Nimble Thimble Fingers

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As a runner, I have experienced bad behavior at the hands of passing motorists, rare though it may be. I’ve heard similar stories from others on foot, on bicycles and motorcycles, wheelchairs and walkers.

I’ve had a bottle thrown at me, exploding glass on the curb next to my bare legs. I once had to jump on a car hood to prevent its bumper from smashing my legs as its owner rolled around a corner through a red light without stopping or looking. I’ve had crushed ice thrown at me from a passing school bus, which doesn’t sound like much until you experience the velocity of sharp speeding shards of ice on your bare skin.

The occasional shout for directions can cause a pratfalling distraction but is not scary like the taunts from passing drivers. Several times I’ve had a carload of adolescent boys threaten me verbally in passing or menacingly drive towards me in their car, once doubling back after shouting “Faggots get off the road!” (I was actually on the sidewalk, and wearing nothing to designate my sexual orientation.)

What brings all this to mind is that twice in recent weeks, I’ve had motorists scare the bejeebies out of me by unnecessarily blaring their horns rather than giving a precautionary tap. It’s not like I wear earphones. And in each case there was no reason for even a cautionary tap. Better yet, if they were so concerned, they might have slowed down to the posted speed limit.

Runners are not equipped with horns but most of us have a middle finger.

That was my only defense, my only available “hammer of justice,” but in the first case, the driver was long gone and in the second case, I painfully twisted my shoulder to give the desired indication of displeasure in the driver’s direction.

I immediately thought of the disclaimer, “This is going to hurt me more than it does you.” I experienced this in a very literal way, my shoulder sore for the rest of the day.

“Vengeance is mine,” says the Lord. There’s a practical reason for such advice.

During a talent show on a retreat I heard a masterful, humorous re-telling of an unfortunate children’s sermon. An older woman had decided to teach the children about thimble fingers, which for her was a middle finger. She urged the children to stick their middle fingers into the air, and though they hesitated, one boy absolutely refusing, she then said, “This is the way you can remind people to look up to God.”

I doubt very much that the driver saw my finger as a sign to look up to God!

But I did, remembering this story while finishing my run.

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Other posts on running:

Dolphins and Sharks

Beware of the God

Praying for Enemies

Spiritual Arboretums

Pride Goeth Before a Fall and Getting Back Up

Lauds and Lost

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Praying for "Enemies"

Copyright © 2011 by Chris R. Glaser. All rights reserved.

A week ago I had an altercation with a runner in the park, who read me the proverbial riot act for having my dog off-leash. Nothing had happened, but a friend and neighbor of his had recently had a dog lunge at her when she was running, and she overcompensated, suffering serious injury. Later I reasoned his anger may have been displaced from that other, perhaps careless, dog owner. It couldn’t possibly be intended for me—innocent little me—could it?

But I was stunned, and it was hard to let go of his anger. Simply raising your voice at someone causes shame to kick in, according to studies. I felt like what my dog produces on her walks. All the more so, because I thought the runner’s obvious change of course to come over to me and my dog was a friendly gesture to say hello and perhaps pet her. Even my dog looked guilty!

All I could think to say was that I, too, was a runner, so I understood the concern. What I wished I had added is that I always keep my dog—on or off-leash—away from people, let alone runners, because you never know when people might be afraid of dogs. I had made an exception in this runner’s case, because, as I said, I thought his motives were friendly. My own big fear running past dogs is that I might trip on one or the owner’s leash. And my experience is that a leashed dog is more likely to lunge, because it is defending the one holding onto the leash.

In recent years, during morning prayers, I adopted a policy of praying first for those people with whom I was having difficulty. This was a particularly good practice during my three interim pastorates! My reason is three-fold. First, just to get it over with! Second, to change my attitudes toward the individual, like a Buddhist lovingkindness exercise. And third, for them—whatever bears were in their caves, however I might have set them off, inadvertently or intentionally.

So, the morning after the incident, I prayed first for this runner. Rarely do I have immediate gratification when praying, other than the satisfaction of prayer itself. But on the walk with my dog that followed, in the opposite direction from the park, we found yesterday’s runner doing yard work! 

“Aren’t you the fellow who came up to me yesterday?” I asked, somewhat rhetorically. I immediately sensed he felt he had come on a little strong the day before. And we talked in a reconciling way. We still disagreed, but he took off a work glove and extended his hand, introducing himself. He explained why he had expressed himself so passionately—again, his injured neighbor whose ankle was swollen. And I had the opportunity to explain how I normally steer my dog clear of people unless they want to come close.

The serendipitous nature of a second, friendly encounter after our first hostile one just seemed too much of a coincidence—especially directly after my prayer. It felt more like what Jung called “synchronicity,” what the Bible calls miracle, and what we might call grace. Inwardly I thanked God as my dog and I moved on.

Please consider registering now for a retreat I am co-leading November 10-13, "Gratitude in Three Movements: Forgiveness, Acceptance, and Thanksgiving." Find out more at www.kirkridge.org.