Last night, after I read that an 8 year-old boy was one of the 2 killed at the Boston Marathon, I had to get out for a run, to clear my head and say my prayers. As I was about to head out the door, one of my kids asked if he could come, too. My first reaction was that no, he wouldn’t be able to keep up or last long enough. But then I stopped. I looked at my 8 year-old boy, and I realized what a precious gift he was giving me – time with him. And I thought of grieving parents who would give anything for such a gift. I grabbed that gift and ran with it.
We only went a mile-and-a-half, but at the end of it, my child said, “This was the best run I’ve had in my life.” Me too, buddy.
Praying for those who grieve, for those who hurt, and for those who fear. And hoping to hold tenderly the love I’ve been given.