It can only come after a few days rest. Resting body from the journey that took us everywhere from city to country to desert and home again. And rest in the quiet that I can only edge out here when family is resting too. This place offers that which is hard to find when travelling. Rest in routine where mind can function in auto pilot if it has to. The sun rose today with a purpose and I suppose me too.

I am intent on ripping out the weeds that have become overgrown in my garden. The center of our home centers me. It is a place of retreat where I'm able to pull quiet out of the days. I read there. Write there. Sit and pray there. And it is a mess. A victim of excess. Excessive rain drenching some. Excessive sun parching others. Excessive moisture in the air making it difficult to bear. The plants and flowers look unattended. It was the first thing I saw upon my return and my heart was heavy for it. I knew I needed to do some work in there. But when and how? It is so hot and wouldn't I rather do something else like read or relax rather than go out there and toil in that hot place?

When I left my kids with my sister her home already full with her four to go to the desert to see with my own eyes what we have been only able to imagine. It was difficult because I felt at first I was going against God's will leaving my four babies behind. My heart was torn. Wouldn't it just be easier to go home instead and back to my life away from it all? But I moved toward the west slowly and alone unsure I was up to the task of delivering the message entrusted to me.

Someday soon I will be able to write that story. Because it is one worth telling.

But being in the desert I was renewed by seeing and hope was restored and I was filled up with gratitude and praise for the blessings received and given for my effort.

I think of some of the last words my sister said to me about her part caring for 8 kids, "it got challenging but it was never too much" . That is the truth of the crosses we all bear. They are challenging but should never be too much. If they become too much we have to let our Creator back in to prune the excess and clear the air so to speak. We need his hand in the center of our lives tending the garden of our hearts maintaining the beauty that is his image. But it is hard sometimes when we would rather take over ourselves either ignoring it or making it into the paradise we want.

What does the garden of your heart look like? Is it overgrown with the weed of unforgiveness? Is it bearing fruit? Is it parched?

Lord, tend to the garden of my heart. Prune what is choking my growth. And help me to see your fruits and share it with others.

I am back.

The only thing better than travelling is coming home. For the first time ever I got homesick.

Home is not where I was born. It is not this house. It is in the arms of my husband with kids with us. I don't care the location. Home is just us, all of us together.

This weekend when we were scattered in three states all of us separated I felt physically ill.
It wasn't until I went to Mass on Sunday, sitting in our Universal Church the prayers on my lips I felt a glimpse of home. I realized the scripture that filled my ears and heart was the same in each of the ears of my children and Doug even though we were apart. The Eucharistic meal truly became a family meal linking me to the hearts I was missing through Jesus. Like when looking at the moon can bring you close to someone just knowing it is the same moon over their heads too.

That awareness that we had a shared experience for that day filled me with peace and strengthened me for the rest of my journey.

And today finally the fullness was realized as we came back together weary from the distance but so perfectly back home with each other.

Are you watching the Tour de France?

I am.

It is a summer tradition. I got hooked when I was in high school and was bike riding alot with a friend of mine whose parents seemed so cultured to me. One was a doctor and they did fancy things that my family didn't do, like live on a golf course and drink wine with dinner. Well, after one such ride I was invited for dinner and they made a comment that since we enjoyed riding so much maybe we should do the Tour de France. I had never heard of it and I laughed the way you laugh when everyone else is laughing but you have no idea why. So of course I wanted to know what was this Tour? I mean who knows maybe I could one day do it? Well, I found out what it was and I was hooked ever since. I still can't believe athletes actually competed in a race that consisted of 2100 miles around France and the Swiss Alps. The tour lasts almost the entire month of July every summer and it is a competition unlike any other I have ever heard of. And then there was Lance Armstrong and now who hasn't heard of the Tour de France?

I don't by any means watch every night it is on, but I try and catch a few stages. And this year with the return of Lance Armstrong the drama is better than ever. I don't understand the jerseys and the pelotons. I don't understand how teams are able to designate who gets to ride in front while the others draft or support from the sides. But I do like to see how they navigate those hills up and down. The speeds are unreal. I am in awe of the mental toughness a rider must have to ride for over 100 miles a day, with insane fans leaping all over the course, battling the elements and other riders. The bikes and the seamless support from the chase cars is really fascinating to see. The whole race really amazes me. And we won't even talk about the bikers...Uh, those European boys are so cute and their smooth muscular legs rival the stunning backdrop of France.

Well, last night Lance got worked over by his own teammate Alberto Contador whose younger legs drove him a pretty good lead on the uphill finish. The announcer commented after Lance crossed the finish line a good minute after his teammate Contador that "it was admirable that a man of his age is even competing at this level". That's harsh. I mean yes Lance looks a lot more weathered than he did in the flashback footage of his glory days winning 7 Tours. But anyone who can compete at that level is a different breed. He is not that old, only 38? No wonder Lance was compelled to come back to this race after retiring for 4 years.

The best parts are on this week with the Alps and all those hills. You can bet I will be watching the final week of the Tour, with my glass of wine of course!

We are still on the road.

All of us..living in rooms that are not our own and and our days void of the monotony of our routines filled instead with too much ice cream, a sun that seems to linger on past its time and the intimacy that has been missing but feebly sustained all these months with phone calls.

Time on the road is hard to track down days are no longer numbers but just days filled with hours that seem to rush by us.

But once in a while a moment seems to make time slow to a pace that forces me to pause and absorb the weight of it in my very being.

Today we celebrated Monica's birthday. Candles blown out after many voices came together briefly to sing that yearly anthem that pushes our years ahead. And then after cake is served the weight of the tradition hits me. Another year gone. I think of the photos from a year prior her hair shorter, face not yet understanding yet smiling from the attention. And then I look down at the mop of curls, pudgy fingers curled around a spoon that is adeptly filling those baby lips. And I wish it would just stop. Stop yet even as more babies are just beginning to grow in wombs that are not mine. I want to take my baby and hold up my hand to catch the sun from slipping into its dark horizon bed. But instead all that slips are tears as my eyes fill.

I pause and just feel the moment inside all the corners of my being and try and take photographs in my memory. The happiness I feel, the joy she has brought to all of us and I thank God for her. Thank God for softening my heart to be able to stop and feel all that.


We are always on the road.

The Run/The Finish Line

The swim had been a rough challenge and the bike had been fine except for the detour. Coming in from the bike I was surprised to see Doug's bike had not returned yet but I was anxious to start the run. Getting off the bike felt good. My legs felt a little unsure at first and the beginning of the run was on a steep downhill trail so I had to find my legs fast. I felt tired but not to the point of not being able to finish. I was extremely happy that I had trained the way I had. I was physically competent for the race and that was one less thing to worry about.

Usually it takes me a mile to hit my stride but it came rather fast. Truth is, I felt great on the run. My knee had been hurting on the bike but during the run, the pain eased up.
I felt good and there were lots of other people running too which helped me to know I was not dead last as I had thought earlier. I felt so good in fact that I started praising God. I was saying in my head, "all glory to you Father for my body and the ability to get through this race. All glory to you Father for this success for how wonderful I feel." I offered up all my aches and exhaustion for my intentions. All the visualization I did in training about the finish didn't come close to how I felt. I started recalling the morning rides and the afternoon runs and the songs that pushed me harder. It was exhilarating and at the same time I started feeling a bit sad it was just about over, this journey coming to an end at a finish line.

Then, just as I was finishing up my second mile, who do you think shows up? Yep, Doug caught me on the run and right away he asked me if I skipped the second loop. He said, "Carrie, you never passed me, and I was ahead of you". I explained my detour. Meanwhile, he starts running ahead of me. I said, "Hey where are you going". But he had hit his stride and he couldn't go at my pace. He tried running backward to slow down but it was really no use. He had to go at his pace.
The finish line was approaching, the volunteers stationed near the end told me that it was just up ahead. As I left the road to start on the trail to the final stretch into the park, there was Doug waiting for me and jogging in place. "Let's go" he said and that was the best way to end. We didn't hold hands across the finish line or anything cheesy like that but we finished together. And that sums up why I love that guy so much. Really isn't everything in life just a whole lot better when you have a great partner to share it all with? I am so happy that we did our first triathlon together. My final time was 2 hours and 37 minutes. About 20 minutes longer than I thought it would take me. But this race was about finishing for me. I'll compete in the next one.

I have to give a shout out to our support team. This race never would've been possible with out my sister Melanie and her husband Josh who took care of our kids and threw us a party to celebrate. They made it possible for us to be stress free and focus on the race. I think next year they will join us so if anyone is interested in watching 8 kids so their parents can race let me know!

Doesn't Doug look great?

look how pathetic I look. I felt tired but geez I didn't think I looked that bad!

Part II Triathlon

The Bike

The swim had taken more out of me than I had trained for it to. Even Doug didn't realize it would be as challenging as it was. But now it was behind us and the parts of the race we were looking forward to were in front of us.

At the transition area, the first thing I noticed was how it seemed all the bikes were gone. I dropped my goggles and swim cap and tried to dry off, I talked with Doug and breathless we both expressed immense relief that the swim was over. We put our helmets on and our shoes and mounted our bikes. I was in front of Doug but he soon caught up. We started out on the course together talking and riding and being passed by the fast ones that were already beginning their second loop. We saw the kids waiting for us on a corner cheering us on and it pushed us on. The beginning of the course started with a hill. But my legs felt good. We were on an open or controlled course so we were on major roads and soon we had to ride single file instead of side by side for safety. So Doug was in front and soon his lead in front of me stretched further and further. He is a stronger rider than me and I knew he would be ahead. Soon I couldn't even see him anymore, but it was fine. I felt good I was enjoying the ride and there were even people along the route cheering us on. We had to do the loop twice, the ride was 22 miles. The first loop seemed long and as I rounded the park to start the second loop I had this feeling I was dead last. I wasn't being passed anymore and when I looked ahead and behind me I saw no bikers.

I just kept riding. There were volunteers along the route pointing and guiding us along the turns. There were arrows even painted on the road so that we knew where to turn. But. Somehow I made a wrong turn. I sensed something was not right I felt all alone on the road but just assumed it was because I was the last rider on the route. That combined with the rain, the quiet it was a bit disconcerting. My mind was unsettled a bit what if I was really lost?

I rode and rode then I looked to my left and saw police lights at one of the corners and rode toward them. When I approached them I realized they were there to control traffic for the riders so I somehow found my way back on the course. Then I saw another rider and I knew I was right again. But I wondered did I lose miles or make up more? I just kept riding. It wasn't long before the end was in sight and I have to admit I was glad. My right knee had begun to bother me and now felt really sore. Not to mention my bottom was ready to be off that bike.

As I walked my bike into the transition area I expected it to be the last bike back really I did. Then I looked at Doug's spot and his bike was not there, which meant he was still on the loop. Only I never passed him so that only confirmed that I was off the course. I parked my bike in my spot and started the run. All the kids were there yelling and screaming cheering me on. Which helped me start strong despite my legs feeling a bit wobbly at first. But my mind was full of questions. Where was Doug? Was he ok?

All my questions would be soon be answered.

To be continued....