“my counts have crashed, radiation has obliterated the old me, and my life literally stands in need of saving. good night. pray i live.”
How often do you look at your life? When’s the last time you went to bed with the thought “pray I live.” I’ll be honest. It’s not something I make a habit of. I know that life doesn’t last forever and not everyone is going to live until they are old and gray, but somehow I assume I will. I’ll live the “normal” life. You know...get married, have kids, watch them grow up and get married and have kids. I’ll be a good mom and wife. I’ll be the fun grandma who has cookies waiting when the grandkids come over. And all my friends will have the same. But the reality is, that isn’t guaranteed. My tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. In fact, my next breath isn’t guaranteed. Each time I breathe...every step I take...every moment I’m alive is a gift of God.
This reality has become even more real to me as I’ve watched dear friends fight for life. Awaiting a hematopoietic myeloablative allogenic bone marrow transplant that begins today. (The name alone is intimidating.) He’s had intensive chemo and radiation over the past week. His original bone marrow is basically gone. He immune system has crashed. And he waits to see if the new bone marrow will do its job.
“pray I live” is no small request.
Will you join me in prayer for Jeremy? Will you join me in prayer for his wife, Jenny, and their three boys? You can follow their journey in three ways:
I’ll admit it. Prior to going to Ethiopia, I had no idea where in Africa it was or that its capital was Addis Ababa. (Say that again. Addis Ababa. Isn’t it fun to say?!) I didn’t know their national language was Amharic or what type of script they used.
It has got to be the most fun script I have ever seen. It looks like little people dancing. I’d love to see someone act out a full sentence. Any volunteers? It would be a youtube sensation. I can already tell.
I experienced my first some-what Egyptian wedding last night. (Some-what because the bride was American and I’m sure a full-blown Egyptian wedding is much more extreme.) Here is what I learned from last night’s festivities:
The scariest part of the drivers test (in my opinion) is the parallel parking. So the #1 reason I don’t want to drive here? Parallel parking. Check out this street by the church. Three rows deep on one side. Two rows deep on the other. And just enough space for one car to drive down at a time. (And do you notice that cars aren’t parked in the same direction?) I just feel bad for the guy parked by the curb. Hope he wasn’t wanting to leave work early!
a simple girl on a