If you know any part of my childhood, you know that Mary Poppins was my movie growing up. Much like Jane and Michael Banks, I was mesmerized by the way this nanny floated into a small British home, brought out the spoonful of sugar to make life’s medicine go down, and danced with cartoon penguins like a poised princess. In her practically perfect way, Mary Poppins left a few golden nugget phrases for the Banks children to remember as they grew; phrases that have also followed my own childhood into adulthood. Perhaps you’ll recognize this gem?

“Sometimes a person we love, through no fault of his own, can’t see past the end of his nose.”

(Now say it again in a British accent – it’s so much better that way!)

This was the advice Mary Poppins gave the children as they wondered why their father seemed too consumed with the cares of a grey world to notice the colorful joy and love his children needed – and were eager to give.

As I grew, the weight of this sentence grew with me. It applied to relationships, family struggles, a child’s rebellion, persistence in sports – the list goes on. I can think of a million ways this sentence still applies to these things and more, even to my spiritual life. I’m sure God shakes his head when I am blinded by my own self will and stubbornness.

One could say that it’s easy to lose sight of the big picture. But this, my friends, isn’t just missing the big picture – it’s missing the basic! I’m officially proclaiming a break away from this nearsighted vision because the missed opportunities are not worth it!

Take my pilgrimage, for instance – the time I went on a 2.5 day 65 miles pilgrimage through the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York one September. I’ll never forget a certain moment on the trail as we approached the peak of another small mountain. In that moment, I had lifted up my eyes to a clump of birch trees – glowing in brilliant autumn reds, yellows, and oranges. I remember singling out one of them and thinking, “that tree is beautiful” as if I had never seen a tree before.

That realization occurred, my friends – I’m ashamed to say – at mile marker 57 as we neared the end of our trail. It took me THAT long to appreciate the simple beauty that had surrounded me for days.

I had been too consumed with the people, the cars passing by, my spiritual journey, the aches and pains of my body, and the blisters on my toes – far too consumed with everything else to notice the simple and lasting beauty surrounding me.

While focusing on all of the things I thought important and big, I was actually making my world smaller.

And I’m still doing that to this day.

How many times do I notice the stars? Thank God for the sunrise (instead of grumble my way through the buzzing alarm)? Stop whatever I’m doing to watch a goose land her “plie” on a silver pond? These wonders of nature happen every day and I often miss them in short-sighted misplacement of priorities.

Instead, my eyes scan the horizon feverishly for the “next” thing, look dolefully at the rhythm of the lines in the road, scan my phone for news and updates on others’ lives… the list goes on.

The loss could be worse – and better. Yesterday, as I was running errands, I looked up and saw a local Catholic Church a few blocks up from where I sat at a stop light. I vaguely remembered there being an evening weekday Mass offered at this parish and steered my way quite suddenly into the parking lot. Sure enough – Mass was just beginning. I decided to stay.

It was an hour out of my day – the BEST hour of my day – spent in God’s house, attending Mass, receiving Our Lord, with the bonus of Confession directly afterward. All because I looked up from the road at my surroundings and took a peek beyond the end of my nose.

As I drove home that night, I was at peace.

The errands can wait. I won’t starve if dinner is an hour late and I certainly won’t miss time wasted on social media. I want my world to be bigger, stronger, and better than the mundane and routine. The sacrifice of a minute or an hour is always going to be worth it.

I made up my mind to start looking past the end of my nose at the basic beauty around me. And who knows?

In doing so, I just might stumbled from the mundane and fall into the eternal.

Graffiti. It was a beautiful sight for sore eyes (and feet).

Unlike the graffiti we normally shake our heads over in dismay, this graffiti was different. It was written in (washable) chalk by the organizers of a “Rosary Run 5K” to honor the feast of the Holy Rosary in the public streets of our city. They had outlined the ejaculations of the Litany of Loretto in a variety of bright colors along the final half mile of the race route, which took place underneath one of the city’s major highways. It was a dark and boring place to run, with little motivation aside from the brightly decorated pillars. Collectively, this graffiti became 52 reasons for me to learn courage, hope, and persistence in the race to grace.

*Mother of Christ*

*Mother of Divine Grace*

In this last half mile of the race, my brain was frantic to focus on something that would see me through to the end. My body was tired and my spirit wavering. I honestly wondered why I had bothered to run this race in the first place. I cursed under my breath for not taking the Fun Run path.

*Virgin most faithful*

I started thinking about how I got to this race in the first place. It had been over four years since I had last attempted to run. While for some, who have the time and ability to run a 5K multiple times per week, this may seem as easy as making your bed in the morning. But for me – running this race at this time was a triumph of past pains and the promise of future achievements.

*Comforter of the Afflicted*

I had originally thought that the desire to overcome pain and discouragement of the past were my main motivators for me to run this race. But perhaps it really was the desire to thrive in a strong future that drove my spirit onward. My broken foot, much like my heart and soul, had healed from it’s wounds. And with healing, comes new strength.

Training meant starting slow and being willing to take baby steps, setbacks, and breaks. For months, I had thrust one foot in front of the other, gasped for renewed breath, and gently worked myself from the couch to a 5K. (There’s an app for that! Literally.)

*Cause of our Joy*

“Funny,” I mused as I jogged that last half mile, “I just know that I’m supposed to be here right now. Even though my body is regretting this.” The night before the race saw me up for hours, the effects of food poisoning taking its toll on my stomach well into the early morning hours. A few of my teammates had to bail for one reason after another. And my foot – the old fracture pains were starting to creep in again. I had every reason not to run the race that morning.

*Health of the sick*

Somehow, I had made it downtown in the dark hours of the morning. I checked in, pinned on my running number, took a shuttle to the starting line, and before long, the horn was blowing in my ear. My feet began to move along with the rest of the racers that morning. It was an ongoing effort to put one foot in front of the other.

*Morning Star*

And here I was – the finish line slowing coming into sight. I was too tired to pray. The ejaculations were just enough for one short breath and gave me another strength to look toward. I thought about that preparation as I was running that last half mile. (Okay, maybe walking a bit of it, too.) And then it hit me:

Preparing for this race was just like running it – and living the race of life. One foot in front of the other. One whisper after another of Mary’s powerful presence in our life as mother, comforter, health, gate, and queen. My training for a race was really a training for grace – a grace that can permeate the darkest, dreariest, and toughest of places with light.

Just as an ugly highway could become a classroom for holiness, so also can the tough moments in our lives be transformed with Our Lady’s motherly love and protection.

*Gate of heaven*

And there it was – the finish line! Perfect strangers gathered to cheer us on and lift our hearts heavenward. The pain of the past mile was lost in the joy of the present.

*Queen of the Holy Rosary*

The last of the graffiti litany lines ended with *Queen of Peace* and a sense of peace that pervaded all senses – including the urge to pass out. The doors of the church were open, so I grabbed a gatorade and stumbled inside. I thanked God for leading me in this race to Our Lady – the mother, cure, reason, and power behind every day to come. Now, I had 52 reasons to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The victory for me was not in finishing the race – it was the journey of getting there.

*Note: In my heart, I won the race that day – regardless of my finish time. But as if by a direct nod from above, my name was called that day in the awards ceremony. It seems that I outran all by two women in my age group of 30-39. Which basically means I beat the stroller brigade. 🙂