I remember Kirstin's life with gratitude and a smile, but sometimes on this blog, it may seem that my only feeling about her death is one of sadness. But it isn't so. One of the most touching passages in Isaiah is in Chapter 38 and its description of death. I think of hers in these terms:
My dwelling is plucked up and removed from me
like a shepherd's tent;
like a weaver I have rolled up my life;
he cuts me off from the loom.
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