No Bad Days

WHEN PEOPLE ASK ME HOW I’M DOING, and some still do even after all these years, I always tell them I’m having a good day . . . because I am.

GOOD DAYS AREN’T DEPENDENT on how loudly this stupid cancer I drag around with me snaps its teeth. Good days are a matter of choice.

EARLY IN THIS JOURNEY I decided I had nothing to gain by allowing myself any bad days. Labeling a day bad only intensifies what might be going wrong with it. Why listen to the growl of a disease I’m tired of thinking about? I can’t do anything more about what I have than when I’m already doing. The rest is up to God. So I must rely on faith . . . and trust.

I WISH BOTH WERE STRONGER, of course. How much easier faith would be if I’d heard Jesus on the road to Damascus. How much easier if, like Abraham, I’d walked with God.

YET I SEE EVIDENCE of His grace everywhere. Unlike some, I see His workings even in the things that can be explained by science. He isn’t only in the mystery.

MY OWN CHOICE to follow Him can take me only as far as the edge of my doubt. His gift completes my faith.

AND KNOWING THAT—really KNOWING that—makes each day, no matter what befalls it, a good day.

You’re blessed. Be a blessing!