As I drove home from work at 3:30 Thursday morning, I got the compulsion to go out for a run. Fog hung over the city like a bed sheet that had been lifted into mid air and left there suspeneded. I got home, changed into my running attire, and headed off into the mild November night.
To my left was a golf course; to my right was a landscape of homes, businesses, and a church. The golf course, with its open, unobscured, fairways, experienced more radiational cooling than the scene to my right. As the temperature hit the dew point, the damp November air coagulated over the golf course into a dense earth-hugging stratus cloud. The proper meteorologist would call this occurrence patchy fog.
I veered left into the foggy golf course with nothing more than the rhythm of my feet and the waxing gibbous moon to light my way. The air grew thicker and George Bush Drive disappeared behind me. Along the vacant cart path I could make out little more than the silhouettes of trees and the lighted spaces within the O&M Building and the Library Annex. Amber street lights and the silver moon painted the fog colors that I never expected to experience. I sat down in this surreal landscape and found a kind of peace that I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
I felt that God was reaching into my heart and telling me to soak up this moment. The past was behind me and the future had already been attended to. That moment, which was spent sleeping by the rest of the world, was a gift from God.
"But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."
Matthew 6:33-34
