This is the next in the series of excerpts from my journal, written during the last year of Dave's life.
Our minister wasn’t in church yesterday and in his absence, a young
parishioner took the pulpit and preached about the Holy Spirit—His
power, His accessibility. He urged us to not only believe, but to
actively seek Him, who is our way to supernatural power. Then our ad
hoc preacher summoned everyone to pray for Dave, not knowing that the
only way to physically heal him is supernatural—that docs have
already done everything they can.
It was then—when he made the call—that I realized my own error.
I have not believed in the Spirit’s power. I have not thought to ask
for God in this other than to deal gently with Dave's inevitable
decline. Even now, I can say the words, but the expectation of
healing is not there. Lack of faith? Lack of love? Both, I think. And
they make a sham of my physical care of him.
image: Bird's Eye View
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