Time . . . life . . .

Time passes by so quickly . . . the days just slip by.
"We get one story, you and I, and one story alone." ~Don Miller
And sometimes the book just slams closed with no warning.
Three days ago Sarah was alive. Now she's not. She was only a couple years older than me. I wouldn't call her a friend, but I knew her. She was on my floor freshman year. She was really nice. I liked her.
Gone. Just like that. I try to picture her in my head and now picture that she's no longer alive.
A "freak accident." It could happen to anyone.
Is that why I've always had that vague fear of car accidents?
Not for me, but for those close to me.
I remember waiting for my parents to get home from somewhere and praying so hard that God would protect them. I was so afraid there would be an accident and they would never come back. Then I would hear a car pull in the driveway and breathe a sigh of relief . . .
I'm not scared of death for myself. It's the death of someone else that I worry about. I've never really experienced that before. I've never even been to a funeral . . .
Except that one time. When Pinami's wife died. Danielle and I and someone else went and watched from a distance on the hill by the cemetery. And when the service was done we heard the relatives wailing according to their custom. And you could feel it inside of you.
Sorry for such a morbid post. I just think we forget how short life can be.
One story. And we have no idea how long it will be . . . I never would've guessed Sarah's would be done already . . .
Lord, may I live this story for you. Every single day of it.