'Because my Name is Lazarus, and I Live!'

A friend told me of the news that a man had been found alive in the rubble in Haiti, after twenty-seven days buried. When he was asked how he survived without water he told them that a man in a white coat had brought him water. Whatever interpretation you wish to put on that, the message at the end is the same – the man lived, and was rescued.

When I told another friend of mine about it, his immediate response was that the man must have something very important to do that God preserved him through such an ordeal. It reminded me of the last line of a poem by G. K. Chesterton.

'Because my name is Lazarus, and I live!'

Do we appreciate being alive as much as we could, and therefore should?

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