Of his diagnosis today he said, “it is in the hands of the God that I worship.”
I teared up at my desk when I read that, both because it is a testament to the staggering depth of his faith, and because it acknowledges how short the time he has left here most likely is. He’s 90. I don’t know that I’d even want to do radiation.
Jimmy Carter was my first president. I grew up in Reagan’s shadow; it was good old Ronnie to whom I started a letter-writing campaign in second grade, determined to champion nuclear disarmament by the time elementary school was won.
But the first campaign I remember, just a toddler, flashes and images, door-to-door, was Carter’s. He was a legend in our house, growing up. I don’t know how history will judge his presidency, years from now, but there’s no doubt in my mind that when he goes to his rest he can do so certain in the knowledge that his live was well-lived, that he leaves this place better than when he came. He saved lives, he put roofs over people’s heads, he fed the hungry and comforted the afflicted and all of us could stand to learn from his example.
Hang in there, Mr. President. God’s peace.
I remember Ford and the lines for gas. I remember Jimmy Carter and lived in Georgia for part of his presidency. Mr. Carter has been an amazing statesman in his time since leaving office and we will be poorer for his loss.
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