Joy Comes in the Morning

The morning cries out with the sound of the alarm.

To others it is an annoying beep. To me it is the start of another broken day. It yells “Get up and run so you will know you are worthy.”  Worth comes from running and controlled eating.

The world is still asleep at 4:45 a.m. The world is dark. The darkness matches the broken.

I do not know if I love the running or if I hate the running. The truth lies somewhere in between. I know I never regret the running. Many years ago, before I admitted the broken I ran to be perfect. Quick prayers to the One who blesses. Rote prayers rehearsed for many years. I say them in my head as I think of other things. I am empowered with this false power of multitasking.

Prayers done, marked off the list, music on, and go. Run. Run. Run. I will never be overweight if I run. Running saves me from fat. My mind obsesses. Soon I run to the cadence of the word “fat”. Every time my foot hits the ground it sounds off “fat” like a symbol. It clanged so loud in my ears. The word gave way to fear. I ran out of fear.

I was never such a person to be superficial. He didn't create me to be superficial. But I thought the word over and over again. Sometimes I said it. I let it come from deep inside me and I said the word over and over out loud. A crazy, broken person repeating herself like a broken record. In the dark, you don’t have to hide your words. The dark covers you and lets you be ugly broken. It is always so dark in the mornings. Before 5:00. I can hear the coyotes and disturb the deer. My broken dares coyotes to seek me out. I run and say the word that haunts me.

One day I say it and a tear falls. Somewhere inside me the broken breaks a different way. It has reached my soul. Broken smiles as it hits my soul. Broken already won my mind, it has my heart. I am only worthy when I push myself to the extreme and the extreme makes me fragile and easier to break. The crack hits my soul and the tear falls. It falls hard. I am confused and then the voice comes. It is soft I could almost ignore it but I heard it. “Why not Joy?” it asks. I am confused. Joy. My heart gave up on joy so long ago. But the voice was compelling. I stop saying fat. I try to listen. I keep running. Another tear falls. The spirit has been touched. There is such sadness in the place where broken and spirit meet. The spirit is ready. The spirit has the last battle. Spirit is gentle grace. Broken is jagged fear.

The crying starts. The winter freezes the tears. Jagged pieces of salted water run down my face. Tearing at the broken. Crying is admittance. Admittance takes so long to come forth and to become a truth. In the dark you do not have to wipe the tears away. In the dark broken tells you to fight the truth.

Now I speak to your spirit. Listen. Listen to me. There is a voice that comes after tears. It is a small but clear voice and it brings warmth and a choice. The voice tells you not what you want, but what you do not want. Your spirit will tell you what is no longer acceptable. The choice is still ours to make. Broken has won the brain and the heart. Spirit, however, is God given and will rise up when given the chance. But first the crying comes. Sometimes the crying stays for a while. My crying stayed for 20 years. Do not falter. I will lead you through yours. When you hear the voice, you must listen.

When you cry and open your ears to your spirit you hear grace. Grace leads to strength. These are given with the presence of our Heavenly Father. He gifts them freely. You must listen. You hear the solid promises of a different life. The dark that hid you becomes the dark that transforms you.

The rote prayers turn into an improv routine. Preacher dares us to talk to God. I dare to talk to Him. “I want joy.” I say. I know not how to pray. I just talk words. Confused, mixed up words. Soon my words fill my run. The music is never turned on. Although the broken still keeps me, I start to think of my run as time to get to know Him and He can help me endure the broken. His wisdom knows I will learn strength and grace from the broken. He will not deny me of strength and grace.

 I think of the Bible and how Adam and Eve would take walks with God. 

Pre-apple fiasco. I think of sermons at church. I think of what I know to be true about God. I do not know what is true of myself because broken robs me of my own identity. I know God. I know who and what He is. Crying was the step from broke and empty to admittance-- life had no joy. Joy in life comes with the knowledge of God.

 I ran without saying the “fat” word. I still would cry. My crying now admitted I was no longer running to escape. I was not running away. I was running to. I was running to Him. The crying admitted I did not want broken. The voice said “I am worthy of Joy.”

One morning I wake up and the alarm cried “Run to Him and know you are worthy”. I run to Him. As I run I realize I must stay with Him even after the run. I decide I must turn to the Bible after the run to get to know Him better. I finish. Breathing heavy, contemplating joy. I see the sun rising. I hear His promise. “Joy comes in the morning.”