where waves grow sweet

Pride only breeds quarrels, but wisdom is found in those who take advice. Proverbs 13:10

I got sleep. Good sleep. For the first time in a long while. All that comes to mind is, “mmmm.” My dear, beloved sleep, how I’ve missed you. So tonight, after a sweet dinner with a friend and a satisfying conversation with John, I decided to go on a jog (which proves how perky and good I felt… because I don’t jog).

It was 11:00 as I grabbed my phone and headed toward the door. I could read my dad’s discomfort with the idea but I can be, shall we say, headstrong, when I get something in my mind. So I told him I’d only be a short while, would stick to the well-lit and populated areas, and then bolted out the door before he could speak his peace.

I was about 1/2 a mile into my run when I realized that my well-lit, populated path seemed to be quite devoid of light and the sorts of people I was picturing. Yes, I agreed suddenly, I really shouldn’t be out alone at night. With all the precarious and downright dangerous situations I’ve gotten myself into, you’d think I’d know this by now. But instead of heeding this thought, I kept going for my intended couple of miles. Headstrong, I tell you.

I passed a couple questionable people along the way and was honestly not feeling so great about the whole thing when a car driving in the opposite direction pulled up alongside me, like someone who wanted to ask a question or get directions. Or kidnap me (did I mention I’ve been kidnapped before?). I pretended I didn’t see the car and kept going toward my house, which was now in sight. The car turned around and slowly headed in the same direction as me. Downright creepy, if you ask me. Especially when it pulled into my very driveway.

It was then that I recognized it as my dad’s car. He, like a good dad, was worried about me and had come to make sure I was okay. He explained that being a single woman out there alone in the night is an unnecessary risk. You’d think my heart would be soft and melty with that kind of kindness but I was annoyed. I don’t like to be told what to do, so I blew off the warning and left the room as soon as possible.

The only maturity I possibly displayed in this whole story is that I realized my error of pride, and went back out to the living room to say that I would avoid these nighttime runs in the future. I confessed readily that he was right. He smiled warmly and said, “I know I am.”