Rebekah Speaks

They were peculiar, all right. Very peculiar. And I loved them that way. My cross country team had been working hard and this was a chance to get them to loosen up beyond what is done on the floor during warm-ups. Freaky Friday is what we called it. Each kid embraced the challenge of showing up at practice dressed like a looney goon. I had a sight-impaired banana, silly girls with skirts and beads, Bahama Boys looking very, ah...Bahama-ish, teens who clashed, ridiculous hats, dog ears and dreadlocks. Four of the high school girls even made a grand entrance complete with rose petals to lead the lovely bride and groom. I was actually quite pleased they embraced being different, risking stares and comments from the university crowd through which they passed. They, in essence said, "I don't care what you think." Even when they broke into teams to play our favorite license plate game, they didn't seem to mind. Off they went, running like a bunch of crazies all over Li...

New glasses. New contacts. New fish. New landscaping. New bed. New dresser. New office. New kids. New coaches. New workouts. New schedule. This seems to be the season of new. Why, then, does it all seem so old? So overwhelming? Not sure about you guys out in BloggerLand but I'm feeling a little bit like a warmed-up meal on the fifth go-around: hard, dried-out, flavorless and flat. Ever wonder why "new" is even possible? Well, I think it's because something was old. Take me, for instance. I needed new glasses and contacts because my eyes aren't what they used to be. The "new" bed and dresser are new in name only. I made the bed out of left-over wood and took a whirling sander and a couple layers of paint to a ragged $2.00 dresser bought at auction. I have new kids on my cross country team because some of my old ones moved on to bigger and better college life. And the "new" team office? The old one was swallowed up in a university remodel ...

Some things are meant to be crooked; a branch on a bonsai tree, a garden maze created by a drunken horticulturalist, or a nose impacted repeatedly with a boxing glove. But a perfectly normal, run-of-the mill arm... I don't think so. It was all going so well. Running along a rocky ridge line with two of my XC team members, the valley's river below and the peaks we had yet to climb drew us further along the trail. It was new territory for them, some of it very technical and rock strewn. The pace was reasonable for the climbing heat and oppressive humidity. Happy chatter filled the spaces between each footfall. Then, approaching our final turn off the mountain, time slowed as I felt my body hurl through the muggy air. I was horizontal. For a nanosecond, I was Superwoman, outstretched and flying. But then, gravity announced itself. I quickly descended to meet the ground rising up to me at an alarming rate. Prematurely wincing, I braced for the landing. Ahhhhh. This is gonna h...

What started out as a school project, turned into a full blown event. Faith Perry and Aubrianah Shannen, two teenagers from Lynchburg, VA, decided to use their developing photography skills to highlight what makes women beautiful, far beyond flowing locks and picture-perfect complexions. Their blog, http://justthegirlsrealbeauty.blogspot.com/, highlights women of all ages and describes the uniqueness of each one. Thanks Faith, for photographing me and allowing me to be involved in your project! My profile is the August 3, 2011 post.

Like something you see on this blog? Now, it's easier than ever to share it with others. Just click the big, bold buttons to the right to automatically upload to FaceBook or Twitter. It's that simple! (There are also other buttons directly following each post. More sharing is just a click away!)

"Look at that huge cemetery," Dad exclaimed, trying hard to keep the corners of his mouth from upturning. "I wonder how many people are dead in there?" He had hope eternal of coaxing an answer out of one of us kids as we tooled along in our wood-sided station wagon. But before we could utter a word, his glee could not be contained. "All of them!" he blurted as he threw back his head and laughed at his own wit. Now I stand in front of my father's grave, a polished granite slab where "Only a sinner saved by grace" is etched. Usually I cry when I visit. But on this run though my hometown, I delight in the memory of Dad's cemetery joke told way more than once. But, that was then. This is now. I clean off some bird poo from the top of the stone, softly utter "I love you," and continue along quiet village streets.   The boroughs of Sellersville and Perkasie, PA are connected by a meandering path along the Lake Lenape creek. ...