Take Hold of Every Moment TODAY!

The letter is just sitting there in the blue USPS mailbox ready for pick up at 2 o’clock this afternoon. We drove through the little circle loop and dropped it in there last night. The severe cold weather complicated the simple task: we could not get our window to roll up. Furiously pushing the button on the door, the window would not roll up. We pulled over. Jeremiah got outside and pulled up on the small amount of glass poking out, at the same time I pushed the button. Struggling. Wrestling. The window would not budge. Needing to be somewhere on time, we had no choice but to carry on with the window open. We drove away feeling the bite from the cold rushing in on our skin from the open window. Why did we have to suffer? Why wouldn’t the window just roll up? We refused to give up; we wouldn’t stop pushing the button. Slowing it crept up. Little by little it finally… finally got to the top of the track and completely closed off. All of the passengers of the van burst with cheers of joy; we knew the agony of the inhuman temperatures no longer. We had a new sense of gratitude for the safety and provision of the warmth in the vehicle.

The letter sits in the blue USPS box.

My friend Jen had emailed me yesterday letting me know of a letter writing project she had been a part of this week. A dear friend of hers, named Sarah*, was battling pancreatic cancer and was in her final days. Sarah is a wife. Sarah is a mother of 2 teenage boys. Sarah was fighting for her life. The youth group had put together a gathering of letters to cheer Sarah on, to let her know she was not alone in her struggles. Jen put all of the colorful and heart-felt letters in a beautiful arrayed basket and would deliver them last night. I was immediately compelled to write a letter too. I would mail mine though, last night.

The letter sits in the blue USPS box and will not be opened by the hands it was intended for.

As I peer out at the closed window on my van this morning, my eyes have been dilated and my perspective has changed. The window incident seems almost ridiculous now. The simultaneous struggles taking place in my van and in Sarah’s home last night are not even comparable.  She had her own battle going on; wrestling and struggling to hold on, to beat the illness robbing her of her life, her breath. She lost her battle with cancer last night. I suddenly have a reality check; I am aware of the frailty of my humanness. The letter I wrote to her will be picked up today and delivered to her house but Sarah will never receive it. That’s ok. The purpose of the letter to encourage her has been annulled. She has fought the good fight. She has finished her race and was walked in to eternity in the comfort and warmth by the embrace of her Savior last night. She is now encompassed with true peace and is completely whole.

I do not pretend to understand the ways of God, the unfairness of true human suffering or why some battles are won and some are not. He alone is the Giver and Taker of life, and I trust He knows best. Whether we choose to follow God or not, we are never guaranteed tomorrow. May we each be gently reminded: Life is a gift, each day. May we grab hold of our loved ones. Hug them. Kiss them. Tell them all that they mean to us. May we have a new sense of gratitude for the safety and provision of just this moment. TODAY!  

 *Named has been changed for privacy of the family.