They who wait for the LORD...

 

Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint. Isaiah 40:30-31 (ESV)

Sometimes I feel very keenly the encroachment of the manmade world upon the Lord God's good creation. This becomes especially apparent when running. I love to run in my neighborhood and especially my city parks, which preserve a taste of what the land once was. But it is a whole different experience to run on a wilderness path, touched so much less by the hands of men and yet preserved in all its wonder by the hands of God. 

In the heavenly city, we will run and not be weary. God will create a new heavens and a new earth, a new dwelling place for man to be with God. Here's how I imagine a 10-mile run in heaven.

We begin in a field of tall green grass, a smooth and soft dirt path stretching through the meadow up into the hills and mountains. Many-colored wildflowers drift in a lazy breeze as a cool wind breathes over the warm, Son-lit day. 

We run effortlessly along the path, talking now and then, breathing in the fragrance of the flowers and fields. Then up, up, into rolling hills and trees of mighty oak and aspen and birch. Radiance filters through the leaves in a thousand little islands and points, rippling light and bright shadow across our faces. Soon, we come to a clear, cool stream, and splash across its smooth bed, bare feet suddenly cooled by the running water. 

We have climbed high now, and the trees turn to pine and spruce. The forest opens, and we run along the mountainside; snow-patched rock rises to the right hand as a valley of heaven with a city of shining gold lays far below at our left. We turn up a switchback and find the river again; here, it cascades from the heights of the mountain in a cold, clear waterfall, and we run behind the falling stream as the spray throws rainbows through the mountain air. Finally, we reach the pinnacle, and find that it is a ridge, leading us from mountain to mountain. We run along the stony rim, high above the world, white clouds drifting beneath and winged creatures soaring above.

And we fly down the path, with the wind at our backs and wings on our heels. There is no pain, no age, no burning of the lungs. Only strength, and vigor, and endless joy. 

We fly, ever faster, until the rocks blur beneath our feet. The clouds open, the new earth is spread far below, and the end of the ridge approaches. Another mountain peak, and this with sheer sides plummeting from the heights. We approach the drop with no trepidation, but ever faster, until, at its very lip, we leap into the empty air.

We fall, free in the radiant void, then push mightily up against the rushing wind, unfurling eagles' wings upon our backs.

Finally we soar among the mountains, drifting ever down, down toward the city, until our feet at last come to rest upon pure gold before a great tree that grows beside the clear river.