I woke up with a massive headache this morning. I do that a lot, especially on Saturday. I don't know if it's the culmination of the week's events, but it happens way too often. On this particular morning, I started feeling sorry for myself because I am simply tired of this whole experience. I'm tired because I've been dealing with headaches since I was 17 years old; I'm tired because I will endure some type of cancer treatment for the rest of my life; I'm simply tired. Then I started feeling guilty because there are plenty of others who have it so much worse. The experience of this life is so relative. No matter where we are, God cares about our circumstances and is always there to lift us up, just as He was for me this morning. He put this poem on my heart that I learned in junior high school. Yes, I said junior high. It wasn't middle school when I was growing up. (Many of you can relate to that!) It's one of my favorite poems and I used to recite it with my sweet Daddy. The second stanza is especially relevant. I hope it can help you as it did me.

A Psalm of Life

By HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

1807–1882

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

   Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

   And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

   And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

   Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

   Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

   Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

   And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

   Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

   In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

   Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

   Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act,— act in the living Present!

   Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

   We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

   Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

   Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

   With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

   Learn to labor and to wait.