This past week has been heartbreaking. A co-worker’s wife lost the battle to cancer, while another co-worker was being diagnosed with cancer. Yesterday, very similar stories were discovered in the lives of others. This is the only way for me to comprehend what it means to walk around in a broken world with broken bodies.

Here we are
With our intricate fingerprints
Dipped in waters of unique design

But there we go
In the breakdown of this design
Where sickness overcomes
And the shout of death pervades 
How did we get here? 
From the bare tables of construction
We arrive without labels to mark us fragile
And, I swear, I can hear a distant cry,
“I didn’t intend this.”
As the pains that overtake our tender bones
Are our own bodies the reminders? 
Of how inhabiting a broken world
Means breathing through these broken bodies?
Maybe that’s the mystery, the great paradox

Because even a dying, searching heart
Can still sing of a Savior

Eventually we know,
No matter the route of our condition,
These broken bodies will reconcile themselves
To the soils of where we came

But there we will be
In the face of finality

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