Sunday, September 11, 2011


I wrote an idea for a thang in my notebook, about how joy is supposed to come in the morning, and how sometimes the night lingers on for so long. Late in this morning's church service a woman came and sat beside me. I was a bit sprawled out and had to readjust to make room for her. She smiled and said "excuse me." I soon realized her husband was across the aisle. There was not so much room for them to sit together. He is the man who has been battling cancer for a couple of years. There is nothing more he can do. The cancer is in a knot on his neck and they can't stop the growth or remove it. At this point there is nothing for him to do but wait for the growth to run into that artery (the one my father just had surgery on) and for it to burst, killing him instantly. But the man keeps on living. He is not dead yet. How I admire that in him. And he says he would not trade this experience for anything, for he has learned to live, and has moved closer to God, and relationships have been healed. He has experienced a very long night. He looks gray with death but he is living until he dies. That man is free.

I hesitate now to say I want that kind of freedom, because I don't know if I am willing to pay the price. . .


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  2. So often you hit my thoughts right on the spot. This one does. I love you, Annie.

  3. Thank you, Cyn! I know you've had your share of lingering nights, and your loveliness shines so brightly, though it did not come cheap. . .I love you too, sister!

  4. Thanks for posting this. You always make me think.

  5. That is just so true. I think whether you are ill or not, if you do not live life, then what? It is why we are here.
    We die the day we stop living our lives.

  6. Rach, thanks!

    Well, Lori, I think you are right. . .


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