Sundays. Most Saturdays.
We're not strict Sabbatarians. If we had a donkey, and it got stuck in a ditch, and it were a Sunday, I would pull it out. I have run marathons on Sundays. I will, Lord willing, run a few more. It's just that we attend a great church. I wouldn't miss Sunday morning worship for a training run. And then, once home, I'd much rather nap than run.
Why not Saturdays? My wife sidewalk counsels outside of an abortion clinic many Saturday mornings. It's called a Health Center for Women. Statistically, half of the potential women who enter do not leave alive. That does not sound like health.
My wife, Marty, stands outside of the abortion clinic. She tries to talk with people who enter. Sometimes they listen. Sometimes a girl comes back out without killing her baby. Marty has held one of these babies. That family now has one of our old dressers. They could use a lot more things.
My wife, Marty, also runs. She is attempting her first trail run this spring. Not surprisingly, she rarely runs on a Sunday or Saturday.
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