It felt like a small victory over decrepitude when I saw the drop of blood from my finger sink into the green liquid in the test tube; my iron levels were good enough to allow me to donate blood. It was almost more important to have a decent iron level than to donate this, my fiftieth pint. The iron level was the marker that must be passed.
I started donating late, and will never reach a hundred pints; the regular sixteen week visits to various large halls filled with donors like me, interrupted in recent years by anti-malarial pills which necessitated a six-month break; but fifty is a satisfying number. Still, sixty would be better, so I'll keep on donating. Who knows, maybe sixty-five.......
I had thought I might stop giving once I had reached the magic fifty pints. But no, the call is still there, in an email- formulaic, and sent to everyone who has reached this milestone- and so I'll go on as long as I reasonable can.
The call of God works in a similar way- I come so far, thinking I've answered it, and find the call still goes on, find that Christ is still ahead of us, that there is road to travel yet.
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