Once again, combing through the archives of that 05 journal, I came across “a draft of a draft” in the January 31 entry. The lines that start off like the title above. “Gosh,” I thought as I read that, “that’s a clever, well-turned phrase if I say so myself!” (Nothing wrong with a self-admiration, right? Reading those lines reminded me, too, what we were dealing with then. Sarah’s dad was in the hospital at the beginning of the end of that winter and spring’s final sojourn with illness. I remember the feeling of those times when I read this, so here it is, a little improved from the original, and now added to the complete and unabridged portfolio of The Complete Works of David Pulling.
A gray day,
Cold and Monday.
A day for God to work his work
And me to witness
The healing hand.
Praise God
For sweetness,
For grace,
For rain,
For mud,
For glowing embers,
or a puppy dog’s creaking wicker basket.
For health.
Nothing’s for granted,
But To lean wholly
On everlasting arms .
