I call myself a runner. I’ve been hooked since high school, when my favorite thrill was sprinting laps on a rubber track. And though I’m not nearly as disciplined now as I used to be, I still love it and it makes me feel alive and it seems to be a little wedge of who I am.
Lately, however, I’ve discovered that a different type of running is also engrained in my being. This type- not so good. Turns out I’m a runner in every sense of the word. When Aaron and I have an argument, my first instinct is to get away. Flee. Avoid the difficult situation and everything will be fine. I’d never noticed this pattern so blatantly until marriage (classic sentence, am I right?). Luckily, Aaron’s been gracious and helpful enough to reveal it to me and remind me to stay, be, engage, resolve. And as I’ve learned of the habit in our own marriage, I’ve seen how it affects other avenues of my life also. Most prominently, my relationship with the Lord.
Church yesterday was beautiful and challenging and heart-wrenching, and it was there and then that my King showed me the depth of distance that running causes. As I sat and listened to the story of Peter’s tripled sin, all too familiar, I thought of all the things I needed to change in my heart. All the cowardice I needed to remove. All the guilt I needed to justify. All the times I’ve pulled a Peter. And then the sermon wasn’t over. Then He reminded us how Peter wasn’t killed that night, but He was. And how His expression and posture toward him was never one of condemnation, but of compassion and love. And how later He’d give this disciple another trio to express love and trust, and how this man would literally jump out of a boat to take the opportunity. And how He carries the same posture toward me. And it hit me. I’m a runner. I willingly choose to sit in the self-help, guilt boat. “Come,” He says. “Jump, swim to Me. Anything but this running.” And I can’t fathom it. I call Him crazy because there’s no other word to express this inhuman love smack. And for this one time, I’m right, He is crazy. He’s mind-blowing and heart-melting and crazy enough about me to run after me. And it wouldn’t be like Him to do anything else. Who is this One whom I get to be loved by? He’s a Runner too, luckily much faster than I.
And for now, a fun little simple guy to make on this gloriously cool and cloudy day.
Find yourself some heavy cream, preferably as local and as unpasteurized as you can get your hands on. Pull out your food processor (or mixer with a whisk attachment), pour the heavy cream in, and whir until you see separation. The fat solids will separate from the liquid, giving you butter and buttermilk. The whole process will only take about five minutes. Near the end, add any seasonings or flavorings you like- salt or rosemary or cinnamon and sugar, maybe. Remove the solids and place in a fine-mesh strainer. Run cool water over it to rinse off any remaining buttermilk, a process that will make your butter last just a bit longer in your fridge. Pat dry before jarring or rolling into a log or doing whatever you plan to do with it. And bonus, you get buttermilk to bake with! Two cups of heavy cream will yield generally equal parts of butter and buttermilk, about six to eight ounces of each.
happy monday, fellow runners and butter-lovers.