What makes a life worth living?
A beating heart and breathing lungs?
A mind that creates?
Human interaction?
Fulfilling a purpose and hope?
Most would probably argue all of the above, with variability in percentages from person to person.
When the whole universe is dark, and silent, filled with pain, and without time. What makes a life worth living?
I watched him as he struggled to breathe. Without an audible sound his face contorted revealing his distress. He managed a cough, spattering the back of his face mask with blood. I took my knuckles and rubbed against his sternum. There was no arousal from the all encompassing cloud of heaviness and struggle that is his world. I didn't merit acknowledgement from him so let him be. I increased the flow of oxygen being delivered via his face mask; in no way actually helping him, just merely placing a band-aide for the time being. I looked one last time at the boy's small crooked body and longed to see the day Jesus takes him in his arms.
I hadn't understood why? But as I walked away, my heart heavy; I was blessed to be able to witness this boy's bravery and patience in the face of nigh insurmountable handicap and disability. I wasn't the only one who longed to see him in Jesus's arms. The Son of God himself is anxiously awaiting the day as well. And he will see. And he will hear. And he will stand and walk and run. And he will be without pain. And he will smile. And he will be blessed as I have been blessed by him.
Much Love.
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