Years ago, I learned to stay in the movie theater right up until the last credit rolls.  Everyone has left.  The employees are standing in the aisles ready to clean up, and there I sit.  I want to see every name, every little tidbit that I might have missed.  Sometimes, you get to see funny outtakes, or you get to read a name that seems familiar.  A town.  Something.

I was swimming last night.  Finally out of a cast, with a month of swim workouts to regain strength in  my foot.  And, my son put on ACDC Back In Black on the speakers.  With every inhale and up, I could hear the strain of the guitar and the pounding drums.  And I started to smile.

I got that letter again yesterday that says you have 30 days blah blah blah…and I made my appointment.  I can’t describe the feeling of pride I got as I was swimming.  Because it could have been so different.

I could have left this house 5 years ago.  This magnificent house that has become simply.  Ours.  My boys and I claimed it, and have spent the last 5 years holding it together.  If there is any house that has duct tape mentality, it’s this one.  I was looking around as I swam.  At the rusted metal post holding one end of the fence up.  At the gazebo that long ago lost it’s roof, and now sits as a skeleton.  At that old rose bush that was planted 17 years ago at the loss of a baby.

And I realized.  I stayed.  I didn’t leave.  They say, “Don’t leave before the miracle.”  My sponsor reminded me long ago that I was a runner.  Both physically and emotionally.  And she helped me to stay.

At first, I spent hours worrying.  I would lie awake thinking what I would do when they came and locked the door.  And where would we go, and how would I take care of my boys.  I have spent hours on the phone with lenders and salesmen and people who promised one thing or the other.  The house has been the topic of a few blog posts.

And now.

I just wait, and try not to worry.

People have advised me all along that I was doing it wrong.  You should leave.  You should plan.  What will you do, and the sky is falling.  But you know what?  I would do it exactly the same way if I could.

Because.  As I was swimming, and looking at the stars and listening to my almost double set of teenagers, I thought…if I had done one thing differently, I would have missed THIS moment.  The joy and the peace of listening to my runner’s body trying to do something different.  Listening to the prayers of my heart thanking God for exactly each step I had to take.

I explained our situation to my teens a few days ago.  I told them simply everything.  And I said, it’s like we have a bowl of rocks.  And, we’re full up.  There is no more room, so we need to decide which actions will remove rocks, and lighten the load.  Every time we complain or hurt each other, or don’t have each others’ backs, it’s like adding another rock.  And then, one day it will be too much.  So, on a daily basis our job is to remove a rock.  Help out.  Be of service to each other.  Love.

The credits could be rolling…or this could be the beginning of a double header.  Where, you might have lost the first game, but you still have a shot to even the score in the second game.

In any event.  Here I am.  Full of gratitude.

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