I went for a jog last week and thought of Eric Liddell. - ‘‘When I run I feel his pleasure’’. Its not, ‘‘when I run I earn his pleasure’’. Too often we toil for an invisible something beyond the horizon. We miss the thrill of the present. The finish line is not beyond a distant horizon. It is accomplished, and our toil is a lived memory. It is hope filled from what has been done.

I saw a man run bold and fast

on an occasion he was passed

Thin his grin when other runners paused to gasp.

In the end his screaming legs pushed and dashed.

I whispered “Well run and done”. To the ground he crashed.

……………………………………………

“VICTORY!” Glory for toils spent and went. and yet…

……………………………………………

As the prize seeped down his face,

The striders passed, still fast upon the chase.

Not one paused nor glanced amidst their haste.

Each one steadied with open pace.

……………………………………………

The crowd ran too. Onward. Upward. Toward sun and height.

Long and westward fixed in the flight.

A massive herd fleeing loss and night.

Their striving thundered with speed and fright.

……………………………………………

Ambition veiled the good and bad.

This one laughing, that one sad.

A vengeful army chasing what they had.

Sprinting chaos. Sprinting mad.

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“No, Not this time… Not again.”

To his feet we rose bold and fast

on this occasion having just been passed.

Thin grins grew wide when others crashed.

At the end my screaming legs pushed and passed.

A victor not to be. my wreath slipping the horizon last

-B Oaks