Several weeks ago my grandfather (Lemuel Stevens or “Papaw” as we all called him) passed away in Mobile, Alabama at the age of 97.

It was hard not to be there to celebrate his life.  But, I had the great opportunity to spend a lot of fun times with him when we were both healthy.

From a small boy’s perspective, he was the strongest man I knew.  From where I stand now at 55 years old, my opinion of him has never changed.  Dad ran a close second.

He worked hard, not to accumulate wealth, but to provide for the family.  He’d get up at 4;30 or 5 in the morning I believe, rattle a few pots and pans that woke all us kids sleeping on the living room floor.  He would then go to work at Laurel Machine and Foundry in Laurel, Mississippi and get home right at supper time.

The steel foundry was hard work.  No paid vacation, no insurance package, no 401k.  All the benefits we expect in an employer today.  As a little boy, it was awesome to go see him at work.  Watch molten steel being poured into forms, watch the lathe pare down raw pieces of steel into something usable for a specific purpose and to watch him use a “hammer” as big as a small car to bend steel bars into the desired shape.

I remember once asking him if anyone ever got hurt using this massive hydraulic hammer and he smiled and said yes.  In his musical Mississippi accent he said that one time some feller got his hand too close and it got his finger which snapped off and shot across the room.  45 years later I still don’t know if it was true or just a grandpa messing with his grandson.  At any rate, it gave me that much more respect that he had done this job all those years and still possessed all of his digits.

Some of my favorite Papaw memories were waking up on Sunday morning with the “Gospel Jubilee music hour on their old TV playing as we all got dressed for church.  We would go to tiny Pineview Congregational Methodist Church where 75% of the small congregation either bore that last name of Stevens or at one time did until they got married.

During the summer we’d travel from Texas to Mississippi.  He and Dad would make ice cream in an old hand-crank ice cream maker.  At night they would disappear.   One night I asked Mamaw (my grandmother) where they were.  “Oh they’re sitting outside.”  I went out and found them staring at the sky.  When I asked them what they were doing, Papaw said “looking for UFOs”.  That sounded like an invitation to a young boy to grab another lawn chair and help out.

My first year of grad school at Southern Mississippi University I got to live right next to Papaw and Mamaw’s trailer.  We ate dinner together nearly every single night.  We would watch Tom Brokaw on the NBC Evening News and Wheel of Fortune then eat.  It doesn’t sound like much, but I loved that routine.

I came to appreciate Papaw and Mamaw’s relationship.  As a little kid I never noticed how funny they were.

I’ll never forget, one-night Mamaw made one of her amazing sweet potato pies that Papaw and I loved.  We both agreed that we could eat a whole pie in one sitting.  She put the pie on the table right in front of Papaw.  Then she placed a large plateful of the worst bean know to mankind, the poorly named butter bean.  The only way she’d let him touch the pie was to eat all his beans first.  It was like an old west stand-off.   Needless to say, it was a long time before either of us got a taste of that pie.  Mamaw didn’t laugh out loud but it was clear she was loving every moment.

There was a playfulness to their marriage that I began to notice and admire.  It taught me to never lose sight of the fun in your spouse and your marriage that was likely part of the first attraction.

He also taught me the value of service and neighborliness.

He served his country, he served his church, he helped friends and neighbors and he served his God.  When a neighbor needed help, Papaw would help.  As Mamaw once said of him “He’s never met a stranger.”

Last year when I was ill, a friend at work sent me a verse from the Old Testament.  King Hezekiah was at the point of death and the prophet Isaiah visited him to give him a word from God.

2 Kings 20:5 says “This is what the Lord, the God of your father David says: I have heard your prayer and seen your tears; I will heal you.”

One night while reading this verse, I found myself saying, “This is what the Lord, the God of your father Robert, and his father Lemuel, and his father Robert says…”

What a legacy to step into.

I miss Papaw but it is a comfort to know that one day we’ll sit in heaven with a sweet potato pie between us that we can enjoy without the evil butterbeans to go through first.

The past month has been a challenge in addition to the loss of my grandfather.   On June 5^th I left for my longest work travel since my first surgery.  One of our ships had a planned itinerary from NW Alaska starting in Seward bound to a famous peninsula in Eastern Russia called Kamchatka.  The trips were long, sold out and there was a lot of planning that went into them by many people.  Consequently, cancelling or delaying these trips was millions of dollars in loss.

One of the steps is to have an intense inspection of the ship by the U.S. Coast Guard because the ship is registered with a foreign country rather than the U.S.

The inspection was scheduled to take place over 2 full days in Hilo, Hawaii.  I worked 9-10 hours those days, which is not unusual for me on similar occasions.  My flight between Seattle and Hilo was 12-13 hours each way.  I flew to Hilo on June 5 and flew back on June 8.  June 6 and 7^th were the long days with the Coast Guard.

I was exhausted when I got in the driveway at about midnight on the 8^th.  I’ve been really tired before from long hard days of physical labor, but this felt different.  It was fatigue, something way more pervasive than just being tired.

This lasted for 6 weeks and took a long time to feel like I was all the way back. I returned from my work trip about 6 weeks after surgery.  A few days after I got home, I had an audit of our Safety Management System for which I have total responsibility.

The organization which conducts the audit issues a certificate without which, 6 of our 8 ships have to cease operation until we are able to correct any deficiencies.  It’s highly unlikely that would ever happen, but I give it all due respect.

Both the Coast Guard inspection and the audit went very well so we could all take a deep breath, at least for a little while, but it was a time of intense pressure.

Shortly after all this I had my first MRI and follow up appointments since the first day after surgery.  In the follow up with my surgeon Dr. Sanchez, he walked into the room and said “your MRI looks great!”  What a relief.

A few days later we saw Dr. Taylor, my oncologist and she said the same thing.  It was a good day.

Praise God for His mercy, grace, and love show to our family.

July 23^rd was the 1-year anniversary of my first surgery when our life dramatically changed.  It didn’t feel like the sort of anniversary to be celebrated.  I won’t lie, it has been extremely difficult at times.

Dr. appointments that have left us crying and in shock.

Tests in which we anxiously waited on results with our eyes closed and heads bowed in prayer.

Treatments such as radiation and chemo that were just words we’d heard in the past.

But, Lisha put it best as she does every time.  “We made it babe and we did good.”

I’ve learned that it’s easy to let a slice of your day take on a life of its own.  A couple of nights ago was one of those times.  My chemo pills hit me like never before.  It was as awful as you can imagine for both of us.  We were both pretty gloomy the next day.  I went on a short walk and it occurred to me that the night was just an event and not a setback.  I was heading down a path letting that night becoming something bigger.  It was just a slice of a day.  For many taking chemo this is a regular occurrence.  We continue to rely on the comfort and peace that passes all understanding as God provides for us.

 

In what is certainly a much longer story than I can articulate in a few sentences, waiting patiently for God turned into action. In spite of advice from a couple of doctors not to go through with surgery due to some risks, both Lisha and I felt God’s peace and assurance that this was the right next step.

I had another, more detailed MRI and the surgeon from Virginia Mason (Dr. Sanchez) called to tell me it suggested a recurrence. We met with him and he seemed very confident that another surgery was the best option and he had no concerns about managing any risks. We wanted to talk to one more doctor before scheduling surgery. He mentioned that he could set me up on the OR schedule if we wanted because it was easier to reserve a spot and cancel that to get one at the last minute. We decided to wait.

As I drove us to our next appointment, Lisha and I talked about another surgery. We both felt strongly that was where God was leading us and Dr. Sanchez was where the path led.

In a moment of determined expression of love, Alisha grabbed her phone and called the scheduler at Virginia Mason. She basically told them her husband needed brain surgery and could they get him in Monday morning after Easter? They said “OK”. How does that happen? Woman cold calls a hospital and says husband needs brain surgery on Monday morning and they say “sure, no problem”. It still makes me laugh. Mom flew up to help and on Sunday night I again kissed the girls and we drove to the hotel across the street from the hospital.

The next few days are a bit of a blur as the anesthesia effects faded and medical “angels” came and went throughout the next three days and two nights. I had some visits from friends and was just generally encouraged.

Dr. Sanchez was encouraging as well in his visit after surgery. I was discharged on Wednesday afternoon and it felt good to be home together again.

The doctor at UW said he would not do this surgery because there was an artery in my brain that would prevent him removing everything that needed to be removed. When I told him the team at UCSF (one option we had researched) who had reviewed my case had recommended surgery, he replied, “I’m sure Dr. Berger wasn’t part of that. He would never recommend surgery in this circumstance with the vascular risk”.

When we met with Dr. Sanchez after surgery, he spent some time explaining how he was able to get around the artery in order to get to the place he need to clean out. In an extraordinary moment, he said he fell back on teaching by a mentor in his years at UCSF…named Dr. Berger.

Here I sit on a Friday afternoon in my bed reminding myself to keep taking it one day at a time. Concerned friends and family are wanting to know “next steps”. Truth is, I haven’t thought ahead much about what’s next, just reading my bible, being with my family, and enjoying the beauty out my window. I wish I could say its easy to stay in this mental “space” or resting and healing but my mind does wander.

There is a song I’ve been listening to that resonated with where I am at the moment “When you walk into the room”. It’s recorded by Bryan and Katie Torwalt but I found a live video from Upper Room Worship on line that I love.

The words to part of the song are: “When you walk into the room everything changes, darkness starts to tremble at the light that you bring. When you walk into the room, every heart starts burning and nothing matters more than just to sit here at your feet and worship you”.

I know HE is in the room with me, that everything is changed about my heart and that my spontaneous response is to sit at his feet and worship.  That is my desire today.

Full disclosure here. When I was first diagnosed last July, I received messages, letters, generous support from all across the globe. I found myself sitting outside, overwhelmed by all this when I had a feeling come over me best described by the famous Oscars acceptance speech of Sally Field…”I can’t deny the fact that you like me!” Truthfully, it was more in line with her misquote “You like me! You really, really like me!”

I have often heard “sin” being described as those things which keeps us separate or out of relationship with God. While sitting there, I felt like a spotlight was shined on the primary thing that separates me from God. That day I saw the true nature of who I am; a person seeking his own. I’ve never thought of myself as self-centered but I loved the attention and words of encouragement more than any person should. It has made me far more aware of those moments when I find satisfaction in being acknowledged. I’m not talking about reasonable response to words of encouragement or fondness. I’m talking about the attitude of “I can’t deny the fact that you like me.”

Sitting at the feet of God and worshiping Him, giving thanks that I can write this and for a skilled surgeon who was bold and courageous as I asked him to be is a sure-fire step in the right direction for me to see a world that’s not all about me.  That is the direction, as I’ve mentioned before, of a heart with spiritual senses being refined to look for opportunities to show kindness, generosity and mercy.

Peace with waiting is getting a little easier.

 

 

The past couple of weeks have been a roller coaster ride for us and a good reminder to stay in the day.

My MRI a few weeks ago did not reveal good results.  I showed a tumor growing in the same location where the other had been removed.  We were numb.  As the doctor’s words sunk in I leaned over, put my head in my hands and cried out over and over “Jesus, please help us.”  Alisha fought back tears.  We talked about a couple of options but couldn’t really absorb them in the moment.  I don’t really remember anything about the rest of that day or the next couple after.

My sister, Sheryl offered some great encouragement.  “The fight is not over, you just need to change weapons.”

One weapon is a clinical trial going on at University of California, San Francisco.  It was an extension of a study going on at Duke University that my friend Ray had been encouraged by.

Alisha, who may be the strongest person on the planet, started making calls the next day.  She gathered numerous records from the hospital (a 4 ½ hour round trip from our home) and sent them off to those who needed to review my situation.

By the next day we had consults set up with 2 neurosurgeons, one at Virginia Mason where I had my original surgery, and a second at University of Washington.  We had a third phone consult with a doctor working with the study at UC San Francisco.

The consult with the doctor at UCSF caught us off guard.  She said that she presented my case to a board there and that I wasn’t a candidate for the clinical trial (a phrase I never thought I’d use in relation to myself).  She said that they recommended another surgery and mentioned that they often do many surgeries on the same individual as they have found it to be most effective.

The meeting at Virginia Mason gave us great hope.  The surgeon agreed with the team at UCSF and had, in fact worked there for 5 years.  He was really experienced, positive and hopeful.  We left the appointment so encouraged.

My Aunt Carolyn, who is a many-year survivor of breast cancer said that her doctor had told her 50% of your treatment is having a positive, hopeful attitude.  My doctor overseeing my treatment always seemed to have an air of doubt when he walked into the room.  Almost as if he was thinking “This poor sap has no idea.  He’s clearly in denial.”  When your “Head Coach doesn’t think you can win, it’s hard to keep that optimistic attitude.  Can you imagine the effect on a team in any sport if the coach came in the locker room before the game or during a time-out and said to their team, “we don’t stand a chance.”  What would the impact be on the team.  I want a Pete Carroll in my corner, positive, encouraging, competitive and always believing and coaching as if any game were winnable.  We have that coach in the form of God, but I want the “assistant coaches” to have the same demeanor.

While we felt so hopeful with the meeting with the surgeon, we wanted to complete our due diligence and meet with the doctor at UW.

The appointment coincided with the first day of our 20^th anniversary getaway.  We should have got up and walked out when he entered the room.  He was probably in his mid-60’s and had an arrogant, condescending air about him which grew more dense and oppressive with every word he spoke.  He completely rejected the recommendations of the other 2 institutions, who had looked at the same images and reports that he had seen and had been presented to 2 boards of experts.

Logic would tell you that the 2 other recommendations would carry more weight but being caught off-guard by such a negative and cynical man drove doubt and fear back in our hearts and threatened to squash the hope and optimism of the previous 2 consultations.

We walked out in a daze for the second time in as many weeks.  When we got in the car, my kind, gentle wife said “I want to punch that guy right in the face.”   As we processed it over the next few days it became apparent that all the prayers lifted up for clarity in our path were clearly answered.

The other reaction I had was one I haven’t felt in many years.  I’ve told people that have only known me fairly recently that I was probably the most competitive person they had ever met.  But not having participated in any competition of sorts (other than a game of lousy golf with my friends) those feelings had dulled a bit.  My family would get a taste of it when I would yell at the refs during the girls basketball games, but that was the tip of the iceberg compared to when I was a younger man.

But this doctor stoked a fire that had been dormant for many years.  As we drove along, and the flame grew, I told Alisha “THAT guy is NOT going to beat me.  There is NO WAY he is going to win.”

I know without doubt that I am solely in God’s hands.  But as Mom has told me many times, “You do your part and let God do His part.”  I don’t know if it is my part in this case to turn it into a competition, but the fire is burning for sure.

The other thing that happened in the past couple of weeks was an encounter I had with a homeless young man on the corner of 1^st and Blanchard in downtown Seattle.

Several months ago I left the office at lunch and in my head as I walked out I started thinking of the words of Jesus to Peter “feed my sheep”.  I walked back to the office after getting some fresh air and saw a homeless woman on the sidewalk near my favorite bakery.  She asked me for some money and I had couple of dollars in my wallet so I gave it to her.  I was going to the bakery to get a chocolate chip cookie and for some reason thought she might like a few as well.  In some goofy way I had done a little bit to “feed a sheep” and it felt good to do so.  Since then I try to keep a couple of dollars in my pocket for such an occasion.

This particular day on the corner of 1^st and Blanchard I passed a young man walking the opposite direction.  He said something as we passed and I turned and asked him what he said.  He stopped and asked if I had some money to help him.  He seemed wound up like he was high.  I asked him what he would do with anything I gave him.  He was quiet for a few moments then said “I can’t lie.  I’m going to buy some weed.  I’ve been asleep for a long time.”

I told him I couldn’t help him with that.  He said, “but it’s legal in Washington.”  I told him it wasn’t legal in my heart and started walking away.  He said, “but you told me you would help me.”

I told him that I was sorry but I couldn’t.  He told me that he would use it to by food.  I asked him how could I trust him.  He insisted he would use it to buy food.  As it so happened this day, I had a 20 in my pocket.  I gave it to him and said I was out of the picture and what he did with the money was between he and God.

He drew near and looked at me closely for a second then asked “Are you in trouble?”  I said “Yes, I have a brain tumor.”  He either said “I can help you” or “I can heal you.”

He put his hand over his eyes and with the other extended his arm and pointed 2 fingers at me.  He started to shake and it was clear he was praying.  I closed my eyes and started praying to myself as well.  He stopped for a minute and did the same thing again.  When he was done I thanked him.

It was a strange scene I’m sure for anyone who witnessed it.  I turned and started walking away and he did the same.  When I give folks a few dollars, I usually ask them their name and tell them I will pray for them.  I realized that I hadn’t asked this young man his name.  He was pretty far away so I shouted at him “Hey, what’s your name?”

He stopped walking and said “I am Michael, the Archangel” then walked away.  As I continued toward the ferry I asked God “What do I do with that?” many times.  When I boarded the ferry, I called my friend Brent, who is the pastor at our church.  I told him the story and asked him the same question.

He said that first of all, he didn’t think that Michael the Archangel would be asking for money to buy weed.

That made plenty of sense, but I also felt weird about the experience.  Several people have told me not to put my hope in this strange encounter, but the lesson is that I don’t care who wants to pray for me.  If this guy wanted to pray for me, then heck yeah.

At this point we are seeking God’s word to be a light unto our path and a lamp unto our feet so that we don’t stumble in the dark.

I am constantly reminded as I read the Psalms to “wait on the Lord.”  This is not the sort of situation where “waiting” seems to be advisable.  However, in our hearts, “waiting” is synonymous with “nothing’s happening.”  Alisha and I want answers and action quickly, decisively and confidently.  That is our human reaction and how we keep fear and worry at bay.  When you can’t see the full picture you can’t see how your tiny dot on the canvas connects.

A couple of years ago we had the good fortune to visit Paris.  While there we went to the Musee d’ Orsay, an art museum which houses the most incredible collection of impressionism art.  It also contains several Van Gough paintings of which my favorite was “Starry Night.”  There is something in the stars in the night sky of the painting that come alive.  Without each small dot of a star, the painting would seem incomplete.  I wonder if “waiting on the Lord” is similar in the sense that each small dot or brush stroke of our lives on the canvass is important to completing the picture and they each need to be carefully and patiently made in the right order for the “stars to come alive” so to speak.

In thinking of life this way, waiting is not the same as “nothing’s happening, but rather the Painter bringing all the parts together in the right sequence with care to turn the canvass into a masterpiece like Starry Night.

And so we wait patiently on the Lord.

 

 

In the late ‘80s I lived in the North Dallas area.  At that time, you could get tickets to see the Texas Rangers for less than $10 and sit in the bleachers.  Some friends and I would frequently go to games.  We’d slow roast in the hot Texas summer sun and eat chips floating in Velveeta cheese sold under the name “nachos”. I would beg my friends to stop me from adding a pile of jalapeno peppers to my nachos, but sadly they could not be trusted to save me from myself.  Or maybe it was because they secretly delighted in the fact that sometime the next morning in the middle of the group therapy session I led, my poor decision of the night before would rear its ugly head.

The Rangers had minor league affiliates in Oklahoma City and a AA team in Tulsa.  I had never seen a minor league game so one weekend my friend, Chris and I decided to take a road trip and see the Oklahoma 89ers one night and the Tulsa Drillers the next.

One thing to know about minor league baseball is that the lower the level of minor league team, the more their games look like a variety show with some baseball thrown in.  When we arrived at the stadium in Tulsa we learned that the warm-up act to the game that night was an act called “Lady Dynamite.”  The way it goes is that a woman comes out to home plate where a box made of some unknown material awaits.  She puts on a motorcycle helmet and climbs in the box and it is sealed up.  There follows an enormous explosion and when the smoke and debris clear, Lady Dynamite rises from the ashes.  It was awesome.  You can’t make this stuff up.  In fact, if you Google “Dynamite lady blows herself up!” you can see a video for yourself.

Strange enough, I was reminded of Lady Dynamite Sunday night.  My next scheduled MRI is this week.  We’ve struggled with more than our share of anxiety and fear these past few weeks.  The scripture “pray without ceasing” comes to mind.  It’s an easy thing to say “have faith” or “trust in God” but sometimes other feelings battle with that faith and trust.

After church Sunday, Alisha and I went for a bike ride in the beautiful sunshine we were blessed with.  There was a concert happening at the church that evening.  I hadn’t planned on going but as we rode and talked Alisha said “I think you should go to that concert.  I think it will be good for you.”  I don’t normally like to leave the family on Sundays, but it felt like the right thing to do.  I felt I needed some time of quiet prayer and reflection.

I found a seat long before the concert started and just tried to search my heart and better understand these feelings that I had.  At the front of our church a large cross hangs on the wall.  As I sat there I wondered, maybe for the first time in my life, what it was like to hang there on the cross.  I know that it may sound morbid to some, but it was important for me to consider what the center of my faith may have felt as he hung from the cross, not just physically, but emotionally.  What did the view look like from that vantage point, surrounded both by people who loved him and hated him enough to kill him.

For whatever reason, in that moment I realized that from that perspective I felt like my view was from a prison.  And not just a prison, but solitary confinement.  Dark, oppressive, inescapable.  That is how I had been feeling, right or wrong.  I had a picture in my head of God because of the sacrifice made on the cross loving me enough to blast the cell open and setting me free.   Crazy as it sounds, I thought of Lady Dynamite all those years ago when with a single ear shattering blast she was set free and rose from the ashes.

This morning I sent up a flare asking for prayer from friends and family.  Last night Alisha and I went to our rock, prayed and lit a fuse that will blow open the door of the cell.  We wrote all of our fears and prayers on pieces of paper and lit them.  As the smoke rose I imagined those fears and prayers rising up to God’s inclined ear.

While I was in Baja a couple of weeks ago, I was in my cabin on the ship and thinking about hitting the sack after a long day of work.  Suddenly my phone started buzzing and I could see it was a Facetime call from Hannah.  She had the phone close to her face when I connected and screamed “I MADE THE TEAM!!!”  It was a moment of pure joy, relief and accomplishment.

Hannah has been playing Parks & Rec basketball since 5^th grade.  This year she decided to try out for the school team.  I knew she was anxious and was so proud of her for having the courage to try something she was unsure of.  That is a life lesson that will carry her a lot further than her basketball skills.

Practice is daily after school and she still had some practices and a couple of games with her Parks & Rec team.  At some point during the first couple of weeks of school practice she came to the realization that she wouldn’t be able to hang out with her friends as much.  Lisha and I sat on the couch talking to her about this and I went into problem-solving mode as I typically do.  None of my solutions, no matter how brilliant, seemed to help and only made her more upset.  She finally got up and left.

As Lisha and I processed the conversation she said that Hannah was afraid of losing her friends and being alone.  Therein lies the difference between listening and hearing.  How could I have so completely missed it.  Lisha hears and I listen…consistently.  What does Jesus say often “He who has ears to hear.”  I have ears to hear but often don’t.  How is that?

One of my favorite times of the week is the 20-minute drive home I have with Hannah after picking her up from Youth Group on Wednesday nights.  It’s our uninterrupted time to really talk.  The Wednesday after this conversation, Hannah and I talked about her friends and that true friends don’t leave but rather stand by you for life and let you know when you headed down a dangerous road.  I gave her some recent examples from my life.

Last week we had the joy of seeing some of these friends.  Kevin and Adrienne Latz and their daughter Mia came for a weekend visit from Kansas City.  We were encouraged, loved and just generally cheered up by their presence.  Mark and Michelle came over and we had a great time.  The kids got to hear more stories of pranks and other stupid things we did in college and hopefully they weren’t paying too close attention.  Mom, don’t ask 🙂

When I read the words of the Apostle Paul, it’s clear that he had the same kind of friends who stood by him and prayed for him when all seemed lost.

We should all be so blessed and fortunate .  I know that I am with my old friends and the new ones who have showed up in my life the past 6 months in many different ways and are quickly becoming old friends.  Thank you all.

On the subject of blessings, it is snowing outside and a beautiful blanket of white lies in the trees and fields all around us.  What a gift of beauty that I don’t take for granted just like an old friend.

 

The past few weeks work has been overwhelmingly busy.  I thank God for the good folks that work for me and those in our office who are like brothers and sisters to me.  They encourage me support me and “have my back” when I am struggling.  Nevertheless, sometimes the 4 ½ hour commute is exhausting.  I finished my 4^th round of chemo this week.  It was back to the max dose so that likely contributed to my fatigue.

Thursday morning as I was driving to the Park-n-Ride at a little after 5 I felt nauseous, I was so worn out.  I was weary, not just tired.  As I drove, I prayed out loud for God to give me the strength that I didn’t have within myself.  I called to mind scripture of His promises to give us strength if we would lean on Him.  I backed the truck into the parking spot, bracing myself for the cold wait for the bus.  I decided to sit in the warmth of the truck and wait for the bus a little longer.  I read a devotional from an app called Jesus Calling.  It is a short daily inspiration.

Seconds after I finished praying for strength for my weary body and mind, I read this: I am your strength and shield. I plan out each day and have it ready for you, long before you arise from bed. I also provide the strength you need each step of the way. Instead of assessing your energy level and wondering about what’s on the road ahead, concentrate on staying in touch with Me. My Power flows freely into you through our open communication. Refuse to waste energy worrying, and you will have strength to spare. Whenever you start to feel afraid, remember that I am your Shield.

It was an immediate and loud message to me that I needed to hear.  I took the next day off and slept, rested, read and ended the day feeling much better.

I am also inspired by my “brothers and sisters in arms” fighting a similar battle as myself.  We have formed a tight network that encourages, confides, and prays for each other.  I know there are more anxious moments in our future but for now, rest and seek strength that I don’t have within myself from One who is able to provide it.

 

It’s Friday and I’m on the ferry heading home, looking forward to a restful weekend, broken only by cheering Chloe on in her basketball game.

The past 8 days have been long.

Last Thursday I boarded Alaska Airlines flight 204 and headed south to Cabo San Lucas.  Lest you think it was a glamorous several days of basking in the sunshine on a beautiful beach, let me set the record straight.  It was a work trip and I spent most of my waking hours interviewing crew members, digging into various records and wandering the bowels of a 238’ passenger ship in La Paz.

I got home on Sunday night which was the longest I had been away from Lisha and the kids since my surgery.

In spite of the sleepless nights in Baja it was good to be in our old stomping grounds.  I spent most of 9 winters in the 90s sailing around the Sea of Cortez and Magdalena Bay on one of our ships.  I love the feel and smell of Baja.  Alisha and I had our first “real” date in La Paz.  We had ice cream at La Fuente’, and went shopping for tennis shoes for me, which I promptly left in the cab upon returning to the ship. For some reason love leaves me lacking in clarity of thought.

We have many fond memories of our time working on the ship in Baja.  Hiking on remote islands in the Sea of Cortez, throwing the baseball in the dunes in Magdalena Bay on the Pacific side of the peninsula, and frequently visiting the ice cream shop in La Paz.

Two things haven’t changed in the past 21 years, our love of ice cream and my total infatuation with my date that night.

Christmas was great.  It was the typical gift unwrapping mayhem that makes us so thankful.

The reindeer only nibbled at their carrots per usual.

We spent New Years at Mom’s house in Texas.  I had the wonderful opportunity to see many of my family.  It was great to look them in the eyes, give them a hug and thank them for all their prayers and encouragement.  My brother, Todd made a head count of all the people in Mom’s house one night.  I believe the final tally was 27 humans (five who were age 4 and under) and one well-behaved black lab.  It was total chaos in its most beautiful form.

All of this preceded some dark clouds looming on the horizon.  My next quarterly MRI and doctor’s appointment was approaching.  This past Wednesday we had the MRI and doc visit.  The doctor said that there were some changes from my previous one.  I asked him if it was good news or bad news.  He said it was just news.  I asked him if he was concerned and he said “no”.  Since I don’t have any symptoms he wasn’t concerned.

I texted some good friends of mine what my doctor had said.  They are experienced doctors, and prayer warriors that I have looked up to for 35 years or more.   They texted me back right away with encouraging thoughts which lifted a huge burden off of me.  It’s a blessing to have folks like that in your corner, let me tell you.

The dark clouds hung around for awhile as Lisha and I seemed to suffer an emotional hangover from the whole experience.  I know this is our life going forward and I know the tools we have to help us are the prayers of many and focusing on the day at hand.

Yesterday during my quiet time on the ferry, I read a passage in my Bible about another storm.  I’ve read it many times over the years and have heard the story since I was very young, but this time something new caught my eye.

In John 6:16-20 it says, “When evening came, his disciples went down to the lake, where they got into a boat and set off across the lake for Capernaum. By now it was dark, and Jesus had not yet joined them.  A strong wind was blowing and the waters grew rough.  When they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus approaching the boat, walking on the water; and they were frightened. But he said to them, “It is I; don’t be afraid.” Then they were willing to take him into the boat,

The thing that caught my attention is the part where it says “Then they were willing to take him into the boat.”, like they were on the fence about letting Jesus join them in the boat.

I can imagine the conversation.

“Should we let him in the boat?”

“I don’t know.  It’s really crowded in here and he seems to be doing pretty good.  I mean, he caught up with us.”

“But he is a really good rower and I’ve got a big blister on my hand.”

“OK, let’s vote.  Who’s willing to take him into the boat?  7-5…Hey Jesus, you wanna come in the boat?”

They had seen Jesus do all sorts of miracles.  In fact, just before this he had fed 5000 people with a couple of catfish and a basket of hush puppies (I’m from the south and this is how we see it.) and yet in the midst of trying to row in strong winds and large waves they seemed reluctant to let this guy WALKING ON WATER in to their boat to help them.

I’m sure I’m often the same way, although this past week we were desperate for Jesus to be in the boat with us.

In those days of doubt in a storm, when I find myself trying to row myself ashore, I need to remember what the Water Walker has done for me and my family in the past.  What great confidence it gives me to know that Jesus will get in the boat if we ask and help us to the far shore.

It’s Christmas Day around 3 pm and as the father of 2 youngish girls, I need a nap.  Lisha told them they couldn’t come get us up until 8.  I told her she’s smoking crack if she thinks they can stay in bed that long.  At 6 I woke up to giggling downstairs and woke up to it a few more times.  To their credit it wasn’t until 7:55 that I heard squeaking stairs, the result of excited tip toeing.  Apologies to my beautiful wife and I suppose I can call off the drug intervention😊.

It’s been a fun day that really started yesterday.  The girls and I went out and shot baskets.  We were going to play “HORSE” but instead played “SANTA”.  Then we had a Christmas miracle, the sun peeked out.  It was such a shocking phenomenon that Lisha and I jumped on our bikes and went for a short ride.  It was our first one in a few weeks and was therapeutic.

That evening we went to our favorite church service of the year, our candlelight service.  Lisha’s brother and sister joined us and it was truly a special time.  If you get a chance to check it out on our Facebook page (Peninsula Bible Fellowship) there is a live recording.  The music was simple and beautiful.  There is a rendition of The First Noel that is moving.  It’s a favorite of mine because Alisha’s middle name is Noel, which I think it a really cool name.

It’s hard to hold back the tears when candles are lifted high while the strains of Silent Night are sung as one voice.  It has never been as meaningful to me as it is now.

I love this time of year.  In keeping with the rest of our family traditions we watched “Elf” after the service.  The kids got to open their one Christmas Eve present (the same as us when we were little kids), NEW PAJAMAS!  I love it.

There is so much to say about this day, this moment, yet words escape me.  I suppose at its simplest, I find myself refusing a handshake these days and going straight for the hug, nearly always.  I have yet to get the sense that it wasn’t welcome.  The words “I love you” come pretty easily, even with people I only sorta know.  And you know what, I feel like I hear others saying it more often.  Spreading love and encouragement is like spreading a virus I think.  We should all be so infected.

On Sunday I got a text message from a friend in New York who has been fighting a difficult battle and had been in the hospital for a couple of weeks.  He desperately wanted to be home for Christmas and this had been a daily prayer of mine.  The text on Sunday simply said “finally out!  Christmas prayers answered.”  I called him right away and we just rejoiced in the gift that he could be home with his wife and children.  Rejoicing changes the condition of a heart.  This is the day that the Lord has made.  Let us rejoice and be glad in it.  I hope you find something that brings true rejoicing on this Christmas Day because it feels pretty darned good.

Hugs and I love you.

 

My appointment I mentioned in my last post went well.  My doctor seemed unconcerned and said he thought that some things I had done to stress my body had kick-started this cycle.  He reminded me there would be ups and downs like this.

While I felt an enormous sense of relief, the fear that things would come back on a daily basis never really left altogether.  Honestly, they are there every second of every minute of every waking hour I have.  I pray constantly for deliverance and talk to friends and family, but I find myself still on edge.  Fighting fear is an exhausting emotional ordeal.  As my cousin said, “it’s only one thought away.”

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been having some episodes that are different in nature but no less troubling.

With the original “pre-diagnosis” spells I would always get a bad taste in my mouth, followed by lots of saliva and then tingling lips.  Every time.  Sometimes I would have a feeling of fear like a premonition.  They were the same pattern every time which was the indicator for my doctor that these were seizures and not stress or anxiety.

What I am experiencing now is different.  I get a surge of fear and anxiety.  I nearly always get chills like I’m cold and often feel queasy.  It is terribly unsettling.  It’s as unpredictable as an earthquake.  I often liken it to a terrorist attack.

It breeds fear.  I’m sure the biggest part of my fear is that a tumor has come back, even though my neurologist has told me this is a normal phenomenon and my recent MRI was good.

The Bible is full of passages dealing with fear and worry and I pour over them seeking comfort and strength as I deal with fear, discouragement and, if I were to be honest with myself, a little depression.

It’s hard to know what to do, hard to hide these episodes as I try to protect my family from worry.  The last 3 weeks have exhausted me and I feel a little lost truthfully.

One that that has been a consistent help has been a visit, phone call or a note from a friend.  A few weeks ago Mark and Michelle came over for a couple of hours.  Tom and Lauren swung by for dinner Sunday before last.  I had a great lunch with my friend Peter this week and we talked about nothing but baseball for a solid hour.  Last night in a moment of distress I called by workmate Keith who happened to be in the most southern city in the world getting ready for bed.  He was ready with an encouraging word and a prayer for a friend.

What a lifted burden and relief to talk about something else for a while.  At night I’ve been periodically reading Treasure Island with Chloe and The Lord of The Rings with Hannah.  I pulled out my personal all-time favorite “Robinson Crusoe” the other day and plan to read it for the 4^th or 5^th time.

I love God, I love my wife, I love my children and I love my friends.  I call this to mind tonight as well as the words of advice from my Aunt Carolyn; One day at a time and patience with the process.

This week, at some encouragement from several people I saw my personal doctor seeking some help to break this cycle of fear and anxiety.  It was a difficult step and felt a little like weakness and failure.  But truth be told, some of the most mentally tough people I know had to ask for help when in a similar crisis.

I share this solely in the hope and prayer that it may help someone else in their own struggle.

Regardless of all of the above, there is a passage in the Bible that essentially says “Where the spirit of heaviness is, put on the garment of praise.”  I love the picture of clothing oneself in praise when you are going through tough times.  One sure fire way I’ve found over the years to crawl out of a pit is to give praise to God for all the good things in life; in my immediate circle this evening that would include the beautiful tree in the living room, the cookies being baked in the kitchen as I write, the uncontrolled excitement in the air by Chloe in particular and the kind neighbors near us who are about to get a batch of those warm cookies hand delivered on a dark and stormy night.

As Psalm 103:2 says “May I never forget the good things He does for me.”

One last thing has been of great help to us over the past few months.

A couple of months ago our pastor preached a series on Jacob.

In Genesis 35:14 it talks about where God had just spoken to him.

“14 Jacob set up a stone pillar to mark the place where God had spoken to him.“

It hit me that I wanted to set up a stone pillar to memorialize how God had spoken to me during this.  Then I realized I HAD a stone pillar. I had rented a backhoe and stacked some giant boulders we found in our yard into a rock garden many years ago.  It was way over-sized and many times thought about renting a machine to tear it down.  Now I was glad I didn’t. Now when Lisha and I are afraid we “go to the rock”, sometimes light a candle and pray thanking God for what he has told us.

 

 

Have had a few of the seizures the past 9 days that had prompted Kevin and Adrienne to recommend a neurologist in July. Neurologist told me post surgery that I would have them from time to time and that most people would be afraid that the tumor was back. He reassured me it wasn’t, just bad circuitry. However it has me with a sick feeling in my stomach. I have an appointment at 9:30 tomorrow. Have to say that I’m scared for the first time in 4 months.