We run in and out of sync. There are moments when I have the umph and moments when my legs are dragging. I am so used to running alone, listening to my iPod shuffle, I have to get used to the lack of music and in its place, companionship and conversation. But after the run is over, there is so much to be grateful for. Number one, that the run is over and my foot does not ache. Number two, that in those hours of training I have also found connection. And in that connection I am reminded what is saving me today.
Today I am saved by you.</p
Today I am being saved by the living world around me.
By the email you send, sharing your own struggles with failure and doors repeatedly shut in your face.
By your vulnerability in sharing how you too have had running injuries that shattered your hopes at one time.
I am saved by the honesty you so willingly give me. By your words that speak of your own struggles with faith or disappointments with church.
Today I am saved by your smile.
I am saved by your texts that asks, “How is your foot after that long run?”
I am saved by the small, chubby arms that circle my neck and kiss my cheek with sticky lips.
Today I am saved by the golden leaves falling all around me.
My soul is lifted by the touch on my shoulder as you walk by.
For so long I thought that being saved was something that happened once in your life. I thought it was a prayer that you pray. For years I thought that salvation was in my control. For so long, salvation was a way of escape.
But today I am reminded that salvation is a truly a lifetime of saves.
These things that save us daily. The encouraging words. The strong long run. The deep rest we found in an afternoon nap. The care extended through a meal with friends. The sun that falls across our shoulders and the breeze that keeps us from an autumn sweat fest. The sounds of the birds and the noises of the insects. All these things that give us life and remind us of our humanity. They save us, but they don’t sustain us.
Because the next day we need it again.
The high after accomplishing our long term goal, it will fade.
The sunlight that we desperately need will disappear into the night sky.
Our table will once again be empty and alone.
The pain we were saved from comes in another form, a sickness that cannot be willed away with a prayer.
The things that save us each day are powerful, but they seem to be temporary.
So that is where I find myself today. As I sit in my tiny room at the Jesuit Center, I am reminded that saving is continual. And all that saving is held by One. The sickness and the health. The humid days and the refreshing ones. The encouraging words and the lack of response. The empty table and the full ones. It is held in the same Hands. It is held by the same Creator. This Creator who saves us through each other, daily. When life happens just as we hope and when it doesn’t happen that way at all.
We are repeatedly being saved.
We forever being held.