Jesus who became an untouchable – the untouchable – for us. Then most gloriously, there is the final day touch, when we are told in Revelation 21 that God himself will wipe every tear from the eyes of his people.  He won’t send an angel down with a tissue to do the dirty work for Him. How could we expect He ever would? The One who was involved intimately with us via touch in creation, bookends this intimacy in the new creation.

I was doing a recovery run the other day, just cruising along the river the morning after a hard effort long run the day before.  Stunning Perth winter’s afternoon, not a breeze, not a cloud, nice and cool.

Recovery runs are not the time to check your Garmin for pace, in fact you’d be better off leaving the watch at home, because a GPS watch is a time and focus sucker.  You’re a risk for thoughts like “C’mon! Surely my heart rate’s not that high, it’s a recovery run!”, or “Recovery runs are supposed to be 5:05 – 5:31 per km, why am I doing 5:02s?”  But I am an OCD runner, so it’s often about the stats and the pace and the distance, even when I’m supposed to be chilling.

For the point of a recovery run is, well, recovery after all, and that means of body and mind, and on a day like that day, definitely of spirit, what with the wan sunshine and afternoon dappled shadows under the river-hanging trees.  And with recent rain the bloated water is stained with deep tannins and there’s a slight squelch on the side of the path every time I jump to dodge a puddle.

But there’s a red bitumen stretch along the river about two kilometres from my home where the kayakers and private school rowers train, and it’s straight and  narrow and about 600 metres long. I just seem to run that section that bit quicker, especially if a rowing eight is beside me and pulling hard for speed. It’s always good to out dash them over that distance and show them that two legs will down 16 arms every time.

But as I picked up the pace for the final half “K” I saw two figures in the distance, approaching, walking as slowly as I was running quickly.  A young woman and a smaller girl? No, not quite. As I closed in it was indeed a younger woman, but accompanied by a much older, and much, smaller, woman, who I could see, as the metres between us decreased, was physically impaired to the level where her limbs and face were contorted and twitching.  Cerebral palsy, I thought.

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