air and struggling to move. The wind was clearly there. And I did not like it.

At Lemon's Mill, I turned back towards our neighborhood.

And was just as instantly overwhelmed by a sudden stillness. I'd anticipated the wind being now at my back; driving my run, making me stronger and faster and better than I was before. Like Steve Austin.

Instead. Nothing.

Clouds still filled the sky, broken slightly be a few more cracks of sunlight.

But no wind.  Erect trees. Grass warily stretching its nimble frame. Complete stillness. The cows looked at me like, 'Duh. What'd you expect?'

I admit that I was more than disappointed. I was a little angry. 'Nice,' I thought, 'you make it tough for me on the way out and offer no help on the return trip.'

And then - about 1/3 of the way back - WWWWWWWHHHHHHHOOOOOSSSSHHHH!!!!!!

Only this time, I couldn't hear it. I didn't see it coming. Just, suddenly was smacked in the back by its force. The next .7 miles the wind literally pushed me up the street. I had to lengthen my stride to keep from tripping, and still, I struggled to keep up.

Again, I saw the trees bending over, the grass sighing and lying back down, the clouds rushing across the sky. A group of horses sped across one of Kentuckiana Farms' fields, their manes a mess of hair and wind and energy.

It was as if the wind had heard my complaints, smiled to itself, 'OK, want to know my power; to taste what it's like for me to move you? Here ya go!'

It was exhilarating. I know I have never run that far that quickly in my life. At times it was if my feet weren't even touching the ground.

I wasn't thinking. I just went with it, grinning from ear to ear, like Lenny stroking a puppy. I may have even said, 'WHHEEE!'

Or not.

Then I turned north at the corner of Crumbaugh and Johnson Mill, by now not expecting anything. I wouldn't have known what to expect anyway.

Which is a good thing, because the next half mile the wind came from the east, then the south, then the north, then the west, then not at all.  I think, just for a moment, I glimpsed the wind blowing where it pleases. It was one of those fall moments when one minute you're raking leaves and the next they are being lifted and whirled around you in a mini-cyclone. Minus the leaves, and, thus, any physical evidence of the wind - just its force. Delightfully unpredictable.

The roar.

Silence.

Shoved from behind.

No resistance.

Gasping for air.

Still.

My ridiculous grin now became a full blown laugh. Like Sarah inside the tent making sweet tea, overhearing her century old husband that they were soon to be parents. Yeah, right.

Oh.

Fun?

Yes, a bit.

But a bit disarming to tell the truth.

I like things to make sense. To know what's happening. To fit into whatever neat little package I have in mind. It's one reason why I wear a GPS watch when I run. So that I can predict within a few seconds when I will finish one mile and start the next. So that I can later map the run out online and see exactly where my steps took me and plan to do the same thing the same way again next time.

It becomes quite comfortable. Normal.

And completely void of life.