And on a silent road I heard a murmer, a whisper. Then the faint whisper that trickled, like a few rain drops, became a storm. A storm of loud cheering voices. A united cry, like the sound of many winds. They are my witnesses. They have walked my road, they have run my race. Their words speak life, hope, encouragement. And so I lay aside my heavy back pack of confusion, pain and doubt. I stretch my hands wide, I roll my shoulders and release the tension that they carried. I put my feet onto the path and tell them they can run, they can dance, they can play but only on the course I will follow. I repeat the counsel to myself “just run, He will catch up with you.” So I run.
I am lighter. It is as if I am lifted into the air by a cloud of balloons. I run, I run, carried. I am carried by the wind in the air and the balloons that follow the wind’s course. From my heightened perspective I see clearer. I see clearer the race marked before me. And I am thankful to be here, running with balloons.