Grateful

I felt it.

I had just finished spending an hour with Enoch and had begun visiting with another brother in white when Enoch reentered the room—no notice, not a knock or anything—accompanied by two large Black men in white. I gave Enoch the snarl I had learned when I was interrupted while meeting with a client. I had probably learned snarling even earlier (ask Elizabeth), but I certainly perfected it in the law practice.

One of the men started to sing. He had the deepest base voice I had ever heard. After a bit, the other man joined in. He had an even deeper base voice. The moment is frozen in my memory. The recurring word throughout the beautiful hymn was “grateful”, repeated over and over and over.

I not only heard “grateful”. I felt it. Do you know a better feeling?

Bob Scott walked the last two years of his life intentionally grateful. As he said, he would wake in the morning knowing he had a life-ending disease, would walk down the stairs to greet his precious granddaughter and would think, which world do I choose to live in.