A Tale of Two Miracles

My daughter, Jordan, recently ran her first half marathon. As with her sister before her, I planned to cheer from various vantage points along the course.

“See you at five miles, ten and the finish line!” I called, dropping her off as close to the starting point as I could. The early morning air was chilly and brisk, full of excitement as other runners were dropped off and other families wished them good luck.

Only after she got out of the car did I realize two important problems. The first was that many streets were closed that morning to accommodate the runners. The second was that I do not know Richmond at all. My GPS did not acknowledge the closed roads, and the detour signs were inconsistent. I gave up the plan to cheer at the 5th and 10th mile markers and decided instead to head out of the downtown area to a park the course passed through. I figured at least there would be parking at a park and said a quick prayer for God to help me find my way.

Unfortunately, all the roads that accessed the park were closed, and there was no easy go-around. I drove around aimlessly for a while, in and out of charming neighborhoods, where people were still asleep or at least warm inside enjoying their coffee. I pulled in front of a little bungalow, just as a couple and their dog came out. I rolled down the window and asked if they knew where the marathon route was.

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You’re Right Where You’re Supposed to Be

Ever wonder if you heard God wrong and you’re supposed to be doing something different? Periodically those thoughts tiptoe uninvited into my brain, and I wrestle with what-if questions, too

Last week I met some very powerful and accomplished women at a conference. Jealousy crept in as I mulled over how old I am, questioned dreams I have yet to fulfill, and wondered about where I am in life. One of those powerful women happened to be with me at the time and my doubts spilled into our small group sharing.

“Maybe you’re exactly where your supposed to be,” she said. “Maybe Satan is trying to discourage you because you’re doing such a good job.” Her comment caught me off guard, and frankly, surprised me. I rarely think about the devil and speak of him even less. I thanked her at the end of our session and headed outside for time to consider her words.

What an interesting theory, I reflected as I meandered onto a nature trail next to the conference center. As usually happens when I am outdoors, my thoughts lightened. The sunshine warmed my perspective and my face; the birds distracted me with their song, and the plants and flowers perked my curiosity. Gradually I felt better and headed back for the next meeting.

As I crossed onto a boardwalk over classic North Carolina swampland, a dozen birds up ahead pranced on the path and squawked loudly. I didn’t pay much attention, until the stick they were fussing over raised its head and hissed. The snake was sill a good fifteen feet ahead of me, but the wooden path was narrow and the swamp below squishy with mud.

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How Do I Get Through This?

“How am I going to get through this?” my friend asked, as quiet tears slid down her weary-eyed face. There was no easy answer for her question, so I just reached across the table and held her hand.

The odd thing was that she was the fourth person lately who asked that same question. My guess is that each of us has asked it before, probably more than once. Between the grief of a husband’s sudden death, the loss of a miscarriage, a terrifying health diagnosis, and unexpected marital separations, it seems I know a lot of people who are struggling. I have been thinking about how I survived when Neil died. Here’s some thoughts.

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