Esau Running

I press hard, chest heaving air in. out. in. out. It’s good to be alive and to feel air and blood and sunlight; good to know that this skin of mine still stretches and bends to my whim.  Even sweat is pleasant, a foretaste of the shower that will wipe the last two days grime off my bending skin. Then the day will move into its full swing, stepping out of the shower to smile in front of a mirror and make sure everything is where it was yesterday before dropping out the doorway and off to work.

Cars roar past. Tree branches roar past. Two young women jogging in the opposite direction float past. Focus. There are better things waiting. How long has it been? Four years? Much was given and much was taken away in those days. Blessed be the name of the Lord. I had blindly sold my sweat and air and birth-right for what was sitting before me. It was sweet in that moment, fingers wrapped into mine and curls that smelled like summer brushing my bare back. She felt like sunlight. Tasted like water sprayed from waves from sea from distant shores.

Like all good waves we receded back down the beach. I run past, giving a half smile to beautifully painful memories. Sand kicks up and falls down into my shoes. More grime to wash away. But oh how good it felt to have someone to hold with real arms and to love with a real heart! Was it love though? Young passion to burn, press, and then drift away may like to call itself love, but it knows little of the full and steady flow that love really brings. It wants the world with no strings attached, then gets frustrated when it gets tangled up and held back. I remember reading a story like that; Esau and his hunger wanting a full stomach enough to sell his right as first born. I’ve got an echo of Esau in me. He loves to sit and indulge in his pleasures, pretending no strings are tangled around his fingers.

I press harder, focus harder. Four years of sweat, ocean spray’s less romantic cousin. God created man to till the ground and work it; to multiply upon the earth and subdue it. That was easily done before sin made the ground grow stones and weeds with more diligence than useful things, but now the story is different. Now people drive machines half the size of my garage to make the earth grow their food.   They fly plains to drop bombs on weeds. Those men who work the ground know sweat in their work, but as for me my job is a desk and a chair and a computer. I multiply nothing and my muscles do next to nothing.

Does mental sweat count?  Someone might make a convincing argument that yes,  it definitely does, but my body won’t buy it. My body needs to stretch and bend and know it’s being disciplined for something better up ahead. So I run. And occasionally grab heavy things to lift. All for the sake of the future.

According to the street sign’s we’re almost done. Less cars here, more houses with large fences and beautiful lawns. No sand, but plenty of dirt that needs to be washed away. I pass her driveway and focus. No cars and no lights on, only my memory calling me foolish for choosing to run this way today. By now we’re supposed to know better. And half of me does; the other half is still Esau wanting to have his soup and his birthright too. To be free of grime while fulfilling all his desires. No. Sorry boy, it ain’t gonna happen.

The last three quarter mile is the hardest in this route, all uphill through back alleys and across one major highway. I press hard; the kingdom has been advancing from that day until now, and only hard-pressing men overtake it. My chest stretches and bends, heaving air in and out like waves on a beach and like earthly prosperity and love comes and goes. Thank God there’s something better ahead. My mind hammers at hope as I vault the highway divide, slipping between waves of traffic. One particularly conscientious driver honks from 40 yards back. I wave in acknowledgement of his kind deed.

Esau finally got it, but not until he lost most of what he prized. Same with Job. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord. Even Jacob, the brother who had it early on had to sweat in order to taste the promise. He knew what it was to subdue and plant. No half-garage machines or airplanes for him, only the longing for the taste of sea spray and the feel of sunlight. He worked for it and got it, but not till the second attempt. That’s what happens when your uncle is as conniving as you. Then God wrestled him and knocked his hip out of joint. Then he got promised the whole world and was given a new name.

Greater things are yet to come, oh Jacob, now Israel. Meet your brother Esau and see how he has changed.

I can see my house, and the lights are on. Odd. I don’t remember turning any on before heading out the door. Sweat drips across my lip and I taste salt water. Sea spray. I slow to a walk to cool down for the last couple blocks. There’s a car in the driveway that I recognize. I breathe and press hard. Esau knows what waits, what he wants. The other half says to move on. My eyes close and my heart sets itself not on earthly things. There is work to be done and kingdoms to catch. I need to shower before sunlight will hit my skin right or my hands will hold another’s well. We’ve got a new name coming.

I run past, glancing at my watch. Greater things are yet to come.

Esau runs.