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We’re talking about death, I tell him over the phone.

And we were. Sitting there, we two, hashing out life and how it all leads to death. A sickly sensation that this isn’t it—emphasis on this. An exaggerated arm sweep of all the eyes can see and all the mind can imagine, including everything and excluding nothing. All the loneliness, all the flesh, all the dreams and aspirations for me, me, ME, are all flushed, as it were, down the proverbial drain of yesterday.

Gratefulness accompanies though. A sincere thankfulness for the opportunity there is to know Christ and make Him known, even if it means a little less for me. Frankly, I’m a little less than pleased with the more that used to be.