Most mornings, I wake before the alarm. My sleeping mind seems to already be in progress when it joins my waking mind. I give myself an hour before I must leave for work, but if I deviate from my routine, I’ll probably have to drive. I like to walk the commute, it’s not a race, but there is no time to stop and smell the roses. I usually have a few minutes to quickly check email and a news site before the clock strikes eight. I always try to work at a quick, efficient pace, there’s way more to do in a day than I can get done. My walk home could be more leisurely, but I hurry to get busy on my unfinished or my next endeavors. A life overflowing with God’s blessings is a very busy life. I hurry to get something done before dinner, and chip away at more until bed time. I might stop and join Diane for a little TV watching, then hurry off to sleep, and begin again. There’s much to do and time seems short. I’m too busy for Cancer, way too busy to die.
One day years ago, my job took me to an elderly man’s house. It was practically on the campus of the university in our town. The old timer seemed to know everyone there, and they all addressed him, “Grandpa.” I quickly learned that he was deep in the pursuit of Genealogy, and that he had much yet to discover, record, organize, and share. He was sure the Lord wouldn’t be, “calling him home” before this massive mission of lineage research was completed.
One day weeks ago, my job took me back to the Campus Grandpa’s house; to his vacant house. I wonder if he had enough time to feel the satisfaction of a job well done. Nothing I keep myself so busy with would sway the Lord to let me make a later connection (I don’t believe it works that way). My projects, my list from top priority on down doesn’t even make a blip on the radar screen of life. The most important things I’ll ever do, have probably been done, and would probably be done better if done over, but that’s life.
My job took me recently to another house. There I recognized someone who recognized me. Our kids were friends in school. She asked, “How have you been – didn’t you have cancer?” I told her I’ve had three cancers, and one is incurable, but right now I’m doing okay. Her tone lowered just a bit, and in a reluctantly accepting voice she said, “Well, I guess that’s life.” I added yea, or maybe that’s death.