“If a man lives his entire life and never finds something worth dying for, I submit that he was never worth living” – Martain Luther King
I grew up surrounded by death and destruction, so I came to grips that when it’s my time it’s my time. Lord willing my death just wouldn’t be in vain. Many childhood friends of mine have passed away prior to their 18th birthday or very soon after. Many of these friends died as martyrs for causes they deemed righteous, while others lost long fought battles with cancer or even depression (that left them feeling as if there was no other way out).
I can honestly count everyday as a humbling blessing because my work could easily be praised as posthumous. Why was my life spared, while theirs was taken? I have no explanation beyond I am here for a reason and I have a greater calling for my life than to merely exist. I have unfinished business to take care of and I owe it to those who are no…
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