An Iowan friend offered to crochet a prayer row for my husband this week. With every loop and hook, she prays that he will travel safely so that he may return soon to the family that he helps hold together. Through my praying friend’s example, I decided this morning that I could institute a similar commitment.
As of Monday, I began to train for an April half-marathon, so I’ve crawled out from under my three Grandma Cora quilts and my flannel sheets to hit the streets and the frigid temperature. Brrr… 9 degrees this morning. However, despite the hurried cars zooming past for an 8 o’clock work day (God be with), I remember how peaceful winter running can be: the sky, me, stalwart trees, a few lonesome birds, and prayers. It seems such an empty expanse exists for a Presence who wants some words, some notice, like when you find someone out in the same barren place as yourself and you’re acutely grateful for seeing life which makes you speak out in fullness.
So to the rhythm of my feet, it’s not so hard to pray which made me think of the crochet prayer rows which I can replace with mile dedications. The helplessness I faced yesterday with my own reaction to my daughter needs, for example, a mile or two. A hospitalized woman from church needs a mile. Cody's development. Some parents in town who lost a son to prison. The war and soldiers in Iraq. The earthquake and hurricane victims. Many, many needs out there.
Perhaps I will be training for a marathon before too long!