Two years ago, a pressure sore laid me up for several months. "Lord," I wailed, "You called me to be a writer, but how can I write when I'm doing time in bed?" Yet once I stopped grumbling and starting thinking, I stumbled upon a creative solution. Casters! If I couldn't sit up and wheel over to my computer, my aide merely needed to roll the table across the bedroom to me!

While tapping away on the second draft of chapter twelve, an ongoing complaint emerged. "Lord, why is it taking me such a long time to write this book?" Glancing up at the clock, I quickly punched a button with my mouthstick and the men's 200 meter run came to life. With the keyboard to my right, lunch to my left, and Michael Johnson straight ahead, I stopped whining and watched.

A commercial interrupted and I'd just turned back to my manuscript when the thought struck, causing me to laugh out loud. I had turned on the Olympics every day since the opening ceremony to see athletes who had dedicated anywhere from four to twenty years training for this moment. In comparison, my spending a mere two years on my first book seemed almost trivial.

Then my thoughts tumbled back to my trooping days. The acts my husband and I performed in the circus had taken years to perfect and daily practice to maintain. While running, writing, and performing may seem worlds apart, Michael Johnson and I share a common bond--striving to do the best we can, we spend long hours practicing our craft. We're both going for the gold. What makes me think I should reach my goal any sooner than he did? Or any sooner than I had in the past? God knows all about my limitations, and when the prose is polished, the book will emerge.

After a brief "cat and gimp" fight over my tuna fish sandwich, I continued hunting and pecking for His glory, seeing chapter twelve with new eyes.

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