With the terminal illness that I wake up to every morning I get pissed some days. Ask Michelle, many days the first word out of my mouth rhymes with truck. At the time I am so mad. Mad that I can't get out of bed by myself, mad I can't reach the cereal in the cabinet, mad I can't hop in the car and escape reality. When I'm smart I reach for my headphones and plug into music. Van Morrison, John Hiatt, Kid Cudi, Hillsong United and others help me stabilize and cope. Haters out there will tell me that I should bail on my faith right now with the cards I've been dealt. I may know I have a terminal illness but plenty of people are walking around without a clue of when their card will be pulled. I know mine will be pulled, but I don't know when. In a weird way with this knowledge I can see into the future. It's not a future where I can get amped about winning millions of dollars or make premptive investments, but I can see the importance of slowing life down and appreciating the little things. The smell of freshly cut grass, the cardinal that frequents my bird feeder, Wrigley's lovin', the cold beer in my hand, the sun setting in the west. I may not be able to predict the cards, and I may not like the hand, but the hand comes with so much to be thankful for.
Even when my strength is lost I'll praise you, I will always sing your praise, even when it makes no sense I'll sing your praise.