Face the West

Sometimes, in the evenings, I run. I put on my running shoes, head down the drive, and pound the day's worries quietly and steadily into the ground. Heel to toe, heel to toe - my burden lightens by degrees until I reach the two mile mark. About that time, I start to trudge to the top of the highest hill in the area. At the top I turn around and face the west. What I see makes me stop.

With the sweat stinging my eyes, my heart beating in my chest, my hands on my hips and my posture strong and sure I see the sun set red, gold, and yellow across my world. I see it span across acres and acres of corn and wheat and beans, across the silo and the red barn, across the top of old oaks, down the parraell long and lonely stretch of country road. I narrow my eyes, and farther yet I see it set red and gold across the roof of my home. Sometimes, when the timing is right I see my husband in the back yard, a tiny figure, playing fetch with our dogs. I see the yellow-red flash upon our window panes. Next to that I see the homes, roof after roof, of our neighbors and friends. I look farther still to see the road I'm perched upon strech on and on, past the fire station, past the school house, out and out - to the places that comfort me, and that I love.

I stand there, breathing deep, bathed in the same red, yellow and gold, and I tell you in those moments I cannot say a wordless prayer more sincere. I am the prayer. I am simply God's creation doing what I was created to do: adore Him. In my heart I feel it; I am beloved and at peace.