Left Turns, Cars, and God: Sixteen-odd years ago, as I'm driving to a grocery store, I make a left turn out of my driveway, and just as I am about to accelerate out of the turn, I hear a voice from the back seat of my car -- a voice unequivocally not mine -- say something so clear and startling that I have to turn over my shoulder to see who is talking. The voice says, "Prayer works." No one is in the car except me. And, apparently, God. It seems that God does not mind being chauffeured around by a woman who has a history of getting into car accidents. The voice of God changes my life.
Two weeks ago Friday, I am making another left turn, this time from a side road onto a rural two-lane state highway. I hear a voice -- this time unmistakeably mine -- and although I am not talking aloud, I hear myself say: "I've got lung cancer." Like that other left-turn voice from 16 years ago, this voice changes my life. I've smoked two packs a day for just under 40 years. All you second-hand smoke exposed johnny-come-lately carpetbaggers can go cheney yourselves; I came by my metastatic small cell lung cancer the honest way. I earned it.
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