Things have been a bit hairy lately. A week ago I showed my surgeon (the one who operated on the tongue cancer fourteen months ago) a new white patch, on the other side of the tongue. He said he didn't think it was anything to worry about but to play it safe he'd do a biopsy anyhow. (He did on the spot.

Then I had to wait a week for the results and finally, yesterday morning, I saw there was a message on my work cell number. I dialed in and it was from the doctor's assisant.

The news...was...good!

Phew. The experience, once again, got me thinking and praying. I realized that there was a depth of the fear of death I had not yet plumbed. At one point in my fevered thinking I felt convinced that it was cancer again, no question about it, and that very likely my life could be foreshortened.

But then somehow I saw it in a different light. I was riding the bus at the time and began writing in a notebook things I knew to be true about the promises of God and so on. I'll have to look up just what I did write because when I'd finished the exercise I felt different. The fear was gone.

Basically I was thinking along these lines: God's in charge. If he sees I'm supposed to live a shorter life, who am I to question it. It'll all work out. I'm just supposed to do what He said: do what He gives me to do today, this moment. "Don't worry about tomorrow."

After that I actually felt happy. I felt light the rest of the week. Of course I'd still feel sad and would grieve and pray about it, but it didn't control me. "It'll be okay" seemed to be the message.

Anyhow, then the call came in yesterday and I learned that, after all, (all other things being equal) I'll be around for a while longer.

One of the things I had prayed last week was: "Whatever the outcome, help me to live from now on fearlessly. like your Son."

Well, gotta run...