two nights ago, right outside our front door, we heard some women cheering, yelling, clapping and generally being loud. I had to know what was happening, so I left the house to take a look.
I figured out fairly quickly that it was a race ... the start and finish line being the parking lot to the side of our home. I saw no less than 65 people at the finish line alone not counting those still to come.
Now, I used to be a runner ... before I was married. I lifted weights, and I was on the High School rowing team. Yes, it was a long time ago, but one thing I never forgot was the feeling deep inside whenever I heard the spectators cheering us on.
" come on girls ... you can do it ... you're almost there ... ROW!!! "
Suddenly, you found that extra pocket of air inside of you, and you mustered up the strength of an army to press in and take the race.
There I was listening to the cries of the exhausted runners, their breath coming in rasping, laboured waves, when I discovered my tears. Not because I wanted to be in that particular race, but because I heard myself asking ---
" why don't we do this? those of us in the home ... why don't we literally sit on a fellow " runner's " front step clapping and cheering " you can make it ... you pressed past the last hill ... you can do this ... yes! "
--- and it challenged me.
