husband was dying. In the hospital - for five weeks. His
temperature was 105 degrees. He was receiving Intravenous
Antibiotics. Day and night. Nothing was working. Doctors'
medicines were failing. Arthur and Excalibur, Abraham and
Isaac, earlier pagan sacrifices stood shadows in my mind
as, dismal, I stared into a dying fire one late winter afternoon.
People die. I knew that. Only I couldn't spare Sandy. Not
just then - his face so noble, so kingly, so caring. I had
to stop Fate. Somehow.
what I did? I raced all over The House, and from behind
cupboard doors frantically grabbed Scraps - Scraps from
Thirty Years of Hallelujah Marriage. Scraps to lay
on Pieces of Paper and then scotch tape into my first Mock
Up. Finished by midnight. Presented the next
morning. And then to watch as down, down Sandy’s temperature
dropping - 105º, 104º, 103º - day by day. Until the
Magic of God granted his life in answer to A Scrapbook
for Sandy prayer.