This Is The Day

This week I completed my 3^rd week of treatment.  I’m at the halfway point with a long weekend to celebrate.  Feels like halftime (enter marching band playing a Sousa march).

I’m still feeling good.  My scar looks a little less Frankenstein-ish, my energy is good for the most part and still no side-effects from the treatments.  I’ve had a few long stretches at home where I feel completely normal, to the point that I nearly forgot to take my meds.

I did have a bit of a tough time on Tuesday night into Wednesday morning.  It’s been so smoky around here from the forest fires that have been burning all around.  At times visibility was less than a quarter mile and we woke to find ash on our car.  It was like sitting around a campfire 24/7 for 2 weeks, all of which played havoc on my allergies and made sleeping difficult.  By Wednesday morning I was exhausted from sleeping 5-6 hours a night for several days which also included waking up numerous times and sometimes laying awake for an hour or two.

But, by the afternoon I had come around, buoyed by the prayers of friends and family I had reached out to, a good appointment with one of my docs and a great visit with my friend Peter who had come to keep me company during my appointment.

Lastly, I was back on my bike pedaling to work.  I’ve commuted on my bike for the past 4 years generally riding between 70-100 miles per week.  It felt like a monumental moment.  I was shouting thanks to God and singing as I spun along simultaneously overjoyed and terrified.  I mentioned to my doctor what I had done and got a paternal wince of disapproval.  Nevertheless, I plan to keep riding.

Friday when I woke up I was all set to bike in and checked the weather to see how many layers I should wear.  As I got in my old ’87 Chevy truck I noticed a few drops on the windshield.  By the time I had reached the park-n-ride where I leave the truck and jump on my bike, it was raining pretty steadily.  Only in Seattle have I seen steady rains when the forecast called for a 0% chance.

I’ve ridden in the rain hundreds of times over the past 4 years and usually don’t even think about it.  People often ask if it bothers me, but my mindset is that I only have to be a little bit tougher than the rain.  That seems easy enough to do.

This particular day I took it easy on the hills, ones I typically fly down, rain, sun or snow.  I’m still gaining confidence in my new self.  The rain was a real soaker but not too cold.  I noticed the sweet smell of the rain on the Douglas Firs (only a person in the Pacific Northwest understands this) and maybe for the first time in a long time began to be thankful for the gift of rain.  Thankful because I know it is the life-blood of this beautiful part of the world we live in.  Thankful for the feel of it on my face.

I am all too aware of the fact, having grown up in Houston that rain means something else to others.  It can be deadly, destructive and engulfing.

But this day the thing I was most thankful for is that rain drives us inside.  Inside where we can rest, meditate on a loving God full of grace and mercy, and where we are pressed close to our families and those we love.  When Alisha and I lived on our sailboat, GRACE, we would be only a foot or so from the rain falling on the deck when we were in bed in the V-berth.  It was a soothing sound.  As Fall looms around the corner, and with it many months of rain ahead I feel like I will see the rain in a new light (no pun intended) and will cherish the days when we are forced inside.