It is a rare moment when my house is quiet. I tie on my sneakers, kiss my sleeping husband goodbye and head out the front door.
I'm not a runner, but I pretend to be.
I don't know what sparked me to take this up now. I was the girl who tried to hide in the bathroom on Mile Run Day in gym class. But here I am, a 30 year old mother of 6, getting up with the sun...to run.
I hop off the last step, breathe in the clean morning air and try to keep up a good pace. I'm not impressed with myself. The road feels so much longer than it looks. But it feels good to sweat, to feel alive.
I drag myself back up the steps and sneak into that still sleeping house. No one even noticed I was gone. No one waiting to cheer me on. My legs are weak and I'm out of breath, but it's a beautiful pain.
I shower and dress and start my coffee. I wrap my hands around my mug and take a seat on the front step. I soak in the moment. The birdsongs are filling the air. Dew drops are sparkling on the grass and lining a spider's web. My Bible lays open on my knees and I pray for strength for the day.
This moment is pure peace.
I take a walk around my yard. I look for new blooms on my plants and pull a few weeds. I say good morning to the chickens.
My coffee mug is empty and I walk back inside just as the children are starting to stir.
Within minutes this quiet house erupts with energy. 6 little ones are recharged and calling for me. My husband's alarm clock is screaming. I'm making breakfast and filling bellies.
My moment is gone...but I carry the peace with me.
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