Run.

You're in a field. It's tree-lined and you can't see the end of it. Behind you, you see a storm. And it's a whopper. Wind is whipping around from every direction and you can't get any form of stability because you feel like you're literally being pushed in every way possible. The clouds are pitch black but, right now, the clouds above you are only a stale grey. But they're moving fast and you know you're about to be pounded by this mother of storms.

You look ahead and know that you have to keep going. You've been running so long but you have to keep going to try to evade this storm for as long as possible, hoping that it might lose some of it's power before it gets to you. Sometimes that works. Sometimes you can play keep-away from all the storms that have plagued your life and they die down a little. Sometimes these storms are barely noticeable and you don't even have to run to try to stay out of them. But other times, the storm is either too powerful or comes up too fast and you're almost destroyed. You run as hard as you can, barely dodging the lightning but being deafened by the thunder; and all the while, you're being drenched by a cold rain.

This has been your life. You don't know anything different. You're sick of it, but you don't know how to stop. So you just keep running away.

But now you're about to run out of reserves. All your random boosts of energy have gone. You have nothing to draw from anymore. You're about to be consumed either by exhaustion or a storm--or both. But you just can't give up. You try to press on, to find more strength that you know you don't really have. But you run anyway, your bare feet pounding on the dead grass in a dead field. The storm is raging behind you and your shirt is rippling in the winds. You look down briefly and see that your feet are cut and bleeding--again.

Then you look up.

There's a man in all white off in the distance. He's in the same barren landscape that you are. No flowers are spontaneously blooming at his feet; the heavens aren't casting a golden light on his head, and angels aren't flying around him, singing praises to him. But he just radiated...strength. He is everything that you're not. He is power. He is beauty. He is hope.

You know that he, this man who is practically glowing, is the answer to the running you've been doing your whole life. You know you just need to make it to him, so you try to boost your speed but you...just...can't. In fact, you're slowing down. Way down. It feels like the storm has long, cold fingers and these fingers are literally pulling at you and it's getting harder to run and get to the man. But you lower your head and give one last effort. One last fight.

Then, after what seems like a lifetime, you barrel into the man. He immediately and unquestioningly wraps his arms around you and pulls you close. Instinctively, you do the same and feel scars on his back, as if from a whip. You stand still for a minute, lost in the security you feel with this man. Then you remember what's chasing you. You pull back and look at him.

"Hurry," you say, pulling on his arms, "the storm."

You hear him chuckle slightly but you're preoccupied by the fact that the storm is now right on top of you.

The man pulls you back in to another hug. "I've got you" is all he says.

Then you feel the rain. It instantly starts to drench both of you and it's colder than it's ever been. The lightning is striking so close that your arm hair is standing up and your heart is pounding. But you don't let go of the man. As terrifying as your circumstances are, you keep holding on because you know you need him.

You don't know how long you stay wrapped up in the man's arms, soaking wet but now strangely warm. But you gradually realize that the storm is slowing down. Then it stops completely. Amazingly, the clouds disappear overhead and you see something that you've only seen a few times in your life--a pure, blue sky. And now you feel stronger than you've ever felt before. You haven't felt this strong since...forever.

"So...should I leave now?" you ask the man. He smiles at you.

"There will be more storms," he replies.

You bite your lip, knowing he's right. "I can't...I'm not strong enough to endure them alone anymore. I never...I never have been strong enough, really."

His smile widens and he stops holding you, only to then extend his hand. "You've never had to."

Graciously, you take his hand and begin to walk with him. He leads because you have no idea where to go and he seems like he's got a pretty solid plan. Like you, he's bare foot and has a puncture-like scar on both feet and matching ones on each wrist. You want to know more about this savior.

Before you get a chance to ask, though, thunder rumbles to your far left and both of you look. But this time, you're ready. There will be no more running. The man squeezes your hand reassuringly and keeps leading you through.

"So I'll run to You; I will run, I will run. I will move right on through all these things that I have done. And You'll take me back--I don't know why..." --Run to You (The Rocket Summer)

"Oh, I'm running to Your arms; I'm running to Your arms. The riches of Your love will always be enough."