We had the family out for Thanksgiving this week. It was quite the time. Not only did we have 17 people stuffed into our medium-sized house, but we also had 4 dogs. And on top of that, my grandma is suffering from depression and doesn't respond well to change- especially change involving four dogs and lots of little kids in a closed area. however, things went as well as could be expected...and then came time for Thanksgiving dinner. My Mom has a special gift for inviting in lonely people or families during the holidays, which is greatly admirable. I would be o.k. with it if we limited our number of guests to the number of chairs we had in our possession, though. As people poured through the door Thursday afternoon, I asked myself, how in the world are all these people going to fit around the table? We finally worked something out involving a piano bench, plenty of lawn chairs, and very little elbow room. I must admit I didn't have the best attitude as we settled down to pray over the meal. "We already have plenty of family over," I told myself. "Isn't that enough? Why do we always need to be looking for more people to invite?" As the meal progressed, though, I started how silly my thinking was. Here were people- including a recently returned soldier, a young lady whose father had an order of restraint, and a college student who was so determined to get through college debt-free that he was working during thanksgiving break instead of going home- people who would probably be spending thanksgiving alone. I have so much to be thankful for- a loving family, a warm home- that I should be more than ready to share these blessing with people who might not have them in such abundance. That's the lesson I learned this Thanksgiving.

  I spent part of my Sunday afternoon yesterday jogging down a country dirt road, past rickety old barns and farmhouses, an skeleton of what was once long ago a church building where my elderly neighbor was baptized, and plenty of lethargic country cows who eyed me suspiciously as I went by. It was great, for several reasons. Number one, I love running. The idea of going somewhere,as fast as you can, without any aid- not from a car or a bike or a skateboard or anything- that really appeals to me. Number two, I love rediscovering  roads around my area by running them. It's amazing how you can go for a run down a road that you've driven down a million times, and still notice things that you have never noticed before. Number three, I love the feeling that I get when I've really pushed myself, the pain is getting pretty hard to ignore, and I keep going. Not that I enjoy the pain in itself- no one really does. Instead, I enjoy knowing that with every time I push past the pain, I am making myself a stronger person-both mentally and physically. Not that I always succeed with this- there are days when I just can't get myself to push through. And there are other days when I don't feel like running at all. But there are also days when I do succeed, and those are the ones that mean the most. As John Wooden said, success is peace of mind that comes from knowing that you gave your best effort. So I can know that when I give push through the pain, I am creating success for myself. That's why those hard runs are so rewarding. They give me peace of mind, because I know I gave my best.