On April 11 of this year I wrote these words in my journal:

I just now tried to go for a run. The first minute I was ecstatic to finally be running again after seven months. I was laughing and thanking God. Then I looked down at the watch on my wrist that tracks my heart rate. 160. I can’t remember another time that my hopes have been so quickly flattened. I continued to stare at the numbers, not believing as they continued to rise. Even though I knew it was stupid, I had been longing for five years to feel the rush of actually full on running instead of just jogging. So I began to run for less than a minute, and it felt wonderful–except for the pressure in my chest and the rising number of 180 flashing. I had to slow down. I began to sob as I kept thinking of my doctor’s words, “It shouldn’t go much higher than 140, and it definitely shouldn’t go higher than 180 unless you’re doing some intensive training.” Between sobs, I prayed aloud what didn’t even fully make sense to me: “You’re good. You’re still good.”

I’ve often wondered in good times, Will my faith be strong in bad times? It’s been a grueling past week with three people I have known that have died, and I can’t even run to work out all the emotions inside me.

Here I am, and now I know–I can grieve in the peace of His goodness.

Here I am, a month later, after a week of post-op from my elbow, looking for ways to start exercising. My doctor says that my heart will need some time to adapt, so I will start out slowly and build up, awaiting the day when I can full out run.

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