“At the last minute, I replaced my Mom’s travel companion on a month-long trip to Tanzania. We spent most of the time working helping to set up a library and took a couple of safaris. When I got back home, I developed a fever, so I had bloodwork done to check for malaria and a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia. Then I get a call from the clinic: “something odd on the chest x-ray.” Seems there is a 3-centimeter lesion or mass on my lung. Could be TB, who knows. As it turns out, the mass isn’t on my lung, it’s just above it, and I have surgery to get it out. It’s so hard you could play golf with it. After the follow-up bloodwork, the doctor hits me with the news: I have papillary thyroid cancer, and I might never have discovered this in time if not for my mom’s travel companion dropping out.”
—Kate Lee
“When I was in seventh grade, I went to Washington, D.C., for a school trip. Before I left, my father—a Vietnam Vet—asked me to look for the name of his buddy on the memorial wall. Well, I quickly forgot the name. I was so consumed with the trip, excited because I would be lodging with some popular girls from school. But a couple days into our visit, it hit me: Vietnam was a huge part of my dad’s life, and my life by extension—his pain factored largely into our household. I wished I’d listened closer when he mentioned his buddy. On the third day, we were scheduled to visit the wall. That morning, I was sitting on the steps of the Smithsonian, racking my brain for that name. Suddenly, a commercial truck drove by emblazoned with the word “Thorpe.” And I remembered instantly: William David Thorpe. When I was 12, I took this as confirmation of God’s existence.”
—Christy DeSmith
