This wasn’t my first rodeo. I’ve dug plenty of holes in my day. Deep ones. Literally and figuratively. Last week’s was my first in Indiana soil. Wow, and I thought digging in NorCal clay soil was hard.

First off, let me start by saying folks out here take their lawns and gardens very seriously. Dave and I have owned eight homes in our 32 years of marriage – seven in California. I’ve left my mark on each one with some contribution to the landscaping whether it was digging a pond, building a deck, planting trees, or even hacking a perfectly good one. In fact, I had done such a horrific job on one poor tree that our neighbors almost called the police since they thought it had been vandalized.

A nice tree can do wonders for curb appeal. This is the time of year to plant trees. I found a fascinating specimen of a tree along with a couple of ornamental shrubs at my local Lowes and brought them home with great anticipation of no longer being the loser yard on the block.

Gloves and shovel in hand, I broke ground. It made an unfamiliar sound. What’s this? Metal? Concrete? Please don’t be a pipe or gas main. To my massive dismay, it was rock…after rock…after rock. Big ones. Lodged securely in bone-dry dirt. How is this even possible? It’s been more humid than the tropics this summer. The other thing about Indiana yards is that very few people have in-ground sprinklers. They’ll just freeze over during winter wreaking all sorts of havoc. So here I was an hour later, sweaty and annoyed, staring down at the two inches of progress I’d made digging a hole that needed to be two feet deep and wide. As I was standing there assessing the damage to my yard and soul, a couple walking their dogs stopped and said with the most sympathetic tone “Gotta love that soil!” I somehow felt the need to validate myself by telling them how we’re new to Indy and that I’ve planted many a tree back in California. That prompted them to ask if I wanted to borrow their bigger shovel. My bigger ego declined their offer. We finished exchanging pleasantries, and the couple continued on their walk.

Either it was a really short walk or I’d completely lost track of time and sensibility because the couple was back and now offered to get me the number for their landscaper. Once again, I declined their neighborly gesture and asked that they check up on me around midnight.

The next morning (no, I didn’t stay out there until midnight), the wife was out for a walk and saw me digging a new hole since I’d managed to plant that first little tree – more shrub than tree – and was now onto the actual tree. We looked at each other and laughed. She said “I feel like I should grab a shovel and help you.” I said “I feel like that would end our friendship before it even starts.” We then formally introduced ourselves and learned that Kari lives a few doors down, has two adult kids – one of which has had two kidney transplants possibly needing a third, and goes to our church but only online due to her husband’s current health issues. I said I would be praying for them. I don’t say that often to “strangers” since it’s unlikely I will hear from them again, won’t be able to follow up, and won’t know how it turned out. I know, I know, that’s the very definition of lack of faith – that I need to see the results to act on it. Or it’s a lack of accountability. They’ll never know if I do or don’t pray for them. But now that I know she lives down the street and will likely see her often, I was truly excited to pray and watch for the fruit of my labor.

Speaking of labor, you know what happens when you dig a hole? Or three in my case. You’re left with a big pile of dirt and rocks to move. I was already sore and hurting from the digging, so the thought of moving the pile had zero appeal. Time to get creative. Hey, let’s hide the pile instead. Isn’t that what raised planter boxes are for? Thank you, Lord, for ones that you can just build around the dirt.

More trips to Lowes and Home Depot. More time outside in the front yard. More opportunities to get to know my neighbors.

Thursday was Kari’s birthday. I found this out as I had just finished the planter boxes and was hosing off my driveway (you can do that in Indiana – no water shortage here). Her daughter celebrated with her at work that morning. We chatted about our daughters’ occupations as well as our own. Turns out we are both retired elementary school teachers and agree that third grade rocks! She loves golfing and biking while I love running. We also shared how God brought us to Carmel, Indiana and this particular neighborhood then agreed it was definitely “a God thing.” As if I wasn’t already giddy over all the connections, she proceeds to tell me she’s an author and loves writing.

Since I’d just found out it was her birthday and didn’t exactly have a gift or anything, I figured the best gift is the gift of prayer. Also the easiest on the budget. Just kidding. Kari graciously accepted my free gift, and I prayed blessing, provision, healing, and favor for her and her family as we were standing there on my very clean driveway.

I used to loathe pulling weeds with a vengeance, but after a week of digging it was a welcome change. The next day I was back out there weeding when Kari and her hubby were walking their dogs again. I had just dropped Dave off at the airport for his trip to D.C. for the Franklin Graham Prayer March along the National Mall. I shared this with them as well as how Dave has a passion for praying for our country and has fasted in prayer for every election I can remember. I shared this not to sound overly spiritual or brag about Dave’s convictions but to encourage them in knowing they have neighbors that believe in the power of prayer to accomplish much. Especially the miraculous. The next morning I decided to put my money where my mouth was and join the prayer march only I made it more of a prayer run from the nearby beautiful Monon Trail. I scribbled on my hand some key topics from the National Mall prayer route so I wouldn’t forget.

I didn’t wake up this morning thinking I’d blog about digging holes. After this morning’s church message – the third in a series simply called “Miracles” – I was amped to start writing. Honestly, all three messages have nudged me toward opening up the laptop to my blogsite, but ironically, I got a little distracted with sprucing up my front yard and digging holes. God’s timing is never wrong or off as I see so clearly now all the points from the sermon series this month colliding and exploding today! I couldn’t let another week go by without doing what I was inspired – and perhaps supposed – to do after that first message: “I wanna be the mom who packed the little boy’s lunch.” No, that wasn’t the sermon title. Hold on – stay with me here – the point is coming soon. Remember, it’s all about miracles. This one was Jesus’ famous feeding of the 5,000 with five loaves and two fish miracle. The lesser known miracle that day was the the little boy who willingly shared his lunch of five loaves and two fish (I’ll never complain again about the bologna sandwiches I was given as a kid). But what about the mom who packed his lunch? How is that a miracle? She certainly didn’t wake up that morning thinking she was going to do anything miraculous much less go down in history as the mom who packed the lunch that Jesus used to perform one of His greatest miracles. BAM! There it is!

This morning’s message was a feast (dare I say better than bread and fish) for my soul with so many verses and lessons God has literally been showing me in every day situations, and of course, through running. I love the baton analogy from the healing of the lame beggar through Peter and John as Jesus’ way of “passing the baton” to His disciples – and ultimately to us! All my years of teaching this Bible story and singing that WeeKids song (now it’s stuck in my ahead) and I never realized this was the very first miracle not performed by Jesus Himself on earth. The baton reference really resonated with my runner self. In fact, just this last month during my runs, I’ve often thought and prayed about how God wants to use me to “pass the baton” whether it’s to our daughters and soon to be sons-in-law, to our friends, to my running comrades, to our employees at our restaurants, and to our neighbors.

What does all this have to do with digging holes and meeting new neighbors?

Peter and John were simply on their way to church. Nothing out of the ordinary. They didn’t wake up that morning expecting to see or perform a miracle.

What if they’d ignored the crippled beggar man (as most did) and went into the temple as they usually did each week?

What if I’d kept my head down and just kept digging those holes?

I don’t know when and how Kari’s son and husband will receive their healing. I do know that when they do, it will be nothing short of a miracle. But so was God bringing us to Indiana. And me digging my way out of three impossible holes. And seeing Kari every time I was out digging. And getting the opportunity to pray for her on her birthday. And if all my plants survive my black thumb. Miracles.

‘Peter and John went to the Temple one afternoon to take part in the three o’clock prayer service. As they approached the Temple, a man lame from birth was being carried in. Each day he was put beside the Temple gate, the one called the Beautiful Gate, so he could beg from the people going into the Temple. When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for some money.

Peter and John looked at him intently, and Peter said, “Look at us!” The lame man looked at them eagerly, expecting some money. But Peter said, “I don’t have any silver or gold for you. But I’ll give you what I have. In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, get up and walk!”

Then Peter took the lame man by the right hand and helped him up. And as he did, the man’s feet and ankles were instantly healed and strengthened. He jumped up, stood on his feet, and began to walk! Then, walking, leaping, and praising God, he went into the Temple with them.

All the people saw him walking and heard him praising God. When they realized he was the lame beggar they had seen so often at the Beautiful Gate, they were absolutely astounded!’ Acts 3:1-10 NLT