I'm emerging from the third of four rounds of chemo before my reassessment tests in October. My body is protesting. But I continue. The fact that I have not written anything in a while reflects my level of existence somewhere not far above, well, existing.

Like everyone else, I've been trying to comprehend Katrina. The endless stream of images reminds me of something Rick said to Ilsa: "it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world." My problems seem like a hill of beans these days. The immensity of suffering and loss of life in New Orleans dwarf my own self-important battle with cancer.

James, the brother of Jesus, reminds us, "What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes." He gives this comment in the context of considering the "one Lawgiver and Judge, the one who is able to save and destroy." And for me, it is only in my connection to this one who is able to save that I find anything to grasp beyond the thought of merely being a mist.

So I rest in these rough times by praying with the Psalmist:
My heart grew hot within me,
and as I meditated, the fire burned;
then I spoke with my tongue:
"Show me, O LORD, my life's end and the number of my days;
let me know how fleeting is my life.
You have made my days a mere handbreadth;
the span of my years is as nothing before you.
Each man's life is but a breath.
Man is a mere phantom as he goes to and fro:
He bustles about, but only in vain;
he heaps up wealth, not knowing who will get it.
But now, Lord, what do I look for?
My hope is in you."
(Psalm 39:3-7)