Everybody has a story...

Have you ever seen an older person as you've rushed from place to place through your busy day? Did it ever cross your mind that they were a bit too slow because you needed to move a bit faster to get where you were going?
I believe, because I am guilty of it myself, that sometimes we take for granted the wisdom of those that have lived here much longer than ourselves. We sometimes write them off as just souls that are waiting out the final days of their time here on this earth; especially when we discover that they are the ripe age of 101. I am certain that once we discover that a person we associate ourselves with is a hundred and one years old that we automatically assume that they are not as sharp in their mind as they were twenty years ago and from time to time; it even crosses our minds that they must even be a bit feeble minded.

However, regardless of the opinions that we have already decided to be fact; sometimes our whole perception of those wise old souls can change in a second. I've watched my daughter return to the same piano teacher over the past 4 years of moving back and forth to NC. I've always felt quite fortunate to have a graduate in music of the Methodist University teach my daughter for so many years to embrace the joy of music. I'd always ran in and picked up Abbi and just smiled at the old soul that seemed to take such joy in teaching my red headed girl to tickle the ivory's since she was 5 years old. I never thought much more about her after picking up my little red headed beauty and driving away until the following week until I took the time to listen to what she had to say one day before driving away.

Just like all the times before; I'd rushed in to pick up my now "almost 13 year old" and say hello and goodbye as I rushed home to make dinner for my starving family. However, today was different as my red headed girl whispered to me that she had discovered the 101 year old secret that I never would have guessed to be anymore than 80. My heart sank to my feet as I pondered how much my red headed beauty had grown to love this old soul in front of me. Of course human nature leads us to think of merely one thing when we hear so many numbers belonging to someone's age; we automatically think that their days are few. I walked away with my amazed red~headed beauty smiling like she'd discovered the greatest news ever. She told everyone that would listen that her piano teacher was 101 years old proudly!~

I felt different the next week dropping her off for her hour long lesson; a bit sad that soon this day might belong to another teacher with a more youthful style that didn't teach the same old fashioned love of music that the happy old soul taught my daughter. I walked in the same way, hoping to rush out and home to cook dinner but I didn't get to leave quite as easily today....

She gave us the pictures from the recital the week before and she smiled as she placed the family one in my hand. I noticed a set of striking blue eyes that I'd never taken note of before looking at me as she told me how much she'd loved our pictures. I saw a smile that was lined with a hint of pink lipstick that led up to perfectly rosey cheeks and lined eyes that she'd taken a long time to perfectly paint for the days students. I realized that even at my what seemed young now, 39 years that I hadn't even taken the time to perfectly paint my eyes in weeks. I looked up at a painting on the wall as I waited for my girl to collect her books and I saw those big blue eyes smile at me again, "I painted that she said with a smiling face". Wow! I thought to myself how amazing to find out that this talented old soul was once a painter and a musician!

She told me story after story of her college days and of art competitions and blue ribbons and of piano recitals that she'd been having for over 50 years. Her eyes lowered as she told me of losing the man she loved but then they brightened again as she recalled stories of the way he treated her in those younger days before. I even heard a girlish laugh as she told me of the nicknames he gave her and of the time they discovered bunnies living in a hole in the front yard and he'd called her to see them; leading her to believe it was a herd of snakes. Her bright blue eyes lit up with laughter as she pointed to the spot in the yard that they once lived. She stood up happily smiling because someone had taken the time to listen to the story she'd had to tell and walked us to the door.

I know that Monday dinners will never be ready by 630 for many days to come as long as this happy old soul is teaching my daughter the joy of a long life filled with music; but I also know that sometimes we have to take the time to listen to the stories that those wiser than us have to tell. I feel lucky to be the one that was fortunate enough to get to realize that despite the years that have passed us~we are all just people with a story and sometimes even a girlie laugh....listen to what they have to tell you my friends, they have a story too<3 p="">

"Wish I could go tomorrow"

Surfers have always fascinated me. I've watched their too tan bodies from the shore on numerous occasions. It's amazing to me that one wouldn't get a bit frustrated trying to catch a wave after being wiped out time and time again into the rumbling ocean. It seems like a lot of work for such a short lived rush. I just can't imagine working so hard for something that lasts sometimes less than a minute.

It's even more amazing as I sit over my coffee and watch the story of a young teenager in neon board shorts telling the story of the terror he felt as a shark sunk his razor sharp teeth into his leg. It gives me chills to even try to imagine how it must feel to be in the ocean and know that a shark has chosen your leg for an afternoon snack. I'm certain it would keep me from trying to catch any more waves in the future. However, this young man had the same response as many before him in the same situation. "I'm definitely going to surf in the future, wish I could go tomorrow."

It's always shocking for us to hear stories of someone suffering from a great injury and their response is that they can't wait to put themselves back in the same situation again. I thought of this young man as I ran on my 11 week post surgery foot this morning for just the second time after recovering from surgery. It was a little easier to take off today than it was that very first time. I think we always have a fear of things healing like they are supposed to or even of re-injuring ourselves when we get back out there for the first few times. However, the love of the rush rather it be surfing or running or even falling from the sky a zillion feet in the air is usually greater than the fear of the risk, so we find ourselves back out there hoping for the best outcome.

I usually hang out on the shore when I'm at the ocean. I love the sound of the sea, the smell of the salt and sunscreen that lingers in the air as I drag my feet on the edge of the sandy shore. I must admit though, sometimes I do look out beyond that endless blue ocean and wonder what it would be like to feel the water under my feet and the waves slapping my back. I smile as I see them picking up their boards and making their way up and down, setting and resetting the perfect position to catch the perfect wave. I move a little closer until I can feel the water sinking my feet into the sand. I can't swim so I run as I smell the ocean breeze in the wind against my face. I don't even put on shoes but just pitter~patter in the soft sand beneath my feet; mile after painless mile. I start to understand more why the answer is always, "wish I could go tomorrow". As  
I finish and grab my towel and a cold bottle of water; I can't help but have the same response. I sure hope I can do this again tomorrow.
Life is short my friends, do what you love <3 p="">

The Terror or Running

I am a runner; even as I sit here recovering from the foot surgery that I had last week, there is something that I still know in my heart and that's that I will always be a runner. As a matter of fact, I am marking off the days until I can lace up a pair of new sneakers and break them in with my new improved right foot.
Imagining myself gliding down my old familiar trails is so amazing that I can hardly allow myself to spend too much time indulging. I feel like a kid waiting for Christmas; which in case you didn't know, will be in about 6 weeks for my excited feet. Pitter patter, pitter patter pat! I can hear their rhythmic sound in sync with my breathing already, Santa's on the way!
The love I have for running hit me hard when I woke up to the coverage of the Boston Marathon on my local news channel today. Great, I thought to myself, "I'm in a cast on the day of the Boston", not a good way to feel motivated on a Monday. My heart ached as I saw my fellow North Carolinians making their way to mile 23 with that familiar worn out but happy runner's high smile on all of their faces. I was envious for sure. I'd never been fast enough to qualify for Boston in my consistent years and here I was at 39 laying on the sofa in a cast, ouch!
I made a pat with myself at that very moment to train for Boston when my foot got back to 100 percent; lots of people run Boston at forty. Yep, it's a promise and I shook my own hand and rolled my eyes at my bandaged foot and the runners running across my screen........but then......I cried and prayed for those very same souls that I'd just wished to be. I couldn't believe my eyes when I heard the loud bomb and the sound of the voice in the distance yelling, "Oh My God", "Oh My God"!

A bomb at the finish line of the Boston Marathon was all I heard the news anchor state. Two dead, many injured. I felt guilty, I felt sad, I felt so blessed to have my foot wrapped up in a cast with no possibility of being there; and that made me feel guilty again. I saw the disappointed, confused and freightened faces of my fellow runners and the loved ones that supported them on the sidelines and I just cried...

I cried for the ones that lost their lives for no reason at all, and for the ones that came to accomplish a goal that probably took them years to accomplish. My heart broke for the love ones that they carried away in wheel chairs to unfamiliar hospitals only because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time; a place on the side of the finish line to see the ones that they loved smile as they crossed over. This was unreal, beyond sad and unfortunate. God be with them, all of them, the families, the law enforcement, soldiers, fire dept and all of those that are the assisters in this great, troubled nation and Dear God please be with the runners and keep their feet pitter~pattering until the pain of this day is less.

Not so amazing

Amazing 40...

As I cringed at the needles entering the veins in the top of my hand and the plastic bin of the ones that would soon be in my knee and my ankle; I have to admit~ 39 wasn't feeling so amazing. As a matter of fact, the short months leading up to "Amazing 40", weren't feeling very amazing at all. I've even felt the need from time to time to question my whole campaign about the possibility of being "Amazing" at forty.
The few things that I've discovered so far in my 39th year are  that I can no longer read how many aspirin to take or the difference between shampoo and conditioner in the shower without a trusty pair of reading glasses. I've also faced a hard truth that no matter how many dam times people tell you that age doesn't affect your metabolism; it's all just a conspiracy to make you think your going crazy~you WILL work harder if you want to maintain your weight at forty!! Don't let them make you believe it's just you- things really do change!!
Finally, as if that wasn't proof enough of the challenges that 40 has for us; here I am laying on a table waiting for surgery because my almost 40 year old right foot refused to heal on its own. I wonder if it would have been able to mend itself if it were only 20 years old?

I don't recall much after pondering those thoughts on that table Monday. I really can only remember being strapped down to the operating table despite my need to go to the bathroom and rid myself of some of the millions of ounces of fluids they must have put in my IV. Gosh, I had to pee!! Why does this always happen to me???? Why did I have to pee now, when they were only seconds away from operating on my injured foot?? Ouch! And what was that pinch that I just felt in my hand? "It's just the meds going in I heard the nurse that refused to take me to the bathroom say to me". Sleepy....then I just felt sleepy........................................................................................................................................

As my eyes slowly opened; I didn't feel close to 40 at all. As a matter of fact; I don't believe I'd had sleep like that since I was fifteen. Yep, that's how I felt. I felt like I was fifteen and it was Saturday and there was no school and no responsibilities. I felt like I was just sleeping all day without a care in the world.
If there is a reward for going through the horrors of surgery, then this must be it. The glory of (if only for one day) feeling like you slept for twelve straight hours. This was glorious!

Unfortunately, as I sit here sharing this with all of you in a tight cast; I have not experienced those moments of beautiful sleep since making it home to my regular bed; but the days of recovery are passing, and with time; I'm sure will come recovery. Time is that way; it is the healer of all things; rather it be our stitched right foot or our hearts that have been broken so many times. The one thing that will always make them better is time.

I realized that this morning as I got up and kissed the forehead of my now twelve year old little girl. I knew that my 39 years of wisdom were the reason that I could recover and still have the patience to take care of her needs. At some point between glorious sleep at 15 and irresponsible parties and mischief in our 20's; we see ourselves standing one day almost forty. And no matter the situation we find ourselves in; we see our accomplishments and the happiness that we've created in all those years surrounding us. We assure those that love us that we are okay and that a few weeks of recovery will have us on our feet again as good as new~ and we believe it with all of our hearts; because the one thing that we realize that is still amazing about being almost forty; is that we have had almost 40 years for the Lord to show us time and time again that it will almost, always work out if we put our trust in him.
I wouldn't trade this "amazing" wisdom for anything in the world....it turns out having this many years under your belt is still pretty amazing....Life is beautiful my friends, count your blessings; even the small ones. Time is a gift, may we never take it for granted <3 p="">