​Yesterday afternoon, I sat down to write. Then suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, I needed to do the dishes. There was a grand total of one bowl and one coffee cup and a single spoon on the counter.

But those dishes could not wait.

Then, while doing the dishes, I noticed my running gear from the morning lying on the floor in the laundry room. Gear that had been there all day, unnoticed, but now represented an emergency.

So in the washing machine they went.

On the way back through the kitchen, on my way to sit back down and write, I stopped to nibble on some spanish peanuts. Then something to drink. Then "just a few" goldfish.

I looked at my watch. It was 12:30. I told myself I didn't sleep much the night before and I'd feel more like writing if I just rested for a half hour.

So I rested.

When I got up, it was time to get back after my to do lists for my paid jobs.

I never wrote what I intended to write.

The moral of this story, I assure you, is NOT that Keith is a neat freak. I'll provide references to support that if you'd like. The moral of this story is that often - quite often - these distractions own my life.

Dishes, laundry, spanish peanuts and naps - maybe too often I dismiss them as mere distractions. They are much more than that, though - much more powerful.

They are resistance. Steven Pressfield goes so far as to call them evil.

Pressfield says in his book, The War of Art, "Resistance is the most toxic force on the planet. It is the root of more unhappiness than poverty, disease, and erectile dysfunction. To yield to Resistance deforms our spirit. It stunts us and makes us less than we are and were born to be. If you believe in God (and I do) you must declare Resistance evil, for it prevents us from achieving the life God intended when he endowed each of us with our own unique genius."

I've written lately about the line in the Mercy Me song Say I Won't - the line that says "while I've been living my life my life's been waiting on me."

The thing about that life that's waiting on us - it's the unlived life that's living within us. It's that calling that nags at us relentlessly. It rocks us to sleep; it's the first thing that speaks to us in the morning.

Maybe it's writing or running or a relationship or volunteering in your community. It's not something screaming at you from the outside world, it's this quiet gnawing and nagging from within.

But this world, this world has tons of drama and emotions and distractions - it has tons of Resistance - that are constantly inviting us onto the roller coaster ride of being who the world wants us to be instead of committing to becoming the genius that was planted within each of us.

Genius, by the way, is a latin word meaning "guardian deity or spirit which watches over each person from birth"

Oh, how frustrated that guardian must get with me when I get up to wash three dishes and four articles of running gear. Oh, how frustrated that guardian must get with me when I refuse to run because it's been a long day. Oh, how frustrated that guardian must get with me when I get caught up in the emotions of a relationship instead of discovering the person beneath them. Oh, how frustrated my guardian must be some days.

But recognizing that is helpful. Because today, when I hear those dishes calling my name, I'm going to cling to that guardian. I'm going to lean into that spirit watching over me and say, not today Resistance. I know what you're up to and it's evil. (And who doesn't want to see washing dishes as evil ?!🤷‍♂️).

I believe there is an unlived life in each of us. For me, that's probably a bigger life than the life I live. It's opportunity. I think the goal in life might be to make those two blocks - the life we live block and the unlived life block - one block.

One life we live.

Standing in the way of that is dishes and spanish peanuts.

Standing in the way is Resistance.

It's standing in the way of your unlived life - and it's likely that's a beautiful life, full of happiness.

Is there any better reason to fight Resistance?

​Many years ago, during one of my first attempts to seek counseling, a counselor told me I needed to find healthier habits to replace the destructive ones in my life.

I remember how hopeful that sounded in that moment. This idea that I'd somehow just wandered down the wrong aisle in the habit store in life. That I could now simply take my bad habits back, hand the cashier my receipt, and exchange them for healthier ones. Talk about seeing the light!

So that's what I did. I traded in alcohol and gambling for exercise and school and work and God - all much better habits. People even seemed to like me better when I had those habits.

But there's one thing those "healthier" habits weren't nearly as good at as the "unhealthy" ones. They weren't nearly as good at numbing away the reality of the problems in my life.

And for a really long time, I wanted numbing in my life far more than I wanted healthy.

I've had people ask me about this running journey I'm on. Did you simply trade one addiction for another, they ask.

Early in this journey, the answer to that question might have been yes. I'm not sure. But today I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that running - more than any counselor or any visit to the habit exchange counter - has pointed me to the problems in my life and not to a place to escape them.

More and more, when I step out into this chaotic world, I believe that's what I'm stepping into. A world full of people caught up in a great escape. Human paths crisscrossing in a frantic chase for solutions - the ultimate fix - only to have those same humans quietly returning to their beds each night under the burden of knowing the problems are all still there.

Problems have remarkable patience. It's like they know no matter how far we run or numb - we'll always come back. I suppose our beds are just the most comfortable place to wait on us.

But running, running has been this place where I go talk to my problems in broad daylight. Running has been this place where I set aside all the "fixes" in my life and say, okay problems, it's just me and you. I'm not waiting for you to sneak attack me in my bed tonight, I'm coming to you on my terms.

Running is where I've discovered that actually wrestling with the problems IS the solution - wrestling IS the fix.

There comes a time in running when yours is the only voice you hear. All the voices from the outside world trying to tell you that you are worse than you are - or the voices trying to tell you that you are better than you are - there comes a time in running when all those voices disappear.

It's just you and your voice. And what running has taught me about my voice - when it's singing solo - it will almost always sing the truth.

Running has been brutally honest with me. Here's your problems dude, you're not outrunning them.

But running has also been brutally honest about something else. You don't need to outrun them, pal - you're strong enough and creative enough and bold enough to face them.

Running has come into my life and said, I'm not here to help you escape your problems, I'm here to run by your side right smack into them. Running has come into my life as a reminder that the fix to our problems is actually wrestling with them.

It's the daily reminder that I'm absolutely strong enough to do that.

​For Christians, this week is Holy Week. The week leading up to the death and resurrection of Jesus.

This week, I often find myself wondering - like I'm sure many of Jesus' followers did when they were walking alongside him at the time of his death - what was that all about?

How is it possible that the one who came to save us is now hanging on a cross? How did the beautiful baby in a manger story so quickly turn to a God tragically dying on a cross story?

And why........ why did that story change?

I listened to a sermon yesterday that has me wondering if the answer to that question might be that it was Jesus' best way to help me understand that there's a big difference between feeling sorry for someone and having compassion for them.

The pastor, with tears, said, "Jesus looked at us and he had compassion. I've seen people who aren't doing good and I've felt sorry for them. I've felt pity for them. But there's a big difference between feeling sorry for someone and having compassion for them. Compassion sees a problem and does something to fix it."

Listening to him, I was reminded of a story in Matthew. A man with leprosy had come to Jesus asking Jesus to heal him. Mind you, people with leprosy were avoided at all costs in those days. The isolation we've felt at times in our COVID age, it's tame compared to how lepers were treated.

But the man comes to Jesus and says, "Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean."

I'd never really considered that wording before this morning - while reflecting on the message from yesterday. But the man says "if you are willing"

If you listen closely, you can hear in this man a man who'd encountered tons of people who were unwilling. Maybe people who'd felt sorry for him, but had been unwilling to help. He wasn't questioning whether Jesus COULD help him, he was questioning whether or not Jesus would be WILLING to.

Then the next verse says, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man.

"I am willing," he said.

The man was healed, but I wonder if maybe what he remembered most about Jesus was that Jesus was willing. Maybe more than he felt physically healed, he felt a heart overwhelmed by acceptance.

This Friday, we will remember that Jesus willingly climbed up on a cross for us. Not because he felt sorry for us. Not because he had pity on us. But because he knew our problems and he wanted to do something about it.

This week, leading up to Friday, I think I need to be honest with myself. I think I need to be reminded that I spend far more time feeling pity for people than I spend exercising compassion for them. And if I'm being brutally honest, I probably have to admit the person I spend the most time feeling sorry for is myself.

But here was Jesus in the week leading up to his death - a death he knew was coming - and his only interest was making sure his followers were going to be okay. Jesus wasn't spending any time seeking their pity; he was too busy showing them compassion.

Maybe this week, we can focus on willing.

Jesus saw us hurting, and he was willing to give his life for us.

We see people hurting all around us, what are we willing to do?

Because the reality is, when we walk by those people who need us, I'm pretty sure when we are gone, they aren't thinking that person couldn't help me. They are thinking that person wasn't willing to.

Maybe they saw in someone eyes and hearts that felt sorry for them, when what they wanted was compassion.

To them, there is no bigger difference in the world than the difference between pity and compassion.

​On Palm Sunday, Jesus entered the city of Jerusalem. And the bible tells us as Jesus drew nearer to the city - he cried.

Here is this large crowd of people, celebrating his arrival - a star, a hero in the making - and Jesus weeps.

Not the reaction you'd expect from many of today's celebrities.

I'm thinking about these times we're in. How we've been looking for a hero to step in and save the day - save the WORLD. And what reality tells us: the collective actions of the most powerful leaders in the world, could do little to contain the impact a virus has had on our health and economy and our fears and anxieties.

And yet, we continue to search for that hero. The man or the woman who will put an end to all of our suffering. As we do, I can hear Jesus weeping. I can hear Jesus saying, "would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace."

In the book of John in chapter 12, when the palm waving crowd celebrating Jesus' arrival begins to think this guy wasn't who they thought he was, that he wasn't actually there to save their day, they begin to question Jesus. We read:

“We have heard from the Law that the Christ remains forever. How can you say that the Son of Man must be lifted up? Who is this Son of Man?” So Jesus said to them, “The light is among you for a little while longer. Walk while you have the light, lest darkness overtake you. The one who walks in the darkness does not know where he is going. While you have the light, believe in the light, that you may become sons of light.”

I do get where this crowd was coming from. I've been in this darkness. I've turned to a lot of earthly props and kings in my life in search of a way out - in search of something to save the day. In search of lights that weren't light at all.

I'm grateful that in that search, the day came when I heard Jesus weeping over me. I heard him saying, while you still have the chance, grab the light. And I did.

All I know is, for me, these words are so true. In the darkness I had no clue where I was going. I thought I did, but now that I walk in this light, I realize how lost I was.

As the unprecedented challenges in our lives continue, I can still see Jesus riding into my life on a donkey. Not as a hero, not as a celebrity with a trailer full of merch, but as a humble servant. I feel his embrace - full of peace and reassurance. I hear him now like I heard him then: "while you have the light, believe in the light."

It's in that belief - every day - that I discover the things that make for peace. That doesn't mean every day "feels like" peace - because not every day does. It simply means when things get to feeling a little dark, I look for the donkey, not a hero. 

​I am admittedly a thinker. Many days I think deeper than I need to. Some days, it's probably not good for me to spend the amount of time thinking that I do. But I'm not sure I'll ever be able to change that.

It's who I am.

What I do want to change, though - what I'm working hard at - is separating the thinker from his thoughts. Because when you think as much as I do, a lot of negative thoughts can creep in.

Thoughts that tell me I am who I've always been; thoughts that tell me I'll never be who I long to become.

As much as I like writing and sharing here on Facebook, this platform - like a lot of social media - can be a dangerous place for thinkers, for people who are at risk of believing they are their thoughts and not the thinker of their thoughts.

It's easy to pop in here first thing in the morning, full of life, ready to tackle the world. Then you read how powerfully someone else has already tackled the world. They've run a marathon or cooked the best meal ever or read a hundred books this year. And you think - what's the point - I can never do that.

Suddenly you're going down the road of being your thoughts, and not the thinker who was on fire to tackle his world.

You pop in here, healing from a lost relationship. You're starting to believe again that you're good enough. Then you see a picture or you read someone's happily ever after post or you see friends being best friends forever. And suddenly - you're thoughts are reminding you that - no - no, you are actually not good enough.

Suddenly you are your thoughts and not the thinker who'd come to believe she was good enough.

It's not just the social media world. It happens just as often when we step out the front door into the "real" world. We step into that world with the most positive of intentions. But then our thoughts - oh, those evil thoughts - they start reminding us of all the reasons we do not fit into the world we absolutely know we do belong to.

They remind us of our mistakes from the past; or our fears of the future.
They remind us that the world has been ugly to us; or that we've been ugly to the world.
Our thoughts tell us I'm not pretty enough or fast enough or smart enough.

When we let our thoughts have full control, when the thinker turns his life over to his toughts, it's rare those thoughts try to convince us that we are good or that we are capable or that we are enough. It's crazy it's that way - and maybe one of the most backward life things ever - is it a design flaw - but that's just how our thoughts work.

So this deep and frequent thinker, what do I do?

I set aside many times throughout the day where I do not think. Because believe it or not, it's in the thoughtlessness that I find the real me, not in my thoughts.

I'll go for a walk or a run, and for at least a few minutes, I'll force myself to think about nothing other than the sound of my steps. I'll force myself to think about nothing other than how beautiful the sunrise is or the trees with their new blossoms. I'll force myself to gratefully experience nothing other than who I am - right there, right then - completely uninterupted by the thoughts desperately trying to barge in to steal my experience.

Or I'll sit down. I'll put the headphones on. I'll close my eyes and play a song that sings words to me that remind me of who I am. I'll allow my thoughts to go for a ride with that song, like I'm sitting in the back seat of a car riding along with it - captivated - completely unaware of the thoughts that are lurking, wanting nothing more than to change the channel on the radio.

Believe me, it's not easy. It's not easy for a deep thinker - for a frequent thinker - to get to places of NOT thinking. Sometimes I can get there for a minute. Or two. There are mornings I make it through the whole song, the whole ride.

But more and more, it's in those quiet moments of thoughtlessness - even if for only a minute - that I get better at recognizing the thoughts that don't fit the thinker. I get better at scrolling through here and recognizing the thoughts that want to scoop me up and carry me away.

I get better at saying not today thoughts.

Today I am the thinker; I am not my thoughts.

​Not long ago, I wrote about adjacent possibilities. Adjacent possibilities are these unforeseen possibilities that are born in life when we start tackling other possibilities. 

Back in October, my friends Meg Landymore and Celia Eicheldinger ran the "double SCAR" - 144 miles of challenging trails that wind and climb through the Smokey Mountains. Meg did the entire 144 miles in a little over two days; Celia completed her longest run ever when she helped Meg complete the final 72 miles of that SCAR challenge.  

When Meg and Celia began the SCAR, neither of them were thinking much about "adjacent possibilities". But today, in the mountains of Georgia, last fall's dreams come true will become this spring's brand new dreams. Dreams neither of them ever thought they'd be dreaming when they tackled that originial possibility. 

Today, my friends will begin a quest to run the entire Appalachian Trail (AT) over the next 18 months. Only, it won't actually be EIGHTEEN MONTHS worth of running time - because these are two busy working moms full of commitments and responsibilities back home. So they'll be tackling it the only way they can. In long weekend segments. 

This weekend, they'll tackle 105 miles of the Georgia section of the AT. With very little stopping or resting, they'll spend Saturday and Sunday taking down the first segment of this 2,200 mile journey. 

I'm excited to follow along on their journey, and even join them for a few miles here and there. 

I've shared several times this year my phrase for the year is "say I won't". It comes from the Mercy Me song with the same title. One of the lines I love from that song is: "and I will be dancing when circumstances drown the music out." 

Too often in my life, I've found excuses not to do the things I absolutely knew I could do. If I couldn't hear the music loud and clear, well, I simply refused to dance. 

Celia and Meg have a list of reasons as long as the AT why this adventure should be impossible. But they are clinging to one reason to get out there and make it happen - and that is they are both women who refuse to believe they can't dance just because life is drowning the music out. 

Every single step they run will serve as a reminder to me, and maybe to you, that we should all do a little more dancing in life. They will be a reminder to me that me not dancing is a "me" issue, not a music issue. 

I can't control the circumstances in life, but I can sure decide when I will or will not dance. 

Along with running the AT, my friends are also attempting to raise $25,000 for Soles4Souls. And this weekend, as part of their first segment, anyone who supports their campaign with a $100 donation will get a personalized video of a trail cartwheel as a token of appreciation. (I just secured my cartwheel 😊). 

You can secure yours here - or support their first segment with any contribution. Every dollar goes to fight poverty: https://bit.ly/31bnl89

Less than half a year ago Meg and Celia were finishing up their SCAR challenge. In the moment, that's exactly what they thought it was. The end. 

The thing about life is, though, when we're willing to tackle "once upon a time" - we really have no idea where the story is going to end. We have no idea what the plot will actually become. 

Too many of us never discover that because we are scared to death of once upon a time. We're waiting for the music to sound just right before we take that first step toward the dance floor. 

Well go get em ladies. Go dance. Keep daring the world to say you won't - I for one have your back. 

And I look forward to dancing a few AT miles with you soon. 

Learn more about the AT run venture project.

​If you've ever been to a funeral, chances are you've heard Psalm 23. Ministers often use it to bring comfort to those who've lost a loved one.

I've been digging into this Psalm this week. I've discovered there's comfort to be found in it long before we lose a loved one.

I suppose it's spoken to me because I grew up on a farm that raised sheep. I understand this relationship between the shepherd and his flock. So just as Kind David reflected back on his youth and his life as a shepherd while writing this psalm, I too reflected back while reading it.

That starts to explain why this Psalm strikes me the way it does this week. King David is indeed a king when he's writing this, yet, when he's looking for the most intimate way to connect with God, he turns to seeing God as a shepherd. A shepherd was considered the lowliest of vocations in those times, but instead of seeing God as his king, David chooses to see him as his shepherd.

Why?

I think David remembered sheep being far more at ease and far more at peace with his guidance as a shepherd than he saw in the people he was leading today as their king. I think David was missing how easily he once offered comfort to those he was leading.

I think David also missed how easily the sheep came to trust the shepherd. David's words here - "the Lord is MY shepherd" - would have caused a bit of a stir in biblical times. No one considered God to be their own personal God - he was always a much bigger more all encompassing OUR God.

In today's culture, and maybe even back then, this whole "sheep" relationship gets a bad name. One slang definition I found this morning is: a person who follows the crowd, is meek and is easily led.

Yet, as David reflected on the sheep, and how easily they followed the shepherd, he longed to be that sheep; he longed to claim God as his shepherd.

He longed to lie down in green pastures.
He longed to walk beside quiet waters.
He longed to trust he was always going in the right direction.
He longed to know that even in the hardest times, there was nothing to fear.

As king, David is reflecting back and realizing just how often the sheep he tended as a kid wanted for nothing - and just how deeply, as their young shepherd, how that was all he lovingly wanted to provide them.

He spent long days making sure his sheep wanted for nothing.

In reflecting on this Psalm this week, and how resistant I so often am to seeing God as my shepherd - how resistant I am to being meekly and easily led by him - I think the reason for that is because not a day goes by that I don't focus at least a bit - often a lot - on what I'm wanting and lacking in my life.

And when I get to focusing on those things, I think I get to longing for a king to come down and make my wants magically appear.

I'm resistant to having a shepherd come into my life, trusting that he will make the pastures right where I'm at green, that he'll quiet the turbulent waters all around me.

The truth is, when my life gets to feeling empty, I'm looking for a force bigger than a shepherd or a baby in a manger or a helpless man hanging on a cross. I'm looking for an "our" God and not a "my" shepherd.

But here's David - a king - a king who has been through it all. A king who has faced every hardship you and I have faced and more. And yet here's that king, longing to be a sheep who can lovingly cling to a shepherd.

I'm not going to a funeral today, but I'm hearing Psalm 23.

I'm hearing it's not such a bad thing being a sheep; we just have to pick the right shepherd.

Because the reality is, we're all sheep. We're all picking a shepherd whether we admit it or not. And if I'm being honest with me, the shepherd I most often choose to lead me - is me.

And even though I grew up raising sheep, I'm no longer a great shepherd. I lead myself to places where I feel like I'm lacking.

But here is David saying, I lack nothing....

​When I was a junior in high school, our new football coach loaded us up in pickup trucks and drove us 13 miles out into the rural Ohio farm country and told us to "run home." I guess he wanted to make a lasting first impression.

Well that he did.

I walked every step of those 13 miles home. That day, I decided I could never and WOULD never be a runner. At least not if it involved any form of mile in its plural versions.

For most of my life, the belief that I couldn't be a runner served me well. No matter how many runners I encountered, and no matter how much I knew running would probably make me feel better about myself and about life in general - because it sure seemed to be having that effect on other runners - it didn't matter - because running was something I just couldn't do.

Then, seven years ago, I went for an 8-mile run. I ran almost all of it. In one 2-hour run a decades old belief became a decades old myth.

I think that's when I started understanding something about life. Knowing you can do something isn't always such a great thing. Because suddenly, on those days when I planned to run but didn't, it was because I chose not to, and not because I couldn't do it.

When you choose not to do the things you know are in your best interest - things you know you CAN do - well, you experience a whole different kind of agony with that than you do not doing them because you truly believe you can't.

It's a whole new restlessness going to bed at night knowing I skipped running because I chose to skip it, and not because I believed I wasn't capable of running.

And here's the thing, you can't make that discovery about running without making that discovery about other areas in your life.

You suddenly start examining all of these other areas in your life where you know you aren't doing the things that help you see yourself and your life in the best light. You suddenly have to start wrestling with the question, am I not doing these things because I can't do them, or because I won't?

I look back and realize there's sort of a surface level contentment that comes with living life opposed to choices you know are best for you. Contentment that relies on you convincing yourself you're just not capable of those choices. But inside - inside there is nothing but discontent.

But then when you start making those choices, it flips. Some days the pain of a run is written all over my face. The hard choices sometimes look very hard on the surface. But there's a certain flood of peace and fulfillment going on inside.

And there's suddenly a hope - a hope that someday soon, the inside and the outside are going to meet in this peace.

There's a certain gaining of control of your happiness that you start to experience.

There is no doubt there's a safety that comes with believing you can't do something. But safe doesn't always equal happy.

I'm not sure it ever does.

​There was a commercial back in the early 90s that I still hold as one of the greatest commercials ever. It was Gatorade's "If I could be like Mike" ad.

The commercial featured a bunch of kids dreaming of becoming Michael Jordan. Throughout it, there's a catchy tune playing. I love these words:

Sometimes I dream
That he is me
You've got to see that's how I dream to be
I dream I move, I dream I groove
Like Mike
If I could Be Like Mike

In this commercial, you see young kids trying to perfect their Micheal Jordan moves. They are trying to master his shot and his dribble and his fierce passion for becoming the best in the game.

You can see it burning in these kids' eyes - they truly want to be LIKE Mike.

I read something in a book this week that's forced me to ask myself the question: Am I a follower of Jesus, or simply a fan.

In other words, do I want to buy a pair of Air Jesus sandals, show them off to my buddies and then call it a day - or do I want to slip them on and do eveything I can to become LIKE Jesus?

You know, like Mike, Jesus had some moves. He makes it easy to get lured into fandom. He had that whole healing thing going on - the water to wine - and let's not forget his patented lame man walking move.

Mike had nothing on Jesus when it came to showing up big on game day.

And we haven't even mentioned the big day- Easter - right? The day Jesus stands up and walks out of his grave. Like, the dude said - I'd love to hang around, death, but I'm going back to living. Have a nice day....

You want to do something to make people big fans? Help them believe their inevitable deaths will be inevitably temporary.

This morning, I find myself imagining the "If I could be like Jesus" commercial. I wonder what the kids would be doing in that commercial to show they are more than fans of Jesus - what would they be doing to show they dream of Jesus being them?

Would it be a commercial showing kids loving their enemies?

Would it be a commercial showing kids saying I'm sorry instead of throwing punches?

Would it be a commercial of kids walking hand in hand with historically oppressed kids through historically oppressed neighborhoods?

Would it be a commercial of kids handing over their gatorade to a kid they know hasn't had a drink in weeks?

And in the background, would the jingle be playing...

Sometimes I dream
That he is me
You've got to see that's how I dream to be
I dream I move, I dream I groove
Like Jesus
If I could Be Like Jesus

Easter is coming. We have some time to reflect. This Easter, will we celebrate Jesus like we're big fans?

Or we celebrate Jesus like we're big followers, like we dream he is us?

​Yesterday morning, while I was out running, I shared a picture of a beautiful sunrise. Shortly after, my friend Beth Royal sent me a message. It said:

"I am headed out for tea with the dogs...it is absolutely glorious out there...def a morning to be outside. Well...any morning. Any day, all day...sigh...such blessings...have a simply fabulous day...that light is just awesome, and those mare's tails clouds, and the birds and blossoms and frost and trees and, and, and!"

As I ran on after reading that message, I smiled. Mainly because THAT message IS my friend Beth. It is who she is and how she lives her life.

I reflected on that for a bit. I reflected on how is it that she can be that person day after day? I decided the answser to that was in the last three words of her message: "and, and, and!"

My friend Beth, she is an "and" person. She adventures through life hunting for the next "and" - because when she wakes up in the morning, she absolutely believes in her soul - there is an "and" out there to be found in this day.

Her belief in the "and" fuels within her uncanny hope and optimism - the kind that adds a little pep to my running step when her "and" message pops up during a morning run.

And I dare say it's the "and" in her that helps me and others steer clear of the "buts" in our lives.

Because I do think the opposite of an "and" person is a "but" person. I think the "but" person can see all the "ands" in the world that Beth sees, but when they see them, something in them says;

but not me.....

Something inside them says I see that opportunity to cling to life and to beauty, "but" - there's something about me that makes it impossible to have.

I'm not good enough.

I'm not strong enough.

I'm not smart enough.

The world would never share its "ands" with someone like me.

It's Monday. It's a new week. And we all get to choose.

We get to choose "and" or "but".

We can choose to look for and find the light and the clouds and the birds and the blossoms.

Or we can say, I'd like to, but.......

Well, you are worth every "and" in this life. AND, I fully believe you can go after them this week. If you're hearing that and thinking, yea, but - well, I encourage you to think "and" instead.

And, and, and.....