I was just standing at my bed folding laundry (aren't you glad you know that?) and thinking about a time many years ago when I was a young mom. Our family was part of a church that met in people's homes, and most of the families had little children. Inevitably at some point, a few of the moms would wind up outside with babies who were fussy. One early summer Sunday, I was outside with Mike, my oldest. He was about 5 months old. That's where I met Kelly, who was outside with her oldest, David. We sat and got to know each other, and made Sunday get-togethers a regular occurrence. Twenty-two years later, David became my son-in-law, and now I am so thankful for all the work and prayer Kelly and her husband put into raising him. We should bring up all our children with the thought that someday they will be someone's spouse, someone's son- or daughter-in-law.
David and Deb, Sticky Bean, and Button.
Then I was thinking about my younger brother who lives in Vietnam. He recently became a first-time father, which makes me a five-time aunt. His son's name is Walter, a family name, but the Vietnamese have a hard time saying that, so they call him Wally.
I have no idea when we'll get to meet Wally, but I hope it's soon. Look at that face!
Then I was thinking about the conversation I had with one of the trainers today while I was on the treadmill. He knows I'm trying to improve my running, such as it is, so he keeps an eye on me and gives me pointers. I was jogging along at my usual turtle's pace, and he came over and told me I was running too fast. He said I should be able to carry on a normal conversation, and if I can't, then I'm going too fast. (I think this means I need to walk.) Honestly, I can't imagine how long it's going to take me to run a mile if I slow down any more, but I'm going to try. I don't guess at 50 I can expect to win the speedy award, so I might as well enjoy myself, right? Then I got home and watched a video of an 83-year-old woman who just finished her 53rd marathon. MARATHON. It took her a little over 8 hours and there was only one person left at the finish line to give her the T-shirt and medal. But you know what? She did it. Got the T-shirt. *sigh* I'm such a whiner.
And then I thought about Doug Vitale, a young married Marine, who was devastatingly wounded in Afghanistan about 2 weeks ago. He will lose at least parts of both legs and has already undergone several surgeries. He has head trauma, brain swelling, massive injuries everywhere else, and is in a coma. Would you pray for him? For his wife? His parents? What an incredible sacrifice for my freedom.
Be thankful ~