The dawn of about to get better.  That’s a line I wrote at the end of our 2016 Christmas letter.  I don’t know why I added it.  I don’t even like the sound of the dawn of about to get better, it’s so cheesy.  What does it even mean?

Yet I couldn’t bring myself to write a different ending, even when the letter went through edits for the blog.  I didn’t know it at the time, I couldn’t have, but this little phrase was going to be down-right prophetic for our family, particularly one of us.  How could I possibly know that something so big and so terrible was about to get better?  Especially since it was going to get a lot worse in the first few months of the new year.  Nonetheless, something was about to change.

I’m itching to write more.  The whys and hows of this dawn of about to get better, all that’s shifting and changing, and taking new form.

You see, my family and I are setting off on the marathon of our lives.  No, that can’t be right.  What’s about to happen is more like a much-needed pause during the middle of a race.  Not that races have half-times.  I’m not the best when it comes to sport analogies.

I participated in quite a few 5Ks back in college, my glory days.  Or they would have been my glory days if I wasn’t so messed up.   Anyway, I admit  most of the races were all about the free long-sleeve T-shirts, the ones with the name or cause of the race on the front and all the sponsor logos on the back.  I’d proudly wear my race T-shirts on walks or runs around Green Lake.   They made me look the part of the runner that I surely wasn’t.

Back to the 5K.  Most of all, I remember the cheerful volunteers on the side of the road, around the halfway point, holding Dixie cups of cold water or Gatorade for me to grab as I dashed limped by.   Now that I’ve had three babies, drinking anything while running (even before running) is never a good idea, no matter how refreshing it sounds.  Who am I kidding? I don’t run anymore.

Anyway, the Dixie cup of cold water represents the season we’re in, a season of refreshing.  Not to be confused with a season of rest.  There will be no resting in this season.  We’ll be running harder than we’ve ever run before.  But our bodies and souls will be nourished along the way, which makes all the difference.  For nourishment to the soul is what it will take for us to run together and not hold back.

Perhaps a better picture would be of the five of us entering a new race altogether, one we’re equipped to run because we’re learning to pace ourselves.  The race course is new to us, but we’ll figure it out with a little help.  We’re sure to grow tired, we’ll stumble or fall.  But help will come when we need it.

For it’s a different kind of story altogether.  It’s not about healing or grieving, or any of what I usually write about.  It’s more of a perspective shift.  And this little shift in perspective has been one of the greatest Ah-ha moments of my life.

O Lord, help me trust you.  Help me trust you as I dwell with my family in the dawn of about to get better.  A new day is dawning, surely it is.  I’m holding onto this promise.   I think of Psalm 92:4 when I think of you and I praise you for it.  For you said about yourself, “He will cover you with feathers.  In his wings you will find refuge.”  How mighty and how beautiful it is to be covered by the feathers of your wings.  Up close, I can see the intricate detail, patterning and glossiness of your feathers, of your glory, your strength.  I don’t even like birds but I have a thing for them because of you.  Help me be brave enough to see your beauty in every point of this new race, even the ugly parts when I’m limping along, out of breath and ready to quit.  But I will keep running because I’m not alone, never alone.  You are here, with every step along the way.