Ezekiel and I met my parents for breakfast. Skipping a bit of school (sorry Mrs Bonham!). I brought paper and colored pencils. I loved to draw with my dad when I was little and so does E. They quickly penciled a set of tanks for a battle. Dad’s had a bigger turret and extra machine guns. So Ezekiel added a second massive canon. A secret weapon. Dad was convinced this was the end for him. But E said not to worry and quickly drew a square with spikes around dad’s tank. 

“You have an invincible force field!” 

Ezekiel soon had the rest of the picture filled with fire. But dad’s shields remained intact. Safe.

We sit in the whiplash of my dad’s stage four cancer diagnosis. Wouldn’t it be nice to draw shields around one another? But the world is not so easy or simple. It is often a tragedy that shell shocks us.

Yesterday we talked with the kids. They knew Pappy was sick, but now we cried. Later, as Ezekiel laid down, he asked “when is our next church day?” Not till Sunday. “When you give your speech, will you ask the people to pray for Pappy?” Yeah I will.

We do not know what tomorrow will bring. But the impact of this diagnosis is an urge to seize our moments together. To draw tanks. To laugh. To pray — often. And to always love. Not only Pappy, but everyone we encounter.