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Getting chased by the Devil...don't worry: I'm running faster

Anyone who knows me knows I do not run. Ever. I joke that I studied martial arts for 15 years so I didn't have to run; I could stand and fight. Running is painful and hard and hard and hard and unpleasant.

Yet, here I am running. Satan is chasing me. And I'm running.

Dark-haired daughter has been really sick for the past week and needed a lot of attention. Of course, Eldest Son was diagnosed with a mental illness and that took much of my time and energy. Easter was celebrated (gratefully!) but there was a lot of prep for that.

Then yesterday, a woman I do not know wrote me a letter at work. She had attended a lecture I gave two weeks ago. She wrote to tell me that the dress I wore was inappropriate, two sizes too small, and detracted from my talk.

Well.

I wholeheartedly admit I am often prideful about my appearance. I love clothes. I had chosen a new dress for that talk. It wasn't quite what I expected (I ordered it online), but I showed it to Curly-haired Daughter and my niece (both of whom will be brutally honest if necessary) and they gave it the thumbs up.

It didn't pass someone else's test, apparently.

When I woke up this morning, I found a friend had responded to this story by saying, "Did you tell her, 'Get thee behind me, Satan!'?" It struck me that this was exactly what was going on. I'm trying my hardest to get closer and closer to God, and Satan is trying to chase me in the other direction. So, I am running.

I have laced up my running shoes, I have stretched and warmed-up, I am running. I will win this race. I will wear the crown. And that crown will fit just fine.

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Crossing Guard

I saw you
today
as you guided
your little man across that busy street.

You were wearing some
big man boots
and
watching cars and lights.

Your little man had on
black sneakers and
a Mickey Mouse hat
that bounced
as he walked.

He wasn't watching nothing but
your big man boots
and
the white stripes of the crosswalk.

Just before
he got to the sidewalk again,
his step bounced a bit
- he hopped over
a spot where the asphalt broke.

You turned to look,
holding out a hand to
your little man.
Not rushed or angry,
just making sure
he got up
on that sidewalk.

Then you walked on,
in your big man boots,
face into a cold Michigan wind,
with the little man behind,
his hat bouncing.