Aw Shucks...

Like I was telling a brother today, there aren't many things in life that can test the mettle of one's faith like death. So, to continue what I started in "A Whiff of Heaven" I went back to the Darlene G. Cass Women's Imaging Center on Tuesday of this week to get my cyst aspirated. If the fluid was too thick to aspirate they would then switch to a bigger needle and do a full-on biopsy (think geological core sampling). Well, you can imagine my relief when I saw the cyst on the sonogram monitor begin to deflate like a slowly collapsing balloon. The doctor (he turned out to be a brother who attends PCPC) told me that the fluid would be sent off to a lab and the results wouldn't be known until later on in the week. In less than 30 minutes, what had taken years (?) to develop within the inner recesses of my flesh, was now gone. Zip. Nil. Nada. But hold the bus. The fluid could potentially be packed with tiny psychotic cells hell bent on taking down its human host; i.e., me. Wow. Could this be it? Could this be how the Lord takes me out of this world and into the next? Is this the moment of truth when I actually get to find out if what I've believed for over 30 years is actually true? I can honestly say (and I'm not saying this because of supernatural courage on my part) that I was somewhat disappointed when the doctor called me yesterday and left a voicemail telling me the good news that the cyst was benign. Big sigh. I guess the Lord will take me another day in another way. Blessed is His name.

Aging Epics

From mother’s breast to death’s cold endless reign,

Children run to taste the fruit of eden,

But bitter is the taste of life’s first pain,

Only sorrow fills the place of heaven.

O if man could only see his shadow,

Surely he would scourge the darkened image.

For letting dawn’s light waken cock’s to crow,

Only burdens sanity’s self-scrimmage.

Would death find peace for those who yearn for it?

May it never be—for death finds fire.

Nor does splurging non-chalance soothe reaped guilt.

Its truth hardens hearts mirage of mire.

The nonage of man seeks his entity;

Yet aging epics fail maturity.