Feeling His Pleasure

I forgot to eat lunch today. That never happens to me. No matter how busy our day is at work, I'm watching the clock by about ten, calculating how long before we can lock the door and go up to the cafe for what Brother Lawrence once described as "this little holiday in the middle of the work day." 

Today, though, I was alone in our lavish hotel room on a dark and dreary day. I finally opened my notebook to organize my notes from the mentoring conference a couple of weeks ago, and before I knew it, I was lost. In a good way.

I wrote, and I read. I researched, and I edited. And,  before I knew it, I had missed both Second Breakfast, Elevensies, and Luncheon as our Hobbit friends would say. 

And that is what I love about this call to write. Although I agonized about it most of yesterday and procrastinated as much as I possibly could today, it eventually swept me away. In the midst of the task, I experienced what Eric Liddle describes in Chariots of Fire. He is telling his sister why running as an athlete appealed to him as much as preaching as a missionary. It goes something like this: God made me, and He made me fast. When I run, I feel His pleasure.