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Reflection: |
Each morning my baby
daughter perched on
my left arm as I
drew open the living
room drapes. And
each morning she
squealed and bounced
with delight to see
the new day, as if
to say, "Look! A
world is out there!"
What would it hold?
Emptying the
cupboard of pots and
pans, crawling in
the grass under the
clothesline,
sampling kibble from
the dog's bowl. A
good day! Thirty
years later each
morning as I drew up
the living room
blinds, the light
fell across a
hospital-type bed,
and my daughter
smiled to see the
new day. What would
it hold? An hour on
the front porch, a
ride to Dairy Queen
for a sundae, a
letter from a
far-off friend, a
surprise visitor. A
good day!
Kristin, my elder
daughter, lived over
three years fighting
the brain tumor that
eventually killed
her. Some days were
very difficult, like
the day her hair
fell out and the day
she couldn't find
the front door. Some
routines were
unpleasant, like
twice-daily doses of
her "vile potion,"
and twice-daily
trips to the
hospital for
radiation therapy.
But each day itself
was good. Stopping
to watch the geese
at a local beach,
sipping coffee at
Peet's Coffee House,
looking though photo
albums. "Every day
is a good day," she
always said. "Even
the tough ones."
This is the day
the Lord has made;
let us rejoice and
be glad in it. |