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.