Samuel Johnson wrote that the knowledge that one is to be hanged in the morning concentrates a man's mind wonderfully.
This is intended to me an account of one man's attempt to find, or maybe understand faith in the face of a life-threatening illness.
So far the conventional paths of faith haven't worked - and neither have some unconventional ones. But...
Somehow I know I'm not alone.
Somehow I know that I will deploy again, in some other life.
Is this enough?
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