The Dreaded 'C' Word

'Cancer' is the word no-one wants to hear from the mouth of a physician. Just by its very sound, 'cancer', there conjures up images of struggle and tears, treatments and surgeries, successes and setbacks, and, sometimes, agony and death. 'Cancer'.

It is odd how sometimes things happen. Last night we received the news that a very good friend has a tumor, probably cancer, surgery might be an option, chemo is not, and now we wait for a consult. This morning I received a call from another friend who has been awaiting news on a biopsy taken last week and it was shared with me that the tumor was benign and, of what was present at the site, all had been removed.

Tears at night, joy in the morning. One facing mortality, another given a new lease on life. One not keeping food down, another ready to go out and celebrate.

It doesn't make sense, O God! We are so fearsomely and wonderfully created in the palm of Your hand, by the breath of Your being! How is it that Your creation, so imaginatively blessed, is also so frighteningly fragile? How is it that for one there is weeping at twilight, while for another the dawn brings laughter? I get the 'Life's not fair!' thing, but it is the absolute equity of the 'not fair thing' that nearly paralyzes hope itself and mutes the words of faith that my soul longs to speak in Your ear. And, if it is not cancer, then it is Alzheimer's, or COPD, or kidney failure, or a heart attack, or any of a multitude of other human maladies. Yet, most sadly, were it not that loved ones so close were in the eye of the storm, I probably would not have noticed, have so deeply felt, so dearly cried out, so passionately sought Your response . . . until that moment when some physician somewhere spoke one of those words with my name attached . . . and my cries for others would become cries for myself. O God, hear the cries of a little boy upon Your lap looking to dry his tears in the embrace of Your love . . . . AND ANSWER ME! Answer us all! Speak in terms that overshadow the deafness of our isolation and pierce through the coldness of our exiled living. Tear apart the curtain of the Temple from top to bottom, just one more time, that my soul would find its rest in the surety of Your will being done . . . in spite of our human weaknesses. Roll that stone away from the tomb all over again that my eyes might see afresh the wisdom of trusting You through the night-time of our grief, that the dawning of the day would be birthed in the joy of women running with Good News to share. O God, O God, O God, blessed be Thy name in all the earth! And blessed are those moments that usher us into Your presence with longing in our hearts and trust in our souls. Here, O God, I begin to ponder more deeply, maybe even understand more poignantly, "Not my will, but Thine be done" upon the lips of Jesus. As He speaks, so I try to live. Forgive my unbelief.

The challenge of cancer, I think, like challenges named by so many other names, is not to try so hard to find the answers to the eternal questions of 'why' and 'how'. Rather, the challenge is to trust the questions themselves to the understanding of God who, in Christ, walks through the shadows of the valley with us, inviting us to experience the cacophony of morning's first light seen through the eyes of the One who throws open the doors of the grave. So, my prayers will find their root on this summer's afternoon . . . . just as soon as the tears cease their flowing and the pangs of heartache ease their tugging.

On the journey with you,

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

He Came Home Stronger

Our youngest son, Ched, went to the Boy Scouts Florida Sea Base for a week of high adventure camping. He snorkeled among the reefs of the Florida Keys, fished, took pictures of sharks and lived without fresh running water or 'facilities' for the entire time . . . and loved it.

As he stepped off of the Metro Link train which brought our local contingent of Scouts back from the airport, I had to stop and catch my breath: Where was the 'boy' we had taken to that same station a short time before? There standing in front of me was a young man, bronzed by the sun, rippling with muscles that had seemingly, overnight, become larger and harder, and whose confidence and abilities made him a leader among his peers.

Looking on, I watched as he grabbed his large duffel bag and slung it over his back, taking a few steps to extend his hand and offer his thanks to the adult leaders with the group. His companions at the Sea Base, gravitated towards him, laughingly sharing stories, promising to keep in touch, and waiting until he acknowledged each one by name and a handshake. With two large strides he moved from them to wrap me in the biggest of bear-hugs a son could offer his father, telling me how much he missed me and, without worry of his nearby peer's opinions, added how much he loved us all.

I walked with Ched from the platform of the station to my car, every step driving deeper the understanding that the 'boy' was becoming a 'man' . . . but just not any man, he is becoming a man of God who values others as God values him. Thus, the handshakes and the words of appreciation to his leaders. Thus, the stories with his camp-mates and the importance of their names on his lips in parting. Thus, his willingness to unashamedly hug his dad and, before those with whom he had shared so much that week, also share with them what most is valued in life with his family.

Maybe that is why each of them stopped and waited until he walked and talked with them in leaving. Maybe that is why he fairly glowed, even in the late evening's fading light, as he moved from train to car, from childhood to adulthood. Maybe that is why I am left pondering the transformation: It happened in the twinkling of an eye - or maybe it just seems that way to a father who has shared so many steps along the way with his sons that I had long taken for granted that which few are ever privileged to witness: a child of God maturing, growing stronger, in the stature of one who walks in faith.

Something inside of me isn't sure I am nearly as ready for the changes Ched is undergoing as he is, but then, is any parent ready for such changes?! What was it that God was thinking of the Son as Jesus stumped the teachers in the Temple? As He gave sight to the blind? Or spoke the words of the Sermon on the Mount? What is it that God thinks of all God's children as they find their legs of faith and walk in the strength of the Lord?

Where the strength of the Lord takes Ched, I do not know, but of this I am glad: I am glad it is the strength of the Lord that leads him and that in all which is before him, I have been allowed this moment in time to see God's light shining in him. Thank you God for such humbling gifts.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Gifts

"It really is not my fault . . . they found me, I didn't go looking for them."

I had stopped in the country near our farm to visit with my aunt when two beautiful, but severely malnourished black lab puppies came running up to me from the nearby field. I didn't know whose they were or from what direction they had arrived, but figured the folks at the neighboring farmhouse might know and, after finishing the visit with my aunt, I picked the two bony little puppies up (quietly chastising the owners who had paid these two so little care) and carried them towards the house. Upon ringing the doorbell at the front door, a voice sounded from the side of the house, "Their yours!" Turning, I saw a fairly good-sized older gentleman heading towards me and I replied, "No, they're not mine. They just came running up to me on the road while I was visiting with my aunt. I figured I was bringing them back home."

"Heck, no!" he said. "While my son and I were watching the flood waters go down from the rain the other night, these two and two more just like them, four in all, came meandering along the creek looking for something to eat. All four are females and none of them had eaten well for quite a while. We gave them a couple of hot dogs from my frig and, after deciding they had probably been dumped, my son took two of them to his house . . . a friend of his will take one and he'll keep one . . . and the other two are what you just put down on the porch. And, they are yours! I'm leaving in two hours for Sturgis, South Dakota, for the Harley gathering and, I probably should take them to the pound, but I'm riding a motorcycle, so . . . if you don't take them, they'll probably just have to fend for themselves."

This guy had no earthly idea that just a month or so ago, I had talked with Nancy about beginning the process of searching for another black lab to replace our beloved Licorice (our first black lab) who had died about three years ago. I justified the suggestion by pointing out that our collie, Trajan, was all alone and needed company for those long days when we were both at work. Nancy, just looked at me and rolled her eyes and said, "We'll think about it", which I took to mean we would discuss it later. I recently found out what she really meant was, 'I could think about it all I wanted, but given that she did most of the work with the dog in terms of grooming and vet visits, it really wasn't going to happen until the Cubs won the World Series.' (Which is the Christian way of saying, It will be a cold day in _ _ _ _!)

So, I called Nancy on the cell phone to 'ask her opinion of what I should do'. If you listen to Nancy tell the story, I sounded like a little kid in the toy store on Christmas Eve, though I thought I was rather reserved and contemplative. Either way, a few short minutes later, two 9 or 10 week old black lab puppies were on the front seat of my car on their way to their new home in Lebanon, visa via the veterinaries clinic in the nearby town.

Their names are Mulligan (taken from a golf term meaning, 'A free second chance') and Birdie (simply because she is a 'bird' - into everything) and they are quickly making it clear that they are an answer to prayer . . . . maybe not Nancy's prayer, and not exactly what I was thinking about, but clearly an answer to a prayer for Trajan. He has more company now than he really appreciates, frequently looking at me like, 'Are you mad? Do you have any idea what these two are capable of wreaking in this household? What happened to my quiet time?'

Sometimes, God has a way of answering thoughts, suggestions and prayers in ways that we are quite simply incapable of imagining . . . and Mulligan and Birdie are two of the latest examples God's great sense of humor. Other than getting up through the night every 3 hours to let them out so that they will become kennel trained by Fall, they have been a ray of sunshine for all of us in our family . . . . gifts of a very loving and knowing God.

Nancy tells our friends with a wink of her eye that I somehow engineered all of this and fabricated an elaborate ruse to make it all happen, but deep down, she knows I will never vary from my original story and she will only fall more deeply in love with these two beautiful dogs with every passing day.

"It really is not my fault . . . they found me. I didn't go looking for them." That's my story and I'm sticking to it! (Thank you, God, for the gifts with which you surprise us!)

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don