I heard recently that a college acquaintance succumbed to cancer at 40, and I was reminded again of the blessing and the curse that is cancer.

It’s entirely possible that a cancerous cell is even now lurking somewhere in my body, having received its assignment of mutation from a twisted strand of DNA gone wrong somewhere between me and Adam.

I’m not wishing for it, but I’ve known others who made the transition from life to Life courtesy of a bullet, a windshield or a blocked artery. So, how could I curse God for giving me three months or three years to set my house in order and say goodbye, to drain every last good word from my soul—particularly those that become trapped on the tongue when the Grim Reaper is off attending to someone else’s business?

The thing worse than the physical suffering of the afflicted must be the grief of the long goodbye, the interminable boarding of the plane before it sets off for an exciting new destination, those left behind standing forlorn on the tarmac.

Remember him—before the silver cord is severed,
or the golden bowl is broken;
before the pitcher is shattered at the spring,
or the wheel broken at the well. – Ecclesiastes 12:6

Maybe marriage isn’t about finding the one woman or man who was chosen for you “from the foundations of the earth”–unless, of course, you’re a Calvinist. Maybe it’s about making a relatively uninformed, risky decision in the midst of raging hormones, complete lack of experience and astounding ignorance about what the future holds. Then, take that decision and give it time, energy, commitment, blood, sweat and tears, and you get something that rivals a storybook romance. That’s what I thought of after hearing this morning’s StoryCorps episode on NPR. This is three minutes worth savoring: Seymour and Marcia Gottlieb

John Mayer (whose life is otherwise unremarkable and uncommendable) recommends it:

“Say what you need to say.”

Andrew Peterson, who’s become my favorite Christian musician of late notes the same problem in his song “Don’t Give Up on Me”:

“Got all these letters that I never did write, all this affection I kept inside my heart.”

It’s this unhealthy verbal constipation–for lack of a better term–that causes me to not say the words that need to be said. Encouragement. Commendation. Love. Correction. Most people probably die with unspoken words on their tongues that could have made a difference in the lives of their spouse, their children, their colleagues. Why is it that that I’m so free with the unnecessary things and so reticent to say what needs to be said?