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When life (and death) doesn't make sense

A while back, someone shared a video with me about a young lady named Abigail Smith. I acted interested, but I really didn't want to watch it. I told myself it was too long (It's almost ten minutes, that's like forever!) and that I'd try to make time for it soon. I didn't. I put it off and then I put it off again. Why? Did I not have the time? No. The truth is, I didn't watch it because I knew that it would hurt.

Knowing what it was about, I didn't want to face the harsh reality that it was going to bring me. I didn't want to see someone suffering, battling for life (who would?). No, for days and even for a few weeks I put off watching it.

Reality Call


Then one day I got the call. A long-time family friend, Harold, a grandfatherly gentleman I had known for over twenty years and had gotten pretty close to, was back in the hospital. He had been moved to the ICU and it wasn't looking good. Several days, and many earnest prayers, later he was gone. His long battle with Leukemia was over. The reality I was trying to avoid had burst into my life and now commanded my attention.