The Comfort of a Foggy Blanket

   I look outside to this:

   I thought about my poor life the last week or so and realized this was a picture of me also. I felt that I had been living right in the middle of a fog bank, where I had little regard for anyone or anything else besides me.

   For seven solid days, it has all been about:

   Is this silly rash stuff going away?

   How soon can I get rid of this medicine?

   Can I get some appetite back?

    How soon can I get back to bed?

   I, Me, I, Me, I, Me…Let's just wrap up in the fog blanket and survive another day. There is no one else out there that matters anyway.

   Then I thought of my friend who lives upstairs in our condo unit. He has been in Jacksonville for 10 days or so, rehabbing from having two knees replaced. He is coming home today, and he has a life to be concerned about also. Maybe there is someone else that is living in this world.

   So, I open the door to the porch and listen. Yes, there are some faint sounds out there that speak of other people and other lives.

   Yes, I do like the fog. It has a certain insulating comfort, and sometimes life has to be lived within its borders, but God is out there, there is more than one person in the world at this moment, and there is life to be lived, not just commiserated about.

   Let's live this day and not just survive.