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Eternal things seem distant until someone near dies, then we smell death and treasure health.
The nerve you take for granted, you realize, could one day burst and take you under.
Goals for work and gym, yet in two weeks the village men ask how many feet they should dig under.
The toe that healed could have fallen off and introduced you to Angel’s numeral.
You begin to thank God; your body itches are just that, not a rare condition only described by men clad in white overalls.
Eternal things seem distant when your body is alive and kicking.
You never treasure God’s word that in eternity he took those of his own choosing.
And numbered their days so that they may treasure blood-bought, sanctified living. Eternal things seem distant, maybe because we are so blinded by the land of the living.
