Still Rejoicing

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

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!

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

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.

Four Weeks and Counting...

...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. 

Angels Working Overtime

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

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.

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!

Beyond Beyond

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.

You Can Be an $11 Blessing

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.

You Know It's Spring... Or Maybe Not

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.