Gravy

I have a friend who is very kind and intelligent, and luckily also very resourceful because the automobile he owns can just barely be classified as such. The tires are bald, the paint is oxidized, the driver side wing window is shattered and patched by duct tape, and the rear window is completely missing (I understand it just popped out on the highway one day and was completely atomized). Actually, several months after the window mishap I noticed he had replaced it with a shower curtain, cut to size and taped in place. The curtain lasted for perhaps six months, and was as I recall actually slashed by some unidentified rascals in the end. No further effort was made to repair the window. He describes the car by saying, "It's not just an eye sore, it's also a health hazard." I told him five years ago he needed to get a new ride because there was no way that one was making it through the winter. When I see he has managed to actually drive it somewhere yet again, I remind him that each successful start is just gravy.

I received an email today from another friend of mine. Her dad had just gotten out of a seven hour surgery to remove his colon and the cancer which had overtaken it. She is staying with him for a few days because he can now do nothing for himself and is in extreme pain most of the time.

I'm not sure why my friend's email reminded me of my other friend's car, but it did. Perhaps it's because I know, though I am not always conscious of it, that each day this world and I exist together is really just gravy. Maybe I'd actually like someone to remind me each time I get out of bed (though probably not in person because that'd be more creepy than anything else) how no one is promised tomorrow, but in this particular case it was graciously given to me in all its weight and beauty.

"But life," one might say "day in and day out is not weighty and beautiful, it's ugly and meaningless." I don't agree with that conclusion and I think it's based on some misunderstandings, but that discussion is too large for this space, and is better had in person anyway. Suffice it to say Jesus loves changing things (as evidenced by the names of Peter and Paul), and given a chance I'm sure he would love to change this perspective on life as well.

I realize of course the vast number of times and ways in which this idea has been expressed. I'm even aware of how cliche most of those expressions have become. However, I do not believe the concept to be less worthy for its frequent repetition, and even though I know it is unrealistic and perhaps even unproductive to think one can constantly carry such an idea in the forefront of their consciousness, I still can't help but believe that even an occasional recollection of something as grand as the preciousness of another sunrise refreshes the natural nobility and honor of a person's soul. It is such a soul that can truly carpe diem.