Everything is frozen. The dirt beneath my feet. The scrub oak at my ankles. The air I’m exhaling from my mouth. I realize I’m running much too fast for the workout that’s scheduled, but I cannot help myself. I am desperate to generate warmth. Anyone out here this early must surely think I am a running robot – with stiff joints only capable of moving slowly, with much effort, in one direction. I feel frozen tears forming on my eyelashes but I don’t even bother to wipe them away. I’m conserving all my energy in an attempt to keep warm for the next 6 miles.
The unbearable cold is just an ominous reminder of how I feel on this Valentine’s Week. It’s only minutes before sunrise, but I’m pretty sure there will be no sunshine today and I secretly hope there’s no sunshine on Saturday for the couples who have made elaborate romantic plans to celebrate a holiday that has always made me feel inadequate. To me, Valentine’s Day has always represented the law of love. It’s the day where you are required by society to perfectly declare your love for the other person. It must be done right – and according to some arbitrary rules – or the results could be disastrous.
To me, Valentine’s Day screams, “I will love you if…” It is a constant reminder of what I’ve always felt about the conditionality of love. That feeling I get in the pit of my stomach that comes from never feeling like I’ve measured up enough to deserve the Hallmark card, the pretty wrapped gift, the dinner for two. One false move and it would be over. There are always strings attached. And, unfortunately for Valentine’s Day, it has become the representation of love that is fleeting and impossible to hold onto – especially for the person who is flawed and frail and broken.
I thought I’d be warmer by now as Runcoach cyber-girl reminds me that I need to “Stay relaxed, stay in control.” Even my running app is trying to make sure I’ve got things together. But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few years is that I really cannot control anything – and that includes trying to control who loves me and what I need to do to ensure that they continue to love me. For most of my life, I tried to show a perfect façade because I was certain no one could really love the mess underneath.
When I run, it takes a few warm-up miles, but I can usually settle in and find some inner peace. It took many miles on the road to finally realize that I don’t run alone. I am protected and loved by God – the one who created the sunrise that I wait for and the beautiful snow crystals crunching beneath my feet. I’m safe – not safe from pain or suffering or hurt – but from enduring it alone without hope. Honestly, I’ve learned to accept grief as an essential part of the beautiful human condition and the catalyst that draws me closer to Him.
As I turn to head back home, I can see the sun barely winking at me above the horizon as I look to the east. No, this is not going to be a sad Valentine’s story because this morning, out here in the cold, I know the truth about true love.
Jesus is my Valentine. My life was transformed the day I saw Jesus as a real person and not a concept. The day I realized that He was the God of the universe who came down to earth in the form of a baby to grow into a man who lived a perfect, selfless life. He died a horrible bloody death because of me – for me. Today, I cannot think about Him, or read about Him, or see pictures of Him without silently weeping.
He died on the cross for my sins, yet He loves me.
I am a failure. He still loves me.
I hurt other people. He won’t leave me.
I am selfish. He won’t forsake me.
He doesn’t withhold his love until I fix myself. He doesn’t require that I clean myself up in order to hold me close. He is perfect and I am imperfect. But I know He won’t ever leave, slamming the door behind Him. He is the one and only to whom I will never have to justify myself.
This Valentine’s Day, I can say I have found true love. I don’t have to earn His grace. I don’t have to clean up, measure up, or buck up to receive it. I just have to believe. But for this girl who never believed in fairy tales complete with happy endings, I now know that there is one.
The only real happy ending is Jesus on the cross. Thank God – no heart-shaped box or roses required.
