When I can’t see the forest for the trees, I will remember.
“When sorrows,” as Horatio Spafford wrote, “like sea billows roll,” I will remember.
When tears cloud my vision like rain borne sideways against the windshield, obscuring the road ahead, off to the side of the road I will go, and there I will wait out the storm, and I will remember.
Tomorrow will be that day.
And I will remember.
I will remember how precious life is.