The Great Physician

Throughout my friend’s long ordeal with cancer, her worst day was probably around the middle of January. She had spent all day at UVA, meeting with all five doctors on her treatment team. It was that day when she was told that all five of them were united in their opinion that there was cancer in her lymph nodes. Although they wouldn’t know definitively until they operated, they were fairly certain of what they would find and they wanted her to know so she could mentally prepare herself for what this dark news would mean...one more year of chemo. My friend felt devastated, defeated by the news. Uncharacteristically, she lashed out in anger and frustration. The entire tirade lasted all of ten minutes, then she was back to her old, confident self.

When I read the note she wrote to her family last night before the surgery I smiled at the familiar optimism, marveled at her confidence in the Great Physician. Whenever she prayed during these last six months it has always been with this bold, uncompromising absolutism, steadfastly refusing to allow the Almighty any wiggle room with her requests. There would be none of this...if it be God’s will...temporizing. No, she prayed with a supremely confident faith, placing all of her bets on our Savior’s observation that...You have not because you ask not. So, despite the horrible consensus of her doctors, she continued to pray for a complete healing. 

It was around midday when I received the text from the family...NO CANCER IN LYMPH NODES!!!

I placed the phone down on my desk and tried to gather myself. It was exactly what she had written 24 hours ago to her family...Tomorrow, I will be cancer free...the Great Physician will heal me and use this cancer for his glory...

Yes, the Great Physician had lots of help. Her team of dedicated professionals deserve great praise. The course of chemo treatments clearly did their job. My friend helped her case by following their advice to the letter—most of the time. But these same professionals were all convinced that they would find cancer in multiple lymph nodes, so sure of it that they painted the most negative scenario they could to prepare their patient for the reality of her condition. The only one who didn’t lose confidence after that long hard day in January...was my friend. 

Then, just a few minutes ago I got the news that no cancer was found...anywhere...no residual cancer cells.

It will be several more days before I get to speak with her. I can’t wait to hear her southern drawl telling me how she knew that her Savior would deliver her all along! Knowing her...I will never hear the end of it.

My Friend’s Big Day.

So, tomorrow morning around 7:30 my friend will arrive at UVA hospital to have her cancer surgery. For the past six months I have been pretending to distract her from so heavy a burden by telling her jokes and making her laugh. But what has actually been happening is every morning I get to witness her steadfast faith in God on display. Every morning I get to watch her overcome setback after setback with unfathomable endurance and good humor. Every morning, I am encouraged. Every morning I am reminded that I have no excuse to complain about anything in my life. By comparison, I win the lottery every morning I wake up without cancer. Every morning, she wakes up with cancer inside her along with the poison she has had to ingest to fight it. But by some miracle she has attacked each day with smiling confidence.

This picture was taken three years ago when we were at a dreadfully dull meeting someplace and I was doing what I do at such affairs...not paying attention and being a bad influence on people like my friend, the rule follower, who was trying to listen like a grown up. We attended 30 years worth of these meetings, and somehow she’s still my friend!

So, for those of you who are so inclined, it would mean a great deal to me if you could lift prayers up all day tomorrow for my friend. The procedure might last up to eight hours. There is a lot at stake. Just knowing that total strangers will be praying for her would mean the world to her.

She sent me a note she wrote to her family:

“Tomorrow, I will be cancer free—no residual cancer cells—the Great Physician will heal me and use this cancer for his glory. Cancer has stolen my hair, my fingernails, and the skin from my fingers, given me anemia, fatigue and lots more. But it hasn’t stolen my faith and my ability to pray and worship...”

Our last text conversation wasn’t nearly as profound...

But, that’s just me. That’s how I deal with tragic moments. The truth is that I don’t have as strong a faith as she does. I wish I did. I wish I could come up with profound, healing words that fit the moment. But...jokes come out instead. Nevertheless, tomorrow morning and throughout the day I will be praying for my friend. 

I hope you will too.

Our Weekend

We returned home today from our Valentine getaway thoroughly rested and less eager to reengage the real world tomorrow than we were to disengage from it last Friday. Absence does not always make the heart grow fonder. Our accommodations at The Inn at Riverbend were elegant in an understated way. Giles County, Virginia is the very picture of a back water outpost, a postcard view out of every window, the layout of the towns of Pearisburg and Pembrook a collection of everything from the sublime to the ridiculous, in dire need of a competent zoning commission. Luckily for us, these twin towns had the three things vital for any successful four day/three night adventure, a local pizza joint, a Walmart, and a delightfully quirky top tier restaurant which could only be reached after a death defying 5 mile drive through Deliverance-inspired line-less country roads, which insured that upon your arrival you were not only ready for a good meal, but a stiff drink.

Our Saturday 4 mile hike to Cascade Falls was maybe the best hike I have ever taken. At every step along the way there was something marvelous to see. When we arrived at the falls, an hour and twenty minutes from the parking lot, it took our breath away. A kind stranger took our picture.

The Inn itself met all of our needs. Perched at the top of a large hill with a 180 degree view of the New River and the surrounding mountains, the place made you wish you had come there in the summer. We would loved to have spent our leisurely hours sitting in the rocking chairs just outside our door taking in everything, but it was much too cold for that. Instead, we had to settle for the comfort and almost oppressive silence of our beautiful room. There was a small book collection in the shelves surrounding the fireplace out of which I plucked Ian McEwan’s Solar on Friday afternoon. I can’t remember a weekend where I had enough unencumbered time to start and finish a book. It was a delight.

What I really enjoyed about this weekend adventure was not so much the thrill of adventure itself but rather just spending uninterrupted time with my wife. After 36 years together, there is still something comforting about reading a good book in bed and being able to reach over and touch her soft, warm hand. 

When we arrived back home, Lucy greeted us with her customary enthusiasm. But after an hour or so I got the distinct impression she was weighing her options. Were we, in fact, better caretakers than her favorite dog-sitter, Becca? One gets the impression sometimes after she spends several days with Becca that Lucy has come to the realization that perhaps we aren’t as awesome as she once thought. Becca gives her undivided attention and dotes over her every idiosyncrasy, (and probably is much more liberal with the treat jar). But, like all dogs, Lucy is incapable of holding a grudge. In no time she was back on my lap in the recliner giving me a thorough debriefing sniff.

I opened my laptop to see what we missed while in the internet-challenged mountains of western Virginia...

Bloomberg Considering Hillary as running mate.

China next in line for plague of locusts.

Nevada Democratic Primary bracing for count irregularities 48 hours before Vote.

Woman Allowed to bring service-horse onto first class section of plane.

....I see that our nation’s headlong plunge into insanity continued unabated by our absence.

Getting Away

My wife of nearly 36 years is quite clever. The other day she texted me out of nowhere with this observation:

“Hey, I have next Monday off. Any chance we could swing a Valentine’s Day weekend out of town?”

The woman knows me better than I know myself. She knew exactly what would happen. Her text was the equivalent of waving a red flag at a bull. She knows that there is nothing I enjoy more than spontaneous, last minute trips away. Sure enough, the next morning I sent her a text of my own informing her that we were headed to this place:

It’s out in Giles County near a little town called Pearisburg. That’s the New River at the base of the hill. There are great restaurants within 25 minutes, fun stuff to do all over the place. All that was left to do was get in touch with our dog whispering friend, Becca, who as fate would have it was available and thrilled to get to spend three nights with Miss Lucy.

Pam has put up with a lot from me over the years. In so many ways we are total opposites. My odd personality quirks frustrate her. My lack of organization skills, my inability to focus, my aggressiveness and lack of appropriate caution all befuddle her. The existence of this blog for the past ten years has been a source of endless anxiety...Good Lord, what has he written now?!

But, it’s not like I have brought nothing to the table. When I came into her life she was assured that it would never be boring. I’ve done alright in business. I’m a decent vacuumer, and although I never do it to suit her, I wash the dishes after dinner every night. That’s gotta count for something! 

But, my finest husbandly virtue is that I can take a hint. If this beautiful woman wonders aloud whether or not it might be possible to go away for the weekend, I don’t have to be told twice.

I win at life!

The Truth

Two Sundays ago I sat in my usual spot at church, on the aisle, ten or so rows back from the front. I listened to my absurdly gifted pastor, David Dwight, tell a story about the time he was asked to help his elderly and frail father take a shower. As he described the experience, I felt my throat tighten. Suddenly, the memories came pouring back and I became aware of the beating of my own heart. In David’s telling, the time caring for his Dad felt like something holy and precious. For me it was much more complicated.

When my mother died in her sleep nearly eight years ago, my dad found himself alone for the first time in his life. At the time he was 87 years old and in declining health. He would live two more years before passing away in 2014. For almost all of his last two years, his four children worked round the clock to keep him in his own home. Only his last 60 days would be spent in a nursing home. But with each passing month it became more and more difficult to take care of him. Towards the end, we started taking turns helping him in and out of the shower. My shift was Thursday nights.

The first time for me was neither holy or precious. It was awkward and uncomfortable. When it was over, I got in my car to drive home and for the first time since my mother passed I found my self crying. I actually had to pull over to the side of the road. But these were no tears of joy. These were angry, bitter tears. It was all so unfair. How could God have allowed such an incredible man to fall so far? How could God allow such a faithful servant to lose all of his dignity like this? Is this how God rewarded men and women who spent their entire lives serving him? In the parking lot of what used to be a beer joint, at the corner of 660 and Route 33, I fell apart in a rage of anger and bitterness.

As I listened to David, I realized that a part of me was still holding on to some of that bitterness. Not all of it, much of it had drained away with the passage of time and better experiences on subsequent Thursday nights. Several weeks later in fact Dad and I had an experience that was very much what David had described. After struggling to get Dad’s pajamas on after his shower and tucking him into bed, he reached for my hand just as I was leaving and whispered, “you’re a good son...” As I looked at him I felt overwhelmed with thankfulness that I was lucky enough to have this giant of a man as a father. I kissed him on the forehead and turned the light out. The drive home on that night felt very different, something approaching holiness, I suppose.

David made the observation that when we are confronted with tragedy and disappointment in life we come to a fork in the road. We have to choose either bitterness or beloved-ness. His message convicted me that I had some unfinished business back at that fork in the road. I had to backtrack, go back to that spot and ask forgiveness for the bitterness I was still unconsciously holding on to.

This is why I love my church. I don’t get finger wagging screeds. I don’t have to endure pointless theological dog and pony shows or a bunch of esoteric nonsense that has no relationship to the real world. Instead, I get told the truth about myself, drenched in so much love and compassion it’s almost impossible to take offense. 

Thanks. Hope Church.

12 Gems

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 Name this politician.....

1. “If the government were placed in charge of the Sahara desert, there would be a sand shortage within three years.”

2. “It’s true that hard work never killed anybody, but I figure, why take the chance?”

3. “I’m not worried about the deficit. It’s big enough to take care of itself.”

4. When responding to a reporter’s worry that he was known to take long naps in the afternoon, “I have left orders to be awakened at any time in case of national emergency…even if I’m in a cabinet meeting.”

5. “Politics is supposed to be the second oldest profession. But I have found that it bears a very close resemblance to the first.”

6. “The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, “I’m from the government and I’m here to help.”

7. When answering a reporter’s question about whether he was too old to run for President…”Thomas Jefferson once said, ‘We should never judge a President by his age, only by his works.’ And ever since he told me that I’ve stop worrying.”

8. First remarks at the beginning of a press conference, “Before I refuse to answer any of your questions, I have an opening statement.”

9. “One way to make sure crime doesn’t pay is to let the government run it.”

10. “I have wondered at time what the Ten Commandments would have looked like had Moses run them through Congress.”

11. “Government is like a baby. An alimentary canal with a big appetite at one end and no sense of responsibility at the other.”

12. Responding to criticism of his foreign policy by Ed Asner…”What does an actor know about politics?”

    
    

    
    

    
    

Oscars and the Coronavirus

It has been said that there are two things which can be counted on in this life...death and taxes. I would add a third, that the morning after the Oscars show, social media will lose its mind over left wing actors lecturing us about politics. I’m thinking that if something happens every single time you watch a show, you lose your right to bitch and moan about it if you continue to watch. Maybe at some level people enjoy being triggered. If nothing else, the Oscars serves as an excellent reminder that millennials aren’t the only snowflakes in America.

Why would anyone spend more than five seconds caring about anything that Joaquin Phoenix says? Don’t get me wrong, the man is a fine actor, but by any reasonable measure he is profoundly unstable and has been for most of us life. So, he’s a vegan and lectures us for stealing milk from cows? Who cares? 

So, Brad Pitt finally wins something besides a Razzie, and all anyone can talk about is his John Bolton blast. Look, somebody wrote him a really funny line. End of story.

You know what would really be hilarious though? If just once some A-List actor stood up to accept an award and said something like, “I would like to thank the Academy for this honor. Tonight I plan on celebrating by eating a 16 oz. Porterhouse, a giant genetically modified baked potato slathered with butter that I stole from a cow, a tall glass of iced tea sweetened with cane sugar which I will drink out of a styrofoam cup using yet another plastic straw. God Bless America!!”

But, listen folks. If you choose to watch the Academy Awards, then get all bent over politics, you only have yourself to blame.

I am told by all of the usual suspects that I should be very concerned about the Coronavirus. One source threw out the number of perhaps as many as 52 million dead before this thing runs its course. So, why am I not freaking out? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe its because in my lifetime I have been told I was about to die so many times I’ve lost count. Ebola was going to do me in. The Avian flu was going to put me in the ground. SARS would be the death of me. Rapidly spreading flesh-eating bacteria was the latest periclum back in the day. But, here I am, still alive and kicking with a deep distrust of authority, and an all consuming suspicion of experts. Do I plan on visiting China anytime soon? No. But am I planning on losing one minute of sleep over the latest pandemic apocalypse? Puhleeze.