Here and now.

Oh dear. It's raining. Whatever shall I do? I have outside stuff to do. I guess I'll just have to sit on the couch with a warm little dog cuddled up against my leg, a cup of hot tea on the table, and...y'know. Do Nothing Much.

If healing and coping and procrastinating and saying to oneself "screw it. I'm not doing anything today because I don't want to" is what's in order, then that's what's in order. I earned this. I smiled at people yesterday. It was exhausting. The only thing I can't have at the moment is food delivered. We live too far out in the nowhere for delivery. That's ok. There's tons of stuff in the freezer and I'm not hungry anyway. The boys can eat it all. 

There's 2 of them here. The third one lives locally and he's at work. The eldest lives on an island off the coast of Georgia and I know he loves me. I think if they were all here it would be overwhelming and the Mom would kick in. And I don't want that right now. I need tea and contemplation, reading and soft music. 

There's a lot of cleaning up to do. Nothing critical. If Capt's parents showed up unexpectedly (something they would NEVER do), his mom would take one look at the mess of my house and say something along the lines of "Of course it is. You have had a lot on your plate and we didn't come to see your house anyway." So I am choosing not to care. I'm drinking hot tea and reading. 

Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, He said to them, "Come with Me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest."  

Mark 6:31

There are things right now for which I am immensely grateful. The opportunity to rest and recuperate. Family and friends who check on me. All that stuff in the freezer I fixed up over the last couple of months and I don't even know why. (I guess I do now). Scripture that comforts.

What a wonderful thing that is, those verses that show me how eternal God is. He isn't a God of only the past. He is very present here and now. He's eternal. Someone told me once that God doesn't have a past, present, or future. With Him, it is all NOW. And it all matters to Him, NOW. Our pain, joy, mistakes, forgiveness...it's all NOW. He knows it, understands it, shares in it, helps us carry it. The love He has for us is complete, and something we can't comprehend. I don't even try. I just know that it's there, and I've seen enough miracles to know it's real and tangible. (that sentence feels very awkward...) By taking Capt Home, he got what he's been wanting for months now...to go Home. 

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8:37-39

Sure, I am sad and I will miss him and every little thing I see, his reading glasses, those darn Crocs, the huge containers of Old Bay seasoning, stacks of fishing magazines, all make me feel like he's fixing to walk in the room and ask where his (insert color) shirt is. (probably in the dryer. I'm not the best at getting the clothes out right away). Every day I will see a reminder of Capt. I see reminders of Himself and it's been nearly 8 years since he departed us. It's OK. They are both embedded in my heart. And I'm good with that.

What now, Peggy Tillman?

It's a little different this time. (How many women can say "this time" about the death of a spouse?" What a stupid club I belong to now. No one wants to come to THAT meeting.)  By different I mean...well, I guess I know better how to handle it. I am certainly not as gobsmacked. Just as sad but not feeling LOST, confused, wondering what the hell just happened. I guess I'm thankful for that. But still.

It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; He will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.

Deuteronomy 31:8

His funeral yesterday was lovely. It was warm enough for people to sweat, but not fall out. He liked that sort of heat, tho he preferred it on the beach. Most folks were, per request, wearing University of Alabama stuff- t-shirts, casual. He wasn't a suit and tie sort of person. One friend from here was wearing a suit. I apologized for not telling him of the clothing tribute and he chuckled and said "No. I'm not wearing that." He is an Auburn person. (University of Alabama and Auburn University have the hottest football rivalry in the country. It's true. Look it up.) Capt's mom whispered to me before the service that I should have worn an Auburn shirt. I replied that it would have caused the casket to bump as he spun around in it.

It was wonderful to be able to tell his kinfolk (that's Southern for "relatives") how much he loved them. I didn't get around to all of them, but I think they knew. If not, I'll tell them at Thanksgiving.  There were the platters of food and coolers of cold drinks, pitchers of tea, myriad cakes and pies, all the gustatory ingredients for a fine Southern send-off. Stories were told, laughter happened...perfect. He had a huge window-rattling laugh. There was nothing quiet about Capt. 

Until now. At least here, anyway. Thunder will remind me of his laughter, especially the window- rattling kind.

We never did make it to the beach this month.  There was a spell of about about 10 days with no Dr's appointments, and we were going to take a couple of them to go put our toes in the sand before it got too cool for swimsuits.  One I catch my breath I'm going to do that. I'll take an extra chair and put his hat in it.

For the next couple of weeks there's a bit of paperwork to be done. Filing things with the attorney and getting the will probated, and all that stuff. A big deal but not like Last Time.  This time I can breathe knowing what's what and how to do it. I have my own source of income so I won't panic. It's all going to be OK. 

It's time to employ that cliche' I kind of dislike (not because there's anything wrong with it, but because in general I dislike cliche's but this one is apropos)...

Let go and let God....Ok. I think I can do that. At least I'm not panicking and scared and confused. Thank You, God, for that.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give it to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

John 14:27

Capt had a prodigious goofy side.

Today is the day that the Lord hath made....

 

It was quiet when I sat on the porch. The only sound was the one hummingbird who seems to be too dumb to leave. Gradually the other ones woke up. First was a wren who started bellowing from a nearby hanging basket, then another one in the woods answering. A dog began to bark (Babe, at my parent’s), a train in the distance, cars on the highway. The world is waking up. So am I.

Today is the day for Capt’s funeral service. We’ve planned a simple one, as Capt was a man of simple tastes. His sister did most of the work, calling me for opinions and that was about all I did, except for locating a bagpiper. I did it! Who knew you could find a bagpiper on such short notice! He was very kind, too, and had some excellent suggestions for stuff he could play for the service.

I expect to do a fair amount of sobbing. A box of tissues will certainly get a workout. I hate crying in front of other people, but at least today it will be understood. I hope I can maintain composure by keeping in mind where Capt is, and what he's probably doing, but....music makes me cry under the least of circumstances, and certain songs, such as the ones that will be played at Capt's service, always grab me by the feels and shake me around. There WILL be tears. I hope the sobbing and hysteria can be kept to a minimum. So embarrassing even if it's expected and understood.

But then, today isn't about me. It's about honoring a man who had an impact on every single person he ever met. A man who didn't know a stranger, who was larger than life, who loved everyone until you gave him a reason not to...basically the ONLY people he ever judged harshly were politicians and pedophiles. He was afraid of no one except God. He didn't hesitate to help anyone who needed it. He opened his home to families who were suffering abuse, providing them protection and care until they could help themselves. 

His obituary was written by his best friend, who knows him better than anyone.

Stephen Samuel Tillman

August 30, 1966 - October 8, 2022

 

It is with joy and sadness that we announce Stephen Samuel Tillman’s transition to the Church Triumphant and to his reward as promised by our Savior Jesus Christ.

Stephen, the son of Dick and Pansy Tillman of McKenzie, Alabama, left an enormous footprint on this world, a trail blazed with vigor of life, unmatched passion and enduring love for everyone he encountered. He didn’t linger to become a small-town Joe, but set out to take on the world, enjoy life to its fullest, and to witness as much of creation as he could in his too-short 56 years.

From Army medic to forestry and lumber mill manager, to woodworker, builder and artist, blacksmith and gunsmith, historian, firefighter, electrician, charter boat captain and SCUBA instructor, he did it all, and mastered every bit of it. His thumbs were green, his hands calloused, his mind brilliant. A fierce and compassionate husband, father, brother, son, and friend. A loving and gentle grandfather. A wearer of big smiles, long beards, Hawaiian shirts, and Crocs. An astute debater and political commentator. An Alabama game-day fanatic. “Roll Tide!” The giver of bear hugs and encouraging words. Even here, in this last record of his time on this world, the description falls far too short of the man, himself. But rest assured, he is deftly casting his fly rod, his toes dug deep into the warm sand, and his beloved Boykin spaniel, Miss E., is sitting by his side as he patiently waits for us to join him in paradise.

Most recently from Opelika, AL, Stephen is preceded in death by his grandparents Benajah Thompson and Elsie Cade Tillman and John D. and Lyla Odom Carnathan; great niece Fallon Cade Kennington. He is survived by his parents Alva Richard and Pansy Carnathan Tillman of McKenzie, AL; sister Edi (Holger) Hill of Red Level, AL, wife Mary Margaret “Peggy” Dodd Tillman; daughters Mary Elizabeth Tillman of Chester, SC, and Carolyn Adele Tillman of Little Falls, MN; step children Will Dodd of Midway, GA, David Dodd of Marietta, GA, C.J. Dodd of Beauregard, AL, and Eli Dodd of Kennesaw, GA; grandchildren Bree Shytle, of Little Falls, MN, Benjamin “JP” Deese of Chester, SC, and Chris Dodd of Beauregard, AL; nieces Kathrynne Caldwell of Sanford, NC, and Gracyn (Dylan) Kennington, of Lancaster, SC; nephews Tillman Caldwell and Matthew Steele of Kershaw, SC; great nephew Jude Caldwell of Kershaw, SC; and many aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends who loved him dearly.

In lieu of flowers, please consider making a donation in Stephen’s memory to The Extension (theextension.org), an addiction recovery center for homeless men in Marietta, GA.

We have a very good God

 

One of the biggest blessings God has given me is the ability and desire to write. He also made it so I don't have the attention span to write...y'know...BOOKS. Nope, I like short stuff. What am I going to say today? I have an hour....what can I say in an hour? I also don't really care that much what other people think about it. I have an audience of one that really matters. I put things in words so I can organize my thoughts and be able to go on. 

Today, because God works in small ways as well as on a planetary scale, I sat down on the front porch with my hot coffee and blanket, and opened up a random devotional. I like random. How very UnPresbyterian of me but whatever. And of course, because God is a God of little things, today's was about grief. I can go a couple of years without hitting on a grief thing then of course, 2 days after the death of my husband when everything's starting to hit me, it's "Here ya go, Peg, I think you might need this today." Ok, thanks God, You know me better than I do.

And it was all the good comforting stuff. Was he a Believer? Yes? Fabulous! He is perfected and permanently away from all the garbage that plagues us on this Earth. And me? I'll be OK! Yes! I'm going to cry because I miss him and my life just took a 90 degree sideways lurch and here we go again and now what happens and I HATE that.

 But it's not my circus here. I'm not the ringmaster. I'm one of the clowns. Probably the one who keeps tripping over her big feet and falling face-first into the elephant poop. But that's ok. I guess. It's all part of Big Plan. I'll recover, wash up, and carry on.

So I was thinking. One of the ways I've managed throughout life was to understand that God has His ways. He takes all the things and weaves them into the tapestry of History to make a glorious picture of His immense plan. We are threads in a tiny spot on that tapestry. How can we possibly know what the end design looks like? One day we will. My Capt knows. Himself knows. (if you don't know who Himself is...he's my first late husband.) Right now it's my time to simply trust that God knows what He's doing.

The thing is, all my life, shit has happened. Ugly stuff, mostly of my own doing because I'm stupid like that. Some things weren't, but most were. I know that. God knows that. And yet, He has used those things and turned them into sparkling little gold threads in that tapestry. The thought that keeps me from despair, especially when I think "this is my fault", is the knowledge that God will use this event for His glory and my good. 

Romans 8:20-30 reads For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters. And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified. (NIV)

What a comfort, eh? He's got this. He knows what He's doing. He's had it all worked out all along. The ONLY thing that has changed in this is my perception of it. I had plans, so did He. Mine turned out to be different from His but since He's the Master of Everything and I'm just a clown, He's the Decision Maker.   (I have no idea why this suddenly double spaced. Whatever.)

So now what? I don't know. I get through today. I have a list of things, only a couple of them are important and none of them are vitally so. 

Oh! This is cool! Capt wanted Amazing Grace played by a bagpiper at his funeral because he loves a dramatic moment. (I know, I have a past and a present tense in the same sentence. That's what happens with grief like this. You know he's not here but actually he still is even though you know he's not because kinda he is) AND...I found a bagpiper who can do it. The internet can actually be a very useful thing, in the right hands. I love it when things fall into place. Thanks, God! You're the BEST! (and not just because of bagpipers, but everything else too)

Y'all have a good day, and hug a loved one long and tight.

Well...

So, we stepped off the carnival ride last night. Now, onto another one.

Capt, my Fella, the second man I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with, passed away in my arms, surrounded by family he loved dearly. His sister had a beautiful song playing....I wish I could tell you the name of it but honestly right now i can't tell you the color of the sky. Capt, however, had blue eyes 

I am so sad right now, of course I am. Not for him. Oh no! He got the best part of the whole event. He gets to spend eternity with the One he loves best of all. 

Capt was an interesting bird. He was very loud and opinionated. And when I say loud, I mean window-rattling LOUD. The first time I watched a football game (ALWAYS University of Alabama. He loved his Crimson Tide) and they scored a touchdown, I thought the room had exploded and the windows were going to fall out. He balled up his (very large) paws...I mean....fists (if you'd ever met him, he had enormous bear-paw hands) and pumped the air, jumped up and danced, booming ROLL TIDE. watching football with him was always an exuberant experience. He was contagiously joyful. Especially when they won. But he was a gracious loser, very Presbyterian about it..."Oh well, they didn't play as well as they should have so they lost. It was meant tobe."

He was not a man of half-attempts. Whatever he did, metal working, ironworking, his career in the wood products industry, scuba diving, cooking for people...he did with complete dedication to the craft. He did nothing halfway. He knew I loved flowers. So he planted a hedge of roses across the front of the house, and every year would get me a couple more fancy hibiscus (hibiscuses? hibiscusi?) and large colorful talavera pottery pots for them. I had told him once. ONCE....that I like hibiscus and thought they were pretty. So he had to get ALL OF THEM for me. Same with roses. Next thing I knew, I had a gorgeous rose garden. A humongous greenhouse, because I opined once that would be a nice thing to have some day. and so on. Every single thing he did, he did it the best and most way he possibly could.

One of the most important things I learned from him was how to really LIVE. I was, when we met, a bit of a mouse. I tended to be quiet and conservative with everything I did. I worried about what other people would think. I wanted to be approved of.  He showed me how to enjoy, how to give myself permission to try new things like oysters (um...ok), lobster, scuba diving, parties...how it was OK to want something and get it for myself. An embroidery machine. A great truck. Clothes that fit.

When I first met him...we met October 14, 2017....almost exactly 5 years ago. I was wearing black, because I didn't like thinking about what to wear. And everything was too big because I'd lost about 40 pounds but my mind hadn't caught up with that yet. He gently (Ha...."gentle" was not really a character quality), after a few dates, informed me that my clothes were too big and he hated black. So I cautiously bought something with some color and a bit smaller. "Better, but still too big." Oh my word, I thought....he wants me in red leggings and a bikini top. Not really....ok yes he would have been thrilled with that but no. We had to somehow reach a compromise. And we did. I now wear color, some of them louder than I'd choose on my own. I only wear black when it's the first thing I grab and he would always give me the stink-eye when he saw it.  I will not wear black as I mourn. He would be deeply disappointed if I did. Not that, at this point, he would care but to honor him I will not wear it.

The last couple of years, since he had COVID, have been difficult for him. He never fully recovered his stamina, he'd lost his senses of taste and smell. For a Foodie that was pretty awful. He couldn't eat properly because many things made him gag. He was so tired. Months spent visiting doctors looking for answers found none. He started having heart issues. He had to give up scuba diving. He couldn't take his boat out and fish. He had back problems. He just...kind of...fell apart. In the last 6 months it got worse. His depression started ruling his life. He tried to live every day but spent most of the time in a chair on the front porch, cold even on the hottest Summer days. Unable to get answers from doctors....multiple ones. Frustrated and angry and wondering WHY.

Last Saturday, Oct 1, 2022, he was nauseous and started throwing up. He thought "food poisoning". Then he started throwing up blood. I took him to the ER at 7 pm and by 2 am he was in the ICU. He struggled for a week. They had every sort of tube and probe on, dialysis going daily, trying to figure out just exactly what happened. He had acute sepsis, and hepatorenal (liver and kidney) failure. All those months of feeling like shit just suddenly came to a head and blew up. Through the week I insisted they keep him sedated and comfortable. By Thursday they told me they couldn't do anything more. I had to make a decision. A dear friend came by, and she took me to the attorney's office where his advance directive was filed, and I established the DNR order. His directive ordered no life support. I'd done everything I could with the hope he could be healed but at this point only God could do that. He was unhooked from everything. He mumbled a bit after wards and I put my ear to his mouth so I could hear him. "Am I unplugged?" he asked. "Yes." I answered. "Ok good." he said. The next 2 days were spent with him surrounded by friends and family, coming in and out, sitting in his room laughing and telling stories about their experiences with him. I called all the friends in his phone so I could put it next to his ear and they could talk to him. His daughters were able to speak to him. He couldn't reply but the look on his face (eyes always closed...he never opened them after being extubated) said he heard every single call. By Saturday he was fully unconcious, but they say hearing is the last thing to go so we kept up with the laughter and stories. If anyone had sadness they expressed it too. It was hard, no lie there. But...I am so incredibly thankful for the week I had to process what was happening. 

You see, this is the second time for me. The first time, my husband died very suddenly. Boom. Gone. No chance to process, no chance to say goodbye. I comforted myself by saying it meant no suffering for him. This time, Capt suffered. A long time. I am terribly sad about that. However, now he isn't. I am joyfully, eternally grateful for that. I am grateful for having the time to tell him goodbye properly. I had my arms around his shoulders and head on his chest as he breathed his last. I got to thank God for taking him, and praise God that Stephen knew Him and was finally free from the very difficult life he'd been enduring. 

Am I sad he's gone? ABSOLUTELY. We had plans! But you know what they say...If you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans. That's ok. The last 6 months Stephen seemed to know he was dying. He told me how to do everything except change the bushhog to the auger on the tractor. He made sure all of his affairs were in order and I had access to his phone and computer, all the financial stuff, everything. I would get annoyed because I thought he was being morbid. Now I am grateful because I know who, what, how, when, and where. The only thing really undone is the irrigation in the greenhouse and at least he got a faucet in there. He did teach me how to build the irrigation system so I can do it. Thank you, honey.

This week, I'm not doing much. There's a service to get ready. His sister is handling that. I have a little bit to do but...once the dust has settled and his body is planted where it's going...I'm going to spend a few days probably binge-watching something, reading, drinking coffee, and just....remembering. We packed a lot of life into 5 years. Probably more life in those 5 years than I'd lived in the last 30. 

What a man. Good lord, I'm going to miss him. 

I love the Psalms.

 Capt is not a perfect man. He has flaws. We all do. He acknowledges them. But for all his flaws, for all his shortcomings and weaknesses, he loves the Lord. Deeply and sincerely. 

“Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.” – Psalm 91:14-15

This could have been written for him. I looked up a list of Psalms for peace, comforting things in time of trouble. 

It doesn't promise healing. It promises deliverance from trouble. Rescue and protection. 

Before Capt let the Drs intubate and sedate him, he crawled out of the hospital bed, with IV tubes and catheters and probes. I didn't understand what he was doing. 

WHAT ARE YOU DOING??

I need to pray.

You can pray in the bed! God will hear you!

No. I need to be on my knees.

I still didn't understand but he did it anyway.

It was brief but he did it anyway.

Later on his best friend was there and I told him about it. He said "He needed to humble himself"

I didn't think of it that way. Upon reflection, I was humbled by it.

So I don't know what Capt's deliverance will look like. Maybe he will be healed and use the experience to glorify God.

Maybe he will be taken Home. He's been wanting to go Home for a long time, since he first started getting sick.

I can't influence God or Capt or the doctors or anyone. I can thank God for today, and ask for tomorrow, if it's His will. I can ask for the courage and grace to accept His will, whatever shape that takes. 

I am (and will) doing a lot of crying. I'm sad. It's normal. It's ok for me to be sad. I am a human bean who's worried about what the future looks like but occasionally I can take a deep breath and remind myself that God knows what He's doing and His plan is perfect and He can take ugly tragic (to us) things and turn them into beauty.

Today is OK. Capt's alive and grumpy. I would be too if I had a tube shoved down my throat. At least the nurse said he was taking the Foley catheter out. TMI? Whatever. one less thing to complain about.

God's got this. He always does.

Similar shit, different day

I feel like I'm back on that terrible carnival ride I was shoved on February 23, 2017. Do you know about that one? That was the day my husband of 28-1/2 years had a heart attack. He died the next day. Only this time the ride is longer and hasn't finished yet. I don't know how it's going to end. Will it gradually slow down and  we can step off gracefully, or will I be flung into the unknown like I was last time?

Long story short...Capt's been feel progressively crappier since December 2021. He has gotten weaker, more tired, can't eat much more than fruit or yogurt, nauseous a lot. We've been to many Drs. Had many tests. Nothing was found.  Then, on the evening of October 1, he threw up blood. Twice. First time he refused to go to the ER. Second time I threatened an ambulance and he went. We got there at 7 pm-ish. They took him back immediately (when does that happen?) and by 2 am he was in ICU with 3 IV's going full blast trying to get his blood pressure up. He was in acute kidney and liver failure because he was septic. Like oh dear God...how will he survive all that?

After about 6 hours in ICU they wanted to intubate because he was having trouble breathing. He said "wait..." and crawled out of the bed (with a hundred tubes all over) to get on his knees and pray.

Anyway, now it's October 6. He's still in ICU. He's still intubated. He had been heavily sedated (thus completely conked out) but they are reducing that and he can respond with nods and hand squeezes even though his eyes are shut. The sepsis is responding well to antibiotics. It's a klebsiella infection which is nasty. The dialysis is helping with other stuff but his kidneys are bad, and they won't tell me anything about his liver yet. 

So, it's a different carnival ride than the short and hairy one in 2017. I don't know how long it will last. No clue. I'm not sure how it will end. No clue. I don't know what my responsibilities will be in the future. No clue. I'm a blindfolded monkey in a bamboo forest full of mousetraps and punji pits. I'm tired. I'm scared. I'm lonesome. Food tastes like sawdust.  

I never thought I'd say it but...I read too much. I am usually comforted by knowledge. It's a handle. This time, notsomuch. Hepatorenal (liver/kidney) failure has a poor prognosis. Throw in klebsiella sepsis and ooh...I asked the nurses at the ICU...how many people in his condition walk out of the hospital? (sad look) Not many. I didn't think so. His nephrologist told me this...He said "If it's God's will that he lives, he has a 100% chance of surviving. Therefore we will do absolutely everything we can, and if he doesn't survive, you will not have to feel any guilt that you didn't do enough because it was his time to go to God."  This doctor spent over an hour with me, explaining all the chemistry and physiology of what was happening in Capt's body. He understood I NEEDED the information. And while it all scares me, it also allows me to really understand WHY of everything. And how it all came about. I won't go into it.

I know God has a plan in this. He always does. He is one step ahead of me and knows what He's doing. I have to trust Him implicitly. I have to trust that He will guide me through this maze. 

I am at peace with the situation. Mostly. I am taking it one day at a time and not considering the what-if's of tomorrow. Today, so far (it's 3:39 pm) he is doing ok. And that's enough.

Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body also will rest secure, because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead, nor will you let your faithful one see decay. You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand. – Psalm 16:9-11