Fantastic Friday

Had what I thought was a good ten-mile run with Mollie this morning. The running part was great. When I took off my shoes, however, I knew the time had come.

I have been needing (and putting off purchasing!) good running shoes for a long time. I bought a pair of Reeboks on sale on Black Friday last year. I like the shoes, but they are too small. I didn't realize this until I increased my mileage. By then it was too close to my half marathon to break in new shoes. Excuses, excuses. I know. Well, for whatever reason, August found me running in my same old too-small, too-worn sneakers.

Today I took off my right sock to find a lovely blood blister wrapped around my big toe. Ty didn't even think twice.

"We need to buy you shoes," immediately came out of his mouth. I sighed in relief, because I didn't want to force an expensive purchase.

I went through the whole foot-analysis, work-with-a-pro process this time around. I tried several pairs of shoes and ran on a treadmill. (Tired after ten miles!) I came home with these.

Turns out Ty owns the same pair of Mizunos, only we didn't realize it at first. The coloring is so drastically different on his that it's hard to tell. Still, twinsie shoes! That not-so-secretly makes me happy.

While new shoes make my feet happy, my heart was made glad today for another reason:

I performed in the Memory Care unit at my Papa's assisted-living home. He was thrilled! (My parents have been traveling for the last week, so he was missing some familiar faces.) While he can't always remember my name, he remembered that I'm his granddaughter. The nurses gave him a "front-row" seat during my informal concert, and all the while I heard him saying, "That's my granddaughter." I could tell by his voice that he was just beaming.

While many people told me what a blessing I was, I came away feeling truly blessed by the experience. What is it about giving yourself away that changes your own heart? And why is it so hard to do so when I know I'll come away blessed?

It wasn't easy. Many residents in his unit simply sit in wheelchairs and gaze into space. Some talk to you, but most can't carry on a conversation. I feel like I'm yelling when I try to talk to Papa, because his hearing is so poor. People came up and talked to me while I was playing. Buzzers went off when residents tried to leave their chairs. Nurses were taking patients' blood pressure. Not to mention the piano, which was an out-of-tune spinet. It was noisy. It was distracting. It was inconvenient. It was a blessing.

I love my Papa, and he loves music. I feel honored to be his granddaughter, I don't want to miss these  choice moments simply from claiming busyness. Today, my to-do list played second fiddle to family. And that's something I don't think I'll ever regret.