GRACEFUL GRACE

My big brother, Bert (aka BB), has an occasional nickname for me too. “How’s charm school, Grace?”

It all began in college drama class my freshman year. Mrs. Thigpen chose me for the lead in The Black Sheep.

I played Grace, a 40-something wife and mother of teens. The part demanded sophistication. That demanded acting. We presented the drama 14 times both on and off campus.

One of the last performances was a Sunday morning service at a church in Ashland City, TN. The pews were packed. The windows were covered, sanctuary darkened so the blinding spotlight shone only on stage.

MY stage...MY moment!

Before the actual play began, Mrs. Thigpen introduced each character as we strolled across the stage, prop in hand.

“This is George, a successful businessman. He’s not quite as successful at home, however, with his wife and two teenage children.”

My George exited with his newspaper in hand. My cue to enter with my shopping bag, neatly coiffed French twist and pumps. Every stage is different and bright lights are bright. The last thing I remember hearing was a lilting voice, “And this is George’s lovely wife, Grace…”

I strode into my moment of glory, taking six steps to center stage. I should have taken five.

Suddenly I landed on all fours, hose torn at my knees, staring at the knees of my roommates on the front pew. Everyone gasped in unison. Except my roomies, who guffawed.

Beat. Beat.

Mrs. Thigpen swept to my side, took my hand, lifted me to my feet but kept her eyes on the audience and lilted still,

"Ladies and gentlemen, Grace has to adjust to a new living room every week..."

Just beneath her melodic sweetness I heard a silent warning, You better stay in character. This play WILL go on, young lady.

I did. It did. My make-up wrinkles ran a bit, from the tears I shed then quickly wiped. NOW, some 40 years later, my wrinkles are real--some from tears, some laugh lines.

It may not be sound theology but one can still be saved after a fall from grace!

Laughter and tears…both can be

Blessings!
Kathy

THE WINNER

(This week's blog is written by my younger brother, Ricky Tippett.)

* * *

I feel sorry for boys without older brothers. You don’t know what you’ve missed.

My brother, Bert, is nine years older than I am and you can imagine the pedestal I placed him on early in life when I was five and he was 14. Because he was an avid reader and he knew so many things, I loved to sit and listen to him tell a good story. I remember when I was about eight years old (and he would have been in his last year or so of high school), we shared a bedroom and I would do my best to stay awake at night so when he would finally come to bed, I could beg him for a story.

My favorites were some kind of ghost story. As I listened to his story-spinning, I recall the darkness of the room, but still being able to see him in bed across the room. With eyes fixed on his shadow, I would hang on every word and always jump when the final story line was yelled, “And he got him!” After listening to “he was on the first step” over and over again, my monster would grow in my imagination, but with Bert in the room it was always a good ending…well, just because he was there and I felt safe. I was able to sleep a little better knowing he was just across the room.

It was my brother that taught me so many things that were absolutely essential in life. He taught me how to roll up my long-sleeves just right so I’d be teenager-cool even though I wasn’t even ten yet. It was Bert that taught me how to take a white tee-shirt and roll the cuffs up on the sleeve ever so neatly so my big muscles would show. I knew the girls in third grade would just woo and wow over me!

Bert knew other things, too. He knew how to dress up a family car and make it look like a “rebel-without-a-cause” car: take off the hubcaps and darken in the wheels with black paint. I still have a picture of me sitting on the hood of Dad’s four-door Chevy, shirt unbuttoned down to the middle of my stomach, sleeves rolled up, and both thumbs hung loosely in the sloping corners of the front pockets of my dungarees. Oh, yes, I was born to be wild. Ricky “Cool” Tippett; there’s a catchy name for you. I was convinced that if Bert said it, it was Bible. If Bert did it, he was in the know. Hey, no lie.

BEFORE BERT'S INFLUENCE

My innocent days

AFTER--Born to be Wild ala Bert

Later in my college years my older brother became my mentor. No longer kids, I would go to him with my problems. His easy manner made it easy to open up and talk to him. His whole body communicated, “Go ahead. I’m listening.” And I did. I talked about school problems. I talked about home problems, even though they were minor things looking back. Mainly, however, I talked about girlfriend problems. Not being one to impose his opinion on others, Bert would listen to me for a while and then just try to find the positive in it. Often he’d point out something significant about the Lord and I would leave his office with a little more hope than when I first walked in. He was my quiet encourager throughout my college years and I leaned on him greatly.

One of my more meaningful memories of my older brother before he married Dianne was when we were both in Gitmo Bay, Cuba. Bert was home from college for the summer and he got a job as a lifeguard at one of the nearby base pools. In those days, Bert took it upon himself to work with me, train me, in how to swim freestyle. He’d coach and I’d swim. He’d walk the length of the pool as I would turn my head to catch a breath I also would catch a quick view of him trying to help me get the technique right.

“Curve your fingers. Cup your hands. Pull with all your might – full strokes!” I listened and I learned. At the end of that summer I competed in a boys’ swimming contest.

I remember the whistle being blown and diving head-first into the pool of blue water. Immediately, I began swimming like my big brother had taught me. I got to the end of the pool, flipped and pushed off the concrete wall to swim back to the finish line. When I reached the end, I remember taking my first look around and there was no one near me. I remember being surprised at the distance by which I won and I especially remember Bert jumping up and down and bragging on his kid brother’s win. He was more excited than I was. I was a winner and so was Bert.

My big brother was there for me just before I got married, too. One evening as my wedding day drew near he offered to walk with me outside his apartment. As he began to see if I had any questions regarding the facts of life, I remember asking a few questions of him. At one point, Bert was trying to answer my question in a low voice and before either of us realized it, Brian, Bert’s son of only four-years-old, piped up and said in a playful tone, “Oh, come on, Uncle Ricky, you know what Daddy means!” Though Brian had no idea what was being said, he joined in where he could. I could see even then that Brian would be like his daddy—another encourager.

When Bert wrote Kathy and me that he had a doctor’s appointment and it didn’t sound so good, I remember being anxious. Word came back quickly while I was on a missions’ trip in Panama. Kathy caught up with Gwen and me at the motel early Saturday morning. “Ricky,” she said through sobs and tears, “Bert’s got cancer and it’s not looking good.” I sat on the bed as Gwen listened to a one-sided conversation between Kathy and me. I canceled my plans for that morning and got on the phone to Bert and we talked for a long time. It was my time to try to encourage him, but he was at it again, assuring me that he was fine and God was going to get the glory out of this.

Later when we began to email each other, I remember particularly Bert writing that at times he was scared. He trusted the Lord, yes. No problems there. But the finality of what he was being told hit all of us hard. I remember one of his emails he wrote about his future. If he was cured through treatments, thank the Lord. But if not, still thank the Lord. And then he wrote these words:

“Either way I win.”

I knew it was true. I knew it was sincere. But as I read the line, it was ominous looking. It had such finality to it. Heaven’s gain, our loss. But this was my big brother, the guy who handled everything so well. The man of God that walked with the Lord and we all had come to rely on his strength and faith in God.

When he closed his testimony message in chapel about having terminal cancer, Bert closed by telling the students that I had just found out that I, too, had cancer. And then he said, “Either way, we both win.” It felt good to be included in his ordeal; I liked it that he wasn’t alone in this. I could be there for him, like he’d been there for me so many times over the years.

Bert was no longer on the side lines cheering me on, but we were in the same pool and trying to keep the other one buoyed up in our individual races. “Come on. Pull hard—full strokes. You can do it. Take deep breaths.”

Bert’s cancer is in his bones. At this time mine is not. My pathology report came back after prostate surgery and there were no signs of cancer outside the prostate. The doctor believes the cancer was contained to the prostate. I remember getting this news while I was sick in bed three days after my surgery. I was hurting physically, but I remember crying tears of relief that the news was good. My future looked hopeful.

And immediately, I felt guilty.

I knew that my big brother was still struggling with a different prognosis. I knew his situation was just the opposite unless the Lord intervened with a miracle. I kept thinking that I’d somehow deserted him in his hour of need.

Before long I felt guilty for feeling guilty. I knew my guilt was not from any wrong-doing on my part; I knew it was self-induced guilt. Still, it wouldn’t go away.

On the last day in November Bert and Dianne stopped by my home in Raleigh on their way back home to Nashville. It was time to say goodbye as they needed to get on the road, and I was still feeling badly for Bert. We began to talk about the Lord, salvation, and His care of us. And I began to break down. Through sobs I admitted to Bert that I felt guilty for not being in the same boat with him. I felt like I unintentionally deserted him and left him all alone in his nightmare.

“Bert, I feel so guilty. I know that’s wrong, but I can’t help it.”

Bert looked at me with a puzzled look on his face. “What?” he exclaimed. And without hesitation he added, “Do you think I’d trade places with you for one minute?”

I couldn’t speak, but I remember feeling surprised by his words. He went on, “I’m closer to Heaven than you are.”

It was true and we all knew it was true. Bert was closer to seeing the Lord face-to-face. No longer just singing about Him, but actually seeing Him. Bert was already preparing his heart for the realities of Heaven. His statement had come out so fast, I knew he was completely sincere; this was not something he had rehearsed and prepared to say.

“Do you think I’d trade places with you for one minute?”

While I was still emotionally choked up and could not speak, I remember thinking, “I would trade places with you, though, Bert. I would take this from you if I could.”

I couldn’t say that aloud, but it was in my face and in the tears running down my cheeks. He knew at that moment I loved him with all the love a kid brother can love his older brother. We hugged and I just hung on to his big shoulders and cried for a few moments. It felt good to be hugged and held by your big brother, something that no one else could do for me at that moment in time.

In a few minutes Bert and Dianne were on their way home.

Bert is fixed on arriving at another Home soon. We all knew it. We all witnessed it. My doctor’s report came back negative and Bert’s report came back positive. Bert’s cancer is in most of his bones now. I believe that God knew what each of us was to go through at this particular time in our lives. Both of us are in His perfect will and, yes, either way we both win, but…

Even now, another question comes into my mind:

Why is it, then, that I feel like the loser and I feel that Bert is the winner?

Ricky & Bert
* * *

I hope my brothers' stories have, and will continue to

Bless you!
Kathy

TEN THINGS CANCER

HAS SHOWN ME

Part 2

By Bert Tippett

(This is Part 2 of my big brother's real life story. Read more about Bert in One magazine: http://www.facebook.com/l/e099a;www.onemag.org/duo.htm )

6. That what awaits me in the world to come is “far better” (Philippians 1:23) than anything here and now.

One spring morning early in my diagnosis, while I was still adjusting to the news, I walked out to get my newspaper. As I stepped outside, I looked around and saw what a beautiful morning it was – a gentle breeze, a beautiful sky, a world coming back to life. I stopped in my tracks and thought, “I don’t want to leave this!”

In an instant, too quickly for me to have thought it, two words came to me: “far better.” I knew they were written by Paul, so I picked up the newspaper, rushed back into the house and found Paul’s distress in Philippians, chapter one. He told the Philippians that he was being pulled two ways. For their sakes, he needed to remain, but – and this is what encourages me – if he could choose, he would go to be with Christ, which is “far better.”

A friend of mine recently shared with me a quote by C.S. Lewis: If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world. I know I was made for another world. Paul says that to be “at home in the body” is to be “absent from the Lord.” It is not until we enter the world that awaits every believer that we will finally find ourselves at home.

Joseph Stowell wrote: We think we are in the land of the living, headed for the land of dying, when in reality we are in the land of the dying, headed for the land of the living.

According to Ecclesiastes 7:1, “the day of death (is better) than the day of one’s birth.” When Larry King asked Billy Graham if he feared death, Dr. Graham replied, “I can hardly wait!” I’m with him!

7. That worship and music are powerful forces when facing cancer.

I have always loved times of praise and worship. But with the entrance of cancer, I quickly found that old songs had taken on new power. Almost from the first Sunday after my diagnosis, my soul seemed to be drawn to songs about death and what awaits us beyond it. So many times I have stood in church, moved to tears, by the same hymns that I sang for years with so little understanding.

For instance (“If Ever I Loved Thee”):

I’ll love thee in life; I will love thee in death,

And praise thee as long as thou lendest me breath.

And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,

If ever I loved thee My Jesus ‘tis now.

The next verse gets even better!

In mansions of glory and endless delight,

I’ll ever adore thee in heaven so bright,

And sing with the glittering crown on my brow,

If ever I loved thee, my Jesus ‘tis now.

It isn’t just the old hymns that have exerted this new influence in my life. Some of the new ones move me just as powerfully. Hymns like “In Christ Alone”:

No guilt in life; no fear in death,

This is the power of Christ in me.

From life’s first cry to final breath,

Jesus commands my destiny.

No power of hell, no scheme of man

Can ever pluck me from his hand.

‘Til he returns or calls me home,

Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand.

I recently told some men that cancer is the best revival I ever experienced. It has made me more aware of God’s care for me and His perfect plan for my future than anything I have encountered in more than 55 years knowing the Lord.

8. That questions like “Why me?” are the wrong questions.

My pastor asked me if I have ever questioned why this has happened to me. I told him that I haven’t. For one thing, God does not usually tell us why He is doing what He is doing. Oh, we may eventually see parts of the “Why.” But His purposes are not fully seen on this side of Heaven. So, we will probably not get an answer when we ask “Why?”

Second, “Why?” is the wrong question. What we should be asking is, “What does He want me to do now?” When I was a college student, I chose as my life verse Philippians 3:10. That was a great verse. But since last year, I have chosen a new life verse. It is also from Philippians, the first chapter: Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether by life or by death. That is my ambition in light of the cancer I have. I want Christ to be magnified.

Some would say, “But I would prefer to magnify Christ by living, rather than by dying.” I can understand that. But that isn’t what Paul would have chosen, because in the next verse he says, “For to me to live is Christ and to die is gain.” Gain! Who would not choose “gain?” Let Christ be magnified and let God choose how that will best be done.

I may never know why cancer has been woven into my life. But when I choose to magnify Christ through my cancer, I have nothing to fear.

9. That God’s promises to never leave me are true and precious.

No one knows and loves me like my wife, Dianne. She has already been through so much of this with me. She has held a cool wash cloth to my head while I was vomiting into a commode. She has sat for hours beside me in various chemo treatment rooms, bringing me bottles of water and cranberry juice. She has prayed with me and for me more times than I can count. When she pledged, “’In sickness or in health, ’til death us do part,” she meant it.

But the time will come when death will part us. There will come a time when she will have gone as far as she can go. If it were not for God’s promise to never leave me, I would face that moment with great fear. But, when she cannot be there, He will be.

David said it: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me. That promise is pure gold.

Paul said that to be at home in the body is to be absent from the Lord. That doesn’t mean God is not with us in this life. But it does mean we can only know His full, complete presence when we leave this life and stand before Him.

The irony of all this is that, in order for me to know His presence in this life and beyond, He had to die alone. Literally, alone. Even devoid of the comfort of His father’s presence. But, because He died alone, I won’t have to.

10. That many new doors of ministry and growth have been opened for me.

The oncology department and chemo treatment lounges are on the seventh floor of St. Thomas Hospital. There are five recliners in each of four treatment rooms. I was the first one in the room that morning when they brought in a young Black man. He appeared to be in his mid-20s and had dreadlocks down to his shoulders. He had a beautiful smile that lit up the room. His wife and parents were with him. By their conversation, I could tell it was his first chemo. “Did they go over all the side effects with you?” I asked. He assured me they had: diarrhea, constipation, hair loss, pain in the extremities, bleeding gums – enough to scare anyone out of taking chemo. “They told me all that, too. But I’ve only had to deal with one,” I said, pointing to my nearly bald head. Before our treatment time was over, we had learned each other’s names and pledged to pray for one another.

I also try to have a ministry to the doctors who treat me. One of them had just mapped out the seriousness of my cancer, making it clear that I would not survive it. “Do you ever pray with your patients?” I asked. He seemed caught off guard. But then he chuckled, pointed to the crucifix on the wall, and said, “I don’t think they mind us doing that here.” I bowed my head and prayed for him and the others who would be treating me during my time there.

One doctor afforded me few opportunities to witness to him, always seeming to be in a hurry. So, I wrote him a letter. I gave him my testimony and thanked him for his care for me. I hope it will be like seed sown.

And the invitations to speak in churches and at retreats have multiplied since I was diagnosed with cancer. Cancer really opens lots of doors!

But many of the changes have been internal. My prayer life has changed radically. I don’t so much have times of prayer, which had been my practice for years. Rather, I pray as I move through the day. And my prayers are laced with more thanksgiving than before. Praying with my BB

I thank Him when I take a step and feel no pain. I thank Him when I awake to a new day. I thank Him when someone says, “I’m praying for you.” Of course, I pray for others, but in much the same way – sitting in a Kroger parking lot, watching people come and go. I’ll see a young couple and pray, “Lord, keep them faithful and true to each other.” Or I will see a father with a small son, and I will pray, “Lord, make that man a good example for his son to follow.” Every day is filled with calls to pray if we are attuned to them.

If I could go back to May 2008, knowing what I know now, would I choose cancer? I don’t know. But I know that cancer has been one of the richest experiences I ever had. I don’t expect God to heal me; I’m not sure I would want Him to.

Like the three Hebrew children, who stayed in the furnace when their bonds were gone, I find that there is a blessedness to being near the Lord, even in the fire. If this is where God wants me, I am contented to be here – cancer, chemo, and all.

* * *

Kathy here. Bert has shown us how to live. Now he's showing us how to die. Next week you'll hear my younger brother, Ricky, tell his story about cancer.

Bert & Dianne Doug & me Ricky & Gwen

Feel free to leave a comment here or request to become a facebook friend with Bert Tippett.

Blessings!
Kathy

10 THINGS CANCER HAS SHOWN ME (PART 1)

Bert, my big brother, shares his recent life with you here. This is Part 1 of 2. Don't miss the song at the end.

* * *

In 2008 I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. My urologist used three dreaded words to describe it: Aggressive (a 10 on a scale of 10), Advanced, and Invasive. It was later determined to have metastasized to my bones, making it incurable.
I began making a list of things cancer has shown me. The list is constantly changing, both in length and in content. My sister Kathy asked me to share the list with you as it presently stands.

Ten Things Cancer Has Shown Me

by Bert Tippett

1. That I can have “perfect peace” (Isaiah 26:3) in spite of a bad diagnosis.
The “bad diagnosis” was not mine; it was our son’s. In 2003, our son, Brian, was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma. My wife, Dianne, and I had traveled to North Carolina to be with him for a painful bone marrow test. That night, as we lay in bed, we both felt we were drowning in despair. She was crying and I was angry. One of us said, “We have to pray!” So, we did. What followed was a sense of peace that neither of us could explain. We talked briefly, then slept soundly the rest of the night.
That peace still sustained us five years later when the diagnosis was mine. Oh, I did awaken one morning, turned to my wife, and said, “Dianne, I’m afraid.” She smiled and said, “What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee” (Psalm 56:3). Later that same day, I got a card in the mail from a friend who had battled his own cancer. In the card he wrote, “I’m sharing my cancer verse with you – Psalm 56:3.”
Although I have had three or four nights when the gravity of my disease made it hard to sleep, for the most part I sleep soundly every night, thanking the Lord for another day and for the assurance that He is with me all the way through this experience
I was visiting a church when an old friend asked me how I am doing. I told him that I was enjoying perfect peace. His face lit up and he exclaimed, “Isaiah 26:3, Isaiah 26:3!”
“That’s right,” I answered. “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.” A bad diagnosis is no match for God’s perfect peace.
2. That I’m really not afraid to die.
We say that, but when we come face to face with the probability of death we learn if we really mean it. My mother-in-law used to say, “There are lots of things worse than dying.” She was right. Even knowing that my cancer is incurable, I constantly meet people and say to myself, “I would not trade places with him.” Compared to issues like Alzheimers and troubled children, cancer is nothing.
I was reading through Genesis recently and kept running across statements describing the deaths of the patriarchs. They “gave up the ghost” (took their last breath) and they were “gathered to their fathers,” which sounds like a reunion to me. None of that is anything to dread. The process of dying may be difficult, but the actual event will be pure joy.
When the bodies of servicemen killed in action are brought home to the United States, you often hear a military band playing a piece by Dvorak taken from his “Ninth Symphony.” Lyrics have been added and it is popularly known as “Going Home.” One set of lyrics reads:
It’s not far, yes close by
Through an open door
Work all done, care laid by
Going to fear no more
Mother’s there 'specting me
Father’s waiting, too
Lots of folk gathered there
All the friends I knew
But another set, one that I much prefer, reads:
It's not far, just close by;
Jesus is the Door;
Work all done, laid aside,
Fear and grief no more.
Friends are there, waiting now.
He is waiting, too.
See His smile! See His hand!
He will lead me through.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EcvKdMtYei0
How can you fear death with such a glorious prospect?
As a good friend of mine said shortly before his death, “I’m not afraid to cross that river because I know the One who owns the land on both sides.”
3. That I must control the things I can and trust God for the things I can’t.
Oprah Winfrey was interviewing Michael J. Fox regarding his Parkinson’s disease. She marveled at his sense of humor and cheerful spirit. At one point he told her that he could not control having Parkinson’s, but that he could control a million other things. Something about that resonated with me.
When God called me to preach, I had a choice. I could accept His call or reject it. I could name other important events in my life when I knew God’s will but had the choice as to whether to do it or not.
But with cancer, it was different. God gave me no choice; like it or not, I had cancer. Why should this event in my life be different from other events, even those that rank among the most important? I am considering two possible reasons.
First, I would never have chosen cancer. Who would? Second, the blessing of God’s presence in the midst of my cancer is a landmark event. I hate to think what I would have missed if God had given me a choice. It was too important to be left to me.
Many people are plunged into circumstances they would never choose, circumstances that have nothing to do with cancer. It may be childhood abuse or physical, mental or emotional disfigurement. Yet God can use even such as these to His glory. In John, chapter nine, the disciples asked why a man had been born blind – a condition over which the man had no choice. Jesus answered, “. . .that the works of God should be revealed in him.”
I think it is what we do with those things we can control that makes all the difference. I can choose bitterness or I can choose trust. I can focus on myself or I can look for doors God will open for me. As Michael J. Fox said, "It is those things we can control that define us." They are the things that tell the world if we are really serious when we pray “Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.”
4. That the prayers of others will be my strength.
One morning several months after I was diagnosed with cancer, I received a rather fat envelope from Vermont. Vermont? Who do I know in Vermont? A note inside revealed that it was from the first young couple whose wedding I performed. He is now pastoring a church in Vermont and his wife is in charge of the children’s ministry, Barnabas’ Kids. Along with the note was a stack of hand-made cards, decorated with drawings and stickers. Every one of them contained the same message inside: “We are praying for you.” One enterprising child added a second note: “I hope you fell (sp.) better.” What a blessing!
Recently, a pastor and good friend called to tell me he was visiting a shut-in who saw my name on the church’s prayer list. “Who is this?” he asked. The pastor told him about me and reported my condition. The man told him, “God has put him on my heart and I am praying for him every day.” It is such people and their prayers that convince me that I am securely in God’s will. He is hearing their prayers and meeting my needs.
I post occasional notes on Facebook, where I have nearly 1,300 friends. I recently asked them to pray that a new chemo “cocktail” would be more effective in controlling my cancer. Many of them responded that they had already prayed and would continue to do so. I even had messages from alumni on mission fields assuring me that Christians in China and Spain, who have never seen my face, are praying.
Scarcely a day goes by that I don’t receive a card, a phone call, an email, or a Facebook note assuring me of prayers. My wife and I draw daily strength from the knowledge that our needs are being taken to God in waves of intercession.
5. That God is strengthening my wife just as He has strengthened me.
My wife is an incurable optimist. When I rear-ended a police car and we were watching him walk back with his citation book in hand, she turned to me and said, “Well, at least we don’t have to wait for a policeman!”
I knew my diagnosis had a huge effect on Dianne. But it really came home to me one morning when our son took me out on the deck where we could talk privately and said, “Dad, I know you are handling this, but don’t forget, this is harder on Mom than it is on you.” In some undefined way, I was aware of that. But Brian’s admonition moved it way up in my thinking.
Dianne and I share everything. At any given moment, she can tell you how I am doing. We have chosen to be totally open with each other and with our children regarding the cancer – its treatment, our states of mind, any aches or pains, etc. We even talk about my final service and matters regarding her life after I am gone.
I can’t find words to tell what Dianne is meaning to me right now. We have had a good marriage, but she has never been dearer to me than now. Her prayers and her encouragement mean more to me than anyone else’s. We sit across the room each morning with our coffee and biscotti, and have our devotions. Praying aloud, at home is a common occurrence.

We do everything together. When she shops, I take a book. At Kohl’s, Belk, or Penny’s, we part at the door and I head for the shoe department. They always have someplace to sit in the shoe department. For whatever time it takes her to shop, I sit and read. When she is ready to go, she knows where I am. She’ll find me and say something like, “Who’s that good looking man sitting over there?” I’ll smile and we’ll go home together.
I recently told her that I fully expect to be waiting for her at the gate of Heaven. But the crowd welcoming her may be large and we may somehow miss each other. So I added, “In case you don’t see me, ask where the shoe department is.” When she finds me, we’ll go home together.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-C-IbkuNWs#t=6.42955

* * *

Kathy here. The You Tube song (above) is Brad Paisely, featuring Andy Griffith. You'll see why it's a favorite of Bert's right now.

I'll post his Part 2 (#6-10 of Ten Things Cancer Has Shown Me) next Friday.
Blessings!
Kathy