The first was the actual basis for this story before it took several dramatic turns. When we moved from St. Louis to Phoenix, we were pleased to meet some new friends at church who were also originally from St. Louis. In fact, our children attended the same Lutheran High School, but their three children were older than ours so our paths never crossed. However, I knew their son Jack's name because he was emblazoned on the state cross country championship banners that hung in the gym.
As we got to know our new friends, I asked about Jack's running prowess. His dad explained that in early high school, he observed his son sitting around way too much. Because dad was already an avid runner, he decided Jack should get off the couch and join him. Fast forward to Jack developing his talent and being a leader on his high school track and cross country teams, then earning an NCAA Division I scholarship to the University of Missouri. Now married with three children, Jack is still an avid runner.
Great story, I thought. I started to scribble some notes. Writing for teens is not my strength so I wanted to make Jack younger for the story. I decided to create a mentor for him that wasn't part of his family, so I invented a quirky young teacher who moved in next door. And so the story started into the first couple of chapters.
Then life happened. I was diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer in January 2019. I was terrified, but through much prayer and support of my family, friends, and a terrific surgeon, I had a successful lumpectomy and launched into radiation treatments.
My cancer journey was nearly complete when life plummeted. Our 26-year-old son went to the doctor with some troubling symptoms and was diagnosed with lymphoma. Cancer. And it was serious.
Suddenly it seemed like my journey was nothing. We prayed, we cried, we hugged, we supported, and we cared for him as he battled six months of debilitating chemo treatments. God again was there as our strength and our only constant, along with the hopeful prognosis from the doctor that his cancer, identified as Hodgkin's Lymphoma, was indeed curable, not just treatable. We clung onto that hope.
And so as I sat at the foot of his bed with my laptop during those very long weeks of care, I found the story taking a sharp turn. Originally I thought Mr. Peabody would be wearing pink socks and starting the running club in honor of his wife who lost her battle with breast cancer. After experiencing a cancer journey myself and with our son, I couldn't go there. I was all about celebrating survival. And so Mr. Peabody's socks became purple, the color of Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and his mom was loosely based on me.
Now our son is a few months into being cancer-free: the best words we've ever heard since my husband and I heard the words, "It's a boy!" on the morning he was born. We continue to pray that he is indeed cured as he continues his follow-up checkups.
When my husband read my manuscript, he quipped, "So, does this mean you're running a 5K?" I laughed. He knows well my lack of athletic ability and my severe lack of endurance. "I doubt it," I replied. "I can walk a 5K all day, but run?"
Did I just imply I shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't? Hmmm. . .
I thank God every day for healing me and healing our son, and for the gift of writing to give praise to Him.
READ A SYNOPSIS.
PURCHASE ON AMAZON.
