I can’t run anymore. Something changed after my back surgery. Running even a few strides hurts. I can do the stupid elliptical trainer forever, but I hate exercising inside. So I go on walks sometimes. It would be a cheap substitute for running, if not for one surprising, substantial difference: I pray more. Doing a hard interval workout while Nine Inch Nails blasts through my iPod isn’t exactly conducive to spiritual reflection. Walking is quieter, so I think and talk to God.
On a walk last weekend, I was feeling grateful about something, so I looked up to tell God thanks. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, not even much smog. The acrylic blue blanket above was the only thing between me and … outer space.
Wait a minute, I thought, God’s not up there. Not more than anywhere else, anyway. Why do I look at the sky when I talk to God?
Though identifying God’s physical location is a trick neither Stephen Hawking nor Thomas Aquinas could pull off, most folks agree that God is omnipresent. Though I believe in a personal God, instead of some nebulous force spread throughout the universe, I’m pretty sure the guy gets around. He probably can be in an infinite number of places at the same time. Back when we thought the earth was the center of the universe, it made sense to think of God presiding over us from the heavens. Now, we’re not sure exactly where God is, but most of us agree that he can be anywhere and everywhere.
God isn’t just in the sky. God is on the ground. Life changes when you look at things that way.
Whenever I imagine God at my side, I relax and unlock my smile. I summon some patience when I visualize God with his arm around the person who’s bickering with the cashier and holding up the line when I’m already running late. When I picture God and a host of angels hovering over the freeway, I’m less likely to lean on my horn like an asshole when someone cuts me off. As I imagine God whittling away at all people from all nations, trying to sculpt the image he had in mind at creation, I realize that life is so not about me. If I thought God just drifted somewhere out there past the Milky Way, I’d be in big trouble. I need a God who’s involved. I need God on the ground.
For about three years, I’ve shared my stories about finding God on the ground. It’s been a blessing. If I’ve been depressed, cranky, or in the middle of a cynicism bender, I’ve always snapped out of it by the time I finished writing this column. It forced me to yank my head out of my ass and smell the blessings. If I wanted to write something that wasn’t complete crap, I had to look for God again. I always found him, and it was always easier than I thought it would be.
Writing this column has done more for me than it has for you. Thanks for listening to my stories. Now, I think it’s time for you to hear someone else’s stories about finding God on the ground.
If you’ve read this column more than a couple times, you’ve probably noticed a pattern: Steve does, says, or thinks something stupid or mean. Then Steve discovers the love of God in unlikely places, and it redeems his stupidity and cynicism. Romans 8:28 says, “All things work for good for those who love God.” I’ve tested that verse too many times, and God has never failed (though he takes longer than I’d like most of the time—make that all the time). Anyway, I think y’all get it by now. I don’t see this pattern changing any time soon. It’s time for someone else to take over.
