Goodnight.

We keep saying that we're going to get into a schedule. Homework. Dinner. Early Bedtime. But then, it gets so nice outside and who wants to come in for homework, dinner, or early betime? When all the kids are outside riding their bikes, exploring the edge of the woods, playing baseball, learning karate, and dribbling the soccer ball. And then when you do come in for dinner, why not have pizza with your neighbors, along with a few glasses of wine. On a Tuesday night. Even though last night you also had dinner with another dear friend. And during that pizza, another neighbor comes over to inform you that a brother has died in Tanzania. And you are so sad. The neighbor prays for your thyroid cancer. You put the kids to bed. And then head upstairs to the brother of the one who died. And together you mourn in a living room full of community. Chai. Swahili songs. Prayer. Comfort.

You get back home and wonder what happened to your schedule. But when you live here, in this rich place, that's what you do. You flow in and around neighbors and friends, never forgetting how they walked with you in your valley of the shadow of death before the diva liver delivered.

Several people have said to me that when you get a cancer diagnosis then miracles start to happen. It's been four days and I already see them. Thanks, everyone, for your notes and expressions of love. Tomorrow is my meeting with the thyroid surgeon.

It's way too late to blog and I have to go to bed.

Peace, joy, and love, T