As my life moves forward into the unknown blessings of raising these two girls, I feel as if I’m losing and finding myself. Change is inevitable and change in circumstances is what grows us. Yet for a moment, let me remind myself who I am and introduce that person to you.
When I was fifteen my sister and I spontaneous raced to the van from a restaurant. I’m an endurance runner and my sister a sprinter. I had no chance at success, but I sure tried hard! At the end of the race, which she won, I fell and landed under the van. I had broken my wrist, and had done so by tripping over a speed bump.
I tell you that short story because it ultimately describes who I am. I love spontaneity; the joy of doing something unexpected.
I’m more than just an endurance runner: I’m an endurance person. I like slowness, perseverance, the working toward something good at a steady pace. My character is to plod on slowly and intentionally. And yet, my biggest temptation is to sprint. To sprint against myself, but also to sprint against others and to compare myself to them. When I sprint, I am miserable. I breath heavy in horrible puffs of self-doubt or worse: complaining. When I sprint, I am broken like my wrist was broken; if I am soft-hearted that brokenness brings me back to my Creator.
And yet above all that, I am quirky. Honestly, how many people are quirky enough to break their wrist on a speed bump, to host barbarian night with children where they eat with their hands, to turn cartwheels five months pregnant, or to enjoy romantic walks with her husband outside in summer thunderstorms?