The Promise

  (by Marian Olson)

Pain issues from a fractured soul,

the broken root of the tree.

Tomorrow new leaves and buds

will bubble out of the

appearance of the dead branches,

not because we stop grieving,

not because we know how,

not because we are worthy,

but because that is the way of life,

the grace of pulse for every living being.

A friend sent this poem to me today, and it is a perfect fit for my life at present. How lovely are these words: "not because we stop grieving,

not because we know how,

not because we are worthy,

but because that is the way of life,"

These words speak to me about the inevitability of life--and death.  And so it goes on and on.

Today is also one of those days when I paused to consider just what may still lie ahead for me.  When my cardiologist had me take a stress test a couple of weeks ago the results showed some sort of an abnormality, and for a variety of reasons,  he wanted to check things out with a heart catherization.  Bright and early this morning son John delivered me to the Imaging Center at the hospital, and before noon the results were in.  Everything is fine, and I am once again free to ponder what the future holds for me.

Today, Dear, I thought of asking the doctor who looked around my heart with his fiber optic wire whether he saw the big hole you left there.  He wouldn't have seen it had I asked; only your and I are able to see that particular "grace of pulse for every living being."