He is good.

Injured again.

I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that I cannot run in the Vermont City Marathon.

We have lived in Massachusetts for almost one year now and I cannot begin to express how lost I still feel.

Just when I think I have grip on living here, life decides to throw another punch...this time it was a low blow.

So, here I am, on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

Can't the bell just ring already?

Doesn't God see me failing?

I'm not the right girl for this kind of life. I want simplicity.

Running was my anti-depressant. It was a gift to my soul. It kept me focused and purposeful.

Why does God take away the good things? I was a better person when I ran, a better mom, and a better wife.

I'm sure this looks like a temper tantrum of sorts. And maybe it is. But, I feel like I'm caught in one of those dreams...you know the kind, when you are surrounded by evil on all sides, and you open your mouth to scream at the top of your lungs, but not a sound comes out of your empty throat. And you begin to feel helpless. You feel forgotten. Desperate. Alone.

I sat down at the piano the other day. I had come face to face with this brokenness. Not just my own, but of so many lives around me. Good lives. Godly, righteous, saints...stripped bare by the very hand of God that had formerly blessed them.

I sang and I wrote...

"I don't know why He takes away sometimes,

but I know that He's good.

I don't know why He lets His children cry,

but I know He cried too.

There's just something in the dieing,

there's something in the loss.

There's healing in broken,

and life born at the cross.

It's like that blessed morning, when one empty grave proved it all...

In the taking away He gives.

In the taking away He lives, He lives.

In the taking away, He's making a way for me,

to see...that He...

is good."