A year ago this afternoon our family would embark upon its
greatest challenge, one of our own was by that evening precariously close to—as
Betty and I raced across the state to be with her. That night we all slept in the same hospital
room wrapped in blankets and sitting in chairs along with all manner of
whirring and beeping medical devices monitoring a life in a way that underscored
how frail it was. All our lives had
become singularly focused on her life and the herculean effort to keep it
going. There is no greater meaning to living
than the beseeching of God to let living continue—it is living in the gap
between terror and ecstasy and clinging to The God who can only truly be known
by faith. Faith and death is a difficult pair to place on the scales of one of
your own.
Even now that life and that faith are celebrated by weeping.
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