By Gray Bostick
So, I’m sitting around the house, for hours at a stretch, something I’m forced to do far too much of these days, awaiting Bobby, my mailman, and buddy, to arrive, so we can visit for a few seconds and he can pass along that days package of parcel post, usually my latest medical bills, as well as another offer or three for pre-approved, low-rate something-or-others.
I don’t know; I must be special, or sumthin’.
And you are, too.
Because what Bobby delivers is not only the U.S. Mail, but also Human Compassion. And concern and simple people simply caring about someone else. A whole sack of Love.
And I’m special in that I’m so blessed that so much of it is directed at me.
Friends? Ha! I once thought I had friends; I’ve lived in nearly two-dozen places, folks; I have friends everywhere. But I’ve found I have far more friends that I ever dreamed. I have friends, deeply caring friends, in fact, that I’ve never even met. Not even once.
Since I had an unpleasant medical diagnosis last year, I’ve had friends who;:
Sent notes to say “I believe in Miracles…and I believe in YOU”; passed along encouraging scriptures, notes, cards, song lyrics, poems, and quotes; dropped us lines and words of condolences and encouragement at the loss of a feline member of our support team; delivered baskets of items we might need or plates of food so we wouldn’t have to cook after difficult appointments, or offered places we might escape away to to try de-stress. de-compress and regroup as we moved forward; provided monetary support—at times anonymously—to assist us with medical, gas and other unexpected expenses we have incurred; not to mention all of the electronic correspondence check-ins by phone, email, text or message, including old pals and NASCAR buddies who collected Kyle Busch gear for Judy at Homestead.and had Darrell Waltrip call me at home with an uplifting message.
What an amazing world we all share. In the middle of senseless violence and mindless mayhem, when our so-called leaders are identifying as petulant six-year old bullies in a school-yard surrounded by a social cesspool they created and foster in what seems to be a never-ending cycle of negativity and increasing incivility, it’s indeed refreshing—and reassuring—to know that Good not only still exits, but that, in the end, it still prevails. And always will.
Bet on Good every time. Every time.
It amazes me how, totally out-of-the-blue—often at the lowest and most needed time—a card or some such unexpected delivery seems to appear out of Bobby’s truck that seems so ideal for what ever is pressing most on me on the moment, and all so often originating from a most unusual and unlikely source. Amazing? No, Divine.
In truth, it’s actually quite simple: Two things reign; It is what it is: And God rules.
Doctors and medical staff can help care for me and help me thru my day-to-day, Oncologists are employing novel new techniques while medical researchers seek innovative ways to turn the tide of myeloma and offer hope or better long-term coping advice. There have been successes; there will be others.
That’s the group I intend to be among.
Bet on that, too.
So, to that legion of folks of have taken a bit of time out of their day to make a point to make sure that mine was a little bit better, Thank You. To every one who made a keystroke, lifted a pen across paper, dialed a number, waved from a car or stopped by for a minute just to say “How are ya?”, Thank You. To MARVIN QUICK, who blindsided me with the #88 Green Gremlins jersey his son had worn, Thank You. (Now quit making old men tear up, Marvin.)
And, finally, to my buddy in Taylors South Carolina, whom I’ve never met–but is married to the fraternity brother I housed with, but haven’t seen in 40 years–yet still sends me card after card and email atop email, all spiritually uplifting, My eternal thanks.
I say it all the time, but only because it’s so true: How lucky can one man get?