It's been a horrible few days; I will return to marriage topics on Wednesday, but I found a truth in dealing with terminal illness that I thought I might share.
This is like a prison. My physical profile has limited so much of life.
It's cost me career and mobility and hobbies and dreams and many of the simplest facets of life.
It's cut a swath of heartache and frustration through my days.
But it can only change me, let it dilute who and what I am, if I let it.
Only I can choose to allow this fell sergeant, death, to break my soul.
And that may happen. Everyone breaks, it's just a matter of threshold.
Bring hard, then, isn't the answer. So, what is?
I think it's love, both giving, and most crucially accepting the open hands and open hearts of those around me, both in the physical and virtual worlds.
It goes back to "Footsteps", that ubiquitous icon of being carried by God.
But we, here, are called to be His hands and feet, and by implication His heart.
And so it has proven. I have been, and am being carried, and my soul protected.
Still doing this by Smart Phone, but did get a window of energy to reply to some comments on the previous post.
It's kind of tough to do. Please continue being patient!
And please, if you have a moment, do comment.
I need them.