I NEED Chocolate!!!

"I need Chocolate!" I sighed as I fell down on the hotel bed after a day filled with shy smiles, eager hugs, and generous gifts from the children at the Compassion church partner. Our tour group of nearly forty Americans had conducted a Vacation Bible School type event at a church project with over one hundred sponsored children. We had ended the day, by serving them lunch before they left to go to school. In Bolivia, children attend school for only four hours a day either in the morning or afternoon. My husband's response to my declaration of need caught me off guard. "Need? After what we've been seeing, I don't think that you can say that you need chocolate." His words were kind, and I was in a place to listen. In reality, I do not need chocolate, nor many of the things that I have learned to depend on. After seeing families in their homes, and thinking of my home, or watching women walking along the road carrying heavy loads and thinking of my car, there are many things that I do not need. In some cases, those things like cars or washing machines are not bad, and I would be foolish to opt to walk or wash my clothes by hand instead. We are blessed by the wealth of our nation and benefit from it every day. In other ways, I have let the extreme plenty of our country invade my expectations. I have come to think that I need and deserve the things that are really just God's bountiful blessings in my life. It is so easy to take my great blessings for granted and to see them as my right. It is easy to begin to base my happiness and fulfillment in things rather than in my relationship with the Almighty God. I do not need chocolate, but I did enjoy the dark chocolate that my brother bought for me in Sucre, Bolivia where they are known for their chocolate making. After all, the native peoples of South America were the first to enjoy chocolate. I'm really glad that they shared!

Adventures in Bolivia part 1

I've wanted to share some about our trip to Bolivia since we've returned, but it seems that the time to process and think it all out has been scant. I do have some impressions that I wanted to sketch out that might take greater shape in the future. This is my attempt to begin to think them out. Being with my brother and his family was the highlight of my trip. It was a blessing to see their faithful work and realize how amazingly God has fit their family to the place and work that He has called them. I remember things about growing up with my brother, and I know that even then, God was crafting a faithful worker for His harvest field. It encourages me that God has also fit me to my work and is even now fitting my children for the work that He will one day call them to. What an amazingly wise God we serve. Seeing my brother's ministry also whispered another message to my heart. God isn't really impressed by the things that impress us. Americans tend to be motivated by how large or far-reaching something is. But I think that God cares more for the faithful obedience of His saints than He cares about numbers. As American Christians, we've fallen for the lie that God needs us to do BIG things for Him, that if a ministry is going to have impact, it must reach the masses. What if we were all faithful to reach our families and neighbors, our co-workers and friends? It seems to me that we need to reject the secular thinking that "Big is Better," and just faithfully serve the ones that God has put in our way today. This idea might seem like an excuse, and I know that God sometimes picks one to reach more, but I think that we have sacrificed faithful service to God to our own ambition in the name of "doing more." People everywhere are people and are proud of their country and who they are. The sick Quechua lady that rode down the mountain with me spoke no English or Spanish. I speak no Quechua, but she attempted very sweetly to teach me the names of the trees and cacti that we were bouncing past. I am not a good auditory learner, so as far as I can tell, in Bolivia the trees with long thorns are called "Gotcha, Gotcha" trees, and another type is called the "Taco" tree. When we were with the Compassion tour, I was saddened to see many young ladies with our group who were in their late twenties. Many of them shared that they would like to be married, but aren't being pursued by Godly young men. I am praying for God to raise up men to lead and serve the next generation. I am praying for a Godly husband for my daughter! In the weeks since we got back I think I have learned one of my biggest lessons from our time away. I had a very difficult time coming back to teaching home school. I felt discouraged the minute I stepped back into that role. The task seems too big. I am overwhelmed by the amount of work involved in teaching my four children at home. That along with all the other tasks that require my time. There is more to do that I can humanly accomplish. Most days, I just hope to stay one hop ahead of the alligator chomping at my back as I skip across the swamp of life. It is easy for me to despair, to feel as if I will never have a clean house again, or find time to run, or read, or be creative. It is tempting, to be bitter at the place that God has chosen to put me when other women seem to have such freedom to keep their houses clean or pursue their own interests without having to rob time from their children and husbands. Sometimes, I've tried to deal with these emotions, by trying to care less about the state of our home, or by trying to be more organized. Those things are worthy pursuits, but they fall short of the real need. I need to deal with the part of my heart that is ungrateful and questions the goodness and greatness of God. If He is God, and He is Good, then He can be trusted with my moments. He can be trusted to sustain me when the work is unfinished. He is worthy of my praise and thanks. Going to Bolivia, and being with people who have different lives reminded me that we have chosen to home school. This is not some curse thrust on me from an unkind source. This lifestyle is my choice. I choose to teach my children at home for many reasons not the least of which is what God is using it to teach me. When I remember that, I find that I can be more grateful for the goodness of God in allowing me this ministry. Bolivia was what I expected and not. I'll have to try to think about how to talk about the country and its people another time.

Moonfall

I chased my shadow up the hill yesterday morning under the nearly full moon, a few brave stars, and the lightening eastern sky. The rising sun changed the view from one beautiful scene to another. Days like that are why I've always wished to paint. My heart aches to capture the beauty that God pours into moments.

The Son

Recently, we read about the Aztec practice of sacrificing humans to their sun god. They believed that each night the darkness conquered the sun and that he had to be strengthened by the shedding of human blood so that he could rise each morning. Archaeologists estimate that the Aztecs sacrificed one person every half hour for years. This morning during my run, the clouds in the east were red. Seeing them reminded me of the Aztec beliefs. It also gladdened my heart that my Son has conquered darkness and death. He is the eternal Light of the world. One day the sun that our planet revolves around will not rise, but darkness will not reign. He will.

On the Trails Again

I had the chance to run the Xterra half again this year in Cheyenne Mountain State Park. It was cold and misty, but the trails were in better shape than last year, and it didn't seem that cold once we started running up. Tried to take it somewhat easy on the climb up the first five miles averaging just under 11 minute miles. At the next mile marker eight miles in, I'd dropped the average to 10 minute miles. The next two miles, did me in at 15 minute miles. I was struggling and had to really use my arms as my legs tightened up. I tried walking just a bit, but knew that if I stopped, I'd not be able to run again, so kept up a slow shuffle using my arms to power up the hills. It was during this section that I almost missed a turn. Hearing a runner behind me, I hollered back to her so that she wouldn't make the same mistake. When I saw who it was, I wanted to keep her behind me, but she eventually caught me. In our conversation, she made several excuses as to why she was going so slowly, then moved ahead of me and out of sight on the winding trail. I knew from passing her on the earlier downhill section that she didn't like the downhill. I rather like the thrill of bombing downhill even in the misty mud. When I got to the downhill portion of the race just before the finish, I could see three runners ahead of me who had all passed me during my uphill struggles a few miles back. A part of me wanted just to cruise in. I knew if I passed them, I'd have to keep running till the finish. I wasn't sure that I wanted to work that hard! But as the finish approached, I knew that I could catch them all, so I sprinted in and just barely caught all three of them. The race was a hard fought effort. There were many times that I struggled to keep pushing myself, but in that it was a victory. I did make up time even on the sections that I felt like I might be losing it. My time was seventeen minutes better than last year's. I'd like to be in good enough shape to run a race at Cheyenne that I truly enjoy. Maybe that means that I need to get running?

Lessons from the Barn

"I've got to clean out the stables since most of the horses are mine." That is what my daughter said as she swept under our dinner table. She was processing what her aunt had said to her a few days before when we had a chance to see her horses. That and she was making a chore fun in her usual way of pretending to be someone else. (I wonder who she got that trait from?) She was also speaking truth. If there aren't any horses in the barn, it stays clean, but it doesn't take on that warm, welcoming odor that is horse. There is no welcoming whinny when you open the door. Her words struck me in another context as I fixed dinner. If I wave goodbye to my little ones in the morning and welcome them from the bus at three in the afternoon, then my house has a chance of being swept and tidy. My garden might not be as full of weeds as it is of productive plants, but I would miss teaching my five-year-old to read, helping my seven-year-old write his first book, and getting binary lessons from my ten-year-old. I would miss so much if we didn't chose to home school. So today, I will attempt to smile as I make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, because my "barn" is warm and welcoming. It is filled to overflowing with joy and noise and life.

Sum of Me

During a long run the other day, I had a freeing thought. "I am not the sum of my to-do list." It is amazing how my mood rises and falls with the length of my to-do list. On days, when I can rattle off a long list of tasks accomplished, I feel content and capable. On those days when one challenge after another keeps me from getting into a groove, I feel all knotted up inside. But that is wrong. God does not judge my worth or even my identity by the things that I do or don't get done. I am still a mother, a wife, a runner, a friend, a Christian, a reader, a Montana girl, a Steeler's fan. I still love rain storms, snow, skiing, flowers, growing things, animals, and my family. I have an English degree. I've lost five children. I've been redeemed. I have an eternal home in heaven. No matter the length of my list, I am still all of those things. I don't have to define myself or my success by what I didn't get done today.

Falcon Trail

During my run on the Falcon trail last week, I realized why trails are so magical. Trails follow the lay of the land. A trail might have a beginning and an ending with a goal in mind, but how one gets to the end of the trail is all determined by the land between here and there. Trails go up when the terrain does or down for that matter. Basically, trails are unpredictable, turning left when you know that you are headed right. Roads, on the other hand, are level, straight, easy, and uninteresting. I know that I enjoy life when it is predictable, and manageable. I like living in a culture where change is managed from salaries being adjusted for inflation to the government insuring money deposited in banks. But there is a question that begs to be asked, "What blessings are we missing, by creating such artificial protections around our lives? What lessons does God have for us when we stop limiting our risk?" Maybe the risks aren't financial. Is there someone that I need to love, to forgive, to encourage? Is there a way to live that puts others before myself, and that gains kingdom reward instead of instant gratification? Part of the answer might be in I Cor. 7:22-23 where the contrast is made between being a slave of Christ not the slave of men. If I am Christ's then I can serve others with no thought of my rights or of how they might take advantage of my service. I am not dependent on their right treatment. I belong to Christ. In many ways, I am still a road runner, but I want letting go of my rights to myself, my control of life to be as easy as it is to run bombing down a trail. I want to work at translating that same spirit of abandon to the rest of my life. Anyone for a run?

Parenthood

I knew when we were expecting our first child that my world was about to change. I just had no idea how very different it was going to become. It is so easy to focus on the negative parts of being a parent. Our selfish hearts often begrudge the sleepless nights, the lack of quiet, the difficulty of finishing a sentence. Or maybe, we wish that we could pursue unrestricted travel, leisure, or careers. I have even found myself feeling like holidays are only fun for children, but when you are a parent they are all work! Yesterday, we had a chance to have a fun day at a water park. Another opportunity to think of my children as a hindrance to my ability to get the most out of the experience, to enjoy all the rides that I wanted to go on. By the grace of God it was a very different day. I had a wonderful time, with each of my children, doing life with them. I tried very hard, to see each experience through their eyes. I loved convincing my one-year-old of the joys of playing in the water. It was a delight to see him walking along the "beach" with his brother and wanting to be there! He had a wonderful time. Being the one that your little girl holds on to when the ride is too scary is a priceless treasure. Seeing the thrill on the faces of my big boys when they did something that they thought would be too scary and being there to urge them on was a joy. I am so very thankful for the stretching and growing that being a mommy has brought in my life, but I am also grateful for the treasures of watching them grow and being a part of their journeys of discovery!

Not Even a Queen

We celebrated Mother's Day early, so I wasn't expecting much today, but in church this afternoon, our pastor asked if anyone wanted to share something about their mothers. My three oldest all had something to say. I am thankful for a church that values children and gives them a voice (not just on Mother's Day.) I also thought about the verse that says, "Her children will rise up and call her blessed." What a blessing their words were to my heart! I also greatly appreciated the delightfully fragrant bouquet that they picked for me. My kitchen is filled with the scent of the lovely blossoms right now. I thank God for the opportunity that I have to be the wife of a good man and the mother of his precious children. I am blessed beyond words to be in the place. I wouldn't even trade places with a queen.

A Matter of Words

What I say matters. What I laugh at matters. There is a worldview behind every clever saying and funny joke. The problem seems to be that most people desperately want to think that there is no consequence to the words that they use. If I find it funny or it makes others laugh, why pause long enough to question it's real message. There is an abundance of words and a lack of thoughtful crafting of those words. I argue that what I say and laugh at does matter, that language is a powerful tool that should be handled with wisdom and grace as well as wit.

My Date (Cheyenne Mountain 50K Race Report)

Two days ago, I ran the Cheyenne Mountain 50K. The race was held on the amazing trails of Cheyenne Mountain State Park. It was a 50 kilometer race which is roughly 31 miles for those who struggle to transpose metric to English measures. My husband who had finished the same race last year and I left our house early Saturday morning while my mom and our four kids slept. My mom came from Montana to spend some time with us and to allow my husband and I to run the race together. (Thanks Mom and Dad (for getting by without her for awhile.)) During the drive over, I finally let myself think about what we were really going to attempt in a few short minutes. Looking back, I think that my "refuse to think about the enormity of what you are undertaking so that you don't freak out" mentality hurt my mental race prep and my race performance. After arriving at the park, we began the usual pre-race rituals of checking in, finalizing clothing and gear, and making last minute trips to the restroom. As usual, when the race started, I went out way to fast. After working hard on the first half mile or so, I tried to reign it in and use my breathing and effort as a gauge. The first miles were spent watching my footing, watching the other runners, and remembering the trails from the muddy half marathon that I'd run in October. Having the 25K speedsters moving around me gave me something else to think about and the miles ticked off. Somehow, I missed the sign that warned of two way traffic, so I was a bit surprised when coming down the mountain, I had to avoid runners moving up the trail. I had hoped to see my husband on one of these sections, but failed to see him during that first section. Coming out of the two way traffic, I felt some soreness creeping in, but had enjoyed having other runners around. At this point, my coughing hadn't really been an issue, but my nose had run continually. My legs never felt very strong, but I figured that it was caused by a combination of not having run for three weeks and the terrain. Later in the race, I wondered just how much having had bronchitis the week before was affecting my running. I'd run the first 7-8 miles in 1:23. As I finished the first loop of the four, the distraction of the bustle at the finish line helped me as I headed out on the second lap. The wind was a bit gusty, and I was already making plans to do some hiking up the steeper sections of North and South Talon. Remembering my hill runs at home kept me running up the lower parts of the trail, but as we moved into the trees, I took more and more hiking breaks. I kept eating and drinking especially when I felt my stomach get queasy. During this lap, there were still many runners around me. The presence of other sufferers is somehow very encouraging. Getting to the top of North Talon is a very beautiful and rewarding part of the race, and I took a few moments to look at the magnificent beauty of God's handiwork before descending the other side. Once again, I failed to see my husband on the section with two way traffic. During that descent, the 25K runners were working hard to get to the finish, and I was wondering if the race officials would downgrade my entry to a 25K. The fact that that distance doesn't qualify as an ultra kept the wondering to a fanciful thought in my less than functioning brain. It was at some point during the ascent of Talon, that I finally realized that the signs with the distances on them were "mile markers" rather than directional signs telling which runners should be on that section of the course. I finished the first 15.5 miles in just under 3 and a half hours. I got some food and took salt at the aid station then began the hike for the next two laps. The second lap around the Cougar Shadow side of the loop seemed to take a very long time. I guess that I ran faster the first time than I'd realized. By this point, I was mostly alone with my thoughts on the trails. Seeing a fallen tree, I wondered, "If a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, does it make a sound? What if a runner walks in the woods and no one sees, does it matter?" The aid station workers were great and asked what I needed. I wanted to tell them that I needed to talk to my husband, but I didn't. I got some food and water and continued my lonely trek through the beautiful forest. I enjoyed the butterflies fluttering around so much that I thought once about sitting on a rock and just watching them. I think that I would have fallen asleep if I'd sat down, so I kept moving. It is amazing the crazy things that you think while alone in the woods after running for four and a half hours. On the way down the two way traffic, I saw the one person that I'd been looking for all day: my husband. He looked discouraged, and I was worried that he couldn't make the cut off at the last loop. I started praying for him as I ran. I'd been thinking of my kids and praying for them all day, but started to much more. I can't even remember for sure what time I made it down from the third loop. I knew that I had time to finish the last lap, but I also knew that I didn't have the legs or the will to make it a fast lap. My plan of going faster on the last laps was impossible. I just wanted to keep moving long enough to cover the miles. Most of the last lap, I was all alone. I was excited that I was still able to run some of the uphill sections even at that point in the race. I ran when I could and walked when I had to. I'd had some problems throughout the day with feeling light headed, but when that happened, I'd drink and take a walk break. I think that it may have been a result of not being able to breath through my nose, or maybe my lungs were not functioning at capacity yet. I'd pulled a muscle in my hip when I was coughing so much, and during the last lap, my groin/hip became very painful and my right calf cramped up. I took more salt and found that for a time, running up hill aggravated my hip, so I had to walk more. Thankfully, the hip pain, though never going away, did lessen. When my left calf began cramping, I took more salt and frantically drank all that I had in my bottle. I'd not planned to stop at the last aid station as it was only two miles from the finish, but I was out of water and starting to dehydrate. I took some fluids, but passed down the offer of a sticky bun! Then I was off to try to get to that illusive finish line. After passing the last search and rescue team, I had some fuzzy vision for a moment, but kept running. I was too close to the finish not to keep moving. I had to take a gel also, as I didn't have the energy even to run on the relatively flat section of the course. The gel helped put desire in my legs. I think that seeing the finish helped some too. I ran in with the last aid station workers saying something about my smile and looked for my husband. I felt sure that he had been cut and would be at the finish to greet me. He wasn't, so I changed and sat to wait the last fifty minutes until the race closed. At five minutes before the cut off, the four wheeler headed out onto the course, I thought, to pick up the last runners. Just after it moved up the trail, there was one last runner coming around the corner. It was my husband. He finished in 8:55 and defended his title of DFL. I think that the best part of my race, was seeing him finish because I know that he worked really hard to get to the finish line. I was proud of his race. After we sat at the deserted finish line so that we could gather the strength to walk to the car, we headed home. On the way we stopped for ice cream. We were quite a sight. My husband videoed me trying to get out of the car. The video has earned many laughs already. By the way, we didn't smell too good either, but we were happy. We enjoyed sharing our stories and our understanding of the event. It was a good date!

Cheyenne Mountain 50 K

My husband is extremely talented. He is smart, funny, wise, and kind. He also happens to be a gifted teacher and coach. Mostly, because he is very good at asking questions and getting to know a person's desires and what motivates him. Then he pushes and prods until the "student" believes that he can do whatever it is that he wants to do, and he goes out and makes an attempt. I have seen this happen over and over again, from my husband's successful coaching of multiple high school teams to his friends who he is always putting up to crazy things that they secretly want to do but are afraid to try.

I have also personally experienced this. It is amazing how my inhibitions or excuses melt away before the logic of my husband's motivation. Case in point: I am signed up to run the Cheyenne Mountain 50K in less than two weeks. I did not sign myself up. I was signed up, by you guessed it, my husband. He did not do it against my wishes, but I wasn't sold on the idea when he sent in the registration. What is a girl to do when the money has been spent(and she really wants to try, but is afraid to admit it?) There really wasn't anything to do but get busy running.

I can't say that I am ready. Thinking about it makes my mouth go dry and my heart rate sky rocket. I'm scared, but excited. The lure of the race is attempting and doing something difficult that I haven't done before. It will be tough. The distance coupled with the trails and the terrain will make for a challenging event, but the trails and terrain will also make it interesting. Here is a chance to try out my mental toughness. A chance to try my hand at something that I love.

I have a feeling that there will be more that one time during the race that I will question my letting my husband get me into this, but at the end, I know that I will be grateful that he knows me so well, and that he loves me enough to put me up to it. Now, if only, I could give him a taste of his own medicine?

Thoughts from the long run

In his message last Sunday, our pastor urged us to look at the Christ on the cross that was pictured in the book of John. He wasn't urging us to contemplate the gore or the suffering of Chris,t although he had talked some about those things the previous week. Rather, we looked at the prophecies that John pointed out were fulfilled in the crucifixion of Christ. Maybe it is the English major in me, but I can't look at the ways that God has orchestrated all of history down to the smallest detail to work His great plan without weeping and laughing simultaneously.

But so what? It makes for good listening on a Sunday morning, but what does the fact that the God of the universe knew hundreds of years before it happened that He would be pierced by His chosen people? What does it matter that God made David a type of His Son? It matters to me, today. Because that same God is still writing the story of the world. We may know the ending of the story, but it is still playing out. My life is part of the whole, the bigger picture. The same God that caused the details of David's life to follow a plan that would point to Christ, is writing the content of my days. He can use my life to point to Him just like He has used countless others. He knows when the details of my life are more than I can carry on my own. He knows when to test me and when to give sweet rest. Like the life of Abraham, He is working in me to grow my faith. He loves me and like the master craftsman that He is, He is lovingly working for me. Nothing in my day today, tomorrow, or yesterday is outside His knowledge and control.

Considering Christ on the cross assures me that He can be trusted with all that I have and am. Nothing, not even the leaving of friends, the uncertainty of our times, or daily trials are more than He can handle. He is God: The Eternal Creator of the Universe, and He loves me and is in control of all that concerns me.

Keeping Track

Maybe,the reason that our children rebel when they are 16 is because they are just responding to us the way that we have taught them to by the way that we have responded to them all of their lives.

I find myself feeling as if my children should know when they are being inconsiderate or selfish or stubborn, and I react to their sinful actions with anger and frustration. Then, I expect them to show grace to me when I sin against them. Such a double standard and unrealistic expectations would make me angry! How can I expect them to respond in a more mature and Christ-like way than I am willing to!

God please help me to grow in Your grace so as to be able to shower it on my children. Love covers a multitude of sin.

What Jesus Didn't Say

"God just said, 'Let there be light,' and Boom! there it was!" exclaimed, our four-year-old daughter with her eyes nearly bugging out of her head. The concept of the power of the words of God had been the subject of her Sunday School lessons for the last few weeks. It was evident that the ideas presented were fascinating to her. (She talks when she is trying to understand and process ideas. She is like someone else that I know.)

Her comments were just another piece in the many that have been swirling in my head for the last while. It seems that God often uses bits and pieces from several sources to drive a concept home to my heart. Lately, it has been the idea of the power of words. One of the names of Christ is The Word. God created using His words. The prophets were often described as receiving "the word of the LORD."

There are myriad of references to what and how we speak in Scripture. "A soft answer turns away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger," is just one well-known example. I've been reading James, and it includes an extensive discussion of the tongue and how we use it.

During this time of year, we've been preparing for our Easter celebrations and talking about what Easter is. I've noticed again that Jesus showed amazing self-control when questioned by Pilate. He didn't say more than was necessary. He didn't let Pilate off the hook, but He also didn't argue with one who really wouldn't be able to understand. As the season progresses, what a great time to think about the words that Jesus said. I imagine that there are a few things to learn even from what He didn't say.

Survival

We made it through another of the husband's trips. This was a long one. Coupled with my not sleeping and other issues, I am happy to have just survived. I was encouraged to have gotten in over 25 miles and also to have taken the plunge and tried out a step class at the gym (while the kids were in their swimming lesson.) My very first exercise class ever. I must say that for this rhythmically challenged girl it went quite well. The worst part was that my calves were VERY sore the next day which was the day that I needed to run my 15 mile run. I did get it in, but it was slower than I'd hoped. At that point, I was just glad to record the miles.

Thinking lots about training programs and the need to add in some serious strength training. My best year of running ever was my senior year of high school. I was buff (due to a head track coach who required all of us to lift three days a week, not just the throwers and jumpers) and my race results proved the value of having muscle strength. Trying to figure out how to work it all into a workable plan especially with the need that my older body is having for more intense stretching. It all takes lots of time.

Speaking of time. . . It is time to move on with the day.

Black and White

When I left the house, there was just enough light to see the contrasts of the gray road and the black trees. Color was missing from the predawn world. The landscape reminded me of the black and white photos that I had seen on display at the library the day before. Slowly, as we ran up the hill, color returned to the houses, the sky, the land. I thought of all the times that I have failed to see that there is more than one way to see. I often forget that the world looks different to a four-year-old than it does to one who is 37. It often looks different to my husband than to me. Because of my failure to understand the differences in perspective, I often miss opportunities to learn from others. I fail to give grace where it is needed. I fail to love with a love that sees in more than black and white.

When I first came up out of the basin, the sky was filled with billowing, gray storm clouds to the east, but the sky to the west was still a pale, winter's blue with just a smudge of cloud above the Peak. By the time that I turned for home, the gray clouds had almost completely taken over the sky. Only a bit of blue still showed above the horizon. How quickly the view can change! I often forget that the struggles and joys of today will soon be lost to the advance of time. Soon, I will wish for the days of diapers and division with decimals. But these days will be replaced with other equally demanding and precious. Today, I must love with passion and grace the people that God has given to me to love so that when the view changes, they remember a mother's love that pointed them to a God of even greater love.

The trick is to not let the lessons that the Spirit whispers to the sound of footfalls on gravel be drowned out by the daily din.

On the road again. . .

So, the diagnosis of the first doctor was overruled by the second. Thanks to the second opinion, I am up and running again, at least in theory. Now, the challenge seems to be finding the time to fit in the exercises from the physical therapist and also the miles needed to build up to a 50K in just fifteen weeks. Yikes! This all comes at a time, when progress in homeschooling is attempting to grind to a halt despite my most valiant efforts, the spring cleaning/decorating bug is biting hard, and life just seems to be spinning faster than my head. Is that even possible?

And so, I just have to step back and ask that God will guide my days and my thoughts. One of those thoughts that has been brought to my mind over and over again is that in the midst of my days, I desire to make my God beautiful in the sight of my children and husband. How? I think that for me, that is a matter of joy. Joy that isn't limited by my control of the details of the days, but that is rooted in my relationship with the One who has written my days and knows their number. So, perhaps the most important road that I walk today will be the one that is walked in the quiet of my closet. That road takes courage and discipline as great as any other.