As a child I raced through life, across the fields, up the stairs two at a time, vaulting fences, climbing trees and the T pole that held our laundry line.
I grew up in a large family and people were always in and out of doors and I made a private game of racing through the doorway before the storm door swung closed. I lost the race one day and still bear the scar on my wrist from the cut artery received as my hand went through the glass. Then my mother raced…three miles into town to the doctor’s office with one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding my hand straight up with a towel pressed onto my wound.
Decades later, I still feel like I’m racing..life is just too short. I married my hero at 20 and we raised seven children while operating our family driving school. When our youngest went into first grade, I returned to school and a fellow parent said, “You don’t let any grass grow under your feet.”
But I’ve not raced blindly…I’ve enjoyed every bit of the journey. Well, almost. There are always rough patches. A dear friend told me during one such trial, “I know this is hard to believe, but some day you will look back and be thankful for this.” And she was right. And because she was right, I’ve learned to enjoy every bit of the journey..even the rough patches.
Here’s hoping you can discover and share the joy in the journey. Blessings to you!