Not an update, but a poem.
Dec. 11, 2001

James is sleeping peacefully as I write, after a good day. A friend, one of the army that surrounds us, sent me this poem, from "Hidden Life", of George MacDonald. In the middle of the night I read it and find it very comforting, even though it makes me cry. I want to share it with you.
Syd

The father saw him waning. The proud sire
Beheld his pride go drooping in the cold,
Like snowdrop to the earth; and gave God thanks
That he was old. But evermore the son
Looked up and smiled as he had heard strange news,
Across the waste, of tree-buds and primroses,
And yet again the other mood would come,
And, being a troubled child he sought his father
For comfort such as fathers only give:--
Sure there is one great Father in the heavens,
Since every word of good from fathers' lips
Falleth with such authority, although
They are but men as we! This trembling son
Who saw the unknown death draw hourly nigher,
Sought comfort in his father's tenderness,
And made him strong to die,

One shining day,
Shining with sun and snow, he came and said,
"What think you, father--is death very sore?"
"My boy," the father answered, "we will try
To make it easy with the present God.
But, as I judge, though more by hope than sight,
It seems much harder to the lookers on,
Than to the man who dies. Each panting breath,
We call a gasp, may be to him who knows,
A sigh of pleasure; or, at worst, the sob
With which the unclothed spirit, step by step,
Wades forth into the cool eternal sea,
I think, my boy, death has two sides to it--
One sunny, and one dark; as this round earth
Is every day half sunny and half dark.
We on the dark side call the mystery death;
They on the other, looking down in light,
Wait the glad birth, with other tears than ours.
"Be near me, father, when I die;" he said.
"I will, my boy, until a better father
Draws your hand out of mine. Be near in turn,
When my turn comes--you in the light beyond.
And knowing all about it--I all dark."