Running the Trail

Why does life contain heartache and sorrows?
Why does God permit suffering and pain?
What is there from uncertain tomorrows
that mankind stands to gain?

I’ll not quote you a lesson from scripture;
a theologian, indeed, I am not.
Sometimes lessons from life help us picture
what hard doctrine cannot.

Years ago, I discovered that running
on a track, thrice each week, in the morn,
caused a change in my life. It was stunning,
much like being reborn.

Though it took me a while to get used to,
to reach optimum distance and time,
once I’d realized my goal—I can tell you—
I was feeling just fine.

The track was inside a large building,
a grand complex of concrete and steel.
Its surface was even and yielding:
the conditions ideal,

the temperature: comfort, perfection.
It was safe, not a chance I would fall.
Those who ran faced the self-same direction:
no distractions at all.

And yet, once I had reached my objective,
when my quota for fitness was full,
what before had been novel and festive
now became rather dull.

As time passed, given any good reason,
I would skip a day’s workout or two.
And if not for a change in the season,
my conditioning was through.

With the spring and a break in the weather,
on the side of the road, oft I’d see
people running, alone or together;
it just might work for me.

But the road held one obvious danger.
The solution, good luck would avail:
in the canyon I spotted a stranger
running safe on a trail.

Though its course ran the self-same direction
as the road, it was nearer the stream.
Trees concealed it from sight and attention;
it could hardly be seen.

I discovered its origin and distance
and determined to give it a try.
It refurbished my fitness persistence.
I’ll explain to you why.

From the trail, I can see God’s creations,
from the cliffs to the rocks in the creek.
Sights and smells, sounds, and other sensations
are diverse and unique.

Each new day brings a different adventure,
something new for my soul to be taught;
and there’s no one around who can censor
any feeling or thought.

And few details escape my reflection;
God has blessed us with so much to see.
Every object from nature’s collection
holds a lesson for me:

the new colors that autumn delivers,
the first butterfly hatch in the spring,
the soft snowfalls and ice on the river
that the wintertime brings.

Running trails brings joy if one chooses,
but the privilege exacts its own price.
There are blisters, sore muscles, and bruises,
and you fall once or twice.

The trail’s surface is bumpy and jagged,
often treacherous in rain or in snow,
and its course runs uneven and ragged;
often progress is slow.

But I’ve never once missed the convenience
I’ve forsaken by leaving the track,
and in spite of its promise of lenience,
I could never go back.

For by doing what’s hard, I grow stronger;
and in light of the chance I might fail,
I run slower, but farther and longer,
when I run on the trail.

And I sense a rapport, a strange kinship,
with the runners I meet on my way;
and a curious unspoken friendship
tempers each running day.

In the struggle in heaven, two brothers
waged a war to determine life’s course.
Our two-thirds chose a trail, while the others
found a track to endorse.

Why does life contain heartache and sorrows?
Why does God permit suffering and pain?
What is there from uncertain tomorrows
that we all stand to gain?

It’s from doing what’s hard that we’re stronger;
and in light of the chance we might fail,
we run slower, but much farther and much, much longer
when we run on the trail.
--Kevin Krogh

*Brother Krogh was in the stake high council in one of my student wards. He is an incredible guy and has written some amazing stuff.
More often than not, others have put into words my own thoughts and feelings. Since they say it a hundred times better than I ever could, I will be sharing a few things from various authors. Even though others may have penned it, I hope you'll still get to know 'Lyndsey' by reading them.