Friday Flourish and the Twenty-Seven Mile Threshold

Hello, friends. I’m writing to you from the kitchen table today, watching the rain tap against the window of our blue house on Sycamore Street. Mark is still at the site—I imagine the mud is making his day quite difficult as a foreman, but he’ll be through the door by 5:20, and I’ve got a pot of chili simmering to warm him up. The house is unusually still right now; Emma is busy at a playdate, and Noah is finally curled up on the sofa in his velociraptor pajamas, exhausted from a morning of 'hunting' Biscuit around the living room.

Today was one of those rare Fridays where the to-do list felt like a gift rather than a burden. With it being an off-day from Miller’s Hardware, I spent the morning in the basement workshop for Lucy’s Little Light. I had a backlog of orders for the 'Autumn Orchard' scent, and there is something so incredibly grounding about the process of pouring wax. It’s a slow, methodical rhythm—weighing the soy flakes, monitoring the temperature, and stirring in the fragrance oils. It reminds me that growth, whether financial or personal, doesn't happen in a sudden burst. It’s built drop by drop, one poured jar at a time.

I was actually looking at my ledger while the jars were setting, and I realized that my little side hustle has officially covered the registration fees for the Harvest 5K and a brand-new pair of running shoes. It’s a small victory, I know, but for a part-time bookkeeper and mom, seeing that tangible evidence of my own effort feels wonderful. It’s not just about the money; it’s about the realization that I am capable of building something from the ground up. It feeds into that sense of self-worth I’ve been working so hard to cultivate lately.

Speaking of the 5K, I have to share today’s milestone with you all. Since I didn't have to be at the hardware store, I hit the trails as soon as the morning mist cleared, just before the real rain started. Following my progression this week—from twenty-three miles on Monday all the way up to yesterday’s twenty-six—I honestly wasn't sure if my legs had another record in them. But as I reached the bend near the old bridge, I felt this incredible surge of energy. I pushed through the fatigue and clocked in exactly twenty-seven miles for my total weekly volume.

Twenty-seven miles. If you had told the Lucy of two years ago that she’d be hitting these numbers, she would have laughed and reached for another cookie. But here I am, feeling stronger and more in tune with my body than I ever have in my thirties. Staying in shape isn't just about the numbers on the scale for me anymore; it’s about the way I feel when Mark looks at me when he gets home. There’s a new confidence in my stride, a way I carry myself that says I am proud of the woman I’m becoming. It’s amazing how physical discipline translates into feeling desirable and vibrant in my marriage.

I had a quick chat over the fence with Joanne earlier. She was huddled in that iconic pink bathrobe of hers, trying to protect her petunias from the downpour. She shouted over that she’s seen me running past her house every afternoon and that I’m 'looking lean and mean.' We both had a good laugh at that. She taught third grade for thirty years, so her approval always feels like getting a gold star on a spelling test. It’s those little moments of community connection that make Cedar Falls feel like home.

I also squeezed in a quick phone call with Megan at the bakery. She’s gearing up for the Saturday morning rush at Sweet Magnolia, but she reminded me that we are still on for pickleball tomorrow morning. I’m looking forward to it, though I told her she might have to carry me if my legs are too sore from my twenty-seven-mile triumph! She just laughed and told me to bring a jar of my 'Spiced Vanilla' candles by the shop. She’s always been my biggest cheerleader, and I don't know what I'd do without her.

Tonight, once the kids are tucked in and the rain is hopefully just a drizzle, I’m going to pull out that robin-egg-blue journal Megan gave me. I want to write down exactly how my lungs felt in the crisp air today and how the sawdust smell from Miller’s still lingers faintly on my favorite sweatshirt. These are the details of a life being lived with intention. I’m learning that I don’t have to wait for a grand occasion to feel successful. A clean kitchen, a sleeping toddler, and a new personal best on the trail are plenty.

As I look at the clock, it’s nearly time for Mark to pull into the driveway. I can hear Biscuit starting to pace by the door, his tail thumping against the floorboards because he knows the 'big human' is coming home soon. I’m going to set the table and maybe light one of the candles that didn't quite make the Etsy cut due to a crooked wick. It’s perfectly imperfect, just like most of our days, and that’s exactly why I love it.

Thank you for being here with me, ladies. Whether you’re running miles or just trying to make it through the laundry pile, know that your efforts matter. You are building something beautiful, even when it feels like you’re just pouring wax or deadheading flowers. We are all growing, one day at a time, and I am so glad we’re doing it together.

I’m off to start the evening rush now. I love you. — Lucy