Reblogged from: Gates Ajar
Tonight I decided to go for a run (something I need to make more time for), since it had been such a beautiful, warm day. The Washington, D.C. Community of Christ is conveniently located about 1.5 miles from my university’s campus – the perfect distance for a halfway point. So, as usual, I headed out down Massachusetts Ave.
I think a lot when I run. Actually, I think a lot all the time, but maybe I’m just more conscious of it because I’m trying to make sure I don’t pass out when I have to start going uphill before Wisconsin Ave. I think about people, interactions, regrets, wishes, future plans, questions, and more. Just after I cross Wisconsin, the path starts to go downhill, and soon enough, I can start to make out the illuminated blue sign. Almost there.
When I see that blue sign, I feel more like I’m running home than when I have to turn around and run back to campus. It is home. It’s the same blue sign that welcomes me to my home church in Sioux City, Iowa. The same blue sign that welcomes me to the campgrounds in Onset, Massachusetts. The same blue sign that will welcome me no matter where I wander, even if it’s just waiting for me whenever I decide to wander back. The Community of Christ’s blue sign has become a beacon in my life. It’s always telling me it’s ok. You’re on the right track. You’re almost there. The same words I long to hear pretty much every second of my life.
Tonight, after I reached the church, I stopped to sit on the front steps and breathe for a second. Well, it wasn’t quite just a second. It was starting to get late, probably later I should have been out alone, but I just couldn’t leave. I began to wonder why I was where I was at that very second. After many thoughts, I still couldn’t articulate a perfect answer, but the night sky, illuminated as a deep navy blue by the city lights, caught my eye when I looked up to it for answers.
Blue is a good color for you, God.
There was not a single car on Mass Ave at that moment. A breeze came up and cooled the perspiration on my forehead. All too soon, the loudest motorcycle I’ve ever heard came zipping by along with a few other cars. I laughed.
So you could enjoy that moment, Emma. That’s why you’re here.