Footsteps in the sand

It’s 8.45 am and I’ve been lying here in bed as Zsolt prepares his breakfast, thinking about how fortunate we’ve been.

We met randomly while travelling. Two different countries, two different languages – yet here we are today, married. Circumstance suited us, and we made the most of it.

We needed to compromise. Where to live and how to survive? As with any big problem, we turned to the internet for answers. Zsolt sent out a few emails and met his supervisor, with tuition and scholarship to boot.

We got cancer, followed by a summer of mastectomy, recovery, and chemotherapy, all away from home and family.  But Zsolt is writing his thesis (no ten hour days at the office) he is here with me and helping. I work at the library, a job that has been so flexible and supportive. Honestly, I couldn’t ask for a better situation in which to have had cancer, since – apparently – that was what I had to have.

God – however you want to define God – works in incredible ways. It’s like that poem, Footsteps in the sandSomeone, something, somehow is carrying us; it’s wonderful to remember.