Adventures of a Recovering Basket Case

Meet Fluffy, Crazy Little Thing

2012-02-12T17:10:00.000-06:00

Allyson's dream of owning a hamster started a few months before Christmas, when she checked out a book on hamster care from the school library. She pored over that book, and for weeks she told us all about how the new hamster needs a week to adjust to its new surroundings, and it can have extra treats like bananas and oatmeal twice a week. No matter how many times we told her we weren't buying a hamster, her determination quietly grew.

It wasn't until after Christmas that she figured out how to make it happen. She'd received some money from our Canada relatives, along with a few gifts we could pack in our suitcases. "What will you buy?" I asked. "How about that Easy Bake Oven you've been wanting?"

"No-o, I don't think so." She furrowed her brows in concentration. "I don't know what I want yet."

About a week after we got home, it came to her. "I'm going to buy a hamster!"

I explained that Daddy would have to approve that decision.

"Oh, I've got lots of money," she said.

"Yes, but Daddy is the one who would have to take care of your hamster."

"I already talked to Daddy, and he said maybe."

"Well, don't get your hopes up," I warned.

I had to eat my words about two weeks later, when she and Daddy came home with a hamster cage complete with an exercise wheel, a tiny igloo hut, and a ramp up to the food bowl. Dancing with excitement, she hovered over Bill while he set it all up. "I bought it with my own money!" she exulted.

"Where's the hamster?" I asked.

Bill said we'd get it the next week, after everything was ready. It all looked pretty ready to me, but I didn't argue.

When Ethan got home that evening, Allyson showed him all the features of the tiny habitat. "Where's the hamster?" he asked.

"It's hiding," Bill said.

Allyson giggled, and I snickered.

"Is it really hiding? Can I see it?"

"You have to leave a hamster alone for a few days while it gets used to its new home," Bill said, his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

He turned to me. "Is there really a hamster in there?"

I shrugged and gave him the same answer I usually give to inquiries about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. "What do you think?"

Ethan looked pretty suspicious, but a little part of him wanted to believe.

Bill carried on the charade all week. "Shh, you'll scare the hamster.... Ethan, why don't you go clean the hamster cage?"

"Come on, Bill. There's no hamster in there... is there?"

The Big, Not So Big Day
I guess he'd figured it out by the next Sunday, when we all headed to PetSmart after church. Allyson looked at every rodent in the place before settling on a Russian dwarf hamster. The young man who helped us patiently waited for her to point out which of the identical thumb-sized females was the perfect one. When she finally chose one, he gingerly maneuvered it into a cardboard tube and then gently dropped it into a little box that seemed ridiculously large for the tiny hamster.

Can You See Why Allyson Named it Fluffy?

When we got home, Bill eased Fluffy back into the cardboard tube and lowered her into her new home. She made a quick tour of the facilities and retired to her igloo house, burrowing into the nesting material for a nice long nap.

All through the rest of the day, we kept an eye on the cage, which appeared just as empty as it had the day before.

"Remember," Allyson explained, "hamsters are noct-TURN-al. That means they like to sleep in the daytime." It seemed that Fluffy had not read the hamster book, though, because she slept in the evening, too.

"Do you think she's alive?" I whispered after we'd tucked our sorely disappointed daughter in for the night.

"Hopefully," Bill said.

Look at Her Go!
We were halfway through our Netflix movie when we noticed a very unusual noise, a sort of squeaky, rattly thumping that was somewhat rhythmic but also intermittent. At first we thought it was part of the video, but when Bill paused it to tell Allyson yet again to settle down, the strange sound continued.

Bill leaned over the banister and peered into the darkened living room. "It's the hamster!" he whispered. "Ethan, Allyson, come look at the hamster," he called quietly. "I think it's running on the wheel."

We all crept down the stairs and held our breath as we stared into the semi darkness. Sure enough, Fluffy was running madly.

"Wow, she's fast!" Ethan breathed.

"Look at her go!" Allyson exclaimed.

"Shhh, Allyson," the rest of us whispered.

Fluffy stopped running and stood stock still, her tiny nose twitching. She took two steps toward the safety of her house, but the lure of the wheel proved too strong. She did an about-face and climbed back on, running faster than before.

"It's such a strange sound," I said, wondering how I would describe it on my blog. "It sounds like something I've heard before, but what?"

"It sounds like coffee percolating," Bill said.

"Yes, that's exactly what it sounds like," I said, a little let-down that it was Bill who had found the perfect simile. (Coming up with similes and metaphors is not my strong point as a writer.)

We could still hear that coffee percolator when we climbed in bed a couple of hours later, and we've heard it every night since then, well into the wee hours of the morning.

"Crazy little thing," Bill muttered one evening as he turned up the volume on the TV.

Despite our occasional annoyance, we all love to gather around the cage and watch her. It's astonishing how fast she goes, legs all a blur. Sometimes she gets going too fast and goes upside down, landing in her paper nest with a muffled thud. Other times, she manages to go all the way around and just keep running.

I think the funniest thing is the way she periodically walks the few paces back to her house, goes inside, and immediately runs back out to the wheel. She seems to be thinking, "Oh, I'm tired.... Nope, not quite ready to sleep. Think I'll go back outside. Oh, look, is that a running wheel?"

Around 7:00 in the morning, when we all come down for breakfast, she usually has a bite or two from her tiny bowl, slides down the ramp, and retires to her house for the day.

In the evenings, Bill and Allyson lift up her house, making gentle clucking sounds to wake her. They gradually coax her into her pink exercise ball, where Allyson can pet her. She then runs all around the hardwood and tile floors, bumping into every obstacle in her path.

Fluffy's Claws Scratched Allyson Through the Cracks

Getting Tamer
Yesterday we tried something new: letting Fluffy run around in the bathtub on a towel. Allyson crawled in with her and tried to convince her to crawl onto her hands, but Fluffy was having none of that--until today, when she crawled all over Allyson's lap. When she ran over her bare feet, Allyson shrieked with terror and delight. (Her reaction was much milder than mine, years ago, when a mouse ran over my foot in the pre-dawn blackness. That was a different house, thank goodness.)

During her bathtub explorations, Fluffy climbed onto my hand a couple of times, but she's way too fast for me to pet her. I haven't had the nerve to crawl in the tub with her yet.

I never dreamed we'd own a hamster, let alone have so much fun with it. What's next? A rat, if Ethan has his way. He's saving up his money now. Oh boy!

A Quiver Full

2012-01-30T22:36:00.000-06:00

Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth. How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.... (Psalm 127:4-5)
On January10, my beloved grandmother, Verna Ellen Shank Bushong, passed away at the age of 94. She spent her last days in her own home surrounded by all her children. We were thankful that my mom was able to make it up to Indiana to share that time of closeness with the family. (Thank you, thank you to my cousin Darlene for not only giving Mom and Dad buddy passes, but also traveling up with them.)
Because Grandma required 24-hour care, it would have been easier to let her stay in the nursing home, but Aunt Cindi suggested that all her children could care for her at home. And that's what they did, for hours and hours, days and days. They did everything for her, even the unpleasant things. When Grandma apologized, my mom told her, "It is an honor to take care of you." I cried when I heard all of this. I pray I can learn from their example and serve so humbly if the need arises.
I flew up with all three of my sisters (Melody, Amy, Emily), Emily's baby Charlie, and Melody's son Stephen. We all stayed with my Aunt Sue and Uncle Jeff, which is always a treat. My favorite part of our stay was visiting in the hot tub late at night with my sisters and my aunt, and even praying together in the hot tub--a first for all of us, I think.

At the funeral on Saturday, several of the kids and grandkids spoke. We spoke of Grandma's love, strength, and enduring faith... and her cinnamon rolls (and peanut butter pie and milkshakes and chicken pot pie, and many other favorites). The thing about Grandma was that she knew everyone's favorite meal or dessert, and she always made it a point to serve it to us when we visited.

I didn't mention this when I spoke, but do you know what I miss most about Grandma right now? Her soft, warm hands. I loved to hold her hand.

Giant Family!
The best part of the eulogies was the poem that my cousin Jolinda read, in which she listed the name of every child, grandchild, great grandchild, and great-great grandchild, along with each of the inlaws. It was staggering to ponder how such a GIGANTIC family could come from just one young couple.

Children - Sue, Cindi, Judy; Mary, Charlie, Dolores (My Mom)

Grandchildren - 21 of 27

Great Grandchildren - 28 of 47

Two of the 14 Great -Greats

More Great-Greats

Lots and Lots of Us

I remember on one of my first visits up to see my inlaws in Vancouver, probably before they were inlaws, I tried to estimate how many grandchildren, great grandchildren, etc., were in the Bushong clan. I think I might have said 75. They thought I was exagerrating. But I underestimated! Counting children, the total number of their progeny was 94. Ninety-four! Can you imagine?

Her Favorite Hymns
I enjoyed singing Grandma's favorite hymns, not usually my style, but absolutely perfect for the occasion. The best was Face to Face; I wasn't the only one sniffling as we pictured Grandma up there in heaven, seeing Jesus face to face at last. What made the songs even better was the fact that my sister Melody was the piano player. She'd been practicing for days on Aunt Sue's very badly tuned antique piano, enduring a fair bit of ribbing over her dubious chords. But she sounded like a pro at the funeral. I know it would have meant so much to Grandma.

Thankfully I haven't had much experience with funeral sermons, but Grandma's was definitely the best I'd heard. I knew that the minister had visited her frequently over the last six months and that he came daily at the end. I also knew that his prayers had been a comfort to Grandma and her children. So it meant a lot to me to know that when he spoke warmly of her, it was from his own experience. He talked about her favorite verse and related that passage of scripture to her life.

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength. (Phlippians 4:12-13)

To illustrate those times of plenty and times of want, he shared stories from her autobiography, Our Journey Through Life. My favorite was the story of how she once told Grandpa off in their grocery store. At the time, she was taking care of two small children and was still nursing her youngest, Aunt Cindi. Grandpa wanted her to help out at the counter, but she was too busy.

"Your work can wait," Grandpa said.

Grandma stormed into the store and tore into him. "When you married me, you didn't want just a wife, you wanted a housekeeper and a work horse and a milk cow."

Imagine her humiliation when she realized they were not alone in the store! When she had finished her tirade, their friend Royal stepped out from behind a counter with a grin on his face. "Now run through that again," he said. "I want to hear just how that was so I can remember it."

"Oh, shut up!" Grandma said.

I half hoped Pastor Stan might tell the story of how they accidentally ended up in a nudist camp, but I guess that was too racy for a funeral. You'll have to buy the book to read that one.

Another highlight was the slide show that my cousin Callie compiled from hundreds of pictures that the family had emailed. I'm so thankful for all her hard work and expertise. There were photos of all our families as well as photos of Grandma and Grandpa over the decades. Over the three-hour viewing period on Friday, I sat next to various relatives watching bits and snatches of the Bushong love story. What struck me most was our strong genes. The family resemblance spans multiple generations.

Young Verna - Looks SO Much Like My Mom!

Here She Looks a Lot Like My Brother's Daughter Mindy

So Handsome! Here Grandpa Looks Like My Cousins Matt and Wes

Wedding Photo
They Sat Painfully Still While Siblings Tried to Make Them Laugh

Love This One of Grandma!
That's Mom (Who Looks a Lot Like My Sister Emily) and Aunt Judy

Laid to Rest
At the graveside ceremony, I wanted to solemnly contemplate the beauty and sorrow of "ashes to ashes, dust to dust." As it turned out, all I could think of was trying to stay warm in the snow which Pastor Stan said Grandma surely must have ordered. (I never knew she liked the snow.)

I had no right to complain; I was one of the lucky ones who managed to crowd into the tent. We were crammed in like circus clowns in a Volkswagen, but that was okay. I enjoyed both the togetherness and the body heat.

A Non-Stop Eating Fest
For five straight days, we gathered with my delightfully, unreasonably gigantic family and gorged ourselves on food and conversation. I particularly enjoyed getting to know some of my younger cousins better, such as the aforementioned Callie (Charlie's daughter).

On our last evening in Indiana, we went to Dad's sister Carol's house for some of her famous homemade ice cream and hot fudge. While we were there, I enjoyed a genteel political debate with Aunt Carol, my brother Rick, and my cousins René and Jenny. It was getting late, and we had to cut it off just when it was getting interesting. But I did learn that Aunt Carol shares many of my views. I'll have to talk with her some more about that sometime.

All in all, it was a most enjoyable celebration of the life of Verna Ellen Bushong. May her heritage live on forever.

Odds and Ends

2012-01-19T20:39:00.000-06:00

I have lots to tell you about a trip to Indiana last week, but first I need to post some more Vancouver pictures and tell you a couple stories I've been saving up...
We met our newest niece, Mila, on Christmas day:

Bill's sister Lisa rented a skating rink on New Year's Eve for a game of ringette, which is similar to hockey.

Lisa, Shortly Before Bill "Shoved Her into the Boards"

Lisa's Daughter Katie, in her Ringette Gear

Daddy Took Allyson for a Spin or Two

Nana Enjoyed Snuggling Little Mila

Ethan Scored a Couple Goals - I Had No Idea He Could Skate So Well!

Emily Who?
Katie got a cake pop maker for Christmas, and we decided to try it out on New Year's Eve.

"This isn't so bad at all!" I commented, though Lisa was doing all the work. (We shooed the girls out of the kitchen and told them they could help dip the balls once they were made.) It was so simple compared to how my sister Emily makes her amazing cake balls--bake a cake, swirl it with icing, scoop out the balls, freeze them, dip in chocolate.

We didn't bother to read the directions when we melted the chocolates on a double boiler, and they ended up really globby. But there was no way we were throwing out all that chocolate. Lisa stirred in some milk or cream to thin it out, and we laboriously dipped the cake balls in the lumpy coating.

I had a new respect for Emily when I saw the contrast between her work and ours:

But our second batch, which we melted in the microwave, came out much better.

"Emily who?" said Lisa.

When the girls asked to help dip the third batch, we shooed them out again. "You can help decorate," Lisa promised.

They put on loads of sparkles and crushed peppermints.

They were even more delicious than they looked. Yum! But Bill laughed at how we spent two or three hours on them. Lisa said the infomercial never mentioned anything about three hours. Time well spent, if you ask me. I personally enjoyed about 10 of them (over the course of days).

Walk on the Beach
On our last full day in Vancouver, we went to White Rock Beach around sunset. Gorgeous!

Bill's Brother Trevor, Nephew James, Niece Katie, Bill, Allyson

Allyson Was So Beautiful in this Purple Coat - Took My Breath Away

And in Bread Machine News...
I finally baked a perfect gluten-free loaf! Remember all those problems I had trying to bake a loaf by hand? Well my beloved new bread machine makes it ridiculously easy. I just ground my brown rice and dumped it all in. Yum!

Too Bad I Still Haven't Mastered Slicing Bread

Howdy, Pardner!
Allyson had Western Day in Kindergarten today. She was so excited as she gathered up her costume over the last few days.

It was a mighty fine day!

Serendipities Everywhere

2012-01-08T23:54:00.000-06:00

About a year ago, I wrote about serendipities, little signs that God loves us. I've been more in tune to those ever since I started reading One Thousand Gifts, which I finished yesterday in the library parking lot before turning it in nine days late (because there was a request on it which meant I couldn't recheck).

Anyway, this weekend has been chock-full of serendipities, and my gratitude journal is getting fuller. (I've started writing them down each evening now instead of just keeping a mental list.) Here are three--no, four--of the things God did to let me know He's crazy about me....

Estella and the Little Artist
It started on Friday afternoon, when Allyson and I visited Jackee at the nursing home. On our previous visit we'd met a woman named Estella, who loves cardinals. I'd planned to look her up, but there was no one at the nurses' station and she wasn't sitting in the lobby where we'd seen her the first time. Just as I turned to look for someone to ask, I spotted Estella literally right at my elbow.

I smiled in delight, mainly because I couldn't believe I recognized her after such a brief meeting over two weeks ago. I'm usually pretty bad with both names and faces. "You're Estella, aren't you?" I asked.

She smiled blankly. "Yes, I am."

"Well, we were just looking for you. We met you a couple of weeks ago, and we were hoping to visit with you again. And here you are."

Although it seemed she had forgotten us, we were soon chatting like old friends. She and Allyson particularly enjoyed exchanging observations about birds.

We left with a promise of a cardinal drawing from Allyson, and on our way out we met two more ladies: Diane and Shirley. Allyson soon determined their favorite animals, elephants and weinie dogs; now she had two more commissions for her artwork.

Wie Heissen Sie?
The next serendipity came on Saturday afternoon, when we took Allyson to her first major league hockey game. Bill had received one free ticket from his amateur hockey league, and was able to procure two more so we could come along. That part's not the serendipity. Actually, I wasn't really in the mood to go sit in the cold arena because I was in the middle of a terrible allergy attack. But I knew it was important to them, so I made myself go. I never expected to enjoy myself.

We got great seats, about 15 rows up from center ice:

We had scarcely settled into our seats when the man next to me asked us what to do with the accordion-pleated cardboard signs laid across his seat.

"It's a noise maker," Bill explained.

"A noisemaker?" he repeated in a heavy accent that sounded German. "I have not seen this before."

I showed him how to fold it on the creases, and Bill demonstrated how to bang it against his leg to make a loud clapping sound. And then he apologized in advance for Allyson and her two companions Leia and Aeris (daughters of his best friend and teammate Troy). "I'm sure they will be using these nonstop throughout the game," he said.

"Oh, I don't mind," he said, slapping his noisemaker tentatively and then more agressively. "It's exciting, no?" He then explained that whenever he travels around the U.S. on business for his company in Germany, he loves to go to hockey games.

Ah, I knew he was German! I thought.

It took me half a period to tell him that I had taken a total of five years of German in high school and college. "I don't remember much at all," I admitted ruefully. "You're only the second or third German I've met in my adult life. I should have taken Spanish instead."

He nodded.

I took a deep breath and asked "Wie heissen Sie?" (Literally, "how are you called?")

He grinned. "Ich heisse Hartmud (sp?)."

"Hart-mann?" I repeated.

"Nein, Hartmud. It's a good old German name."

"Oh," I said. "Ich heisse Sarah."

"Sehr gut (Very good), Sarah," he said.

I blushed. "Danke." I told him that I understood a bit, but speaking? Not good. (Ich verstehe ein bisschen, aber ich spreche... nicht gut.)

At that point, Bill elbowed me and asked if I was trying to speak German to the poor man. A lot more German words were flooding my mind then, but I figured he was here to watch hockey, not listen to very bad German.

Sitting next to this avid hockey fan from Germany gave me a whole new perspective on the game. He was ecstatic about every save and every goal, on either side. He talked endlessly to anyone who would listen, and even to some people who didn't seem to be listening. He asked all sorts of hockey trivia questions, like didn't this player win the Stanley cup in 2009, and wasn't that player injured last week in New York? I finally had to admit that I knew even less about hockey than I did about German, but that didn't seem to bother him.

When he asked how many seats the arena held, Bill looked it up in a magazine we'd gotten for free with our platinum seats. "Eighteen-thousand, five hundred," he said.

A chill coursed through me. Out of 18,500 seats, what were the odds that a ridiculously friendly German man would have the seat next to mine? God, you arranged that, didn't you? I thought.

At that moment, I looked up and saw Aeris and Leia cheering on the big screen. "Hey, those are our girls!" I sputtered. And then the camera panned to Allyson... and Bill. Allyson's eyebrows rose in shock, and her smile was about as big as this one that I captured a minute later:

Everything about that game was really great. It was a close game for the first two periods, with lots of shots on goal, but a score of 1 to 1. "Those goalies are great, no?" Hartmud asked, and I had to agree.

In the third period, the Stars scored three more goals, and we were all hoarse from shouting.

Spanish, Too
During worship service this morning, I happened to think of the last time I sat with Laura at church, almost a year ago. I missed her so much, and wanted her worshipping beside me. Just then, one of my very favorite worship songs came on: "Worthy is the lamb who was slain; holy, holy is he." I recognized it by about the third bar, but when Ana started singing, the words were unfamiliar... because she was singing in Spanish! It was so beautiful that tears sprang to my eyes. It reminded me of the time my friend Maria and I visited Laura, and Maria played Spanish worship music for her. For a moment, I was kneeling on the floor of Laura's bedroom again, letting the music wash over me and singing along in my spirit.

In the eight years we've gone to our church, they've never sung in Spanish. I'm sure they did it today because this was the day of the first Spanish service, which followed ours. But the fact that that Spanish song started just as I was aching with the memory of Laura? Another serendipity.

Handkerchiefs
And the last serendipity of the weekend was these beautiful flannel hankies that my friend Gentle made for me:

I've been sneezing all weekend, and every time I blow my nose on a Kleenex, the paper dust makes me sneeze even more. My poor nose is raw. I'd emailed Gentle late last night to see if she could make me some hankies, and she had them ready for me by this afternoon! When I went to pick them up this evening, we had a wonderful visit. I used a hankie right away, and she was tickled to know that I loved it. I don't think I'll ever go back to paper tissues.

You might be thinking, "Those hankies were from Gentle, not God." To that, I would reply, "Gentle is the serendipity." I could say the same for my friends Marie and Lori, whom I had the pleasure to spend time with this weekend.

Yes, God is good. Sehr gut, nein?

Adventures in a Winter Wonderland

2012-01-04T23:42:00.000-06:00

We're back from our annual Christmas visit to Vancouver, and I wish you had time to hear about all our adventures. For now, I'll just tell the story of my favorite day and also throw in a few other pictures...

All week long, we tried to plan a visit to Grouse Mountain, but it kept raining, so we had to go with plan B, bowling:

Katie and Allyson Playing 5-Pin Bowling

...and then plan C, the movies. The kids wanted to see the latest Chipmunks movie, Chipwrecked. So Lisa, Bill, and I shamelessly left all the kids with Grandpa and Uncle Trevor while we saw We Bought a Zoo--very wise decision! Lisa and I were crying on each other's shoulders. It was awesome.

On Friday, we finally got a lovely clear day with plenty of snow on the mountain, so we rode the swaying gondola up for a day of snow-shoing. The gondola ride alone was thrilling; each time we crossed a support tower, we swayed wildly against each other (packed in like clowns in a Punch Bug), and everyone breathed, "Ooh!"
Once we'd strapped on our snow shoes--okay, once BILL had strapped on our snow shoes, we set out for a brief hike through the snow.

Bill's Sister Lisa, Mom, Me (The Big Red Mummy)

As the cold bit into my cheeks and froze my fingertips, despite two pairs of gloves, I was reminded of the bitter cold on morning one of my 3-Day Walk. I wished I would have brought along Bill's ridiculous hat with ear flaps, which I'd worn that day:

Gentle and Me at the Start of Our Adventure

"It's a bit different walking in minus-two degree weather in the snow, isn't it?" Bill asked, reading my mind.
The next memory that resurfaced was the last time we'd gone snow-shoing, when Allyson was just six months old:

"I can't believe you hiked up the mountain with her strapped to your body," I said to Bill. "Good thing she can climb by herself now!"

Yep, she was having a blast with her cousins...

...until the path got really, really steep and she began to whine. Good thing we opted against the Grouse Grind [a 10-kilometer trail straight up the mountain], I thought.

Grind or no Grind, Bill heaved Allyson onto his back and piggy-backed her up the next two slopes, her snow shoes jutting out on each side of his waist. About halfway up the second hill, he noticed the trail marker. "SSG? Isn't that the Snow Snoe Grind?" he asked. "We must have taken a wrong turn."

It was all coming together now, but I didn't say anything because I was breathing too hard. He explained our error to Lisa and told her we were going to head back down to the lodge.

She looked at Ethan and her two boys, Kurtis and Travis, and said, "I think we'll keep going. Just a half hour more, and then we'll turn around."

"Are you sure?" I asked, eying my mostly sedentary teenager. "It's really steep."

"Sure, we can do it," she said, and the boys all nodded their approval.

Thinking of how the boys had been sliding and tumbling down every slope we came to, and even jumping off of ledges, I shuddered.

Ethan

Kurtis on a Ledge They All Jumped Off

"You do realize we have no healthcare coverage in Canada?" I said.

"Shh," Bill said. "They'll be fine."

So they went on while Bill and I headed back down with Mom, Katie, and Allyson--who insisted on riding Daddy's back down the mountain too.

I forgot my worries when my tummy started rumbling. Back at the lodge, the main dining area was full, so they sent us up to the fancy dining room with the white tablecloths and the $100 plates (and the $100 view). We sheepishly unpacked our Wal-Mart bag of turkey sandwiches, brownies, and Christmas oranges, which Allyson discovered that she loves(!). We'd almost finished when a waiter kindly asked us to move as they needed the room for an event--a wedding, apparently. We later saw the bride and groom ice skating on the pond:

Can You Spot the Bride?

After our lunch, we took a few pictures of the amazing sunset, which I added to my mental list of things to be thankful for:

Me and My Sweetheart

Meanwhile, Lisa and the boys were nowhere in sight, and Mom actually went to Search and Rescue to call them. Turns out they couldn't resist hiking all the way to the peak!

Lisa, Travis, Ethan, Kurtis

Along the way, they found some giant icicles:

One had fallen, and they dug it out of the snow. Lisa carried that 20-pound hunk of ice all the way back down! And then Travis insisted on taking it home. It was quite a conversation piece. While we were waiting for our sleigh ride, Travis dropped an apple into what looked like the bowl of his giant ice spoon. "What have you got there?" an attendant asked.

"An apple," Travis replied.

Sleigh Ride

My favorite part of the day was the glow of pride I felt for Ethan. I think neither of us realized he could sink his metal boot tips into that ice and trudge all the way to the summit.

And my second favorite part of the day was basking in the warmth of my tush on Lisa's heated carseat while we caught up on a year's worth of visiting.

My gratitude list just gets longer and longer.

About That Bread Machine...

2011-12-24T22:52:00.000-06:00

AWE-some! In case you were wondering how my loaf of bread turned out the other night, when I was writing my last blog entry, here's a picture of it in all its glorious perfection:

It was perhaps the nicest loaf I've ever made, even nicer than all the loaves I've lovingly shaped by hand over the last couple of years. It was so light and fluffy, I could scarcely believe it was 100% whole wheat (freshly ground in my Nutrimill grain mill, of course).

Since then, I've made three more loaves, including apple cinnamon bread. My Zojirushi Mini is so small I can leave it out on the counter all the time--which annoys Bill just a teeny bit. See, its footprint is only a bit larger than the toaster:

If you look closely at the picture, you'll see that it has a Jam button. Naturally, I've already tried it. I made strawberry jam the other day. I just dropped in the mashed fruit, some demerera (natural) sugar, some lemon juice, and a bit of Sure-Jell pectin. Then I turned it on and waited one hour and 20 minutes.

It was a little thinner than I'm used to, and not quite as sweet. But really quite tasty. Next time I'll add more pectin.

I still have to try the Cake setting: banana nut bread, apple cake, and zuchinni bread. Next will be the pasta setting; I'm a little scared about that one. Oh, and I've got my eye on a gluten-free recipe from the Zo Mini manual; it calls for brown rice flour, which I can grind up in a jiffy using my grain mill. I'm curious whether the bread machine has the touch that I seem to lack when it comes to baking gluten free bread. You'll be the first to know when I find out.

This thing will keep me busy for weeks--or at least days. You've got to get you one!

Christmas Joys

2011-12-20T22:15:00.000-06:00

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been reading Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts, on the recommendation of a woman I met during my training for the 3-Day Walk. It’s slow going because she has a very odd writing style, but I’m getting a lot from her message: that we draw closer to God and live in peace when we take time to be thankful for all our blessings, no matter how small. For example, she thanks God for the beauty of the fragile, iridescent soap bubbles when she’s washing dishes.

I think I’ve lived more in an attitude of thankfulness since I’ve been reading; it’s so easy at this time of year. Here are just a few of the joys I’ve been thanking God for:

· Holding hands with my sweetheart in front of our beautiful tree, adorned with the kids’ humble handmade ornaments—just like Mom and Dad’s tree when I was growing up.

· Christmas traditions, old and new—such as making homemade marshmallows. (This is my second time to make them, and Allyson has been begging for them the entire year.)

· The wonder of Christmas music that makes my heart rejoice over the gift of our Savior.

· Dear friends, old and new. I can’t believe how God has opened my heart to so many friends in the last couple of years. I’m not the shy, withdrawn woman I once was. (Hallelujah!)

· New truths revealed after decades of reading the Bible, like today’s lesson that it’s not my job to seek God’s will, only to seek God, who reveals His will to me by changing my motives and desires. I’m seeing this in my life, and it thrills me. Example: I realized on our last weekly nursing home visit that I was actually having fun; it was no longer just an act of obedience.

· The way God has answered my prayer to let me see the beauty in people whom I might have deemed unlovely, and in others I might not have even noticed—like sweet Estella, who loves cardinals, and who grew up watching birds in Nebraska where “there wasn’t much else to do back then.”

· Seeing Allyson’s delight as she played Santa’s helper today, holding out a box of Kleenex to each elderly patient as Santa handed them a bag. She brought them so much joy, and it made my heart glad.

Allyson with My Coworker, Mike

· The opportunity to visit with family at our Christmas celebration. It’s such a pleasure seeing my nephews growing up and getting married, and getting to know them as young adults.

· Watching Ethan grow into a considerate young man, who helps me with cooking and helps Bill with yard work (with a bit of arm-twisting).

· Volunteering with Bill at Allyson’s very first school Christmas party and seeing her in her “natural environment.” (Also meeting her so-call boyfriend Elias. Daddy’s not too sure this falls in the joys category.)

· Christmas cards to remind us of all the friends and family we love so much.

· And… my brand-new Zojirushi Mini bread machine, which bakes a day’s worth of bread so we can have it fresh every day! It just arrived about two hours ago, and of course my first loaf is already inside. Bill’s rolling his eyes at me, but I think he’ll change his tune when we’re enjoying that hot loaf. Then again, he probably has the sense not to eat bread at 11 PM, and by morning it will be a bit stale. And I will go to bed happy but with a tummy ache.

Do You Think She’s Family?

I know this is supposed to be a bullet list, but I can’t resist adding one story about our last nursing home visit. We were saying goodbye to one of our favorite patients, Fabian, when his roommate pointed at Allyson and asked, “Do you think she’s part of my family?” (He’d never spoken to us before.)

I said, “No, she isn’t. But she’ll probably give you a Christmas hug if you’d like one.”

“I’d love a hug from a pretty girl like her.”

She hugged him then, and his grin almost brought tears to my eyes. Next, he surprised me with a firm handshake and a strong, confident voice that reminded me of an executive. “I’m Bob,” he said.

When I told him my name, he said his oldest granddaughter is Sarah too. And then he told me all about her career as a teacher in Japan. I was shocked that I could have an enjoyable conversation with someone who… well, someone so senile. Now we have one more favorite patient to add to our list.

My cup runneth over!

How about you? What are you thankful for this season?

Even in a Webinar

2011-12-08T23:54:00.001-06:00

Have you ever been amazed at the unexpected ways you can hear God's voice? Each time I think I've seen the most amazing way--like God speaking to me through my Pilates teacher's instructions--He goes and tops that...

Last week I was sorry for my fall Bible study to end, but I have to admit I was looking forward to seven weeks off so that my evenings would be a little less full during the holiday season. Still, I scarcely hesitated this past Tuesday when one of my Bible study friends, Angel, asked if I'd do another Priscilla Shirer study with her over the Christmas break--Discerning the Voice of God: How To Recognize When God Speaks.

Here's how I explained it to all the friends whom I invited to join us:

If you’re like me, you need to focus on resting during the Christmas season, so
your first instinct may be to say, “I don’t have time.” But consider that
working on a study keeps you accountable to stay in the Word, which helps you to
rest in God. And getting out one hour a week with other ladies could also help
rejuvenate your spirit.

And that's how I ended up at the kitchen table yesterday morning, rubbing my hands together in anticipation as I cracked open the lesson for Day 1. It began with the story of Habakkuk, who initially questioned God, asking how long he would take to answer. God's reply took my breath away: "Look among the nations! Observe! Be astonished! Wonder! Because I am doing something in your days--you would not believe if you were told." (Habakkuk 1:5)

Priscilla invited me to list the personal circumstances that have been troubling me and then focus on how God is speaking to me concerning them. The first two came easily, but my pen stumbled over the third concern that came to mind; this was one I was trying to let go of, one I'd given up asking about. The last concern was another one that I hated to write down because surely God must be tired of my endless waffling over whether/when/how to finish my novel.

At the end of the lesson, Priscilla told me to write out a prayer expressing my confidence in God's control of my circumstances and my desire for Him to speak to me about them. Here is part of what I prayed: "LORD, you are kind and merciful. You are a God who hears, who calls, who answers. I praise you for what you are already doing [in these situations]."

Although it was a quick prayer, and I was in my kitchen instead of my beloved prayer closet, it was one of those times when I really felt the anointing of the Holy Spirit, and I prayed with fervor and anticipation.

Imagine my delight about 30 minutes later when I read an email that spoke directly to that concern that I'd hesitated to write down. As I checked the time of receipt, my heart skipped a beat. Yep, it was sent shortly after my prayer. Coincidence? Maybe.

Just a couple hours later, God spoke to me for the second time. I was in a webinar, an online presentation called "Training Online: Creating Visual Stories That Resonate." Now I do enjoy this type of presentation on some level, but I really much prefer the classroom environment over listening to a stranger's voice and watching PowerPoint slides on my computer. So I never expected to be riveted, utterly captivated by this speaker as she explained how to use the classic story arc to draw in your learners and motivate them toward lasting change. It wasn't exactly new information to me; I'd heard this before in my fiction writing classes. But there was something about the way she presented it that spoke to me personally.

She showed a fascinating analysis of two very different speeches that captivated audiences, Martin Luther King Jr's "I Have a Dream" and Steve Jobs's introduction of the iPhone. Both speeches began with what is, moved to what could be, back to what is, back to what could be, etc. And both speeches ended with a call to action.

She ended her presentation by modeling two of the strategies she'd suggested: anticipating and overcoming objections, and a call to action.

This phrase flashed on the screen in simple white letters: "But I'm just..."

"I know what you're thinking," she said. "You're thinking, 'I'm not Martin Luther King or Steve Jobs. I'm just a trainer, an instructional designer, a...'"

She paused for a moment to let us acknowledge the truth of her assertion, and then she went on in a voice low and heavy with emotion. "The truth is, you've been called. You have the power to tell your story as only you can. You can deliver your message in a way that will create lasting change. You have to tell your story, and tell it with passion."

Tears of wonder slipped down my cheeks. There were 999 other people on that call--the session maxed out at 1000--but I knew that Nancy Duarte was speaking directly to me. And the hair on my arms stood on end as I recognized the anointing of the Holy Spirit in her words.

How do you do this, God? How do you continue to surprise me? I wondered. You're not supposed to be this inspired by an ONLINE WEBINAR. Everyone knows online training is boring!

I was positively giddy for the rest of the day, and today too. I've got my passion back, and I can't wait to put pen to paper again!

But God wasn't through. There were two more requests on my list.

Tonight I was enjoying some Christmas music while I washed the dishes that couldn't go in the dishwasher. I sighed when the music faded out and the DJ took another one of those sappy calls about the theme of the night: the best Christmas gift ever.

I half listened as a woman fought to hold back sobs while she told how her family had fallen on hard times. Her husband had lost his job and drifted into destructive behaviors, and her marriage had been shaken. For a couple of years, she continued to love him and extend grace, all the while praying for his salvation.

I perked up at this point, my soapy hand hovering over the dishpan.

"And now, he has given his heart to God," she said, as I shared her happy tears. "We still have nothing, nothing. But this will be the greatest Christmas ever because now we can share.... He finally understands why we celebrate Christmas."

She went on to encourage everyone who was praying for someone's salvation not to give up. "Even if you've been praying for years, and you think it's never going to happen, don't give up."

A grin broke out as I realized God had just encouraged me about my last two requests. I can't wait to see how God will bring those two to himself. In the words of Habakkuk, "The vision is yet for the appointed time.... Though it tarries, wait for it; for it will certainly come, it will not delay." (Habakkuk 2:3)

Have you ever been flabbergasted at how God spoke to you? Would you please share your story?

Show Me the Beauty

2011-11-29T22:59:00.004-06:00

I hesitate to share this story for two reasons: 1) I don’t want to come across as a saint. 2) I don’t want to come across as an uncompassionate clod. But here it is…

As you may recall, Allyson and I had been intermittently visiting a couple, Jack and Jeanne, whom we met at a local nursing home. I got to know Jack especially well while transcribing his autobiography—one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done.

They so loved having visitors, and Jeanne utterly adored Allyson, so I tried to get out for a visit now and then, but not nearly so often as I should have. After a particularly long absence, we found that Jack had passed away. My heart was pierced for Jeanne, whose dementia made it hard for her to remember why he was gone and why he never came back. I resolved to visit her much more often, but I seldom made the time to drive out there, even when Allyson reminded me that we really ought to visit Miss Jeanne.

I’m not sure how long it had been—months, I’m sure—but we finally went out to the nursing home last Wednesday. Someone else was in her room. My heart sank when I learned that she’d passed away just a couple Fridays ago. Oh, why didn’t we visit more often?

But I have to confess that a tiny part of me—the little part—felt relieved. I was sorry she was gone, but relieved that I wouldn’t have to make time for trips to the nursing home, or feel guilty about not making the time. I tugged Allyson’s hand and started for the front door.

But another part of me immediately said, “No, no!” And that bigger part of me pulled me over to the information desk. I waited in uncomfortable silence for what seemed a very long time until one of the staff members acknowledged me.

I explained how Allyson and I had been visiting Jack and Jeanne, and how much they’d enjoyed seeing Allyson. I cleared my throat. “Can you think of another resident who might enjoy our company, someone who doesn’t get many visitors?”

The nurse rubbed her chin and then replied, “Well, yes. I guess you could visit Jackie in room 54.”

And that’s how Allyson and I ended up on our new mission, armed with only a first name and a room number. My heart pounded as we walked down the long hall. What would I say to this stranger? Would she think it rude of us to barge in? I said a quick prayer asking God for courage and for the right words.

Jackie was nothing like I expected. She was quite young, maybe in her 50s. “Are you Jackie?” I stammered.

She nodded and mumbled something unintelligible.

I ignored the heat in my cheeks and plowed on. “Hi, I’m Sarah, and this is Allyson. We…”

“Ohh!” Jackie exclaimed, reaching one hand toward Allyson. “She’s uh-DOR-bul.”

“Thank you,” I said.

She wiped some slobber off her chin, and I looked away. “I’m sorry,” she said.

I leaned closer, trying to decipher her slurred speech. “Pardon?”

“I’m sorry.”

I felt myself turning even redder. I waved my hand, brushing away her apology. “No problem,” I mumbled.

Allyson hid behind my leg and stared at the floor.

“What’s she afraid of?” Jackie asked, and then repeated herself so I could understand.

“Oh, she’s just shy,” I said, brushing a knuckle over Allyson’s cheek. I stared at the ceiling, wondering what I could possibly say to this stranger.

“Allyson’s in Kindergarten this year. She’s learning to read. And she loves to draw,” I said.

“Oh,” said Jackie.

Allyson nodded and beamed.

“She’s getting very good at drawing because she practices so much,” I went on. “Her favorite thing to draw is birds.”

Jackie’s face lit up, and I understood her next words perfectly. “Oh, I love birds!”

“Allyson loves to draw owls and robins. What’s your favorite bird?”

“I like d-doves.”

I turned to Allyson. “Do you think you could draw a dove for Miss Jackie?”

“Yes!”

“And maybe we can get a book about birds and you could read it to her.”

“Yes!”

I promised Jackie we’d return in two days, after Thanksgiving. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you!”

I felt humbled and almost guilty about her gratitude over our very brief visit and the promise of a dove picture.

We headed straight to the library for a birding guide, and Allyson drew an astonishingly good dove as soon as we got home. (Wish I’d thought to take a picture.) For the next two days, she kept reminding me that we mustn’t forget to go see Miss Jackie on Friday.

On Friday we presented her with Allyson’s picture and a Happy Thanksgiving note she’d carefully lettered. And then Allyson sat on the bed next to Jackie and read her a book about birds, with lovely prints of various species.

This time, Jackie not only thanked us, but she gathered both of us into tight bear hugs. Again I felt unworthy of such profuse gratitude.

On the way home, I felt even less worthy when Allyson gave voice to my own thoughts. “It really stinks in there.”

“Yes, honey. Sometimes people have trouble controlling their bladder when they get old or weak. That’s just how most nursing homes smell.”

“Yes, but it smelled worse in Miss Jackie’s room. Do you think it was Miss Jackie?”

“I don’t know, baby. Just try not to think about it. Definitely don’t ever say that you think it stinks, or you’ll hurt her feelings.”

As soon as I had a chance to be alone with God, I poured out all my ugly feelings. I confessed that I don’t really WANT to go to the nursing home every week even though I feel that I should, and not just because I’m too busy. I complained that I feel awkward because I can’t understand her, and I feel uncomfortable looking at her—or not looking at her.

“Help me to see Jackie as you see her,” I pleaded. “Help me see the beauty in her. And help me to really LOVE her. I don’t want to just do good deeds because I know you expect me to. I want to be kind to her out of love. I want to fall in love with her and take delight in spending time with her.”

I didn’t give much more thought to Jackie until this evening, when I arrived at Bible study (Margaret Feinberg’s Verbs of God). Our study leader, Roberta, asked what I thought of this week’s lesson: God Calls. I admitted that I hadn’t even looked at the study since Bill’s been out of town and it’s all I can do to hold our family’s routine together. “Is it about God calling Samuel?” I asked.

“Ah, ‘Here I am LORD, your servant is listening’? No. It’s about Jesus calling the disciples.” She said she hoped that the ladies would be able to recognize how God is calling us in our daily lives, and that we would respond as the disciples did, by following Jesus.

Are you calling me, God? I thought. I heard one word in reply. Jackie.

Is this really my calling right now? I wondered. Or is this just something I stumbled onto?

I didn’t have to wait long for my confirmation. We started the study with a video about a woman who went on a mission trip to an Asian orphanage. The video cut to pictures of a baby in a crib, a baby with a horrendously deformed face. She had not only a cleft palate and cleft lip, but also a cleft face. A red crevice ran diagonally across her entire right cheek, her nose was in the wrong place, and her blind left eye bulged from its socket.

You could hear the sharp intake of breath as many of us gasped in unison. The woman explained how she was drawn to this baby who had no chance of a normal life. “All I saw when I looked at her was beauty,” she said. “I knew I had to help this child.”

I sobbed quietly as this woman recited back my own prayers to me. And I let the tears fall as she described her experiences with just holding this baby and loving her. “Help me love that way,” I prayed.

The missionary didn’t just give the baby a few hugs and go on her way. No, she refused to give up. She found a surgeon who could rebuild her face, and she went through all the red tape of a foreign adoption. Three and a half years after she met the baby, she took her home to America.

Tomorrow Allyson and I will visit Jackie again. We’ll bring her coleslaw, her favorite food, and Allyson will read her another story, probably about birds. And I will probably feel awkward, but I’m praying that God will go with me, and that He will let me feel his heart for Jackie. And maybe we will all begin to fall in love.

Please keep us in your prayers. Specifically, I need God to show me ways to make Jackie feel loved. Any ideas?

Halloween Pictures... Just in Time for Thanksgiving

2011-11-23T21:45:00.010-06:00

I figure I ought to post the Halloween pictures before we hit another major holiday. Since I have a cold and I'm tired, I've resolved to just post the pictures this time. No stories! Let's see if I can pull that off.

Friday 10/28/11

Allyson getting ready for school, dressed up as a favorite story book character...

Don't you just want to pinch her cheeks?

Sunday 10/30/11

Jack O' Lanterns - Bill's, Allyson's, Ethan's (which he traced and carved all on his own)...

Halloween Night

I cringed when Bill cut up one of my old suit jackets for Ethan's hobo costume. Bill rubbed my back and spoke in soothing tones. "It's o-kay. You have enough clothes to wear." I protested that I wasn't worried about having enough clothes; it was just that I had that jacket in the Goodwill pile. Bill said no one would miss my out-of-style suit.

I have to admit it worked pretty well for Ethan's costume. See the soot on his cheeks and shirt? Bill practically had to hold him down in order to rub that on him. When did he suddenly become a clean freak?

Ready to go...

Allyson and I went out with Ethan and the neighbors across the street, our usual trick-or-treat buddies. After only a couple of blocks, Allyson announced that she had more candy than she needed (!), and she asked to go home and hand out candy with Daddy. Ethan stayed out another hour or so and came home with about five pounds of candy.

Sifting through her loot...

Looks like she got a yucky candy...

The highlight of my evening had to be eating a piece of pumpkin pie, freshly made from a pumpkin I'd roasted the night before, with a crust I made myself, topped with freshly whipped cream. YUM!!!

There, I did it. Pretty much. Those weren't stories, right? More like captions. Happy late Halloween to you, and happy early Thanksgiving too.

That's My Boy on the Jumbo-Tron

2011-11-17T22:59:00.001-06:00

As I mentioned in my last entry, Ethan's school football team had a playoff game on Saturday. That in itself was pretty exciting since they were expected to have a losing season. But the most exciting part was the venue: the ridiculously monstrous and elaborate Dallas Cowboys Stadium! Among other things, I'm told it has the heaviest electronic door in the world, plus the largest retractable roof.

Since the game prices are about as big as the stadium, this was our best chance at getting inside (though Bill had already toured it once with his parents). We got tickets to the playoff game for just $8 each, including two for my parents. Both Mom and Dad were very excited to see the stadium, and of course to hear Ethan's band play in the halftime show.

Although I had seen the pictures from Bill's tour, I still caught my breath when we first walked in and looked down on the field.

After a bit of gawking, we settled into the blue cushioned seats and watched Ethan's team get trounced. They didn't score a single point, though they had some maddeningly close chances. While we watched, Allyson bought some $5 cotton candy (with some help from Grandma), and then chased that down with a $5 bottle of 7-Up.

The halftime show, at least, did not disappoint. I could just make out Ethan behind the chimes, and now and then I could hear him playing.

Luckily, there was a Jumbo-Tron that Bill estimated to be twice as wide as our house. Can you spot Ethan in the bottom left corner, between the chimes and the big bass drum?

Yes, it's just the back of his head, but how many people can say they've seen their son on the Jumbo-Tron at the Cowboys Stadium? Pretty cool, huh? (It looks like he was looking up at himself on the giant screen.)

After the game, we hung around trying to get Ethan's attention. When he spotted me and Bill, he gave the subtlest wave, just a wiggling of his fingers. He almost smiled but caught himself just in time. When Mom and Dad stepped down to the railing, I figured I should warn them not to expect much acknowledgement.

But Ethan gave each of them a full wave AND a big grin! I hope it warmed their hearts as much as it did mine. It was a great experience, one that many of those kids might talk about for the rest of their lives, or at least all weekend. Ethan did, at least.

Smelly Dog, Smelly Dog... What Are They Feeding You?

2011-11-14T19:38:00.000-06:00

Remember that time I just about killed our dog Lola when Bill went out of town and left her in my care? Well, I probably should have disclosed that story to our neighbors when they asked if I could take care of their dog, cat, and fish while they went on vacation.

The first day, Friday, went very well. I almost forgot to go over that morning, but remembered by 9:00 or so. No harm done. But Zeus, a beautiful German Shepherd/Rottweiler mix, looked pretty mournful. I asked him if he wanted to come play with Lola, whom he'd met the night before, but he just cowered on his bed in the master bathroom. "I'll be back this afternoon," I promised as I pulled the door almost closed--just the way I'd found it when I arrived.

True to my word, I came back after work and brought Zeus over to our backyard. Lola was ecstatic. She circled Zeus, did lots of sniffing (I won't say where), and basically dogged his every step. (Sorry, couldn't help myself.)

Lola on Left, Zeus on Right

Zeus endured her enthusiasm patiently as he methodically explored the backyard. On the way back to the neighbors' house a couple hours later, I marveled at how well behaved Zeus was on the leash. Not only was there no pressure on the leash ever, but he also stopped and waited politely whenever I fell behind.

On Saturday morning, all still seemed well. I mounded up the food in Zeus's bowl and watched with satisfaction as he gulped it greedily. Next, Allyson and I played with the cat for a few minutes before heading off to Ethan's football playoff game (more on that later).

Everything was wonderful until Sunday afternoon, when I was hosting a little gathering for my missionary friend, Melissa. While I sat and nibbled meatballs and finger-sized desserts with my friends, I sent Bill over to pick up Zeus for a playdate. Noting that he was gone an exceedingly long time, I figured he'd put his feet up on their couch and was enjoying the peace and quiet.

When he returned without the dog nearly an hour later, I mouthed, "Where's the...?"

He just shook his head, pressing his lips together tightly, as he passed through the living room. Once the party was wrapping up, he beckoned me to the kitchen and quietly debriefed me.

"That dog is SICK," he informed me.

"Oh no! What's wrong?"

"There was crap and puke all over the bathroom, and some in the bedroom too. That's why I was gone so long."

"Oh no! You had to clean it up?"

He shrugged. "Well, I couldn't leave it there, could I? I wiped everything down with bleach spray and put the dog in the backyard until the fumes dissipate."

[Is my husband a saint, or what? But if you've read this blog long, you already knew that.]

Back at the neighbors' house that evening, I thought about how Zeus had polished off two full bowls of food each day. Was I overfeeding him? Elizabeth had assured me that he self feeds, so I should just give him a full bowl. Maybe he was overeating because he felt insecure without his owners, I reasoned.

I gave him just a tiny bit more food and closed him in the bathroom, this time shutting the door tightly. "I hope you feel better, Zeus." I called over my shoulder.

This morning there were four more piles of diarrhea in the bathroom. Ugh! I needed to run an errand before work, so I put Zeus in the yard and left the mess to deal with later.

About 3:30 this afternoon, later rolled around. I took a deep breath of clean air and asked Bill for pointers on cleaning up the mess, which thankfully was limited to the bathroom tile this time.

"Just mop it up with paper towels and spray the heck out of it with bleach spray," he advised.

I thanked him and asked if he could run to the store for me to pick up some cream cheese I needed for the meatball sub casserole I planned to make with leftover meatballs from yesterday's party.

"The store?" Bill groaned. "I don't feel like going to the store."

"Oh, and the bank," I added. "I didn't get to go on Friday because of Veterans' Day, so we need money before you can go to the store."

"Never mind," Bill grumped. "I'll go take care of the mess and you go to the bank."
I tilted my head and studied him, my eyebrows scrunched in disbelief. "You mean to tell me you'd rather clean up dog crap than go to the bank?"

He shrugged. "I don't feel like going to the bank."

"Suit yourself," I said, traipsing off to the bank with a spring in my step.

While I was in line at the bank, my cell phone rang. It was Bill. "Did you say you were feeding the dog out of the little bag inside the big plastic bin?"

"Ye-es," I answered cautiously.

"The one with the picture of the cat on the front?"

I put a hand over my mouth and rolled my eyes up at the ceiling. "Oh my gosh..."

"The bag that says, 'Specially formulated to prevent hairballs'?" he continued.

"No way. Oh my gosh."

Now for all you dog (and cat) lovers out there, be assured that I do realize this is NOT funny. Not at all. I don't think either Bill or Zeus saw any humor in the situation. But I couldn't help laughing at myself, howling actually, right there in the teller line. "I swear it said dog food when I looked at it on Friday," I choked out as tears streamed down both cheeks. "I just don't understand how-"

"You are something else, woman!"

"I gotta go," I said. "Talk to you later."

The two tellers in earshot were intrigued, so I told them the whole sad story. All three of us laughed ourselves silly. "Oh that poor dog," my teller said ruefully.

"Yes, poor dog," I repeated, thinking back to how I'd been congratulating myself for winning Zeus's trust--all the while trying to poison him with cat food! (Speaking of the cat, Charlie scarcely ate any of the dog food I mounded up in the bowl. Hopefully she suffered no ill effects.)

After eating some of his actual food (the big pieces of food in the giant plastic bin, as opposed to the tiny pieces of food in the little bag), Zeus seemed quite chipper. He stayed with Lola in our yard until Shawn came for him just before dinner.

Shawn listened to the whole story quite graciously, but I rather doubt I'll be asked to keep those pets again. Can you blame him?

Still Rejoicing

2011-11-07T23:18:00.001-06:00

Yesterday morning, Gentle and I woke up around 4:45 to cram all our stuff, including air mattresses and sleeping bags, into our duffle bags. Then we had to figure out how to tear down the tent and stuff it into its impossibly tiny bag. Luckily Gentle has a lot more patience than I do.

We had breakfast, put on considerably fewer layers than the two prior days, and lined up to board a bus to the drop-off point for the day.

Fellow Walkers

As I took those first few steps on my aching feet, the hours stretched long ahead of me, but then I glimpsed the hat of the woman in front of me:

"Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the LORD"

The first tears of the day welled up. I could have kissed that stranger. Instead, I laid a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you," I said. "I really needed that verse this morning."

The morning was pleasant. I savored the breeze on my bare arms and legs, but I didn't like the look of the heavy gray sky. I politely asked God if He'd mind holding back the rain for us, but told Him I'd praise Him and rely on Him to help us through it either way.

We walked through a gorgeous neighborhood, Highland Park, where I had an aching longing to walk on the cushy grass instead of the hard sidewalk. But I stayed on the straight and narrow (most of the time). Ah, that grass felt so good when I had to step aside to pass or be passed.

Around mile five I started feeling a telltale hot spot on the ball of my left foot. I sat down in some of that cushy grass and applied another strip of moleskin. At the next rest stop, I added yet another strip. But apparently I missed the target by about a millimeter because by the last pit stop, I had my very first blister! Nooooo!!!

Sorry, Couldn't Help Myself. Can You See It?

Gentle gave me a blister band-aid and I put on two more strips of moleskin over top of it, right up to the base of my toes. Those last five miles hurt so much more knowing there was a blister there.

More than ever, I relied on the love and support of the spectators to give me the courage to keep walking. I was thankful for:

The passing sweep vans with their crazy decorations and loud music. (They continually circled to pick up exhausted and injured walkers who needed a lift.)
The "walker stalkers," friends and family who shadowed the route to give out Kleenex, gum, handi wipes, and even champagne to not only their own walkers but to anyone else who passed by.

The Craziest Walker-Stalkers

The neighborhood residents who handed out donuts and kolaches and thank-yous.
The double rows of encouragers at each cheering station.
The safety crew members who told us how many miles to the next stop as they helped us across the intersections.
The amazingly kind and supportive Dallas officers who worked the biggest intersections. I was moved to tears by one officer who told us about his wife, a ten-year survivor.
The costumed dogs that never failed to make me smile.

The inspiring words and scriptures on posters, on the backs of T-shirts, and on signs pinned to backpacks.

The fact that the rain held off until we entered the grounds of the closing ceremony site (Fair Park). Thank you, thank you, God!
The constant company of my sweet friend Gentle.

Manicure by Gentle, Gloves from Bill's Mom

I think Gentle was hurting about as bad as I was, or maybe worse. I don't know if I ever told that you she broke her toe about five weeks before the walk. She was supposed to be in her boot until just before the event, but she was able to take it off and resume training the last couple of weeks. Still, she missed about a month of crucial training, so I was amazed at her fortitude. We praise God that He healed her toe and gave her the strength to keep walking.

We walked the last two miles mostly in silence. I tried to take in all the sights around me and enjoy those last steps even though my feet were NOT HAPPY AT ALL. Still, I knew I would be sorry for the journey to end.

Periodically we were forced to speak when people questioned us about our Five Finger Shoes. On the first two days, we raved about them: "Yes, we've been wearing them the whole way. Yes, they are quite comfortable. No, they don't provide any support or cushioning; that's the whole point. No, we don't have any blisters."

Mine on Left, Gentle's on Right

But by the end of day three, our typical answer was. "Fabulous. Just fabulous."

I really was amazed that my tired feet could support themselves without all the padding of traditional shoes, and that in fact I seemed less sore and less blistered than the other walkers. I think if your arches can support themselves for 60 miles, you really don't need expensive, high-tech shoes. God is the most ingenious designer!

But I digress.... One of my favorite crossing guards, a Harley rider who always greeted us with a giant grin, warned us about the finish line: "You WILL cry."

I figured I would, but I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of emotion as I walked the last 300 yards or so. On either side, families and other walkers who'd finished earlier shouted and clapped and grabbed our hands. "Way to go! You did it! Thank you for walking!"

I looked left and right, wishing Laura could be there to fold us in a group hug as she'd planned. I wanted her there walking beside me, taking in all this praise that I didn't deserve. She was the real hero! I remembered one of my favorite pictures of her crossing the finish line at Susan G. Komen Race For the Cure:

As I pictured that amazing grin, my happy tears turned into sobs. It was the kind of crying you don't really want to share with strangers, ugly and snotty and embarrassing.

I wasn't sure why I was crying. I was overwhelmed by joy, triumph, relief, sorrow, exhaustion, and loss. Just when I thought I couldn't bear another moment, a woman stepped out of the line on my left and pulled me into a tight hug. I clung to her for several seconds, wiped away my tears, and raised both arms in triumph as I crossed into the holding area.

As we paraded up to the closing ceremony, I strained to spot my family in the crowd, but there were just too many people. Bill did catch a glimpse of me, though. When I met them in the baggage recovery area, I was delighted to see that my mom had come along. I squeezed them all tight and then trudged a long, long way to the car, chattering the whole way.

At home I was thrilled to find a welcome home poster on the door, laboriously lettered by Allyson. "Walking for Laura.... 60 miles... 11.... Way to go!... I think you did a good job." In the middle was a darling picture of me and Gentle walking on a long path.

On the table were six pink roses and a touching card from Bill. Soon after, Bill served us fettucini alfredo--delicious!

After dinner, he urged me to go up and soak in the tub. I went up to find the (clean) bathtub lined with candles. There was an assortment of bubble baths and mineral salts, and my robe hung from the towel rack. I felt so loved as I sank into that warm water and let the day's aches melt away.

The bath probably wasn't as relaxing as Bill had envisioned because two minutes into it, Allyson bounded in. "Can I get in with you?" I hesitated for just a moment and then opened my arms. So we soaked together. And splashed. And got water everywhere. But it was all good. I was right where I wanted to be.

Thank you to everyone for your love and support. I love you guys!

P.S. Before she went home last night, Mom prayed that my blister would heal while I slept and that I would "jump out of bed rejoicing." And that's exactly what happened! I think the blister is gone, but I can't be sure because I can't get the blister band-aid off. (It's crazy sticky!) My feet still hurt, but I don't have any pain where the blister was. I'm still rejoicing. Over everything.

One Foot in Front of the Other

2011-11-05T21:07:00.000-05:00

Today was our longest day--21.3 miles (don't forget the 0.3!). Gentle and I started just before 8:00, again with our multiple layers, and got back to camp a little before 6:00.

The highlight of my day was seeing my mom, my sisters Amy and Emily, and Emily's kids Savannah and Charlie at cheer station 1. They'd been waiting for us about 1.5 hours in the cold, but they were having fun cheering on all the other hundreds of walkers. It was so moving to see them waiting there to give us hugs and encouragement. It was hard to say goodbye, but we had to move on so we wouldn't miss the cutoff for the next pit stop (in which case we would be bussed to the next stop).

As we walked away, tears streamed down my face because everyone--EVERYONE--was so kind and loving. This has been one of the best experiences of my life.

It was good we had so much support because we really needed it. It was tough today! Our feet were aching, and our backs, and our shoulders. And we were flat out exhausted. As we drug into pit stop 4, the second to last, I wondered if we could make it. There were five miles more to go, and we were out of steam. But we drank our sports drink, peed in the surprisingly decent flushing porta potties, did some stretches, and headed back out. Oh, and we said a prayer asking God for strength.

And he answered. Those last six miles were the sweetest. Everyone was festive, all part of one team sharing one goal. We got giggly at times, going into what I call slumber party mode.

As we finished those last miles, the supporters were more and more encouraging. "Just 2 more miles, ladies!" "Only 0.3 miles to the next stop."

And then we hit our last mile. "We can do it," I said, assuring both of us. "We just have to put one foot in front of the other."

A couple blocks later, there was a lady holding a sign saying exactly the same thing. "Just one foot in front of the other." I cried again, for the 15th time today.

And then there was the older woman who didn't just high five me, but actually clutched my hand. And there was the family who handed out donuts and hot chocolate from their front yard, and even offered their bathroom to us.

It was an awesome day, one when we found out what we are really made of.

Tomorrow, we get to do it all again.

Last Pit Stop--3 more miles to Go!

Day 1!

2011-11-04T19:43:00.000-05:00

Me with Some of the Kind Strangers Along the Route

I have time for just a quick post tonight. Just finished day 1 of my 3-Day Walk, 17 miles so far. Gentle and I spent the night with my old Girl Scout friend Diana. We had a wonderful visit last night, and then she drove us to the opening ceremony this morning.

We were up at 5:20 and out the door by 6:00, wearing lots of layers. I believe it was 38 degrees, but there was very little wind. The only thing cold on me was my toes, which were about frozen in my 5-finger shoes. We stood around waiting for over an hour before the opening ceremony. They were playing loud, fun party music, and my feet were tapping even as my eyes kept filling with tears. I was waiting behind a beautiful young woman with stubbly black hair. From the back, I could imagine she was Laura, walking with us just as she dreamed of doing.

I asked God if she could walk with us, like I felt she did a few weeks after her death. (That time, I went for a one-hour training walk and talked to her the whole time about every memory I had of our short, sweet friendship. I turned at one point and said, "Are you holding my hand?" I really think she was.)

This time, I just felt she was looking down from heaven, along with so many others who battled cancer. I missed her so much, but I was happy knowing she was at perfect peace.

My next tears came when I saw the long line of strangers cheering us on as we finally embarked on our journey. There were mothers, teenagers, babies, dogs, and Harley Davidson riders, and they all high fived us as we passed and said, "Thank you for walking."

We saw the most amazing and hilarious costumes along the way, like a man wearing only shorts, a pink bra, and a Miss April sash. Also a dog wearing a pink leotard and a black tutu.

Throughout the walk, people cheered, shouted, and high fived us. In the morning, we passed an elementary school where the children lined up in rows and cheered like we were movie stars. At that point it was still very cold, but their love really warmed me up.

In the afternoon, it was much warmer, a gorgeous 70 degrees or so. By then I was down to a T-shirt and a tennis skirt. Just before the last pit stop, we passed a high school where about 100 kids lined both sides of the sidewalk. Some of them just stood there looking bored, but many of them--both boys and girls--seemed very sincere as they thanked us for walking. Remember my recent negative experience with kids at the football game? Well, these kids restored my faith in teenagers.

When we arrived in camp around 4:00, two young men who looked to be college age asked if they could carry our bags to the tent site. When we got there, they informed us that they were going to set up the tent for us! Neither Gentle nor I has ever set up a tent, so we were ecstatic. I think they were our Komen angels for the day.

I wish I'd thought to take a picture of the tent; maybe tomorrow. Our twin air mattresses filled the entire space, and we had to leave our bulging duffle bags outside.

Well, that air mattress is calling me. More soon!

The Soggy Bottom Sisters

2011-10-28T22:51:00.000-05:00

Here is what will likely be my last 3-Day training update before the big event--one week from today!

I did my second 18-mile walk about four weeks ago, a lovely walk through Downtown Fort Worth. I met several great ladies and enjoyed hours of endless conversation that helped me forget my tired feet. (The Advils I downed with breakfast and lunch helped too).

Along the way, we spotted this firetruck that the city had decorated up for breast cancer awareness month:

The next morning I popped a few more Advil, slipped back into my Five Finger shoes, and headed out to Lake Grapevine for a 15-mile walk. I was delighted to see several of my new friends waiting in the semi darkness. My friend Kelly, the one who sent me the angel book, also came out to walk with me.

But I'm afraid Kelly soon regretted that decision. The first hour was lovely as we walked through the trees beside the lake and watched the sun rise. Before long, though, it began to sprinkle. I got my $3 pancho out of my backpack. It stopped raining. I put it back. A few more spatters fell. I got the pancho out. It stopped. I put it away.

And then it started to rain in earnest. Everyone pulled out panchos--except Kelly, who'd been in a rush and didn't bring one. "Maybe it will stop soon," I said.

But it soon became apparent that this was the kind of slow, steady rain that lasts for hours. Or days. My pancho kept me fairly dry, but I learned that the Five Finger shoes provide zero protection from water. They're basically just fancy toe socks with a thin rubber sole. The water flowed freely over my feet, gumming up the protective moleskin I'd applied to prevent blisters.

After eight miserable miles, we arrived at a great hole-in-the-wall restaurant called Burritos Locos. They were crazy burritos indeed--crazy big!

By the Way, That's Ethan's Gaudy Sweatshirt, The Only One I Could Find at 6 in the Morning

While we enjoyed our breakfast burritos, we hemmed and hawed over whether to continue the walk. Jennifer, the walk leader, said her husband would be glad to come shuttle anyone who wanted to call it quits to their cars.

One by one, each woman agreed that would be the most sensible plan. I nodded my head, but inside I really wanted to do the 15 miles. Jennifer said, "If anyone wants to keep walking, I'll go with you. But no complaining." I looked around the table, but no one met my eyes. I didn't want to be the one to make Jennifer get back out in the rain.

"Okay then," she said.

It was now or never. I cleared my throat. "I'd kind of like to keep walking," I said. "But I don't want to make Jennifer go if I'm the only one. Does anyone else want to finish the walk?"

One by one, hands went up around the table. Evidently we'd all been holding back out of consideration for the others! In the end, six out of eight changed into dry socks and donned our panchos, which had been drying on chairs at an unoccupied table. (Kelly was one of the ones who went home since she was the most drenched.)

My fresh socks were soaked before we got out of the parking lot. But I felt warm inside for following through even when it got tough. I think the others felt the same way because we were all suddenly quite cheerful. Marching along through the puddles, we sang "She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain When She Comes."

Okay, maybe it was only Jennifer who sang, and what she actually said was, "We'll be soaking in a hot tub when we come." I was singing on the inside.

Jennifer lamented that her behind was soaked because she hadn't put her pancho on straight. "You know what we are?" she asked. "We're the Soggy Bottom Sisters."

I laughed. "I'm using that for the title on my blog entry."

For the record, my bottom was perfectly dry, though my cold, stiff feet had long since shriveled up like prunes. But I finished that walk! What's a little rain?

The Scaredy-Dog
I've continued to take Lola on my solo walks, always sticking to the neighborhood streets and avoiding the park, which is infested with other dogs. About a week ago, we were strolling down an empty street when Lola suddenly stopped in her tracks, stiff as a statue.

I followed her gaze to the yard on my right, where a giant inflatable cat with glowing eyes moved its head back and forth, looking ready to pounce.

"Come on, Lola," I coaxed, trying to pull her along down the sidewalk. Lola whined and lunged into the street, taking me with her. Thankfully there were no cars coming. I tried to drag her back onto the sidewalk, but she pulled harder the other way, wrapping her leash around the tree in the foreground. I finally gave up and walked in the street until the cat was well out of sight.

"Scaredy-dog," I taunted.

Want to Go For a Walk? Never Mind
A few nights later, my dear friend and 3-Day partner Gentle came over to walk with me. Lola, who was in the kitchen for some reason, followed me around as I filled my water bottles and slipped them into my belt. When she heard the jingle of the mace whistle I always wear on our walks, she began to dance for joy, almost tripping me up. She was glued to my side as I completed my preparations.

"Lola, you're not coming this time" I said gently. "Gentle and I are walking in the park, and you just can't go there again. Ever. I'm sorry."

She continued her leaping dance, literally turning circles in the air.

I felt so rotten. "Not this time, Lola," I repeated. "Allyson, would you put Lola out, please?"

Allyson led Lola onto the back porch, but before she could close the screen door, Lola darted back in and ran up to my side, whining. I took her back out and closed the door myself. "I'll take you for a walk tomorrow," I promised.

"Why are you being mean to the dog?" Bill asked. "Why did you get that fancy leash and make her think you were going to walk her every day, but now you just leave her at home?"

I pursed my lips. "If she didn't lunge at every dog she sees, I could take her with me."

Gentle arrived just then, and I didn't give Lola another thought. But she had not forgotten. When I got back home over an hour later, she was still waiting at the back door. Her tail started thumping the moment she saw me.

"We're not going for a walk," I said.

This time Lola actually seemed to understand my words, and she started to cry. I don't mean the usual whining. It was the closest thing to sobbing that I've ever heard from a dog. She cried and cried. I knelt on the other side of the screen door and spoke softly to her. "I'll take you for a walk tomorrow, Lola. I promise."

She continued to whine.

"You broke Lola's heart," Bill accused.

"She's breaking my heart now, so we're even," I said. It was true. I never expected to get so attached to her, despite all our struggles.

True to my word, I did take her for a short walk the next night. And all was forgiven.

But Bill won't stop teasing. At random moments he walks up to the open screen door and says, "Wanna go for a walk? Oh, never mind." But she doesn't fall for it. She knows it's only walk time when I'm wearing the shoes and the water belt and the whistle. And carrying the poop bag.

Get Your Feet Wet

2011-10-18T23:13:00.001-05:00

For the last five weeks, I've been enjoying a Priscilla Shirer Bible study called One in a Million. It's about what God taught the Israelites during their time in the wilderness, and how He moved them into the Promised Land. I've learned many exciting truths over the last few weeks, and tonight I just feel compelled to share how God has been speaking to me.

Nevertheless People
When the Israelites reached the edge of the Promised Land (Canaan), Moses sent out 12 spies to see what the land was like and what kind of people lived there (Numbers 13). Upon their return, all 12 spies reported that the land was flowing with milk and honey, just as God had promised. As evidence, they brought back a single cluster of grapes so big that two men had to carry it on a pole between them.

But 10 of the spies tacked something on the end of that initial report. "Nevertheless," they said, "The people who live there are powerful, and the cities are fortified and very large.... All the people we saw there are of great size.... We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and we looked the same to them."

So they saw the cluster, the sure sign of God's blessing, and their answer was, "Nevertheless."

What about the other two spies, Joshua and Caleb? "The LORD is with us," they said. "Do not be afraid of them."

But the Israelites listened to the report of the 10 spies. They saw the promise, but refused to believe. The result was 40 years of wandering for that entire generation. Out of about 2 million people, only Joshua and Caleb got to enter the Promised Land. (Each of them was "One in a Million.") Not even Moses got to enter, although God did allow him to view Canaan from a mountain on the other side of the Jordan River.

Priscilla urged us to consider the new territory God wants to take us to. She suggested that we make a "cluster keeper," a journal or some other record of the clusters of blessings God has already given us. When we feel afraid, when we feel tempted to say "Nevertheless," we should focus on our personal proofs of God's goodness and faithfulness. God has selected US to break through the barriers, to break out of our religious complacency and go where He leads us.

Wet Feet
After Moses saw the Promised Land, he died and Joshua became the new leader. The Israelites mourned for 30 days, and then they moved forward under Joshua's leadership (Deuteronomy 34).

Joshua acted immediately in obedience to God. He didn't linger or procrastinate. "Early in the morning, Joshua and all the Israelites set out from Shittim and went to the Jordan, where they camped before crossing over." (Joshua 3:1) They camped there for three days, getting a good look at their impossible circumstance; it was April, and the river was swollen with melted snow from the mountain.
Joshua acted fearlessly in spite of insurmountable odds. Right there on the banks of the raging river, he told the people, "Consecrate yourselves, for tomorrow the LORD will do amazing things among you." (Joshua 3:5)

Just as God had instructed, Joshua told the priests to carry the ark of the covenant and go ahead of the people. At the beginning of the exodus, when God parted the Red Sea, the previous generation had stepped out onto dry land. But this time the priests had to step into the flood waters. They had to get their feet wet and trust that God would hold back the water as he had promised.
Joshua acknowledged the presence of God. He instructed the people to watch the ark of the covenant. When they saw the priests carrying it, they were to move out from their positions and follow it. (Joshua 3:3)

So what does all this mean?

"The bigger your deep waters, the more enormous the opportunity for a miracle. Celebrate!"
Get up early, literally and figuratively. Start your day by seeking God's direction, and make Him your first priority.
As you look around at your impossible circumstance, or you contemplate the impossible task God has called you to do, anticipate miracles. Don't let Satan's stronghold of fear hold you back from pursuing God's will.
Wait for God to move before you move. Just as the Israelites waited for the ark of the covenant, which represented God's presence, we must watch for God's leading. And don't be distracted by all the good things around you. "Every good thing is not a God thing." If you get too busy doing good things, you won't be able to accomplish God's purpose for you.
Get your feet wet. When you see God leading you, go ahead and step out. God will hold back the waters, but you have to take that first step in faith.

As Priscilla shared all these truths, I felt a stirring in my spirit--excitement for the future and dissatisfaction with life as usual. But I can't just charge ahead. I have to know where God is leading me. I'm going to take Priscilla's advice and pray that God will heighten my spiritual senses and make me aware of His presence. I'm going to spend more time with God and find out what good things I need to pass up so that I can focus on doing only His will for me.

I fully expect to see evidence of God's leading in my life. I intend to get my feet wet as soon as He gives me the signal.

I Am Soree

2011-10-10T21:17:00.000-05:00

I've been amazed at how quickly Allyson's writing skills are developing. It absolutely thrills me to see how she's learning to communicate her thoughts on paper, and how she loves writing as much as I do.

But today I learned that the thoughts she communicates aren't always pure, lovely, and of good report.

We were just walking through the door this evening when my cell phone rang. I shut the door behind Allyson, waved absently at Bill, and stood in the back door so I could hear my friend better.

Within moments, Allyson was whining loudly and Bill was grumping, so I stepped onto the back porch to continue my conversation. Even through the closed door, I could hear Bill scolding and Allyson wailing.

When I finished my call, I came back inside to find Bill alone at the kitchen table. From upstairs came the muffled sound of Allyson's sobs.

"What was all that drama about?" I asked.

He explained that Allyson had pulled out a bunch of snacks and was going to pour some honey, but he made her stop. Despite her tears, he remained firm. So she looked him in the eye and licked the top of the honey bottle.

"She what??" I gasped. Now I understood why I'd heard Bill yelling.

"Oh, but that's not all. After her time out, she brought me this..."

When he handed me the paper at the top of the picture below, my eyebrows rose in shock. Hoo boy!

Where did our 5-year-old learn to say something like "shut up"? And how did she know how to spell it? (I was pretty sure Bill hadn't dictated it for her.)

"Where is she now?" I asked, once I'd regained my power of speech.

Bill pressed his lips into a grim line. "In her room."

When Bill opened Allyson's door a few minutes later, she shyly held out the paper at the bottom of the picture below:

"I Am Soree Thet I Wus Noteye Dadee"

My heart melted, but Bill struggled to maintain his frown.

"I'm sorry," Allyson whispered.

Bill knelt in front of her. "I'm glad you're sorry about being naughty. But why were you acting so naughty to begin with?"

Shrugging, she put her arms around her "dadee", and the last of his resistance slipped away.

Putting Her Talents to Better Use
Thankfully, Allyson usually uses her crayons to deliver more wholesome messages. Here's an example from last week:

After learning to draw an owl in art class, she decided to draw a bunch of owls to sell in our upcoming garage sale.

"I made each picture a little different," she explained. "That way people can pick the one they like best."

"Honey, I don't think people will buy pictures of owls," Bill said.

As I surveyed her work, my heart swelled with pride. "Oh, I think they might," I said. "If I saw a kid selling pictures like these, I might buy one."

"Sure you would," Bill retorted, and I knew he was thinking about my fanatical adherence to the Dave Ramsey budget.

"She can sell them at her lemonade stand," I said.

"Ooh, and this time I can keep all my money!" Allyson's face lit up as she remembered all the cash she'd raked in at our last garage sale.

Just in case the art sale doesn't pan out, Allyson has a few other ideas:

She can give art lessons:

"Example Made By Allyson"

(She already gave free lessons to Bill and me, and I have to say she is quite an exacting teacher.)

She can also sell her illustrations to science book publishers:

"Migration in Owls"

So, would anyone like to buy an owl picture?

Four Weeks and Counting...

2011-10-04T08:11:00.000-05:00

...until my 3-Day Walk. I don't know whether to be excited or nervous. A little of both, I guess. Here's an update on my progress.

On average, I walk around 30 miles a week now, but sometimes I walk more than that in just one weekend. I typically do my longest walks on Saturday, anywhere from three to seven hours, and slightly shorter walks on Sunday. And then I try to get in at least two shorter walks during the week, about one or two hours at a time.

I had to slow down for a couple of weeks after I fell down the stairs. I could walk only an hour at a time, and I was only able to walk a little over two miles an hour, when previously I could walk up to four miles an hour. That was frustrating, and rather painful but not unbearable.

Saturday before last was my first long walk after the injury, and I was ecstatic to be able to complete the 18 miles with a large group of 3-Day participants. It was both easier and harder than I expected: easier because my sore hip did not bother me at all (though I did take Advil, and I did have to walk at a relatively slow pace); harder because my feet go SO sore on my second lap around White Rock Lake. What surprised me the most was how utterly drained I was after walking 6.5 hours. I had to slap my cheeks repeatedly on the one-hour drive home to keep myself awake. And when I got home, I collapsed in an easy chair for a two-hour nap. After that, I was STILL tired. In fact, I was exhausted for three days!

Waking up early the next morning and slipping into my Five Finger shoes for another 10 miles took all the discipline I could muster. My calves were tight, my feet still hurt, and I felt like I'd been rudely awakened in the middle of the night even though it was 7:00, two hours later than I'd risen the previous morning. But I drug myself out of bed and walked 7 miles, which was all I had time for before church. My feet had felt bruised, but walking actually seemed to loosen them up. Same thing with my leg muscles.

I've got another 18-mile walk scheduled this Saturday, followed by 15 miles on Sunday. That will be the peak of my training. After that it will wind down in preparation for the event--walking 60 miles in three days.

I should also share that I have exceeded the minimum fundraising amount for the walk, for a total of $2432.79. Thank you to everyone for your generous donations, your prayers, and your support. And thank you to God for blessing my recent garage sale fundraiser not only beyond what I expected, but beyond the beyond.

I can't wait to share the story of my 3-Day adventure. In the meantime, here are a few tidbits about my training so far....

Training Buddies
Here are pictures of some of my training buddies over the last seven months. This is by no means an exhaustive list.

My Hubby
(For a Couple Blocks Some Nights, If I Sweet Talk Him)

Sister Melody, Me, Aunt Sue, Sister Amy, Sue's Dog Miley, Allyson

Elizabeth and Daughter Abigail

Gentle, My 3-Day Partner

Ethan, If I Beg

Lori with Daughter Abigail (Now age 4)
Abigail always says, "Are we walking with Sar-wah today?"

Pamela, the Girl Who Saw the Angel When She Was Sick with Appendicitis

New Buddies That I Met at White Rock Lake
On that walk, I saw three couples on tandem bikes, a man on a unicycle, two cross-country skiers on wheels, and a sexy girl perched on a pink Vespa scooter in leopard skin pumps pretending to read a book (no photographer in sight). Plus about a hundred cyclists who kept whizzing past us.

Allyson and Me at a Charity Walk, Two Weeks After My Injury
I walked so slowly we were almost dead last. Even a barefooted toddler passed us up.

Sweet Laura, Of Course
Man, I Miss That Grin

I didn't think to take a picture, but on Saturday I walked 10 miles with Kelly, the friend of Laura who mailed me the book on angels. She also plans to walk with me part of the way at the 3-Day event, though she is not an official participant. I think we will be good friends.

My Most Faithful Buddy

There's one more walking buddy, the most faithful and enthusiastic of all. Guess who? Yep, Lola. Her new harness makes her almost manageable.

Notice anything unusual about the picture? Look closely at the leash. That's right: there's slack in the leash! We've never had that before.

In a world without other dogs, she'd be a great walking partner. The harness really works miracles in averting her natural instinct to pull against the leash--except when another dog is within five feet or so. Lola is strong enough to just about pull me off my feet when she lunges at other dogs. We follow a circuitous route, avoiding all the fenced dogs in the neighborhood. But we can't go to the park at all; it's teeming with dogs on a mild day. I don't know which is worse, the embarrassment of dragging my naughty dog past other people with their perfectly behaved dogs, or trying to separate her from other naughty dogs who hurl themselves at her.

A More Noxious Problem

The most embarrassing problem of all is one I never expected to face. In the four years we've had her, Lola had never, ever pooped anywhere except our backyard. But I guess our frequent long walks have made her more comfortable outside her own turf because last Wednesday she dropped a big load when we were still about a block from home. Uh oh!

I'd been so presumptuous over Lola's sense of propriety that I hadn't even brought a plastic bag along. For a moment I was seized with the temptation to slink away and pretend my dog had nothing to do with the steaming pile of dung, but my conscience wouldn't let me. The poop was in the worst possible spot, at the edge of the road right next to the front door of a parked car. (Don't worry, I didn't take a picture!)

We hurried home for some plastic grocery bags. On the way back, I silently prayed that no one would come out of the house and find that poop before I could clean it up. God must have thought I needed some humbling, though, because when we got back my worst fear was realized. A woman was in the front yard!

I skulked past and walked a few more houses down, then casually retraced my steps. Whew! She'd just shut the front door. I knelt on the sidewalk and tried not to breathe as I did my very first pooper scooper duty. It wasn't so bad, I guess, except that I had to carry that smelly poo over a block. I felt so ridiculous carrying a grocery bag full of crap down the street.

On yesterday's walk, Lola blithely pooped not two minutes after we'd left the house. I think she's enjoying this.

Oh well. She is a dog, after all. And I have to say, it's most gratifying the way she dances with joy and whines in expectation when I bring out the leash. None of my other walking buddies do that.

I'm thankful for all my walking buddies, many of whom would not even be my friends were it not for my 3-Day training. I've been blessed in so many ways, and I look forward to seeing where this adventure will lead.

Tales from Kindergarten

2011-09-18T21:59:00.000-05:00

Four weeks ago, Allyson started Kindergarten. She was beyond excited. Here she is on Meet the Teacher night, which our whole family attended.

She Picked Her Dress

Getting Her Supplies Organized

As you can see, she didn't dress up nearly so much on the actual first day; she was about the only girl in Kindergarten who wasn't wearing a dress:

She looked so little walking into the school next to Daddy:

Ethan wanted to come along too, which warmed my heart. Of course, it wouldn't be cool to act like he was enjoying it...

We stood around watching Allyson settle in, but she soon forgot we were there and got to work on her very first assignment, "Summer Fun":

She Drew a Picture of Our Pool

As ecstatic as she had been about starting school, her first impression wasn't all that great. "There's lots of rules," she complained. One thing she does like, though, is buying her lunch in the cafeteria.

Bill helped her read the first week's menu, and she laboriously wrote down her choices:

Wednesday: "NO"; Thursday: "TAKO"; Friday: PIZZA (of course)

Each morning she consulted her little calendar so she'd know what to order for the day. She did have one bad experience. On Tuesday, they gave her baked potato to another kid and she got a ham and cheese sandwich. She tried to tell the lunch lady, but I guess it's hard for a five-year-old to get someone's attention. At her table, she told her teacher about the mixup, but either she didn't believe Allyson, or there wasn't enough time. "Just eat it," she said.

"But I hate ham and cheese," Allyson protested. So all she had was milk and some graham crackers. By the afternoon she was ravenous, but we had to head straight over to the high school to pick up Ethan. We got trapped in an absolutely ludicrous double line of cars, maybe 100 of them, and the 107-degree heat (42 Celsius) quickly overwhelmed my car's crappy air conditioning. It was literally blowing hot air, so I had to roll down all the windows.

We were both streaming with sweat, and Allyson wailed incessantly that she was hot and hungry and she wanted to go home. When the bell rang, over a thousand teenagers streamed out, but then they all milled around aimlessly. "Find your ride and go home," the vice principal hollered through a bullhorn, but the kids ignored him and went on with their conversations. We strained to find Ethan, but it was impossible in that crowd, and even if we could find him, there was no way out of the gridlock.

When Bill phoned to inform me that Ethan was staying late for band practice, I started wailing louder than Allyson. "I'm hot and hungry and I want to go home!" We sat for a total of 40 minutes in that inferno, and Allyson and I were at each other's throats by the time we got back home. But after a snack and some water, we loved each other again.

Since then, we've settled into a routine. I work at home for the seven hours that Allyson is in school, and then I start my daily taxi run to the two schools. I think Allyson is enjoying school more now. She comes home saying words like "hypothesis" and telling me all about Leonardo DaVinci, whose paintings "look like music."

Maybe Mom and Dad
Last week she brought home her first fundraiser: $15 boxes of cookie dough. Can you imagine, in this economy? She came home full of plans about all the prizes she hoped to win, including some sort of electronic floating shark. Bill gently explained that she would have to sell 40 boxes to get the shark, and there was no way she would sell that many.

"Will you buy some, Daddy? And Mommy? And will you give Ethan money to buy some too?"

"We'll see," I said. "They're pretty expensive, baby."

She sat down and made a list of her prospects, all on her own:

She figured the neighbors might buy some--we never asked--and "mabey" Mom and Dad.

"Aw, that's so sweet," I said later when I found the list.

"Poor thing," Bill said.

Budget or no budget, there was no way we could say no to a box a-piece after reading her forlorn little list. Bill hit up his friends and she sold four more boxes, not too shabby at those prices.

Bill's First Kindergarten Project
Another first she had last week was a big art project. She had to make a model of our house with our street name and house number, with a picture of herself in her bedroom window.

Bill spent hours building a scale model out of cardboard boxes, Duck tape, and construction paper. I reminded him that the teacher said it needed to look like a Kindergartener made it, but he just couldn't help himself.

She did draw the bricks, and she did most of the cutting and gluing. She also selected, cut, and glued the photo of herself. She picked a rather old picture, and she cut off almost all her hair, but it still looked cute.

Isn't the house amazing?

Well, I think that's all the Kindergarten news.

Ethan is doing very well in high school and still loving band. At his recent parent night, his algebra teacher gave me a fist bump and said, "You've got a great kid. You should be proud."

And I am. Of both my school kids.

A Flaming Sword

2011-09-14T09:01:00.001-05:00

As you might have gathered from my last couple of posts, I've had the wind knocked out of me, and for awhile I was living in fear. But an email from my mother on Sunday changed everything...

I think the gentleman you encountered yesterday morning was up to know good i don' t believe his story since you felt danger there was danger. When you got to your door and started pounding the door it was anointed with oil on the inside of the frame and he was stopped by that, the Holy Ghost protected you from harm. Remember he stopped in your driveway and came no further. I have been praising God for the protection.
Love Mom

When I read Mom's message, goosebumps broke out all over my body. How could I have missed the connection? I flashed back to a morning three weeks earlier, after I'd dropped Allyson off for her second day of school. I felt compelled that morning to walk through our whole house praying for the covering of Jesus's blood. I took some olive oil and anointed every door frame with oil. As I prayed for God's protection over our family, our house, and our property, I heard myself say something that seemed to come out of nowhere, something wildly extravagant. "God, I'm asking you to post angels at our doors, angels with flaming swords."

Since then, I've searched the Bible for references to angels with flaming swords, and the only example I found was the cherubim who waved flaming swords as they guarded the Garden of Eden. So I don't know why I would have thought to pray about flaming swords; I think it was the Holy Spirit's anointing.

After I anointed our doors, I anointed the stairway banister from top to bottom, and as I climbed I asked the Lord for his protection over everyone who went up and down those stairs. I didn't pray specifically for no one to fall, just asked for protection from injury.

I also anointed each of our beds and prayed fervently for each family member individually, for my marriage, and for my family. I can only describe that prayer experience as thrilling. I felt the Holy Spirit's power coursing through me, and I prayed with absolute authority. I have never prayed that way before or since, and I had never anointed my house with oil, nor had I heard about anyone else doing it or recommending that I do it. It was just an urge that I felt one Tuesday morning. At the time, it felt like spiritual warfare, and I shuddered as I wondered what battles might lay ahead of me. But I felt confident that God would be with me whatever might come.

You know the rest. I never guessed it would be ME tumbling end over end down those stairs. I think it is nothing short of miraculous that I suffered no serious injury. My chiropractor thought the same thing when he saw all the bruises, though he did remark, "You'd think if angels were protecting you, they might have steered you away from the stairs in the first place."

How the Bruise on my Right Hip Looks Today, 9 Days After My Fall

I have to admit I've wondered the same thing, but I trust that God allowed both of my recent trials for a purpose. I may never know why, but I know he has ordained all of my days, and neither incident caught him by surprise.

One of the times that I was crying on the day I was pursued by the man, I was suddenly calmed by the mental image myself on the porch, struggling with the lock. On the porch with me, between me and the man, was an angel with a white, flaming sword. "Is that how it happened?" I asked God. I felt sure that an angel had literally been guarding me, but I still didn't connect it with my prayer three weeks before.

I think the reason I thought of a flaming sword that afternoon was because I'd just heard a story about an angel from my friend Pamela, who recently suffered a ruptured appendix and later an obstructed colon. She very nearly lost her life, and she's a changed woman. After her appendectomy, she had either a dream or a vision of herself in the hospital bed, being guarded by a flaming white sword. She couldn't see an angel, just the sword. She also saw a giant foot, and it seemed the foot wanted to crush her, but it had no power over her. She heard a voice that sounded like thunder. It said, "Not this one. Not tonight."

It had only been three days since Pamela told me that story during our walk, so it was quite fresh in my mind. And the idea of angels protecting me was reinforced later that day when I received a book in the mail about real encounters with angels.

So now I'm going to tell you my new theory about what really happened to me on Saturday morning. I still don't know if the man really had me mistaken for someone else, but regardless, I could feel that his intent was to harm me. Mother is right that he stopped the moment he hit our property. But do you remember what he said, and how I couldn't make any sense of it?

Right after he said, "Oh, wrong person," he said, "What the f___?" As he said it, he threw up his hands, palms facing forward--as if to say, "Whoa, back off."

What if he saw something on my porch that he couldn't interpret? He might have seen my angel, or a flaming sword, or an unexplained flash of light. Or maybe he didn't see anything with his eyes, but maybe his inner being saw something that made him throw up his hands and take a step back. I guess I will never know this side of heaven. All I do know is, after he said that he took off in a hurry.

Last night when I came home from Bible study at 9:15, I started to feel a hint of fear as I climbed out of my car and stood on the very spot where the stranger had stood. But then my eyes lifted to the porch, and I strained to see my angel there with his flaming sword. My eyes saw nothing, but I believe my spirit recognized him.

"Thank you," I said as I climbed onto the porch. "Thank you so much."

Angels Working Overtime

2011-09-11T14:41:00.001-05:00

Can you imagine anything more terrifying than tumbling headlong down a flight of steps in the pitch black? Neither could I--until yesterday morning at 6:05 A.M.

In the days since my mishap on the stairs, I'd been trying so hard to find the balance between taking it easy and staying active. I did four small walks with Allyson to her school, totaling 8 miles. With each passing day, the pain in my right hip diminished a bit more, but walking still felt like a sacrifice. I remember thinking, when my hip started throbbing halfway home from school on Wednesday, It's good for me to suffer a bit. No one said this 3-Day Walk would be easy. My discomfort is nothing next to what Laura suffered, and she never lost her smile through it all.

When Saturday rolled around, I was both excited and apprehensive about my four-hour training walk. I planned to start walking in my neighborhood at 6:00 in the morning and then meet up with my friend Marie at 7:00 to finish the last three hours in the park.

When the alarm went off at 5:30, I rolled resolutely out of my comfy bed. I shut off the backup alarm on my cell phone, which I'd stored safely away from the bedroom, and then I completed my entire ritual. By 5:57 I had taped up and lubed my feet, loaded the canteens onto my belt, and swallowed my last bite of peanut butter toast.

As I stepped out the door, I noted with pride that I'd made it out at 6:00 on the nose. The near total darkness was a bit scary, but my street was comfortably familiar, so I pushed down the anxiety and started walking at a gentle pace that didn't cause my hip much pain.

I hadn't made it past our neighbor's driveway when I noticed a car farther down the street that made me unaccountably uneasy. It just didn't feel like that car belonged. All I could see was the headlights, but the engine sounded rather souped up, with a loud muffler. That doesn't sound like an upstanding citizen on the way to a Saturday morning job, I thought, slowing my pace. And why are they idling like that on the side of the road at 6:00 in the morning?

The car pulled away from the curb then and drove slowly past me. I didn't know if I'd been seen, but I shuddered anyway and picked up my pace. I was about six doors down from my house when I heard that same engine coming back down the street. I immediately pivoted on my heel and started back toward my house, a sinking feeling in my gut.

As the car came back by, I noted that it was an older red car that looked like a Camaro, maybe early 90s. My heart started hammering when the car stopped just behind me and I heard the window rolling down. I figured I was about to hear the dreaded line you hear in movies just before someone is abducted: "Say, can you tell me how to get to _______."

I paused for just the fraction of a second, wondering how rude or silly it would be to take off running, and then I decided I didn't want to wait around to see what this person thought. I rocketed off down the sidewalk for my very first run in my Five Finger shoes. Running in Five Finger shoes is like running barefoot, and you can injure yourself if you're not careful while you're learning the stride. On your toes, on your toes, I reminded myself.

Behind me I heard a man's voice calling to me in a foreign language I didn't recognize, most likely not Spanish, which is common around here. He was calling out a woman's name, which I seem to remember as Miriam though I can't be sure. From his tone it seemed he was saying, "Miriam, Miriam! Wait!"

I yelled, "You don't know me" and kept running.

After that his voice became more insistent, a little angry and bordering on desperate. And it sounded louder, closer. Surely he wasn't pursuing me on foot!

Faster, faster! my thoughts ordered my body as my house loomed larger. But I couldn't go any faster because each time my right foot struck the sidewalk, pain radiated up the back of my thigh and coursed through my hip. An oddly detached portion of my mind reflected that, though I'd heard that adrenaline dulls pain in an emergency, it didn't seem to be true for me; maybe I wasn't terrified enough.

"Go away," I cried plaintively.

The man yelled something unintelligible. He was definitely gaining on me. But now I was in front of the neighbor's house... Now I was at my driveway! I stumbled up the hill and onto my porch. Home! Safe!

But then I realized with horror that the man was scrambling up the driveway behind me! Though my keys were dangling from a band around my wrist, I realized there was no way I could fit the key in the lock and get through the door in time. Am I about to die? I wondered, a sick feeling in my gut.

I jabbed the doorbell repeatedly with my right hand while my left hand fumbled with the keys. And I began to scream the only word that came to my head in that moment. Was it "Jesus!!!"? No. Nothing like that. It was "Hey!!!"

"Hey!!! Hey!!!... Bill-Bill-Bill!!!" I screamed, so loud that my throat was hoarse afterward.

Just then the man apparently got a good look at me under the glow from the porchlight, which I'd thankfully forgotten to turn off.

"Oh--wrong person!" he exclaimed. I risked a glance at him just as the door finally unlocked. He was short and dark with a clean-cut haircut and no facial hair, and he looked to be in his twenties.

"Bill!" I screamed again.

"What the f___!" he yelled at me. "Sheeze." And then he ran back the way he'd come.

I slammed the door shut and twisted the deadbolt. What the f____? I thought. That's all you have to say to me? As if I'm a crazy freak for screaming my head off when a strange man pursues me through the dark?"

For about two minutes, I stood there frozen and wild eyed. I had to talk to someone, but amazingly all was quiet upstairs, and I hated to wake Bill (and most likely Allyson too) so early on a Saturday. So I phoned Marie.

"Are you about ready?" I asked, my voice trembly.

"Yes. Are you okay?"

My chin wobbled, and I burst into tears. "No-o-o!" I wailed.

"What is it?"

Pacing back and forth in front of the front window, I told her the story between sobs.

"Do you still want to walk?" she asked.

"Yes! Please come as soon as you can," I pleaded.

"I will," she promised in a soothing voice. "I'm getting into the car in just a minute. You just drink some water and sit down and try to relax. I'll call when I'm getting close."

After we hung up, I unhooked my water belt and took a swig from one of the bottles. And then I sat on my favorite nap chair, my feet splayed on the ottoman. But I couldn't relax because I was trembling all over and my hip was absolutely throbbing from the short run.

I hit Redial. "Can you bring me some Advil?" I whined. "I'm out."

"Of course," she said.

She arrived at 7:00, right on schedule. I showed her the hole on the stairway landing and my bruises, and then we set out. After walking and talking for three hours--only 8 miles at my slow pace--I felt so much better that I gave her a kiss on the cheek before she left.

But I kept dissolving into tears all day long, like at Allyson's 10:30 soccer game, where I told Bill the whole story.

"Why didn't you answer the doorbell?" I sobbed.

He explained that it had only rung once; apparently I pushed it so rapidly that it couldn't respond. And because I'd closed the bedroom door, he had not heard my screams at all, which disturbed him. "I thought it was Marie coming to meet you," he said. "I had no idea you'd even left at that point."

Several hours later, he frowned as he posed a question of his own. "Why on earth didn't you wake me up when it happened?"

Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks. "I know I should have," I said meekly. "But I was safe. I just wanted to let you sleep."

"If something like that ever happens again, know this: I would want you to wake me up. Maybe I could have gotten a license plate number or something."

He also gave me lots of other good advice, like never to walk alone in the dark (no warning needed there!), and to carry the mace and whistle he'd given me a couple years back, and to run to the gate instead of the front door so Lola could protect me. We both agreed that I need to take Lola with me on my solo walks, which could prove quite an adventure in itself.

And then he thought of the most obvious thing of all. "You were holding your car keys," he said. "Why didn't you push the panic button? I definitely would have heard that."

I wanted to kick myself for not thinking of that. The man had been right next to my car. I could have scared the crap out of HIM!

Of course, I am beyond thankful that I was not harmed. I really think it was a simple case of mistaken identity, but I shudder to think what could have happened had the man caught me. It makes me angry that I can't seem to shake the terror, that I feel so vulnerable and weak, afraid to do my training walks even in the daylight. It makes me angry that the same people who I see every week in the park now seem menacing to me. And I can't believe this week that I've had! Two brushes with death in six days! Surely my angels have been working overtime protecting me.

It's funny that I was thinking of my guardian angel, because look what came in the mail for me yesterday afternoon:

It was a book of true stories about angel encounters and a lovely journal from Kelly, a friend of Laura's whom I've never met except through Facebook. In her card she said she's wanted to send me the book ever since the memorial service, but things have been busy and she just now got around to it. She said the journal is to record my experiences with the 3-Day Walk, and she mentioned that she has done it twice and would love to join me on a training walk.

Her package could not have come on a better day, and I am quite sure it was no coincidence. I was feeling so overwhelmed with the safety issues and the pain in my hip that I was wondering if all of this is really worth it. After reading this stranger's kind words, I knew. Of course it's worth it! There is so much support out there for me if I only reach out. No way I'm giving up now!

Please be in prayer for my safety and for full healing of my injured hip. I'm going to visit the chiropractor tomorrow and see if he can help. I also went to PetSmart yesterday and bought a special harness that my brother Rick and his wife Diane swear works miracles with dogs that pull. We shall see. You'd better pray for me and Lola, too, while you're at it!

A Public Safety Message From Texty Texterson

2011-09-05T13:20:00.001-05:00

While I'm the first person to complain about other people's dangerous texting habits, I like to think that I myself am not at risk. Still, I have to admit I do have a bit of a texting problem. Just yesterday Bill "tsk-tsk'ed" me for texting as we walked to the car. "Alright, Texty Texterson," he said. "Put that away. It's time to go to church."

Naturally, I never, ever text while driving, and I can't fathom why anyone else would dare do it.
But I'm here to tell you that driving is not the only thing you should avoid while texting. I recently noted in the fine print for one of the training events for my 3-day walk that cell phones are prohibited during all official walks for Susan G. Komen, both during training and during the November event. The reasoning behind it is that cell phones are a big distraction and a safety hazard for walkers.

"That's kind of silly," I thought when I read the rule. "I talk on the phone all the time while I'm walking. It's a good way to pass the time."

Now I know better....

Because I came down with a nasty cold a few days ago (a story I'll have to share with you another time), I missed two morning walks in a row. Last night was the first night I ventured out, and I felt amazingly better after a brisk eight-mile walk. So I was looking forward to a morning walk today, though I was not keen on getting up at 6:40 on a holiday.

Since I had overslept last Saturday and left four people waiting in my front yard at 6:00 in the morning, I wasn't taking any chances this time. I set the main alarm, and then I set the alarm on my cell phone and put it on my nightstand.

At 5:45 this morning, I jumped out of bed when my cell phone chirped. It wasn't my alarm, but a text message. I hurried out of the bedroom to keep from waking Bill and Allyson, who had sneaked into our bed during the night. As I stumbled into the hall, I read the note; my walking buddy had to cancel because her daughter was sick. At this point I was still more than half asleep, and I don't know where I thought I was walking, or why I didn't just stop right outside the bedroom door.

But I kept moving and somehow veered toward the TV room. Just as I slid out the keyboard to reply, my right foot hit empty space, and I lurched to the side. What?? I was already tumbling through the darkness when realization dawned in my foggy brain. The stairs! I frantically reached for the banister, but I had no idea where it was as I cartwheeled sideways.

Just like in the movies, I experienced everything in slow motion. I felt each terrifying bump of various body parts against the stairs, heard my cell phone clatter on the hardwood down below and clink into three pieces, heard and felt the slam of my body against the wall, and then heard the dull thump when I sprawled on the landing.

I lay there for several seconds, absolutely still and silent, waiting for Bill to run to my rescue. But there was only the sound of my own breathing and the crush of the carpet against my cheek. I deliberately moved my fingers and my toes. Ah, maybe nothing was broken.

I lay still for another 30 seconds or so until my breathing slowed to normal, and then I released my grip on the edge of the landing; I'd been holding on for dear life even after I thudded to a stop. I pushed myself onto my knees and gingerly pulled myself up using the banister for support. That's when I became aware of the pain in my right knee and ankle. "Uhhh," I muttered as I stepped down onto the hardwood floor.

I flipped on the light at the bottom of the stairs and started searching for my phone. I didn't spot it at first, but I did find a hole in the Sheetrock! What made that hole? I wondered. Maybe it was my phone. I started to reach inside the hole, but it hurt to bend my elbow. My elbow, I thought. It was my elbow that made that hole.

I found the phone underneath the couch, next to the staircase. I put the battery back inside and snapped it together; good as new! I sent a quick reply to my friend Lori and climbed back up the stairs and into bed.

I shoved Bill over and tried to find a comfortable position, but every time I moved I discovered a new sore spot. There was an ominous throbbing low in my back, between my hips. My right wrist was smarting, and so were my right knee and hip and ankle. My left elbow was tender, as well as my left shoulder. And there was a wicked carpet burn along the inside of my left forearm.

The One Bruise that Doesn't Hurt

But the most important thing was what wasn't hurting: I felt absolutely no pain in my head or neck. Thank you, thank you God, I repeated over and over. For some reason I've always had a premonition about falling down those stairs, and every time I pictured myself with broken bones, maybe even a broken neck. But now that my worst fear had materialized--even worse than I'd imagined, actually, because I never thought it would happen in the pitch black--all I had was a few abrasions and bruises. Maybe I fared so well because I'd been half asleep and totally relaxed.

I never did fall back asleep, and when both alarms went off at 6:40, I decided to get up and go on that walk. Part of me feared that I should take it easy with that pain in my back, but another part of me thought, "No way I'm missing ANOTHER walk this weekend." Plus, I reasoned, getting out and moving would probably be better than lying still and getting all stiff.

So I popped an Advil, taped up my feet with moleskin (to prevent blisters on the hot spots), smoothed Body Glide over all the exposed surfaces of my feet, slid on my Five Finger shoes, and filled my water bottles.

I ate a slice of peanut butter toast, stuffed a frozen bran muffin in my pocket, and stepped outside at 7:10, only 10 minutes behind schedule; this time no one was waiting for me, so it didn't matter. Wonder of wonders, I actually had to go back inside for a jacket.

The weather was glorious, probably around 70 (21 Celsius), with a nice breeze. I clutched the jacket around me and lurched down the sidewalk. At first I felt a little twinge in my lower back with each step, but after about a mile my muscles felt much more relaxed.

I figured I'd go three miles and then head back, but it was such a beautiful morning, and the pain wasn't any worse, so I kept going for three hours--only 9.67 miles out of my scheduled 14 miles, but not too shabby considering.

The best thing is the peace and comfort that I felt. There was no one to walk with me but Jesus, and He was all the company I needed. All my senses were heightened, and I stared in wonder at the delicate shapes of individual green leaves and the play of the shadows over the sidewalk in front of me.

One of the Trees I Admired

An old hymn came to my mind and rose to my lips: "Holy, holy, holy... Lord God Almighty! Early in the morning my song shall rise to thee. Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty, God in three persons, blessed Trinity."

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt so fragile, yet so protected. Another fragment of a song played in my head, one I heard at church yesterday: "You go before me, you shield my way." I pictured my strong guardian angel catching me as I fell.

"I am yours, God. Take all of me today," I whispered. "Help me hear your voice so I can obey you."

After about seven miles, I ran into my friend Maria, the leader of our prayer team at church, and her husband. I walked with them for another mile or two, and then at her urging I turned back toward home. "Take it easy today," she advised. "You can make up the miles another time."

The moment I stepped through the door, Allyson asked, "What happened to the stairs, Mommy?"

"What do you think happened?"

"Let me guess," Bill said. "You fell down the stairs?" I nodded. "How on earth did that happen?"

"It was pretty stupid, really..."

After I finished my story, Allyson said, "You have to tell this story on the blog, Mommy. And you have to take a picture of the hole in the wall."

"I will," I promised. "As soon as I finish this French toast Daddy made."

Now that I've stopped moving, I'm tender all over--except for my feet, thanks to the moleskin padding. I hope I'll be able to move when I wake up tomorrow.

Please join me in rejoicing that I didn't break any bones or hit my head when I fell. And please, please learn from my mistake. Don't text while you're walking, and especially when you're walking in the dark. And while you're at it, don't text while you're driving either.

As for me, I've banned the cell phone from my bedroom. And maybe I'm going to give up my title of Texty Texterson. Nah....

Update 9/6/11 8:15 A.M. - Yesterday evening, my mom, my sister Amy, and Allyson laid hands on my back and prayed for me. I woke up this morning with no back pain! Praise the Lord!

I'm With the Band

2011-08-28T23:02:00.001-05:00

The last few weeks have been both grueling and exciting for Ethan. He started high school this past Monday, but his school year actually began three weeks earlier, when band camp commenced. He's been in band for several years now, but we're quickly learning that high school marching band is a whole 'nother thing.

Ethan did a fair share of grumbling when he first learned that he'd be practicing eight hours a day for his last three weeks of summer. He was also disappointed that instead of playing his instrument of choice, the snare drum, he'd now be in "the pit," on the marimba.

"The marimba is really hard," he complained on the second night. "We play with four mallets, and we never did that in middle school. It gives you blisters on your thumbs."

Within a few days, however, he was proudly demonstrating his four-mallet techniques, using the couch as his marimba. "It's all in the wrist," he explained. "See, you just pivot your wrist like this, and the rest of your arm doesn't move." He pantomimed alternating between the upper and lower bars of his imaginary marimba.

Two weeks later, when he learned there were a couple of bass drum openings on the drumline, I asked if he was going to audition. "No," he said. "I already have friends in pit, and I don't want to leave the group."

It gave me such relief to know that school wasn't starting for another week, yet Ethan had already made friends.

On the last Friday evening of summer break, we sat on the metal bleachers in the 104 degree heat (40 Celsius) and watched the full band performing their 2011 show for the first time. We couldn't see (or hear) much of Ethan, who stood behind the tall metal chimes, but we were most impressed with the rest of the band's marching. It was hard to believe that they'd memorized all the music and learned those intricate steps in just three weeks. They marched frontward, backward, and sideways, all without missing a note on their instruments.

I clapped until my hands hurt, and for a moment I forgot all about my sweaty legs sticking to the metal bench. And when I spotted Ethan's grin after the performance, I (almost) forgot the shockingly high band fees too.

The true commitment began after school started, when Ethan had to get up at 5:45 each morning for 6:30 practice. On the second day of school, he got there at 6:30 A.M. and stayed until 7:00 P.M. for evening practice. But he didn't complain at all!

We Do Our Share, Too
The band has a website with a list of volunteer needs for each event. I signed Bill up for the hardest job: chaperoning the overnight lock-in at Putt Putt Mini Golf. From 11:00 until 6:00 A.M. Friday before last, he stood around watching the kids having fun, and then, as the night wore on, watching the kids falling asleep on the floor. Ethan, however, managed to stay up the entire night. So did Bill.

For the first football game, I signed up for what seemed to be the easiest job: taking tickets. I pictured myself in an air-conditioned booth, perhaps with a fan blowing on my face, counting change and passing out tickets through the first quarter. Instead, I stood for two hours in front of a chain-link fence, sweating in the rays of the setting sun while all the day's heat radiated up from the concrete under my flip flops.

The saving grace was a lady named Kim, the mother of a sophomore clarinet player. We chatted almost nonstop, and I learned all about how band works, and how high school goes.

A throng of alarmingly surly teenagers streamed through the gates--first the cheerleaders, and then the drill team, the color guard, and finally the band. The cheerleaders complained about the locked gates leading to the field and cursed over the darkened bathroom; it didn't matter to them that we were just parent volunteers from the other team's band. [I had hoped the kids at Ethan's school were more polite and respectful, but Ethan informed me tonight that "over half of the kids in high school act like that, especially the girls." What a disappointment! I don't remember the kids being like that back when I was in school. I guess that tells you how old I am.]

When the drill team filed by in their sparkly blue and white fringed costumes, I couldn't resist exclaiming, "Your uniforms are beautiful!" But the two girls in hearing range literally lifted their noses in the air and made a show of avoiding eye contact. I was flabbergasted. While I'd always thought of the term "walking with your nose in the air" as just a figure of speech, now I knew just what that meant.

But there was one young lady in the color guard who smiled at me, and I grinned eagerly back at her. Next to her was a very short, quite tiny girl, with a face like an elf; her ears, nose, and chin seemed a bit pointy. She was so cute, with rosy lips and a sprinkling of freckles across her cheekbones that reminded me of my dear friend Laura.

A wide smile lit up the girl's face just then, and I turned to see her mother behind me, looking up through the railing. "Don't be nervous!" she called out. "You're going to be fabulous. Just pretend it's another practice.... You look beautiful, sweetie."

The girl's mouth trembled, and she put her fist to her lips. The girl who'd smiled at me put an arm protectively over her shoulder, and the younger girl gave a tremulous smile.

I turned to the mother below. "You're going to make me cry," I said, and tears rushed to my eyes.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because my son is playing with the band for the first time tonight, and I wish I were there with him to see whether he's nervous or excited."

The other mother smiled. "I understand."

"Your daughter is a beautiful young lady," I said.

The woman's face glowed. "Yes, she is."

"Enjoy the game," I said.

I said, "Enjoy the game" approximately 17 more times, as I collected 36 tickets that had been purchased from the lady in the little air conditioned booth with the fan blowing on her face--a real district employee, not a parent volunteer.

Long after all the coaches, instructors and chaperones had passed by, and most of the fans, a frantic mother ran up with an armload of Styrofoam cups. "I had to leave and get cups," she said. "I'm with the band."

Waving her in, I pressed my lips together to keep from saying, "Haven't you always wanted to say the line, 'I'm with the band'?"

The first quarter came and went, but the ticket seller informed us that we had to serve until halftime, no matter what the band website said. Reading our minds, she said, "Don't worry. You'll get to see the halftime show."

At halftime I followed Kim into the stands, and we watched the opposing team's show first. They were pretty good, but of course not half as good as OUR kids.

Afterward I craned my neck, straining for a glimpse of Ethan. At last I spotted him pushing the chimes out onto the field. As he looked up into the stands and then out over the field, I could feel his awe. "That's my son," I said. "The tall one with the blonde hair and the glasses."

"Isn't he handsome?" Kim's friend said, and I beamed.

"Yes, he's really turning into a young man," I agreed, flushing with pride.

Here, judge for yourself:

Ethan in Uniform

After the show, I slipped down to the railing and gave a casual wave, careful not to embarrass my freshman percussionist. My heart swelled with pride when he hurried right over to me. "Did you see the show?" he asked, breathless with excitement.

"Yes, you guys were awesome."

"Were we better than the other band?"

"Well, you were both great," I said. "But I think I liked your music best. Are you having fun?"

"Yeah," he said.

He stood still while I took a couple shots with my cell phone, and then he said, "Gotta go. We have to start putting everything away."

"See you soon," I called after him. And I smiled all the way to the car.

Yep, I'm with the band!

Beets, Glorious Beets!

2011-08-21T22:26:00.001-05:00

Here are a few tidbits about what's been going on around here. (By the way, you'll be happy to know these stories have absolutely nothing to do with poop!)

For a couple years now, I've been having fun grinding up all manner of veggies and fruits and hiding them in everything from pizza to brownies. But it's gotten harder now that Allyson is bigger; she shadows me and follows my every move in the kitchen.

Last week when we got beets in our organic produce co-op delivery, I racked my brain for a way to serve them so that someone other than myself would eat them. I came up empty, so I drug out the food processor and turned them into a gorgeous purple puree.

"What's that?" Allyson asked as I surreptitiously scraped the last of the puree into little baby food containers for the freezer.

"Why, it's beet puree!" I announced cheerfully, like a 1950s TV commercial announcer.

She scrunched her brow. "What's it for?" she demanded.

"Oh, I don't know," I evaded. "Maybe I'll make some more pink pancakes with it."

"Mmm! I love pink pancakes."

"Only I don't have any ricotta. I'll think of something," I promised. And then I went online and found this recipe for chicken nuggets with beets:

Can You See the Pink?

It was a very messy recipe, a pain in the behind, really. I mixed the beet puree with a beaten egg, dipped the chicken breast pieces in it, and then tried to make my healthy whole-wheat breading stick to them. My fingers were stained crimson for several days afterward. And while the nuggets in the online picture looked like perfectly normal nuggets, mine were decidedly pink even after I browned them in a bit of olive oil.

"What's for dinner?" Ethan asked as he breezed through the kitchen on the way to the pool.

"Chicken nuggets," I said.

"Really? Awesome!"

I smiled, knowing he thought I'd broken down and bought the greasy kind you get in the grocery store freezer case. When I called him out of the pool a few minutes later and handed him a plate to eat on the patio, he exclaimed, "Hey, why are these pink?"

I sighed. "Beets."

"You made chicken nuggets with BEETS?" he repeated. "Why would you do that?"

"Just try them," I coaxed. "They're really good. You can't taste the beets at all."

"Yeah, try them, Ethan," Allyson called around a mouthful of nugget. In her mind, their pink hue was actually an asset.

Ethan nibbled his first nugget cautiously, and then popped the next two in his mouth and practically swallowed them whole. "Can I have more?" he asked.

Before I had a chance to bask in my victory, he made it even sweeter. Standing at the pool gate and waving a nugget in the air, he yelled, "Hey, Christian! Try one of these nuggets my mom made. They're pink!"

His friend climbed out of the pool. He hesitated for a moment, and then took a nugget. "Mmm," he agreed. "That's good."

Ethan and his friends didn't bat an eyelash the next evening when I offered them pink banana muffins. In fact, they liked them a little too well; between the three of them they polished off six muffins in three minutes. Naturally, Allyson was even more thrilled with her pink muffin.

Beet & Banana Muffins

Besides the muffins and the nuggets, we also got two days of pink oatmeal out of the beets. I saved the water from the steamer's drip tray and mixed it into the boiling water. The juice didn't change the taste of the oatmeal, except maybe to add a hint of sweetness--plus a LOT of nutrients. Most importantly, the pink oatmeal made Allyson feel like a princess!


Isn't the Juice Gorgeous?

Pink Oatmeal

Allyson really wanted me to show you pictures of the pink pancakes I made with our last beet delivery, but I couldn't find the picture. "Be sure and tell them about the pancakes," she said. "Those are my favorite."

Bountiful Harvest... Almost

In other news, we harvested the seeds from Allyson's very own sunflowers recently! It had never occurred to me that we could actually eat the sunflower seeds until our neighbors came by for a swim--the same neighbors who gave us the pumpkin pie Christmas before last. Shawn said the sunflowers reminded him of growing up in the country, and he told us how much his family enjoyed the seeds.

We let the sunflowers dry on their stalks, and then Allyson and I spent a couple of hours at the picnic table, meticulously working the seeds free from the dried flower heads. The proliferation of seeds in one flower was staggering, but we soon found that others had beaten us to much of our harvest. About two of every three striped hulls had a tiny black hole at its base, and the inner seed was either completely gone, or rotten.

Some of the little thieves were still crawling among the seeds, so I had to be very cautious. Allyson didn't mind the little beetles at all.

Getting the seeds out of the flower was the easy part, we soon learned. Extracting them from their hulls was much harder. We could think of no other way besides splitting the hulls with our fingernails and nudging the tiny seeds into a bowl.

After a couple more hours of labor, my too-short thumbnails were literally bleeding. I consoled myself with fantasies of the whole-wheat walnut and sunflower seed bread I planned to make with our harvest. But do you know that all those hundreds of seeds from two flowers yielded less than a quarter cup of seeds? I had to supplement with seeds from the grocery store. Still, the bread was so yummy.

Yesterday Allyson and I went to Sprouts Farmers Market, and I spotted raw sunflower seeds in the bulk section. As I dropped scoop after scoop into a bag, I marveled at the ease of of it, the luxury. And I didn't even so much as chip a nail! Still, I imagine they can't be quite as tasty as those seeds from our very own backyard. No, definitely not!

Every Last Drop

2011-08-15T22:11:00.000-05:00

Remember my "beyond beyond" story, about how God went so far beyond my expectations during our recent garage sale? Well, I prayed another one of those beyond beyond prayers over my colonoscopy, especially regarding the prep.

"God, I don't know how you could possibly give me an answer above and beyond what I could ask or imagine, when it comes to a colonoscopy. But I trust you to surprise me," I prayed. And of course, He did, though not really in any way I expected.

Yesterday I shared all the details of my last colonoscopy prep seven years ago, so you might recall that the prep solution took violent effect in under 15 minutes that time. I was expecting the same thing last night, but it couldn't have been more different.

I started by taking a Zofran tablet, which the doctor had prescribed to prevent nausea. I chugged the first glass around 4:00 and hovered near the bathroom door. But nothing happened. I drank the second glass around 4:30 with little difficulty, but still nothing happened. And nothing happened after the third, fourth, fifth, or sixth glass either. (Nevertheless, I spent most of that time on the toilet for fear I might not make it when all that laxative finally did kick in.) The Zofran was working, and I wasn't terribly nauseated, but my stomach was so full that I found it harder and harder to drink each successive glass.

Just before I started each glass, I said a silent prayer: "I know I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." And then I would take four swallows, catch my breath, take four more swallows, and so on. Each glass took about sixteen swallows, in groups of four. After the last swallow I would shudder theatrically, rinse my mouth thoroughly, and then focus on reading a book until my next dreaded dose. (I read the majority of The Poisonwood Bible, which I didn't like all that much, but maybe it was just my circumstances.)

By the time 2.5 hours had passed without any action, I started to get concerned. I phoned Bill, who'd taken Allyson shopping, and walked him through selecting an enema. I think he was embarrassed just being seen in the laxative aisle, poor guy.

But by the time they got home 15 minutes later, everything started moving... and moving.

By the time I'd finished 11 glasses (88 ounces) of the devil's brew, I figured surely this was enough. I'd read all the literature this time, and the directions said you could stop when the "return" was clear. My return looked pretty clear to me, and it was by now 11:00 and I was tired.

But then I got to worrying. What exactly did clear mean? What if it wasn't clear enough? I got on the Internet and started searching, and the more I read the more I got a sinking feeling. The Big Bad Nurse's words echoed in my ears: "If there's any trace of fecal matter... we might have to postpone... and you'll do the prep again (again... again...)."

It almost made me cry, but I went downstairs and pulled the GoLytely jug, now 2/3 empty, from the fridge. "I don't want to take any more, God," I whined. "But I have to. Please help me!" I stood over the kitchen sink and took a deep breath while mentally chanting, "I can do all things through Christ." And then I tipped it up and gulped it down, 16 swallows in a row.

I waited 15 minutes and did it again. And then three more times. The last glass was only 6 ounces, which gave me a little lift. When I threw back that last glass, at 2:00 on the nose, I punched my fist triumphantly in the air. I couldn't believe how proud I was of myself, almost as proud as I'd been when I got up on a wakeboard the first time. I really hadn't thought myself capable of drinking a whole gallon of that salty, slimy solution, but now it was behind me (so to speak).

At that point my return still wasn't quite clear, and I was beginning to wonder if I was going to be the first person in history to drink all that evil potion yet NOT have a clear colon. But after two more hours of diarrhea, it was pristine. So at 4:00 in the morning, I collapsed into bed and slept the sleep of the righteous until Allyson woke me around 9:00.

At the endoscopy center this afternoon, I couldn't wait for the question I knew was coming. "Yes," I replied emphatically. "I drank it all. Every last drop."

The colonoscopy was an odd experience, almost otherworldly. The nurse anesthetist didn't count backward from 10 this time. Instead she said, "Here's something to make you relax." Serenity settled over me almost instantly. "And here's something to make you sleepy," she said next. A burning sensation spread up my IV arm, and I said, with an impossibly thick tongue, "That burns!"

"Yes," she agreed.

Just then, I remembered the story my friend Pamela told me about her recent appendectomy: she had asked the doctor and anesthesiologist to pray with her before the surgery. They were a bit surprised, but game. I vaguely remember murmuring something about a prayer, and maybe I even prayed, though they probably couldn't understand my slurred words. I think it was something about guiding the doctor's hand and giving him wisdom, and about God being near me. And please bless the doctor and the nurse and their families. It gave me comfort as I sank into a delicious drowsiness.

I was surprised then to feel the scope going in; I wondered when they were going to put me under. I felt LOTS of splooshy feelings, and I could hear the doctor and nurse talking but couldn't comprehend what they were saying. I kept squinting in the bright light and staring at a big TV screen with what appeared to be my colon, a smooth and yellowish tunnel.

I can't be sure when I asked this, if it was during the procedure or after, but I know I spoke because I remember the answer. I said, "Why am I awake?"

The nurse replied that my blood pressure was a little low, so they couldn't give me as much medication as they had the last time.

"My blood pressure is always low," I said.

"It's okay if you're a little awake," she explained. "We just want to make sure you're comfortable. Are you hurting?"

"No," I said.

The next time I opened my eyes, Bill was on my left side, smiling. "Why was I awake?" I asked. "Was it because my blood pressure was low?"

"Everything is fine," he said.

A nurse said, "Everything was normal, Sarah. No polyps. You did very well."

I dozed then for a few minutes. When I opened my eyes, Bill was still on my left side, smiling. "Why was I awake?" I asked. "Wait a minute, did I already ask you that?"

He laughed. "Yes, about five times now."

"Oh," I said.

He helped me get dressed then, for I was helpless as a baby. While he went and pulled the car around, a nurse put an arm around me and guided me to the door on my wobbly legs. "Was I talking during the procedure?" I asked.

"I don't know, but maybe you were."

"Is that normal?"

"Everyone reacts differently," she said.

"I usually talk a lot," I admitted.

She smiled. "I bet you do."

In the car, I felt much more alert. "Do you know I was awake during the procedure?" I asked.

"You might have mentioned it," Bill replied, and I laughed.

"I guess I did."

All the way home I fantasized about eating some chocolate chip blueberry pancakes from out of the freezer, but when we got there the couch seemed more attractive. In the blink of an eye, two hours had passed.

I got up then and toasted my pancakes. They were the best I've ever tasted!

I'm so glad the experience is behind me, but I have to admit that, other than staying up until 4:00, it really wasn't all that bad. I know now I am capable of just about anything, with God's help. I'd say He went beyond the beyond again.

Thank you to everyone for your prayers and words of encouragement. I could feel the prayers around me.

The Last Obstacle

2011-08-14T15:42:00.000-05:00

In about 45 minutes, I'll be starting the prep for my second colonoscopy, which of course reminds me of the nightmare that was my first colonoscopy prep--but also reminds me of my love story with Bill. How? I'll get to that. But first, a disclaimer: yes, this is going to be yet another poop story. Feel free to bail out if you like.

After less than a year of marriage, Bill and I started talking about having a baby. I might have preferred to wait a bit longer, but I was almost 33 when we got married, and Bill had said if he was going to become a father he wanted it to happen before he was 35. That gave us about three years to work with, but with my history of unexplained infertility with my first child, we thought it best to get started right away. My gynecologist, however, had other ideas. My thyroid was enlarged, and she wanted me to see the endocrinologist first to get the green light for a pregnancy. And due to my brother's history of colon cancer at age 42, she also wanted me to get the colonoscopy that his oncologist had suggested for each of our siblings.

It took three months to get my appointment with the endocrinologist, but I made it past that hurdle with no problem. He adjusted my hypothyroid medicine and said I'd be fine.

But I had to wait much longer for the colonoscopy. We were changing our health insurance to a different plan and had to wait for the enrollment period, and then I had to get a referral, and so on. And that's why, about a year after we wanted to start our family planning, I was actually a little bit excited about my colonoscopy. (Oh, the ignorance!)

The timing was absolutely horrible: Bill's sister Lisa had come down from Canada for a few days with her three-month old daughter Katie, whom we'd never met. As luck would have it, the second day of her visit was the dreaded prep day. For that entire day, my diet was restricted to clear liquids and Jell-O, but I didn't want to miss out on the sightseeing we'd planned for Lisa. So I sipped my water with lemon and felt sorry for myself while Bill and Lisa enjoyed the best Mexican food around. And then I traipsed along behind them, feeling faint, while they toured the Fort Worth Stockyards.

Lisa and Katie

Baby in a Basket!

But the real misery began around 5:00, when I drank the first 8 ounces of the prescribed gallon of GoLytely solution. My brother Rick had warned me that I wouldn't go lightly, and also that it would take effect very quickly. "Just don't stray far from the bathroom," he advised, telling me about a mishap he'd had while trying to do laundry during his first bowel prep. Not that I planned to do any laundry, but I figured if I did I'd be fine since our laundry room is literally ten feet from the toilet. Man, was I naive.

I chugged the first glass of the cherry-flavored, salty, slimy liquid with no problem. This isn't that bad, I thought triumphantly, and then I sat on the couch to wait 15 minutes for my next dose. The leaflet that came with the solution said it would take 30-60 minutes to work, so you can imagine my surprise when, not 10 minutes after that first dose, I felt a violent urge. I sprinted the 15 feet to the bathroom and BARELY managed to get my pants down in time.

Bill and Katie on the Couch Where My Adventure Began

I emptied what surely must have been the entire contents of my colon and waited about two minutes before pulling up my pants. I hadn't even finished washing my hands when it hit me again. And again, I just BARELY made it the 1.5 feet to the toilet.

I'll spare you the details, but let's just say I soon figured out there was no point getting off the toilet at all. This invoked quite a dilemma since it was past time for my second dose, and I really hated to drink it on the toilet.

"BILL!" I hollered. "Bring me another glass please."

That second glass took about 15 minutes to drink. And the third glass took a full hour, sipped through a straw. And the fourth glass, well, I started gagging the moment the cup touched my lips. I couldn't swallow another drop. But based on the constant water that had been passing through for about four hours now, I figured maybe it didn't matter that I'd only finished a third of the solution. It had obviously done its work, and it kept right on working up until nearly midnight.

Bill and Lisa had taken baby Katie off somewhere; I don't remember where. And Ethan was with his dad that weekend, so I was all alone in the house, with only my self pity to keep me company. I was finally off the toilet, but I was so sore I couldn't even sit down properly. So I lay on my side in the recliner and cried.

When they got home, they both laughed over my woes, which infuriated me, especially since I couldn't help laughing myself. Around midnight, I fell into bed utterly exhausted.

When Bill drove me to the endoscopy center the next morning, I was too exhausted to care about my sore bottom or the piteous growls of my gapingly empty stomach. I was just so relieved that the ordeal was coming to an end at last. Or so I thought.

Wheeling my gurney into the procedure room, the nurse asked cheerfully, "So, did you finish your GoLytlely?"

I laughed ruefully. "Wow, that was rough stuff! I only got about a third of it down, but-"

The gurney screeched to a halt. "You didn't finish your prep??" she repeated incredulously.

"No," I answered in a tiny voice. "But it really worked. I had diarrhea for SIX HOURS STRAIGHT. I couldn't even leave the bathroom."

Her mouth set into a firm line as she resumed the short trip. "That doesn't matter," she hissed after a silence so loud I could hear my own heart pounding. "Your colon has to be completely clear."

"It was," I protested. "The diarrhea looked like water."

She went on as if she hadn't heard. "Because if there's any fecal matter in there.... You realize that the procedure might have to be postponed? And you'll have to do the prep again?"

At those words, I burst into tears. I don't mean those silent tears that you hope no one will notice. I mean the kind of sobs that shake your whole body.

And that's what I was doing when she parked me in front of the doctor. At his raised eyebrows, she muttered, "She didn't finish the bowel prep."

I was sobbing so hard I didn't even hear his response. But I heard her all too plainly when she said, "Now calm down or we won't be able to start the IV."

I felt like a little girl again, being scolded by my beloved daddy. I sobbed harder.

And then I felt a gentle hand on my temple, brushing the hair from my eyes. It was the nurse anesthetist, whom I hadn't even noticed standing behind me. "It's okay," he whispered, and I thought maybe he was afraid of the Big Bad Nurse too.

"Sh-she said I'd have to do the p-prep ag-gain," I wailed.

He ran his fingers through my hair, patting my head the way I would pat Ethan's head after a nightmare. "We don't know that," he said softly. "And there's nothing you can do about it now. Just relax. Everything will be okay," he promised. "Just breathe deeply. I'm going to give you a sedative now, and you'll be asleep by the time I've counted backward from 10. When you wake up it will all be over."

My sobs faded into hiccups, and grateful tears splashed into my ears. When the kind man started counting, he only made it to 7 before everything went blissfully black. From that point, I vaguely remember odd splooshy sensations and the faraway sound of reassuring male voices. I think they kept saying, "It's okay. We can see what we need to see." So I surmise that I might have been crying throughout the procedure.

I was definitely crying when I came out of it. "It's okay," the nurse reassured me as I opened my eyes. Thankfully, it was a different nurse, and she apparently knew nothing of my meltdown, or if she did she was decent enough not to mention it. She turned to Bill, "You never know how people will react to the medication. Some people laugh, some cry... Your wife, she's obviously one of the cry-ers."

She squeezed my hand. "But you don't need to cry any more, sweetie. The procedure went just fine, and everything was normal." To her chagrin, fresh tears rained down my cheeks then, but they were tears of joy. I hadn't realized until that moment how worried I'd been during all those months of waiting. I'd been afraid that I would go through what Rick had gone through, and that I wouldn't be able to have another baby.

In a moment, I was released from all that worry, and the last obstacle had been removed. We could start trying for a baby!

There's just one more thing I'd like you to know. When I read the doctor's report that evening, this is what I saw: "Quality of prep: Excellent." Yes, the quality of my prep was "Excellent" with a capital E! Take that, Big Bad Nurse.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's time to start my bowel prep.

Looking a Little Worse for the Wear, Day After the Procedure (Aren't the Glasses Awful??)

Tales From the Road

2011-08-04T22:25:00.000-05:00

Week before last, we set off on a road trip to visit my family in Indiana. It was Bill's first time to make the 18-hour drive, and he was not too keen about the idea. But the drive was surprisingly enjoyable.

My sisters Amy and Melody were riding along with the four of us, so we rented a minivan. Here's what made it so much better than most of the Indiana drives I remember:

Bill did all the driving, so I didn't have to tank up on Diet Mountain Dew to keep my eyes open. I could nap whenever I wanted and catch up on my reading.

We didn't leave at 4:00 in the morning. In fact, we didn't leave our house on the 18th until after 10:30 A.M. (Dad would have been beside himself.) It was so much easier to enjoy all our family togetherness on a good night's sleep.
We didn't try to "make time," and we wouldn't have dreamed of driving through the night. We made lots of stops, whenever anyone had to pee.
We stopped for the night at interesting tourist attractions; we took different routes on the way there and back.
We played games to pass the time. Amy brought some dice and the lid to a big plastic tub, and we played Yahtzee and Farkle. (The kids loved saying, "Mama farkled!" but that didn't happen too often since I always play it safe.)
We brought yummy picnics (featuring things like Aunt Sue's delectable chicken salad) which we ate at several McDonalds along the way. It felt pretty brazen to walk in there with our cooler bags and jumbo bags of chips, but no one seemed to notice. And we did buy drinks and salads, and the occasional ice cream. So we spent almost nothing, and we ate healthy food that didn't give us tummy aches.

Allyson Discovers Elvis
As we drove through the Memphis area, where we spent our first night on the road, there were pictures of Elvis everywhere, and brochures about Graceland and other related attractions. That's all it took for Allyson to develop her first crush. She treasured those little pamphlets, which she guarded fiercely.

"Read this book about Elvis, Aunt Amy," she said. But when Amy took a little too long, she demanded it back.

"You've got another copy," I reminded her.

"No, that's Allum's" she corrected me. Amy handed over the brochure.

And then Bill discovered a satellite station that played all Elvis, all the time--which meant we could listen to Elvis for our entire vacation. Allyson was probably the only one thrilled about that.

I wish we'd had time to stop at Graceland; I think we all would have enjoyed it. As it was, we drove slowly past it in the dark. We could just make out the house, but we had a good view of one of Elvis's jets, the Lisa Marie.

Surviving Jane
In a flash of inspiration at the start of the trip, Bill assigned Ethan the front passenger seat, far enough away from Allyson to avoid their typical squabbles. Ethan's main job was to take pictures of all the welcome signs we passed as we moved from state to state. Unfortunately, he missed most of them due to our camera's abysmal shutter speed.

Ethan also served as Bill's navigator, at least in theory. He pored over the 2005 atlas, tracing the route dictated by the real boss: our navigator, whom we affectionately call "Jane."

Jane sometimes led us astray, though, like the time she told Bill to exit the highway in a scary area on the outskirts of Memphis. "I don't know, Jane," he said as we drove down dark residential streets with beat-up cars and overgrown lawns.

"In 800 yards... turn left," she said cheerfully.

Bill squinted through the darkness. "I don't see a road there, Jane. I'm turning right."

Jane recalculated while we rounded a curve in the unlighted two-lane road and approached a rickety railroad trestle. "In 100 yards... turn left," she advised.

Bill started to pass under the trestle, but we all protested. "This doesn't look right," Ethan said.

"It's a dead end," Bill said. "I'll have to turn around."

All of us shivered with fear as he meticulously executed a three-point turn, backing the minivan up within inches of the 10-foot barbed wire fence that flanked the road.

"I hope there's nothing waiting behind that fence..." Amy began.

I glanced pointedly at Allyson. "Shh!!"

"Why is Jane trying to kill us?" Ethan asked.

Bill said it was probably because he'd been disrespectful to her earlier, questioning her routes. In any case, we made it to the hotel at last, though Jane conveniently failed to mention that Bill needed to turn onto the hotel's side street and we had to make a 3-mile circle practically back to Graceland.

There at Last
We had a wonderful four days in Indiana, though it passed too quickly as always. We spent a lot of time visiting (and eating) with all my cousins, aunts, uncles, and of course my grandma. We stayed with my Aunt Sue and Uncle Jeff. Their Golden Doodle Miley (a cross between a Golden Retriever and a poodle) kept us entertained. She's a giant puppy, very mischievous, with an affinity for socks and underwear. She once got a-hold of one of Ethan's dirty socks and played a ten-minute game of keep-away with him. When Sue got the sock away from her and tried to hand it to Ethan, she snatched it back and pranced away proudly. He did eventually get it back, but only after it was covered in slobber.

My Daily Walking Buddies: Melody, Me, Sue, Amy, Miley (And Allyson)

On our first full day, we went to Potato Creek State Park with Aunt Sue and Uncle Jeff. We rented bikes so old that Jeff said they were probably the same ones they used when they opened the rental shop 30 years ago. The brakes barely worked, and they only had one gear, which was unfortunate due to all the hills. Bill had it the worst because he had to pull Allyson in a little trailer. Most of us had to stand up on the hills, but sometimes Bill had to get off and push the bike.

Foreground: Ethan; Background: Jeff, Bill, Allyson

Bill, Amy, Allyson, Melody

We had hoped to escape the interminable heat, but they were having a heat wave in Indiana too, and with the humidity it was almost unbearable. But most of the time the trail led through the heavily shaded woods, and there was a refreshing breeze. It was only on the stretches through the sun that we suffered.

After our ride, we had a picnic and then cooled off with a quick dip in the ice-cold lake--so much different than our bathwater lakes down here in Texas.

Another highlight was a trip on the South Shore Train to Chicago, where we spent about five hours in the Museum of Science and Industry. We could have spent days. It's an amazing museum. I think my favorite exhibit was the German submarine that had been captured and towed in utter secrecy to the United States.

Ethan and Allyson at U-508 Exhibit

Allyson's favorite was the fairy castle, a giant doll house full of lavish miniatures with a fairy tale theme. For example, the library held real one-inch books with teeny words on tiny pages. I wish we had thought to take pictures.


On the Way Back on South Shore Train

And while I'm mentioning highlights, I can't forget to mention Aunt Carol's famous homemade ice cream with her trademark fudge sauce. I ate two bowls of that!

Stop in St. Louis
On the way home from Indiana, we stopped at the giant arch in St. Louis. We rode up in tiny pods that were a cross between an elevator and a Ferris wheel car.

Allyson Crying Because She Wanted her Own Seat

All Smiles After I Shared Ethan's Seat

At the top was a narrow room, arch-shaped of course, with tiny windows that you had to lean into to see the ground. I was surprised to see people swimming in pools on top of the hotels across the way.

Afterward, we met my cousin Matt's family at a nearby restaurant, The Spaghetti Factory.

Renee, Theron, Matt, Grayson

We had to wait an hour and a half, so we were beyond starving, but it was a great chance to catch up. And the dinner was delicious and reasonably priced. The kids even got balloon animals.

Allyson's Flower Popped Before We Left Restaurant

Hopefully Theron Had Better Luck With His Mouse

At the end of the trip, Amy said, "Even though we didn't go somewhere exotic, this was one of my favorite vacations ever." I have to agree.

Exactly 50 Words

2011-07-29T22:54:00.000-05:00

Tonight is the first time in weeks that I have sat down to work on the manuscript for my novel. I've been so, so busy, and my heart has been on other concerns. But the story is always at the back of my mind, asking to be told.

In September I'll be attending a Christian writers' conference that I so enjoyed last year, and this time I will be attending a three-day mentoring workshop with a published author and 11 other aspiring authors. Tonight I completed the prerequisite: a 50-word summary of my book (plus the first five pages, which I had already written and rewritten a few times).

Do you have any idea how hard it is to sum up a novel in only 50 words? I can't even put it in words. I've already used well over 50 in this blog entry.

Since I did the work, and since I've told you very, very little about my novel up until now, I thought I'd share my summary, which is EXACTLY 50 words:

Finding Rachel (working title; hope I can do better than that)

When Emma’s sister dies after a decade of estrangement, she seeks peace through reading her journals, but reliving old heartaches brings pain that might destroy her fragile marriage. As her life falls apart, she discovers the hope Rachel found through her growing faith, and her own faith begins to blossom.

So there you have it. Before the workshop, I plan to finish typing my manuscript and hopefully do the first cuts so I'll be ready for some serious revisions.

Okay, now I've got lots of typing to do. Hope you're having a good weekend.

Love,

Sarah Louise
Writer

Even Luckier Than I Thought

2011-07-27T21:49:00.000-05:00

To my relatives, some of whom have already heard this story in person three or four times, I'm sorry. I just have to repeat it for my other six blog readers. I don't know why, but this story is just so funny even though it wasn't at all funny at the time...

On the evening of Thursday, July 14, I remarked to Bill, "Did you turn off the upstairs A/C?"

"No, why?"

"Did you know it's 88 degrees up there?" [That's 31 Celsius to my Canadian and British friends.]

"Uh oh."

Bill immediately called a repairman, but he couldn't come until Friday evening. I normally work upstairs, but I had to move downstairs when the inside temperature rose into the high 90s. (It was about 103 outside--39 Celcius.) I was frantically working on a project that was due that day, and I needed to record some audio. But Bill was working at the downstairs table, so I needed to isolate myself in the downstairs half bath, which is very echoey.

After a brainstorm--or an attack of insanity, in Bill's view--I dragged Allyson's tiny dome tent down the stairs and into the bathroom. It took up the entire floor and had to flex around the toilet, but I was determined to make it work. I zipped myself in with my laptop, headset, and a foam reflux wedge pillow (to muffle echoes) and recorded away.

About 30 minutes later, our coworker Craig arrived with an old window unit to use until his brother could fix our air conditioning. I offered to help Bill carry it up the stairs and install it in the window.

"No, I've got it," he assured me. I would have argued with him, but I was really behind on my project, so I zipped myself back into the tent.

About five minutes later, I heard an ominous sound just outside the bathroom door leading to the porch: Clunk-clunk...ka-BLAM!

"I just about killed the dog!" Bill hollered from upstairs.

By the time I unzipped the tent and flung open the door, Bill was standing on the porch with clenched fists, cussing like a sailor. "What did I do to deserve this?" he demanded.

Lola stood next to him, glancing nervously up at the open second-story window and then at the mangled hunk of metal and plastic on the slate tiles. Bill pointed out the two dents in our barbecue grill (explaining the clunk-clunk I'd heard); he surmised that Lola had probably been sleeping in her customary spot under its shade. "She was just looking up at me in the window, as if to say, 'Why are you trying to kill me? What did I do to you?'" he said.

The A/C Landed Just In Front of the Grill, Which Lola Sleeps Under

I supressed my laughter since Bill was all but stomping his feet he was so mad. "Well, I guess that's beyond repair," I sighed. I wanted to commiserate with him, but I had more audio to record, so I climbed back into the tent.

About 20 minutes later, I heard Bill rustling around upstairs again. Surely he couldn't have... no, no way. Must be doing something else, I thought. But then I heard a click and a low humming noise overhead. I unzipped the tent and thundered up the stairs.

There was Bill, basking in front of the icy breeze of that window unit, which he'd pieced together with Duck tape.

"You're amazing!" I gushed. "You're just... amazing."

Bill laughed sheepishly. He explained how he'd taken the machine apart, pounded out the bent metal, and taped it back together.

Can You See All the Tape?

The plastic accordion pieces that fill in the window space were shattered, so he'd cut cardboard panels and taped them on either side of the unit, using blue painter's tape.

I planted a kiss on his sweaty mouth and went back down to my tent.

Some Good News At Last
When the repairman arrived, he quickly determined that our capacitor had blown up, and he was able to replace it for only $110. We had figured we'd have to replace the upstairs unit since this was the third breakdown, but he advised us to keep it as a new unit would be anywhere from $4000 and $6000!

"Man, we were lucky," I told Bill later that evening when I finally shut down the laptop for the night (without finishing the project, after all that sweating in the tent).

I ribbed him a bit more about having it in for the dog, and then I asked him exactly how it happened.

He explained that he'd initially gotten the unit into the window without a problem, but then he noticed that it was dripping on the carpet because Craig had hosed the coils down before he brought it over.

"I lifted up the window just a smidge to slide a towel under it," he said, "and it was so back heavy that it started to go. In that instant, I thought, 'This A/C is going out the window... I've got to catch it.' But immediately I had another thought: 'If I try to grab this, I'm going out the window with it.'" He lifted his hands out to his side, palms up. "So I watched it fall."

My entire body convulsed in a shudder as I pictured my husband's broken body next to the crumpled metal A/C. "I think God told you that," I said in a trembly voice. "It would have been instinct to grab it, and you didn't even have time to think."

I closed my eyes then and thanked God. Our dog was spared, we saved about $3900, and my husband was still with me. Not a bad day.

Oh, and one more thing. When Bill sent Craig a message breaking the news about destroying his window unit, he said, "Don't worry about it. I picked it up off my neighbor's curb!" Whew!

So what happened to that portable unit? It's still sitting in the window almost two weeks later. I think Bill's gotten attached to it; there's just something about standing in front of that frigid wind that you just don't get with central air.

See the Yellow Towel That Caused the Debacle?

"People like us are the reason the homeowners' associations forbid window units," I said. "It looks so tacky!" (Fortunately, we don't belong to an association.)

"I think we should get one in every room," Bill said. With this heat, maybe we will.

Beyond Beyond

2011-07-12T09:09:00.000-05:00

If you've been following this blog for long, you probably know that I frequently struggle with doubts about my faith. I can be ecstatic one day over an answered prayer or a sign I believe God's shown me, and then the next day I'm wondering if it was just a coincidence, and if my faith is even real. I find this frustrating, exhausting.

I've asked God to help me with my unbelief many times, but I guess I didn't have the faith to believe He could! I mean, I knew that He could, but I really didn't think I could let go of my doubts. Now, everything has changed.

For the last several weeks, I've been doing a Bible study by Kay Arthur, Priscilla Shirer, and Beth Moore called Faithful, Abundant, True; it's a sequel to the study I wrote about last summer called Anointed, Transformed, Redeemed.

In the first two weeks, Kay helped us see the faithfulness of God, and she challenged us to be steadfast in our faith. She reminded us that "without faith it is impossible to please God" (Hebrews 11:6). She told it like it is: "Unbelief is a lack of faith! And that is sin." The root of disobedience, she said, is unbelief.

I felt a strong conviction about indulging my doubts. I had always thought of my doubts as a weakness, but not as disobedience. When I read Kay's admonitions, I prayed and asked God to help me overcome these doubts.

During one of Kay's videos, I was so excited when I saw the key:

For indeed we have had good news preached to us, just as they also; but the word they heard did not profit them, because it was not united by faith in those who heard. (Hebrews 4:2)

Do you see it? It's not enough to just read the Word. I have to unite it with faith in order for it to profit me. And where does faith come from? By hearing--by hearing the Word of God. (Romans 10:17)

All these years of studying the Scriptures have resulted in a head knowledge that doesn't always translate into a changed life because I've been lacking a steadfast faith. In the next two videos, Priscilla Shirer admitted that she'd had the same problem. She inspired us to contemplate the abundance of God's power, to try to comprehend that God is ABLE. No matter what we need, she said, He is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all we ask or think (Ephesians 3:20).

I felt a thrill of recognition at that verse, part of my current memory passage. As many times as I have studied and quoted that passage, Priscilla still managed to give me a new perspective on it. She pointed out the way Paul stacked up the adverbs: not just exceedingly or abundantly, but exceedingly abundantly. Here's one of the examples she gave to help us understand how God can go not only beyond what we think is possible, but even beyond that....

Imagine you went away for the day, and you asked your teenager to clean his room. When you returned, you were shocked to find that not only was his room clean, but that the whole house was spotless. Now that's beyond what you would even imagine, right? But now suppose that not only had your son cleaned the whole house, but he had also drawn you a bubble bath and had your dinner ready on a tray to eat in the tub. That's BEYOND beyond.

It's doubtful that any of us will ever experience such a thing with our teenage children, Priscilla said, but this is exactly how God works. He delights in surprising us, in giving gifts that are way beyond what we asked for.

The other thing she encouraged us to believe was that God wants to do exceedingly abundantly, above and beyond, for US. She said we need to get past looking at other people's answered prayers and thinking, I hope God has enough power left for me. God doesn't just have power; GOD IS POWER! He spoke the entire universe into being by the power of His word, and that power lives in us. We just have to unite it with our faith, as Kay said.

Priscilla also reminded us that God is interested in the little details of our daily life, and we should bring all our concerns and needs to him, not just what we think of as "big stuff." (To Him, none of our concerns are really big, anyway.)

As I listened to Prisicilla's message, my heartbeat quickened. Yes! I thought. Yes, it's time to believe that God is able to work in my life, time for my faith to arise.

Afterward, she asked Beth Moore to pray over everyone in the audience, and we all prayed along. I don't really remember what Beth said, but it moved me to tears, and I felt something click inside. I believe I was set free from my doubts at that moment.

Beyond My Beyond
Over the next few days, I found myself praying differently. I prayed about something that seemed sort of trivial, and I prayed a big, bold prayer. I was planning a garage sale for this past Saturday to raise money for my 3-Day Walk, and I was hoping to make a big dent in what I needed to meet the minimum fund raising requirement.

On one of my training walks, I said, "God, I know you care about everything that's important to me. I'm trusting you to bless this garage sale, to go way beyond what I dare to expect, and even beyond that. I'm praising you for going beyond beyond!"

I didn't only ask for money. I asked for an enjoyable experience, and an opportunity to love others and explain why I'm doing the walk, because of Laura's story. I asked that His anointing would be all over that sale.

Well guess what happened? Yep, BEYOND beyond. I was sort of hoping to raise $200. Five families had donated items for the sale, but we didn't have many "big ticket" items. Most of the items were priced at 25 to 50 cents.

Toward the End of the Sale (There Were Mobs Around that Table)

Would you believe that all those little sales added up to $493?? I have to say it again: FOUR HUNDRED NINETY-THREE DOLLARS! My jaw dropped when Bill announced the grand total. With my company match, that puts me over the minimum! My walk is paid for!

And everything else I prayed for came to pass. It was an enjoyable experience (other than the sweltering heat). My sister Amy came over to help us with the setup, the sale, and the cleanup, and I so enjoyed working with her. I enjoyed watching the shoppers' excitement over each 25-cent shirt or pair of shorts, and the kids' joy over 25-cent toys. I enjoyed showing a picture of Laura and telling how she inspired me. And I even met a lady named Marge who's new to the area and who plans to join me on my training walks!

Ice Cold Lemonade
I especially enjoyed watching Allyson selling lemonade, something she'd been looking forward to for weeks and weeks. Would you believe that she sold about $30 worth of lemonade? And she donated over half of that to my walk.

Special Customers--Gentle's Son Liam and Daughter Grace

I never dreamed a garage sale could be so fun, or so profitable. It was a definite case of beyond the beyond.

What's Next?
I've made a resolution, drawn a line in the sand. I know I will face doubts again (already have), but I realize now that I can choose how I respond. And I choose to believe. I choose to remember all God has done for me, and to unite my faith with what He promises in His word. That doesn't mean He'll always give me exactly what I want, but I have to believe He is able. And I have to believe that He knows what is best for me, and that sometimes going beyond what I ask or think won't look like what I think I need.

Would you hold me accountable? Please remind me of these truths when you catch me doubting.

God, Jesus, and Chicken Nuggets

2011-07-01T00:02:00.001-05:00

We've had some interesting dinner conversation this week.

A couple nights ago, Allyson got ahold of the salt shaker and mounded salt over her potatoes. "Gross!" Ethan said. "You're not going to eat that."

After Bill knocked off most of the salt, Allyson greedily gobbled a few bites. "I love salt!" she said.

"If I ate all that salt, I'd throw up," Ethan said.

"I'll give you five dollars to eat her potatoes," Bill said slyly.

"I wouldn't do it for five dollars, but..." I could see the wheels turning. "How much would it take for you to eat something that would make you throw up?" he asked.

"I don't think you could pay me to throw up," I answered. "Well... I might do it for $500."

"Hmm," Ethan mused. "I'd do it for $15." (This was shocking considering Ethan's extreme phobia about vomiting.)

Before Bill could get out his wallet, I said, "Okay. Enough talk of vomit at the table!"

A few days before that, I couldn't get Allyson out of the pool for dinner, so I brought out my secret weapon: leftover meatloaf, which I thought was her favorite food.

She still didn't want to get out until I offered to let her eat on the back porch. She hopped right out then and sat down at the picnic table, with water streaming down all her limbs. Around a bite of meatloaf, she mumbled, "Know who makes the best chicken nuggets in the world?"

I thought back to our play date the day before. "Umm, Chick Fil-A?"

She beamed. "Yes! They do have the best chicken nuggets.... next to God, of course." Her mouth twitched as she pondered this idea (just like her daddy's mouth moves when he's deep in thought). "And I guess Jesus, too," she went on. "Yes, it's God, Jesus, and then Chick Fil-A"

I fought to contain my laughter. "I never thought about that," I said. "But I guess God probably does make the best chicken nuggets. Or the best chickens."

She looked so cute there at the table in her suit, with a diver's mask atop her dripping hair and tomato sauce on her chin, that I had to snap a picture.

When she saw me taking a picture, she said, "Here, take a picture of me feeding meatloaf to Lola." So much for meatloaf being her favorite food. Darn those chicken nuggets!

The Love Children
In other news, remember those pesky birds who found a love connection on our pool deck? Well, I think their babies are hanging around now on our front porch. The other morning, Bill called Allyson and me out to see them. "Come quick!" he urged, holding his finger up to his lips. "But be quiet."

And there were two young birds, sitting sedately on our porch bench. They weren't bothered by us at all, and indeed seemed to be striking a regal pose for our camera.

I found it amusing that Bill wasn't nearly as annoyed by these cute little birds as he had been by the love birds a few weeks ago. It was Allyson who found the black clouds in the silver lining, after the birds had been lounging on top of and under the bench all day. "Ewww! Look at all this poop!" she exclaimed.

Darn those birds!

Touched By An Angel - At Walmart

2011-06-23T16:25:00.001-05:00

Thank you to everyone who has been praying and sending me words of encouragement and showing me kindnesses, little and big. I'm sorry I haven't posted an update. El Paso was wonderful beyond my expectations. Laura's extended family and group of friends welcomed me as one of their own, and I took delight in hearing their recollections, though sometimes all I could understand was the laughter (and tears). [I'm determined to learn Spanish along with Ethan this year when he starts high school.]

Best of all was that I think I made a "heart friend" in Laura's cousin Mariana, who welcomed me into her home and reminisced for hours with me.

We Released 100 Balloons on the Count of Eleven

When I came back home, though, my sorrow and weariness overtook me. I've had a rough couple of days. I can't even put into words what I've been feeling, but my friend Gentle has done a good job of expressing it.

Gentle and I in the Shirts She Designed for our Three-Day Walk

Here's a link to a story she posted today that really lifted my spirits...

Touched By an Angel - At Walmart

Please keep praying for everyone who loves Laura.

Off to El Paso

2011-06-17T07:56:00.001-05:00

Just wanted to let you know I am headed to El Paso today to attend Laura's Celebration of Life tomorrow. I'm driving down with her family (10 hours!) and flying back Sunday. I'm excited about spending more time with them but also a little nervous since I don't know them that well yet.

Thank you to everyone for your prayers and comforting words over the last week. I'm doing okay, up and down. I get so thrilled over how God shows me signs of his loving kindness, but then I suddenly feel... flattened. The last two days I did a lot of crying, and I think that is a good thing. The numbness is wearing off.

I'll probably do lots more crying this weekend, but hopefully some smiling and laughing too as I listen to her loved ones reminiscing over her life. Please pray for safe travel and for God to comfort us all.

I love you guys.

Sarah Louise

Home on the 11th

2011-06-12T22:48:00.001-05:00

It grieves me to tell you this. My sweet friend Laura passed away yesterday morning at 6:40 A.M. It didn't come as a shock to me after watching her rapid decline, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. I'm not even sure how much it is going to hurt because I haven't really allowed myself to grieve yet. I've scarcely cried, except at inopportune moments like waiting in the bank line and watching Ethan's slide show the day after he returned from his school trip to Washington, D.C.

It just doesn't seem real. I can't fathom that I will never go for another walk with her, or eat lunch with her, or give her a hug. And I will never get to have my picture made with her. Wish we'd gotten around to that. I don't even want to think about how her son Samuel, who turns five in a couple weeks, will make sense of this. I know that she was suffering terribly, and I know she's in a better place, but my heart aches for her family.

One thing that has brought comfort to her husband is the fact that she died on the 11th, 6/11/11 to be exact. (You may recall she felt a special connection to the number 11.) We met on the 11th (4/11/10). I saw a rainbow over her house at 8:11. And just a few days before her death, our friend Gentle found an 11th verse when she was praying over my upcoming visit with Laura:

Psalm 91:11 - For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.

I had planned to whisper that verse in her ear yesterday afternoon, but those angels came and carried her home before I could get there.

And that's all I have to say for now. I think it's time to go have that cry now.

An Angel Named Matthew

2011-06-08T23:15:00.001-05:00

I'm sorry I've been so quiet. It's been a busy, busy couple of weeks. I have many stories to tell, and hopefully I will get to the best ones, but here's the one that's been burning in my heart for over a week now....

A week to the day after God hung a rainbow over my friend Laura's house, I had another opportunity to see her, this time five hours away in Houston. I was visiting my cousin Chris in a different hospital just three blocks from Laura.

After I'd programmed in the main address and set my navigator to walking mode, my sister Amy and I set off in the cool of the evening. As we walked, I thought about the comfort that came with the rainbow, the way God filled me up so I could share His love with Laura. Are you going to give me another sign this time? I asked. I looked up at the clear blue sky: no chance of a rainbow here. I could sure use a sign tonight, I thought.

After only a block, we saw a hospital bearing the name we were looking for, but the navigator said we had a quarter mile to go still, so we kept walking. After another block, we saw yet another hospital with the same name, but this one seemed to be on the wrong street. And the navigator said we needed to go one more block down and then turn right.

We stood paralyzed on a corner, looking back and forth between the two buildings and the navigator. We didn't have time for a wrong turn because we'd be meeting our family in under an hour.

Suddenly, I noticed a young man on my left. "What are you ladies looking for?" he asked.

I studied him for just a moment before answering. He was a short, blonde man who appeared to be in his early to mid twenties, and he wore a name badge on a lanyard around his neck. He carried a fast food bag under one arm and a large soda in each hand. Deciding he looked harmless enough, I told him the name of the hospital and showed him the address I'd scribbled on a scrap of paper.

"What room is she in?" he asked.

"G1249," I answered.

"I know exactly where that is," he said. He started to give us directions, but he wasn't able to point due to the drinks. "I'll just take you there," he said.

Thank you, God! I thought. You sure sent the right person along.

"God sure knew who to send to guide you on your way, didn't he?" the young man asked.

I gasped. "I was just thinking exactly the same thing!"

As we followed him across the street to the second building we'd spotted (the one I thought was on the wrong street), he chatted with us as if we were friends. I was struck by his utter lack of self-consciousness, and by his simple manner, befitting a country boy.

"There are over 2 million square feet in these buildings, and I know pretty much all of them," he said. "I work in inventory."

He led us past security, where he had to flip over his badge for the guard. I noted then that his name was Matthew. From there, he took us to an elevator, and I was ashamed that I let him press the call button with his elbow. We rode halfway up before he realized this was the wrong elevator.

"I'm sorry," he said, pressing the button for the main floor. "It gets confusing."

"No problem!" we said. I asked him if he was sure he had time to show us around, and he assured me he had nothing better to do--though surely we must have been cutting into his lunch hour!

On the way back down, I said something about him being a blessing to us. "I'm Sarah, and this is my sister Amy," I said.

He turned to face Amy and announced, in a voice that was almost formal, "Amy means 'beloved of God.'"

"Yes, it does," Amy agreed. "That's why my mother chose that name."

"What does Matthew mean?" I asked.

"God's gift," he answered without hesitation.

I stared at this young man through the corner of my eye. Why would he know the meaning of my sister's name? Why would he take the time to lead two strangers to the 12th floor?

As we walked to another bank of elevators across the building, I couldn't resist voicing my thoughts. "I think you really are a messenger." Matthew smiled and punched the call button with the tip of his middle finger. Darn it!

When we reached our floor, he led us down the hall and around the corner. "Just go to the end of this hall and the room will be to your left," he said.

"Thank you so much!" we said. "God bless you," I called after him. He disappeared around the corner, but the sense of calm I felt in his presence stayed with me.

When I saw Laura, I told her about my latest sign. "I think I just saw an angel," I joked. "His name was Matthew, and he was carrying fast food."

We stayed with her for about 30 minutes, mainly visiting with her father and her college friend Angelica, who was visiting from Lubbock. When Laura's mother Blanca arrived, she asked if we would like to pray. "Yes!" I said.

Laura's parents knelt on the floor and laid their hands on her knees. Amy and I stood on the other side of the bed and touched her arm and leg. Angelica stood across from us at her head. I took a deep breath and prayed for angels to surround Laura and minister to her, to wrap her in peace and love and give her rest. I prayed for healing, and I prayed my beloved Psalm 139 over her.

When I said amen, Amy took up where I'd left off. She prayed for Laura's son Samuel. Then, making the sign of the cross over Laura, Angelica prayed for the saints and angels to watch over her.

Blanca prayed last, all in Spanish. I caught very few words (like Lord and health), but I was very moved. It was as if my spirit could hear the Holy Spirit in her because the words didn't get in the way, sort of like a time when I heard Josh Groban singing in Latin and was moved to tears because his voice was an exquisite instrument.

My tears dropped onto Laura's blanket as I prayed in full agreement with her mother. When she said amen, we all stood in silence for a few moments, savoring God's presence. And then it was time to give Laura a hug and say goodbye.

When I hugged her parents, each told me the same thing: "You are an angel to Laura, and to our family."

I got to see Laura again the next morning, got to hold her hand and quote scriptures and tell her how God takes great delight in her, how He rejoices over her with singing and quiets her with his love. (Zephaniah 3:17)

It wasn't until I collapsed into bed that evening, after driving for hours, that I thought of Matthew again. On the edge of sleep, I felt a grin spreading over my face as I exulted in the way God had lavished his love upon me, giving me assurance that he was guiding us. God, was he an angel? He really was. Wasn't he?

When I told the whole story to my friend Gentle the next morning, she gasped. "You know how Laura calls you her angel, and you always say you're not an angel?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Well, when I knew you were going to see her, I prayed that God would show you how you really can be an angel to her."

I heard the excitement in her voice and felt the wonder myself. "So that's why God sent Matthew!" I said. "Maybe he wasn't really an angel, but he was an angel to me. God answered your prayer, Gentle!"

Gentle and Laura on Our Girls' Night a Few Months Back

But I still can't shake the conviction that Matthew was a real angel. I talked it over with Amy this weekend. "Did you feel it too?"

"There was something in the way he told me the meaning of my name," she agreed. "It was almost like he was delivering a message. I do believe we each have angels."

"Maybe he was YOUR angel!" I said.

I guess we'll never know until we get to heaven.

Have you ever seen an angel, or suspected that you did? Do you know anyone who's seen an angel?

His Banner Over Her

2011-05-26T09:16:00.004-05:00

On Sunday I got the call I'd been waiting a couple of weeks for: my friend Laura's husband Ray called and said she was able to have company. "Oh God, thank you," was my first thought. My second was, "How will I know what to say, and when to be silent?"

Even in the midst of all my prayers, I'd worked myself into an anxiety attack by the time I was driving to her house. The rain and lightning only added to my unease. "Don't be anxious about anything... pray about everything," I reminded myself over and over. But my chest was tight, and I could feel my heart racing.

As the darkness lifted and the rain slowed to an occasional splatter, I looked to my left at a most peculiar sunset. The sky was split in two: on the left was a wall of black clouds, and on the right were the muted colors of the sunset, though the sun was not visible. It looked like God was pulling back a curtain and giving me a glimpse of His beauty.

"Thank you," I whispered, taking in a few deep, calming breaths. And then I looked to my right and saw a rainbow--right in the middle of all the dark clouds! It was magnificent, so bright against the dark canvas.It was only half a bow, but the tallest I'd ever seen.

A Different Rainbow... But Similar

I kept watching the rainbow all the way to Laura's house. Just before I arrived, it transformed into something I'd never seen before. On the left side was the rainbow, still only half a bow and almost completely vertical. To the right extended a triangle of golden, orange light. I wondered where that light could be coming from since the surrounding clouds were still almost black. I concluded that it must have been a reflection off the sunset on the opposite horizon.

It's like a pennant, a banner, I thought. Immediately a verse went through my mind: "His banner over me is love." (Song of Solomon 2:4) And then I realized that, from my perspective, that banner was unfurled over Laura's house! When I glanced at the clock and saw 8:11 a thrill passed through me. (You may recall that 11 is her special number, that she finds comfort somehow in 11s.)

Climbing out of the car into the light rain, I realized that my anxiety had completely evaporated. In its place was an excitement to share this experience with Laura. Like me, she sees signs everywhere, and I knew this would encourage her.

Ray led me up the stairs to her room, where her parents, aunts, sister, and cousin had gathered around her bed. I glanced at the people, mostly strangers, and then shut them all out of my mind as I wrapped my arms around Laura and delivered my message.

I described the rainbow and the banner of light. I heard her sharp intake of breath when I mentioned seeing the 11. "It's like there's a banner of God's love right over your house," I concluded. "Laura, He loves you so much."

She thanked me for telling her the story. "I can see it, just as you described," she said. "I needed to hear that."

Recent Picture of Laura

And then we all laid a hand on her and prayed together, over the sound of the heavy rain that now beat against the roof. I thanked God for the assurance of his love right in the middle of this storm. And I prayed Psalm 23 over her. Even though that is not one of the passages I have committed to memory, the words just flowed off my tongue. "We thank you that you are Laura's shepherd. She shall not want for anything.... Even in the valley of the shadow of death, she will fear no evil, for you are with her.... You anoint Laura's head with oil. Her cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow her all the days of her life, and she will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

When we said amen, I looked around and found that many of us were crying. But they were happy tears. I wish I could describe the way it felt, the way God's love was palpable in that room, binding us all together. I watched as her aunts and cousin took their leave, holding her close and whispering encouraging words that I couldn't understand because I don't speak Spanish.

"I don't know what you were saying," I told her cousin, "but I could understand the love you have for her. It's beautiful."

I'm so thankful God gave me this gift. It's like He pulled back the curtain and let us all glimpse his beauty for a moment.

Please continue to pray for Laura and her family. I know that with God, all things are possible. I pray that she overflows with hope through the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15:13)

Love in the Air... And Poop on the Deck

2011-05-20T17:02:00.000-05:00

When I drug myself to the breakfast table at 7:05 yesterday morning, Bill was already grumbling. "I think a bunch of birds have been hanging out by the pool," he said.

I smiled, picturing birds sprawled on lawn chairs, drinking lemonade out of tiny cups with teeny umbrellas.

"And they're pooping all over the deck," he continued. My smile fizzled.

He peered through the screen door. "Hey, guys! Looks like two birds are mating out there now." He stepped onto the porch.

Ethan didn't budge, just continued staring at his plate, but I jumped up and raced out the door behind Bill. I'd never seen birds mating--or any other animals, for that matter--and I was curious.

By the time I caught up to him, he had pushed through the iron gate and was trying shoo two birds that resembled doves. They now sat about an inch apart on the trellis next to the jasmine vine.

"How'd you know they were mating?" I asked.

He cast a sideways glance at me, raising his brows. "Because one of them was on top of the other?"

"Oh," I said, crestfallen to have missed the show.

Bill turned his attention back to breaking up the lovers. "Get!" he yelled. One bird fluttered to the back wall of the pool, the other just behind it. Bill walked out on the ledge, waving his arms. "Go on, get out!"

Reluctant to end their tryst, the couple flew just a few feet farther and perched side by side on the fence.

"Get out!" Bill repeated, advancing along the ledge. "All the way out."

The Love Nest

"Aw, you interrupted their romantic moment," I said.

"I don't care. Not in our backyard. They need to get a room," he said. I snickered.

Lola, who had followed us into the enclosure, danced around Bill's feet. "And you!" Bill scolded, shaking a finger at her. "You need to do your job and take care of all these birds." Lola gazed up at him with adoring eyes and wagged her tail.

Lola, the Lackadaisical Watchdog

I puckered my lips for a good morning smooch, and Bill cracked his first smile of the day.

A Fishie Funeral

2011-05-15T23:04:00.000-05:00

For about ten days, Allyson's three fish lived like celebrities. She watched them constantly, reporting on every amazing thing they did in their tiny bowl. She kept them entertained by playing "videos" for them, and Billy Joel songs:

The Fish, Surrounded by Still Photos and Our Digital Picture Frame

She fed them twice a day, just a pinch, and she usually washed her hands first. They seemed to be thriving; we imagined that we could see them growing already.

So I was shocked last night when Bill whispered, just after we'd tucked Allyson in, "One of the fish is dead."

"What??"

"Shhhh!"

"Does Allyson know?"

"Not yet."

"Tell me it wasn't Spot."

Bill wasn't sure, so I raced down the stairs to check. Whew, it was Stripe. Still, I was sure she'd be very disappointed, might even cry.

I wasn't prepared for her actual response. When I climbed out of the shower this morning, Allyson raced into the bathroom. "Guess what? One of my fish is dead. It was Stripe. Daddy put it in a baggie in the fridgerator! Wanna see it?"

"Um, maybe later."

"We're gonna bury it, but Daddy says we have to wait till after church."

Well, at least she wasn't crying.

After church, Bill made a tiny cross out of toothpicks, and we headed to the backyard for the funeral. Allyson agonized over the spot for a good five minutes before choosing her sunflowers' bed. Bill dug a shallow hole with a trowel, and she plucked the tiny fish from the baggie and dropped it in the hole.

Allyson's Holding the Body Bag

See the Tiny Cross, Left of the Pink Flowers?

"Would you like to say a prayer?" I asked.

"You say it, Mommy."

I thanked God for our brief time with Stripe, and the fun he had swimming in his bowl with Golden and Spot, and then I asked God to help him grow big in heaven, and to let him have lots of fun swimming up there.

Allyson laughed. "Fish can't swim in heaven!"

"Sure they can," I argued. "I bet Stripe is swimming right now in a beautiful lake."

Later in the day, she seemed to have a bit of delayed grieving. She kept asking us to pray for Stripe, to ask God to help him be happy in heaven.

So I did. I'm also praying that the other two fish will be healthy and stay with us for awhile.

Speaking of Sunflowers
Look how big Allyson's sunflowers have grown!

I can't believe she just planted them at the end of March. That's also when Bill transplanted her little pinto seedlings, which she had planted all on her own, haphazardly dropping a few dried pinto beans from our pantry. Yesterday, she harvested her first crop.

"They're not quite ripe," she said. "But see, they're starting to get their spots." (Is that how you tell??)

They seem a bit small still, but pretty soon they'll be ready to eat. With all those pods, I bet we might have 23 beans to cook up. Yum!

Allyson couldn't be prouder.

Guess What??

2011-05-07T23:13:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not pregnant. But I did finish my novel yesterday! That is to say, I finished the (very) rough draft. There's still much to be done, but I'm so thankful to have reached this milestone. Ecstatic, actually, because I wanted to give up so many times but God and my friends and family wouldn't let me.

The idea came to me last January during a bout of insomnia, but I didn't actually put my fingers to the keyboard until March 8, 2010. I wrote the first five chapters, about 60,000 words (way too long!), on my computer, and then I switched over to writing in a notebook.

I filled up one large notebook, a pretty one that I made at MOPS (Mothers Of Preschoolers) a couple years ago. I like to think it's like the journals used by one of my main characters, Rachel.

I then moved to the purple journal on the left, which I filled about a third of the way. The spiral bound journal on top is where I put the plot outline and character details, and the little flip-top book with the "B" is where I wrote ideas that came to me throughout the day, even when I was driving. (I waited for a stoplight to fish it out of my purse!)

The Sharpie pen is the third one that I completely spent. I prayed yesterday that God would let the ink keep flowing until I finished it; I didn't have another one like it, and it is such a pleasure to write with that type of pen. My first two Sharpie pens were a gift from my friend Jenny, who has been a big encouragement to me through this project.

Writing in a notebook took me back to my childhood, when I had ink-stained fingers from all the stories I wrote in my school spirals. I was able to be more creative after making this switch because it was much harder to "tinker," and my mind had to slow down a bit to let my hands catch up. But I did manage to do quite a lot of rearranging, as you can see from the random sample below.

I did most of the writing in small bits, like at ballet and soccer practice and the hair salon (under the dryer). But I did take a couple of days off work at the end of 2010 to work on my writing. I also went to a scrapbooking retreat where I did nothing but write for a whole weekend. That was awesome. I was able to get lost in the characters' stories and to stop the constant editing.

I was able to finish yesterday due to some help from my friend Christina, who has prayed for me faithfully through over a year of writing. She's been gracious about my leaving her hanging after reading the first five chapters, and she's anxious to see the rest once I get it typed up. Anyway, she let Allyson come over for a playdate while I went to Starbucks to work on the manuscript. (Leslie, you'll be interested to know that I had an iced chai latte. It was good, but not as good as yours!)

I couldn't believe how many people were there at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon. There were gabbing young women, a couple of ladies having some sort of political powwow, a screaming newborn, and two men endlessly smoking cigars. I was able to block all of that out until some kids about Allyson's age started racing around the tables shrieking. That's when I moved inside for my last 30 minutes.

I came so close, but had one more scene left to write. I finished it when Bill went to his 11:00 hockey game. I usually write at the dining room table downstairs, but last night I wanted to go to my Secret Place, my prayer closet where I've spent a lot of time praying over this book. It felt so good kneeling on the floor and penning those last few pages.

What Next?
Now I need to type up the rest of the manuscript, break it into chapters, figure out all the dates on Rachel's journal entries, and do a bit of revising. I estimate that I'll need to chop about a third of what I've written! After that, I'll set it aside for eight weeks and work on other things or just have some fun reading. After that break, I'll pick up the book and try to read it as an outsider, not as the author. I'll see where I need more detail, less detail, more emotion, etc. And I'll see where I called a character by the wrong name or gave him two different colors of hair (I hope, anyway).

And then I'll send it out to my focus readers, including Christina, and get their feedback. Would anyone else like to volunteer as a focus reader? I promise not to leave you hanging like I did Christina A., Angela, Diana, and Christina W.

As for the rest of you, I hope you'll read the finished product in a year or two. And please keep me in your prayers. Thank you for all your support, and simply for being such faithful readers. It was you who gave me the courage to dream and the confidence to turn my dream into reality.

Golden, Stripe, and Spot

2011-05-05T22:54:00.000-05:00

For a few weeks, Allyson was begging for a goldfish. I guess she'd finally worn Bill down by this past weekend because they came home from Walmart with a little fishbowl and some colorful pebbles. They filled the bowl together and let it sit for a few days to get ready for some fish.

Every day, Allyson's first waking thought was whether we could get a goldfish. She asked us morning, noon, and night. "Not yet," Bill kept saying. "Ask your daddy," was my standard reply.

On Tuesday night, Bill told her that Wednesday was the day. So of course she was following him around begging to go to the pet store the moment he walked in the door last night. "Honey, we're going to church tonight," I said apologetically. "I think it will have to wait until tomorrow."

"Can't we go after church?" she asked. Bill said we'd see.

And that's how we ended up at PetSmart last night at 8:38 PM. That gave us 22 minutes to select our fish and check out.

A very personable young woman, who bore a mild resemblance to Natalie Portman, assisted us. There were four tanks of goldfish in varying sizes, ranging in price from $.13 to $23.99.

"You can pick whatever kind you want," Bill said.

Allyson pointed to the big, round one, the 24 dollar one.

"Except that one," I said. "It's way too... big."

"Yes, your bowl is little," Bill said. "You need to pick a little fish. If you get the smallest ones, maybe you can get two."

"Can I get three?" she asked.

We looked at Natalie Portman.

"I think three would do quite nicely," she said. "They're community fish, so they like having company."

Allyson peered at the swirling mass of orange goldfish, probably 500 or so. "I want that one," she said. "And that one with the stripes."

"Honey, it's probably hard to catch a specific one," Bill warned.

Natalie swished the net around. "Got it!" she said. "And this one?"

Allyson nodded vigorously.

In no time we had three one-inch fish. I was surprised to see how different they were. Allyson named the solid one Golden, the striped one Stripe, and the spotted one Spot. "Spot is my very, very favorite," she said.

While Natalie was transferring the fish from their bucket into their traveling bag, Golden tumbled onto the table and started flopping. Natalie gently and meticulously grabbed him, dropping him safely into the bag. I thought she looked a bit freaked out about touching a fish, but maybe I was just projecting.

"Oh my!" I couldn't help exclaiming.

"I'm so sorry!" she said.

"It'll be fine," Bill assured her.

Next, the bag sprang a leak. Natalie and a coworker quickly filled another bag and netted the three fish out of their draining bag.

"These fish seem rather unlucky," I fretted.

"Oh, they'll be fine," Bill repeated.

Next, we picked out some fish food. "Now these fish get only a tiny bit of fish food every day," Bill said firmly. "Just ask Auntie Lisa what happens if you feed them too much."

"What do you mean?" Allyson asked.

"Oh, she killed my first goldfish when she was about your age," he said.

While they checked out--$2.40!--Ethan showed me what he hopes will be his next pet: a little rat that I had to admit was a little bit cute. Um, nah.

On the way home, I got to hold the bag. The fish nudged my hand and then my belly, and I cringed. "They're touching me," I complained.

Allyson convinced us to let her hold them. "They're tickling my belly!" she shrieked.

Their Lives Were In Her Hands

Back at home, Bill poured some of the water from the fishbowl into a plastic leftover container and transferred the fish into that bowl. After just a few minutes, he poured them into the fish bowl.

That's Spot in the Front (Allyson's Favorite)

Death By Blueberry Muffins--Not a Bad Way to Go
"Let's call Auntie Lisa," he said. "And Allyson, you have have to say, 'What happens when you feed a blueberry muffin to a goldfish?'"

"Huh?"

"Just ask her," he said, already dialing.

"I'll be embarrassed," Allyson said, covering her mouth.

"Do it!" he said, handing her the phone. "It's a joke. She'll laugh."

She took the phone reluctantly. "Um, hi Katie. Can I talk to your mommy?... Auntie Lisa, Daddy says, 'What happens if you feed a fish blueberry muffins?'"

I couldn't hear Lisa laughing over Bill's snickering. But Allyson laughed, so I think she was amused.

After we each said hello, everyone sat around and watched the goldfish eat their pinch of fish food.

Who Knew Goldfish Could Be So Entertaining?

At bedtime, Allyson and I prayed that Golden, Stripe, and Spot would not be too stressed out by their move and that they would be healthy and grow big--but not too big, Allyson reminded me. (Bill says that if the fish outgrow their bowl, they'll go over to his friend Troy's house to live in his pond.)

I reminded Allyson of how God had taken care of the little bird that fell out of its nest behind our pool last week. We'd been sure it would die, but its mother was always hovering nearby (and Lola was locked on the other side of the fence). The mother must have been feeding it. On the fourth day, it was gone.

It Looked Much Smaller in Person

As of this evening, all three fish seem as happy as goldfish can be. But Allyson is already planning her next fish purchase. "When they die, I want a betta fish," she said.

"You just got these goldfish," Bill said, frowning.

"Yes, but you said goldfish don't live very long. When they die, I want a betta."

I'm hoping the goldfish live a nice long while. As long as Bill takes care of changing their water.

Adventures in Baking

2011-05-01T00:03:00.000-05:00

You're not going to believe this... I've had my Nutrimill Grain Mill for THREE weeks now without posting anything about it.

After all those months of saving, it's even more fabulous than I expected. You just drop the whole grains in the top, turn the dial, and lovely soft flour drifts into the bowl. It's about as loud as a vacuum cleaner, but you only have to listen to it for a couple of minutes at a time.

I've ground hard red winter wheat berries for bread...

and popcorn for fresh cornmeal (which makes the most incredible cornbread imaginable)...

I've ground brown rice and even garbanzo beans...

Yes, that garbanzo bean is on my floor. I was weighing out the dried beans on my kitchen scale and somehow bumped the bowl. Garbanzo beans went flying all over the kitchen and even into the dining room.

Allyson came in and helped me pick up all those beans, which I hoped to salvage since I'd just mopped the floor that day. I rinsed them in very hot water and set them in a sieve on the counter top, covered with a clean plate to keep away the flies that are already invading our kitchen--no more, I hope, since Bill just hung one of those old-fashioned screen doors that slams itself every time you open it. I had scarcely finished grinding the rest of my rather expensive beans when Bill "tidied" up by setting the sieve in the sink and proceeded to pour soapy water over the beans. Sigh... You know how I hate wasting food!

Rising to New Heights
There was lots more food to be wasted that evening. I combined my freshly ground rice flour, garbanzo flour, xanthan gum, and corn starch and whipped up some of Gentle's gluten-free bread. Here it was before it went in the oven:

It was rising way too quickly, and my oven takes a good 15-20 minutes to heat up. By the time I put it in, it was already over the top of the pan and still rising... and rising. Here's how it looked when I took it out:

I kept taking it out, testing the temperature, and putting it back in. After an hour and a half, it still hadn't reached 190 degrees, and the probe kept coming out gummy. I finally gave up. I let it cool and then tried to slice it. Here's what it looked like after it fell:

Full of Hot Air
Turns out, it was completely hollow inside! All the batter had fallen into a gooey mess on the bottom inch of the pan:

I guess I'll wait a couple more weeks and then give it one more try. I think the main problem was that my pan was too small. Bill later bought me an actual 9 X 5 loaf pan for my birthday, and my old pan could fit right inside it. There had been so much dough that I put some of it into a mini loaf pan, and that loaf came out almost as delicious as Gentle's. I gave two tiny slices to Allyson and polished off the rest of the loaf myself.

A Little Toaster Mishap
When there was just one slice left, I had an uncontrollable craving for gluten-free toast. I gingerly dropped the tiny slice into the toaster slot. When it popped up, naturally it fell through the grate and got stuck in the crumb tray. I unplugged the toaster and turned it upside down, shaking it violently. No luck. So I inserted a knife down the side and gradually worked piece by crumbly piece back through the metal cage and into my mouth. (Yes, I ate that toast! And it was yummy.)

But it left a residue on the heating element, and when I turned the toaster back on to see if I'd wrecked the coils, it made two tiny fires! I waved the smoke away and prayed the smoke alarm wouldn't go off and wake Allyson. It took a few days, but finally the toaster stopped smoking, and it's no crappier than it was to begin with.

After wasting a whole evening on my gluten-free experiment, I was feeling pretty downcast. Luckily, the new pan came through for me; my next loaf, made from freshly ground wheat, turned out gorgeous. It looked like it had come from a bakery, and tasted even better. I also made some dinner rolls which we served at Easter, and those were pretty darn tasty.

And I made these hamburger buns on Thursday:

This was my fourth attempt at hamburger buns--at last, sweet success! Previously my buns had looked more like hockey pucks, though they tasted pretty decent.

All in all, I've been extremely pleased with my grain mill. We're savoring the taste of the fresh flour, and reaping the health benefits of all that wholesome wheat germ and bran. And since I can now buy my grain in bulk (25 to 50 pound bags!), the mill should pay for itself in no time. I aspire to bake all my family's bread as soon as I find the perfect, easy recipe or get a better bread machine. Currently I'm kneading the dough in my Kitchen-Aid mixer and shaping it by hand.

I wish you could all come and eat bread with me!

Like a Blue-Footed Booby

2011-04-19T23:32:00.000-05:00

One day last week, Allyson and I were looking at a two-page magazine layout of birds from all over the world. Some of them were beautiful, some were amazingly colorful, and some were just weird. My favorite was one of the weird ones, just because I liked its name. Have you ever heard of the blue-footed Booby, indigenous to Ecuador?

"Look at this one, Allyson," I said. "Guess what it's called? A blue-footed booby! Isn't that a funny name?"

She laughed politely, scrunching her brows as she tried to find the humor. After a moment she said, "Oh, yes. It's funny that a bird has blue feet."

"Yes, that's funny. But isn't the name really funny? It's a blue-footed BOOBY," I repeated.

She covered her mouth as realization dawned. "Oh, you mean like your..."

I deflected her hand, which was reaching toward my... booby.

"Yes," I said.

"That is a funny name!" she said, and we both laughed ourselves silly.

I probably would have forgotten the incident had it not been for our family walk that evening. Bill had succumbed to Allyson's begging and allowed her to hold Lola's leash--which seemed like a risky move to me. One glimpse of a Chihuahua, and she could pull Allyson's arm out of socket. Fortunately, Allyson quickly relinquished the leash to Bill.

We hadn't even made it past our side yard when Lola started jerking Allyson back and forth. We were lagging behind a few yards while Bill stooped to pull a few weeds and toss them into the gutter, but I could still hear Allyson muttering at Lola.

"Lola, you're like a... blue-footed booby!" she scolded.

It was an apt comparison, actually. According to Wikipedia:

The name booby comes from the Spanish term bobo, which means "stupid" or "fool"/"clown". This is because the Blue-footed Booby is clumsy on the land, and (like other seabirds), they can be very tame and therefore easily captured, killed, and eaten by humans.

Other than the part about being eaten by humans, doesn't that sound an awful lot like Lola? She's rather on the dumb side, and very tame, and definitely a clown.

A few days after the walk, I asked Allyson why she'd called Lola a blue-footed booby. "Was it because she's silly?"

"No," she said. "It was because she was jumping around so much I thought she was trying to fly like a bird."

"Oh," I said.

I just love to see how Allyson thinks.

And I love our Blue-Footed Booby. Yes, I'm started to realize that. I really do!

Why I Love Jesus

2011-04-15T22:44:00.000-05:00

I've been tagged by my friend Victor for a meme called Why I Love Jesus.

The rules for this meme are:

- Those tagged will share 5 things they love about Jesus
- Those tagged will tag 5 other bloggers
- Those tagged will provide a link to those they have tagged as well as the originator of the tag; to encourage others to visit them.

To quote Victor: 'Now this is a great idea because as a Christian community we should encourage each other and visit each others' Blogs if only to say "Hello". I know we don't always have something to say in the comments box; but just "Hello" would encourage Bloggers in that they know they have been visited and their efforts appreciated.' [Amen, Victor]

Here is a list of blogs I encourage you to visit, starting with Victor's. Just click each name to visit the blog--and remember to leave a comment!

Victor Gentle Jenny Jara Melissa K&C's Mom

If I've just tagged you, please post a comment on this entry with a link to your meme. Hopefully you will get around to it more quickly than I did!

My Reasons
How I'd answer this question probably depends on the day. Here's what comes to mind as to why I love Jesus (in no particular order):

Because He loved me first. He loved me while I was yet in my sin, and unlovable in my own eyes.
Because he set me free from my guilt and shame. He bore my sins and gave me His righteousness. He removed my sins as far as the east is from the west. (Psalm 103:12)
Because although He lives in a high and holy place, he still chooses to dwell with me. (Isaiah 57:15)
Because he gives me rest when I am weary and burdened. (Matthew 11:28)
Because He is encouraging and enabling me to love others as He loves me. There was a time when it was very difficult for me to open my heart to another person, but now I am finding delight in making many new friends.

What about YOU? Why do you love Jesus?

Please Pray For Laura

2011-04-13T07:50:00.003-05:00

Yesterday Laura received some discouraging test results. Please pray for her healing, and pray that God helps her feel His presence and His comfort today. Pray that her faith is strengthened, along with her body.

Thank you!

Update 4/13/11 11:56 AM: Please visit my friend Gentle's blog for a suggested prayer you can pray for Laura.

Click here

Please take a moment to read the encouraging scriptures God gave Gentle as she prayed for Laura this morning. We are so thankful for your prayers.

You Can Be an $11 Blessing

2011-04-09T14:28:00.001-05:00

I need to ask a small favor....

As you may know, in November I will be participating in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure® event, a 60-mile walk over the course of three days. Net proceeds from this event are invested in breast cancer research and community programs.

I'm walking for my dear friend Laura, who has breast cancer that has metastasized to her lungs and brain. Laura inspires me continually with her courage, strength, and faith.

Laura with Son Samuel

I want to do something special for Laura in honor of the one-year anniversary of our friendship, which is this Monday (4/11/11). I don't really understand it, but Laura feels a special connection with the number 11. When she feels discouraged or afraid--or when she's really happy about something--she often notices 11s around her. For example, she might see an 11 on a license plate or road sign, or on a digital clock. She feels the 11s are God's way of telling her He's close and He loves her.

On the 11th, I'd like to absolutely shower her with 11s, and at the same time raise money for a cause that she supports passionately. Would you consider donating $11.11 in her honor? If you can't give $11.11, could you give $1.11? In my heart, this isn't about the money, but about being a blessing to Laura.

You can read more about Laura's story on my 3-Day page.

Here's how you can help:

1. Make your donation here.

2. In the message section, enter a message to Laura (e.g. "Blessings, Laura!"). You can also enter your name if you want it to display.

3. If Laura's story moves you, please forward this request to others.

4. Whenever you see an 11, pray for Laura and her family.

If just 111 people give $11.11, that's $1233.21--enough to provide 10 free mammograms!

P.S. If you don't see this until after April 11, you can still donate. I will make sure Laura sees all your messages.

Surrounded by Beauty

2011-04-07T21:38:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry I've been so quiet. I've been overwhelmed with busyness lately, and I'm trying to slow down. My head is full of stories and news and revelations, but I only have time today to tell you one story. This time I'll try to make it quick. (I know you've heard that one before.)

If you're a long-time reader, you may remember my customary grocery store prayer. As I dropped by the Walmart Neighborhood Market on Sunday, I realized I hadn't been saying that prayer for awhile; I'd just been too busy, too frazzled to think about anything but my grocery list and all the chores waiting for me back at home.

Before I climbed out of my car this time, I paused and asked God, "Please, let me see with your eyes today. Help me to love someone while I'm here."

I'd already forgotten my prayer by the time I was pushing my cart down the second aisle, but God hadn't forgotten. As I dropped some apple cider vinegar into my cart, I looked up and stopped in my tracks. A lovely woman was approaching from the other end of the aisle, and I couldn't help noticing her beauty. It wasn't the kind of beauty you see on a magazine cover, though she was definitely pretty. It was more of an inner beauty, a glow, a visible peace that reminded me of the Proverbs 31 woman: clothed in strength and dignity. She was a tall black woman, maybe 10 years older than me. She had perfectly coiffed corn rows (is that still what they're called?), and she wore black heels and a white and black floral-print dress that was feminine but not frilly. It looked like she might be coming home from church, though it was 2:30 in the afternoon.

As I passed her, trying not to stare, a little voice in my head said, Tell her. Tell her she's beautiful. I literally shrugged it off, figuring she'd think I was weird. I slowed my cart to a crawl and edged past her, my eyes glued to my groceries. DO IT! the inner voice insisted, and I felt my heart speeding up.

I stopped the cart and spun on my heels. She happened to be looking my way, so I just let the words spill out. "You look beautiful today!" Immediately I thought, How crazy! Why would I say "today" as if I knew how she looked on any other day?

I don't think she thought I was crazy. But she was surprised, shocked even. She gave an audible gasp, and her hands flew to her throat. "Th-thank you!" she stammered, a wide grin making her even more beautiful.

My grin was probably even wider. "You're welcome," I said. "Have a good afternoon." And I ducked around the corner, a spring in my step. Laughter bubbled up inside, and I covered my mouth like Allyson when she's so delighted it makes her shy. I felt like I'd just surprised someone with a little gift, a just-because-you're-special gift.

That's when I remembered last week's video from my new Bible study, Living Your Life as a Beautiful Offering. In the video, Angela Thomas recounts a story of a day when she was utterly drained, physically and emotionally. She'd been drenched on the way into the airport, and she was not having a good hair day, to say the least. She had recently gone through a divorce, and she was feeling ugly inside and out. As she walked to the baggage claim after her flight, an older gentleman with an Italian accent told her, "You are beautiful to me."

She felt as if God himself had spoken to her, and she was sure He had used that stranger to remind her that she was so beautiful in His eyes, that He was "just wild about her."

As I finished my shopping, I wondered if God might have just used me to remind that strange woman of His love, if maybe she'd needed that message just then. Despite the usual minor grocery store annoyances, I was still smiling when I got to the parking lot.

I'd almost reached my car when I looked up and saw a middle-aged woman and her teenage daughter. Both of them were smiling as if they might be sharing a joke. The older woman wore a pretty white and black blouse, and the girl wore a fuchsia blouse that looked striking against her flawless dark skin. They were both quite pretty, but what I really noticed was their strong resemblance. Looking at the mother was like seeing the girl in 30 or 40 years. I thought of how God had made each of them with such loving care, how he'd knit that girl together in her mother's womb.

This time I didn't even hesitate. "You two sure make a beautiful pair!" I exclaimed.

"Thank you!" they said in unison.

"Have a good afternoon," the mother said, and the girl smiled shyly at me.

I don't know what's gotten into me, but I can't wait to see what I'll do next!

You Know It's Spring... Or Maybe Not

2011-03-31T22:00:00.000-05:00

You know it's spring when I post my first blog entry about The Family Garden. The weekend before last was officially the start of our gardening, but Allyson actually got a jump on us a few weeks back. One afternoon when I was cooking pintos for some home-made refried beans (yum!), she grabbed a handful of beans and ran out to the garden. She probably didn't plant them very deep, and she definitely put them too close together, and it was also a little cold, but she was so excited to be planting beans on her own.

"They might not grow, baby," I warned.

"Yes, they will," she said confidently.

Sure enough, they sprouted within a week, and they've been growing steadily ever since. On Saturday, Bill thinned them out and transplanted them from the tomato area--yes, we're trying tomatoes again even after three straight years of failure--to the bean area.

Pintos in Their New Home

It will be interesting to see what happens if some beans actually grow. Bill will just have to eat them, even though he despises beans. Actually, maybe despises is too strong a word. All the rest of us love beans, so I've continued putting beans in chili, soup, etc. (and putting pureed beans in cupcakes and muffins, just because I can!). Bill used to pick all the beans out, but lately I've caught him eating them. Either he no longer has the energy to pick them out, or he's been assimilated. But I digress.

Allyson's other plants aren't in the garden, but over by the shed next to the pool. Bill built her a little planter box for some sunflower seeds she saw at the hardware, and we planted them on Saturday.

Allyson With Sunflower Seeds and Cedar Planter Box

Waiting Endlessly to Sow the Seeds

Allyson also got to plant a few veggies, which have grown into seedlings in our window box. The labels are in her own writing.


Squash, Peppers, Green Cantaloupe, Orange Cantaloupe

Aren't the Squash Cute? Like Little Ducks, Allyson Says

Okay, I can't resist. Here's one more squash picture... They are growing so fast I think they're ready to go in the ground:

See How They Reach For the Light... That's How I Feel During Morning Quiet Time

I hope our garden thrives this year, so we can have as much fun eating our produce as we have planting it. I'll keep you posted.

Or Maybe Not...
Until this afternoon, when it hit the 70s (about 24 Celsius), I was wondering whether spring really had arrived. We've had four days of cool temperatures, cool enough to bring out our jackets and maybe even sit by the fire. I think it was in the upper 40s (about 9 Celsius) on Sunday, the day I'd planned to walk with my neighbor Kindra and her daughter Makayla.

I phoned on the way home from church and talked to Makayla, who sounded pretty grumpy. "Obviously it's too cold to walk," I began. "There's a cold mist in the air and a sharp breeze."

"Oh no, my mom said we're walking today no matter what," Makayla said, her tone even grumpier.

Uh oh, I thought. Walking together was my idea, since I'm the one training for The 3-Day Walk. I heaved a sigh. "I'll be there at 1:45," I said.

We bundled up, and it wasn't all that bad, only I really wished I had worn gloves. Bill would have laughed at me, but I wouldn't have cared. Kindra and I chatted the entire two miles to her son Jacob's soccer game, as the miles slipped away under our feet. She explained that they probably would've stayed home except for her husband's ribbing. "I knew you guys wouldn't last long," he'd said.

"Oh, no. We're going," she retorted. "We're going no matter what."

I was so glad we did. Not only did I get some great exercise and a good chat, but I also got to walk with someone new this time: Ethan!

Ethan Has an Odd Habit of Picking Up Random Sticks When We Walk

It was my first training walk with him, unless you count the one where he took off on his Rip-Stick (like a hinged skateboard) and never came back, so that I feared he might be lying in the road somewhere.

This time he was on foot, and since he's not really a runner, he was stuck with me. We had the longest conversation since I don't know when. He was talking about some projects at school, including something about World War II. For 20 minutes straight, we talked about whether it was wrong to drop the atom bomb, and how awful the Japanese internment camps must have been, and then about other less than stellar moments in American history. I was pleased to learn that his history teacher doesn't just teach from the bland, sanitized textbooks; I didn't learn about things like the internment camps or the Trail of Tears until I was in college.

During our walk, it dawned on me that my boy not only looks like a young man, but he's starting to talk like one too! What a wonderful walk, even in the chilly drizzle that turned into fat, splatting raindrops just as we reached home. My hands and cheeks were freezing, but my heart was toasty warm.

You Can't Measure it in Miles

2011-03-24T22:11:00.001-05:00

I've been wanting to post an update on my 3-Day Walk progress, but I really wanted to be able to tell you how many miles I've walked. I've been walking about five times a week for just under a month, but I haven't had a chance to buy a pedometer. It really bugs me, not having an exact number to tell you, or even a ballpark figure. I walk anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours at a stretch, maybe up to 5 miles at a time.

My financial progress is easier to track: $611 out of the $2300 minimum I'll need in order to participate in the event. (I just noticed the 11, which is a number of special significance to Laura. Cool!)

So today I was thinking about how to quantify my progress, and I realized it has nothing to do with miles or money. Instead, I can measure it in joyous hours admiring the trees in bloom, with the breeze in my hair and the sun on my back. I can measure it in visits with God, whispering my prayers and then enjoying the companionable silence as we walk together.

And I can measure it in the number of acquaintances whom I've found the courage to approach in my neighborhood and at the gym, women who have agreed to walk with me on Saturday mornings in the park. I've already enjoyed two walks with my neighbor Kendra and her daughter Makayla; it's the longest time we've ever had to chat, and I think we're going to be good friends.

I've been getting up at 6:30 twice a week to walk and pray with Phyllis, the woman who knocked on my door and invited me to a prayer meeting last month. We've prayed for Laura, our families, our neighborhood, and our city.

I've had a couple easy walks with my family, much to Lola's delight. I've walked poor Allyson to the library, her preschool, and the park, until she complained about her aching legs.

I've had three long walks with my sister Amy, during which we built each other's faith as we prayed fervently for Laura, for my church, and for family members. I also had one Sunday walk--maybe too leisurely to count as a training walk, but most enjoyable--with Amy, our sister Emily, and our children.

Amy

Today, I had a lovely walk with Laura, the first we've had since I signed up for The 3-Day. The weather was glorious, and we had a good chat while Allyson raced ahead on her bike, then looped back, then conned us into walking her bike between us. I felt refreshed in spirit and in body, and I think Laura did also.

Laura and Son Samuel

I'm so excited to be taking this journey, and I can only rejoice in all the benefits I've already reaped.

An Easy (and Free) Way to Support the Salvation Army

2011-03-15T16:59:00.000-05:00

My blogging friend Victor is again running a special campaign to raise money for the Salvation Army. All you have to do is go to his site and leave a comment on the entry below...

Don't Miss Out On This!

...and Victor will donate £1 (about $1.61) to the Salvation Army.

While you're there, check out some of Victor's stories about the kind, gentle priest, Father Ignatius. If you like Ignatius as much as I do, you'll also want to check out Victor's novel, Visions. Click here to order Visions. (That link is only for U.S. orders. If you live in another country, you'll find other purchase links on Victor's blog.)

If you'd like, you can read my review here.