Thursday, November 14, 2013

“I’m willing to die for the woman I love. I just want to take 75 years to do it.” ― Jarod Kintz

As of today, the above quote means I have six years left to go.  When I was a pastor in Fayetteville, Arkansas, I was visiting a retirement home.  The woman I was visiting had a picture of Yellowstone National Park on her wall.  I asked her if she ever lived in Wyoming and she told me she had--during WWII.  I told her I was born in Wyoming.  She asked where.  Fort Warren, outside of Cheyenne, I replied.  Well, she told me that that was where her husband was serving as an OB/GYN.  When I went home, I got out my birth certificate, and, sure enough, there was her husband's name.  He was the doctor who delivered me on that cold November morning while my father was on a troop train in Louisiana heading for his overseas posting.  That was sixty-nine years ago, today.  Who knew?  I never thought I would live past thirty-five, and have been declared officially dead in 1996, and had malignant melanoma in 1977 and was given just two years to live.  I've got an implanted defibrillator, am missing a few internal organs, have had over ten surgeries, have many scars, but I'm still alive and kicking, serving God in Tanzania.  I will continue to do this until my birthdays run out.  I promised my daughter-in-law that I would stay alive for ten more years a couple of years ago, so we will see.  My defibrillator will need replacing in 2016 and I cannot afford the surgery, but I couldn't afford the surgery for the replacement in Nairobi in 2006, but good people in South Africa paid for that.  The future is as all futures are, unknown, but God has provided for me over and over again, so I will just trust in Him and keep on struggling to expand His kingdom and serve where I have been called.  Pray for me, please.
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