Monday, July 25th, I would have been married 30 years.  I would like to say 30 wonderful years but there was a lot of hard work that went into those 30 years.  Times when we considered divorce.  Times when we didn't like each other.  Times when we were dirt poor, but we loved each other and we loved our kids so we worked and worked until we entered a content cadence together.  We were best friends and sometimes worst enemies.  The day before Tom was diagnosed, Christmas day 2009, I cried and told my mom that I didn't think I could do this anymore.  Tom seemed oblivious to my existence.  No Christmas present, very NOT like him.  A total forgetful ditz, couldn't follow directions, drive safely or find his glasses, something that was happening far more frequently these days.  I had no idea that a death sentence was forming in his head.  No idea that the next day my biggest issue was not going to be how this man could completely space on getting me a present.  And so, December 26th 2009 we began an arduous journey through the valley of the shadow of death.  We entered, I should say we were flung, into this valley with great fear in our hearts.  Fear we would be consumed.  Fear we would not make it out alive.  Fear that only I would make it out, and alone.  Lots of fear.  As we walked that desolate valley floor we became accustomed to the dark.  We learned not to be so fearful.  We learned that on your darkest nights God provides the moon.  We learned that our friends are good people and they would fill in the gaps where we could not.  We learned that even when you feel like you no longer have a church home that your friends and loved ones become God with skin on for you.  They mowed, they washed and folded clothes.  They grocery shopped.  They stocked our cupboards and refrigerator.  They painted.  They cleaned.  They accompanied to appointments.  They cried with us and they held our arms up when we could not any more.  We learned not to be afraid of the dark.  For all intents and purposes it would appear that we lost our battle.  Certainly I am not celebrating my anniversary with my love, but I will be celebrating it with my next favorite man and his little cousin and I couldn't ask for better dates for the day.  In the end, we did not win our battle but our eyes were opened to the immense army of God that went before us, beside us and behind us.  That is an invaluable gift.  So, when you think it is such a small thing to bring dinner, grocery shop or clean a toilet, I want to let you know that it is not.  For those of us in battle, every effort outside of the battle sucks our strength and anything you do that preserves some of that strength is huge.  God with skin on.