Folks have said this...write your story.
Publish your poems.
Leave the words that have defined your life.
And I don't know how.
Cancer is a process, not an event...and so is faith.
I began with attitude...you-can't-kill-me!
But it can, and it will.
Then there was acceptance...well-OK-God's-will-and-all-that.
And this brings us to today...I'll-go-as-hard-as-I-can-for-as-long-as-I-can.
This isn't The Last Lecture, or Tuesdays With Morrie. I have no wisdom to impart, and I can't tell you how to achieve your dreams (aside from saving stray dogs, I don't even know what mine were...but maybe the stray dog thing is enough for one lifetime).
I'm just a bloke who found God in life's roughest neighbourhood, and I'm OK with dying horribly because I'm not alone. There doesn't seem much more to say.
I mean, things are physically terrible. Can't walk a few steps without running out of breath, the tumours in the throat (mentioned last week...yeah, there's another one just came up) really hurt, and mealtime's kind of like a heavy weightroom session. Painful.
Let's not talk about sleep, and especially not about dunny breaks. Please.
And I'm happy. I believe in God, and that there's purpose here, and not knowing the Why is OK.
What, my friends, might you want to hear? PLEASE tell me in the comments. I'm at sea here.
Normally I do not re-use sonnets; bad form and all that, but this one, written for Steve Laube's post about the books he's looking for, does seem to fit.
I wonder if this story
is one folks want to hear;
it's testament to glory
amidst the thorns of fear.
It's not about a cuddle-God,
but One who's stern and straight,
and even though my life was flawed
and cancer is my fate,
in my heart He doth abide,
and walks beneath the blue-sky dome
always, always at my side
to speak of my eternal home,
and forsking all His dignity,
in the night He weeps for me.
Music from John Tesh (at Red Rocks) with Trading My Sorrows (please click here if the video doesn't come up on your device).