Cee is at the hospital with David getting her most recent infusion. She still has that lingering cough, but the rheumatologist said to go ahead with the infusion as scheduled. So we did. We can’t risk putting it off indefinitely because of one isolated symptom. Infusions have become pretty routine, but the cough throws a wrench into things…
The Gospel at mass this weekend included the verse, “But of that day or hour, no one knows.”
The intended conclusion is that we should live our lives with this in mind. Because none of us know, we should spend our days, our hours, our minutes doing things that count. Loving. Serving. Being present.
But as I sat in the pew, listening to the call to shape our lives, I skipped right over the message, I was mentally wrestling with the immediate, practical implications of this reading on our life.
I know.
I *KNOW* that I don’t know.
I *KNOW* that everything can change in a heartbeat.
I know.
Next week we could be kicking ourselves for making a decision that threw Cee into pneumonia. “That day” could be next week for us. Next week.
The thought is ever present. Ever real.
I know. I know that life can be fleeting in a raw, ugly, sobby way.
Thank goodness that’s not the end of the story. Faith reaches down into the pit of despair and lets us know that although the words “But of that day or hour, no one knows” are true, they aren’t the end. Faith brushes off the dirt leftover from the pit, pulls us close and says, “It’ll be okay. Maybe it will be tomorrow. Maybe it won’t be. But either way, we can get through it together.” And we are so grateful not to be alone. Because we know.