The current state of affairs is in serious conflict. Inwardly, I want to focus on the site mission of providing FREE information regarding my daily journey with a mill-stone hung on my body named prostate cancer. Recall? There are four battle fronts. Breathing. Water. Shelter. Food
Then there is the world affairs. My Twitter feed is aghast with the postings. Really? NK launches another missile test. Then weather, politics, and foolish talk. This noise is making me sit up and notice and redirect my focus…until now.
I just spent the week at the camper. We have it parked on a permanent sight. It’s easy to say “drop everything and let’s go.” We renamed the place Camp No Distractions. And here is the conflict. I checked my Twitter feed and was led down the rabbit hole. Until my fix-it list fell on the floor. Now for the current musings on prostate cancer.
My finger nails are falling out. That’s weird. O.K. so far the side affects of the clinical medicine have been slight…even non-eventful. Or at least slight enough to deny as normally expected from the swallowing the pills and drinking of fluids and sitting quietly while the injections flow into the blood stream.
Now, after I noticed the finger nails, everything appears like a siren rotating around me at arms length. Example? I ordered my afternoon latte and the announcement that it was ready startled me. I promptly asked the server if calling my name seemed loud to her also. She was kind with her response and I smiled back as if I had not even asked the question in the first place.
Now for SHELTER. Thinking of shelter as a place to go? A tent. A house. A retreat center. But I need to talk about the shelter of my own space. This may get heavily psycho-analytic. Let’s call it collecting brown stamps. For a good reference on brown stamp collecting read some of this book. It’s a link not a footnote?
The shelter of the mind and the decision to “make it positive” starts with the opening of the Bible, for me. I pray then…open. This morning it opened to JOB. Nice? I immediately had thoughts of closing the (dern) book and starting over with the prayer; hoping and wishing that my hand would lead me to a “jolly good time.” Nope. That is not what happened.
It all ends will the question in my mind today. Who are we that God even pays attention to us? Then the answer. I know how many hairs you have on your head today. For me…that would need some keeping up because the hair thing and CHEMO drugs making counting impossible. But the nails…not so much unless the God of the Universe is tapping me on the shoulder and whispering “hang in there my son, when this is all over you get to go to heaven.”