Wednesday Whispers and the Twenty-Five Mile Wonder

Hello, friends. I’m sitting here at the kitchen table, the sun just starting to dip behind the neighbor's oak trees, casting long, golden shadows across my robin-egg-blue journal. The house is surprisingly quiet for 5:30 in the evening. Mark just pulled into the driveway—I can hear the familiar rumble of his truck—and the kids are momentarily occupied with a Lego kingdom in the living room. It’s one of those rare, breathless moments where I can actually hear myself think, and I wanted to share a piece of my heart with you all before the dinner rush begins.

Today was one of those 'in-between' days. You know the ones, ladies? It’s not a Miller’s Hardware day, so I didn't spend my afternoon surrounded by the scent of sawdust and the rhythmic clinking of keys being cut. Instead, it was a day for the side hustle. I spent the morning in the kitchen, which still smells faintly of 'Midnight Jasmine' and 'Cedar Hearth.' I had three new Etsy orders for Lucy’s Little Light come in overnight, and there is something so deeply grounding about pouring wax. It reminds me that even when life feels chaotic, we have the power to create something warm and steady from scratch.

Speaking of steady, let’s talk about the Harvest 5K. I know I’ve been sharing my mileage updates with you every day this week, and honestly, I’m starting to surprise myself. This afternoon, after I dropped Emma off at her horse-riding lesson—she was so proud of her new boots—I took Biscuit out to the trails. The air was crisp, that perfect Iowa October chill that makes your lungs feel brand new. I started running, and for the first time in my life, I didn't feel like I was fighting my body. I felt like I was partnering with it.

I hit twenty-five miles for my cumulative weekly total today. Twenty-five! If you had told the Lucy of two years ago that she would be hitting these kinds of numbers while balancing two kids and a candle business, she would have laughed you right out of the room. But that’s the thing about growth, isn’t it? It’s not a sudden explosion. It’s a slow, deliberate accumulation of small choices. It’s choosing the trail over the couch, and choosing to believe I’m capable of one more mile than I was yesterday.

I took a moment to stop by the bakery on my way back. Megan was behind the counter at Sweet Magnolia, her hair dusted with flour and that tireless grin on her face. She gave me a day-old sourdough loaf and we chatted for five minutes about our pickleball strategy for Saturday. She’s been such a rock for me. Seeing her work so hard for her dream makes me feel like my little candle shop isn't just a hobby—it's a path. It’s about financial independence, however small the steps may be right now.

When I got home, Joanne was outside in her signature pink bathrobe, even though it was nearly three in the afternoon. She was deadheading her petunias with such focus. She looked up and waved, shouting over the fence that my 'calves were looking lean.' It made me blush, but it also made me feel good. It’s okay to want to feel strong, and it’s okay to want to feel desirable. For a long time, I felt like as a mother and a wife, I had to tuck those feelings away in a drawer. But feeling fit makes me a better mom to Noah and Emma, and it certainly makes me feel more confident when Mark walks through that door.

Noah was running around in his velociraptor pajamas when I walked in—honestly, I don’t think he’s taken them off since Sunday—and Emma was showing me a math worksheet that was 20% subtraction and 80% sketches of stallions. I used to get frustrated by the distractions, but today I just hugged them. I’m learning to see the beauty in the mess. My self-worth isn't tied to a perfectly clean house; it's tied to the love I pour into these people and the discipline I show myself on those dusty trails.

Mark just walked through the door, looking exhausted but smiling when he saw the sourdough on the counter. He smells like the outdoors and hard work. Nine years of marriage hasn't always been easy, and there are days when we are just two ships passing in the hallway at 5:30 am, but these evenings are our anchor. We’re going to have a simple dinner, and then I’m going to get back to my orders. I have a goal to reach, both on the pavement and in my bank account.

I want you to know, whoever is reading this, that your small victories matter. Whether it's running a mile, selling a candle, or just remembering to breathe in the middle of a tantrum, you are building something. You are becoming the woman you were meant to be, one tiny, intentional step at a time. Don't let the scale or the clock tell you otherwise. You are enough, exactly as you are, and you are capable of so much more than you think.

I need to go help Mark with the kids now. The 'dino-battles' are getting a little too loud in the living room, and I think Biscuit has decided the sourdough belongs to him. Life is loud, life is fast, but tonight, my heart is very full. I’ll be back tomorrow to tell you about the next mile and the next light I’m trying to spark.

I love you. — Lucy