The wind blows and dry grass rustles, and I run, to the applause of a thousand feeble hands. They’re clapping in the wind. And it’s the applause of the saints.
And I think of my mother in law, bowing low on her parent’s farm as a healer from Africa prayed over her, that God would take the cancer. And one week later it was still there, doctors said, and now, precancerous cells too, and chemo, and I run fast down the asphalt, cold wind blowing.
(Join me here, won’t you, for the rest of this post? Thank you dear friends…)
