Sometimes you just have to bake a little bit longer

My 70-year-old friend told me his health issues started when he was born.

The mystery, the wonder of life…

“I was born dead,” he told me, “and that didn’t do me any good.”

“I guess not,” I said.  “Not a particularly great way to start.”

“I was born at home and the country doctor eventually just covered my body and told my mom there was nothing else he could do,” he said.

But my friend’s aunt, who was helping the doc, was a nurse.  “She was determined to see me live,” he said.

“So she took my body and placed it in the oven and I came to life.” (The old stoves had warmers on top where food was kept warm.  He said that was probably where his aunt placed him, not actually down in the oven. At least that’s the story he was always told.)

I said, “My goodness.  You just weren’t finished baking yet.  That was your problem.”

“You know.  I think you’re right,” he said, laughing.

What do I really think?  “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

For this incredible, wonderful, fearful mystery called life I say:


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