Step by Step

Wow it has been too long since I last posted. For everyone that has been wondering where in the world I have been, I will catch things up. Lets see......there is no good way to describe it......the best way is the analogy that I provided in a recent email to friends. A long journey.......similar to the numerous long distance backpacking trips I have been blessed enough to complete begins and ends with a single step. Those steps are often filled full of anticipation, excitement, and a bit of celebration. It is the middle portion, the thousands of steps that become repetitive, redundant, and more often than not dreadful are the real part of the journey. They are the difficult and often painful portions of the journey where the real "success" is met, though at the time it feels very unsuccessful.......sometimes like an all out failure. Well that is where I have been. In that place of a thousand steps, differentiated only by fatigue, pain, and shear tenacity at times. It is this part of every journey that makes or breaks not only the journey but the one who is plodding along trying to gather enough energy....physically....emotionally...spiritually to muster another step. I have been in that place many times. Those journeys were external to me. This journey is internal. Locked up inside. The mountain I have been crossing is Cancer.......the valleys I have traversed is the Shadow of Death. It has not been easy. But I can tell you one certain thing. I have no fear. The peace that overwhelmed me from day one rests upon me still. Yes I have despaired at times. I have unfortunately lashed out too many times! But the peace remains. Today I stand at yet another watershed (at least potentially). Tomorrow may be my last chemo treatment. I am scheduled for my 3rd set of CT and PET scans on 12/21/2009. Those scans will decide if we discontinue the chemo regimen and consolidate treatment with a month of daily radiation, or if we continue with four more cycles (8 treatments) of Chemo. To be honest, I can not imagine continuing. I am bloated, my hair is patchy, I have dark circles under my eyes no matter how much sleep I get. My legs are swelling, they are painful and hardly have enough energy to get up off the floor (if I am foolish enough to get down there in the first place) They can barely carry me up a flight of stairs. These by the way are the same legs that carried me nearly 500 miles through the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. And the Fatigue............the relentless fatigue that sneaks up on you and builds progressively over time, until it overcomes you. It is a constant companion......a very strange bed fellow. It is probably the most difficult of all side effects (and none are enjoyable!). It saps the energy from you. It is as if the very life that once pulsed through your veins is somehow now gone. At first if comes and goes between treatment. But eventually it stays and never leaves. I have been thinking more lately about the time "after" treatment. So many people keep mentioning that "it will soon be done". "It is only a season". "You are halfway done" and other equally positive comments......but will it be "done"......"complete"......ever? Yes the treatments will end. But will it be over? Is it ever over once Cancer settles into your life. Think about it. It redefines you. You are suddenly a "survivor". That is short hand for CANCER "survivor". Cancer is like a dividing line. Life before cancer and life after cancer.......somehow it is not the same life as before. You have waged a tremendous battle......and "won".....or at least that is our language that we use. But the potential for it to come back is there. On top of secondary cancers from treatment regimes.....as well as numerous other equally unappealing secondary effects that could potentially shorten your life span. There are follow up scans. Check ups. Potentially every ache and pain could be a signal of problems emerging. So I see no end point. Life is different. I am different. My family is different. Much of it good......but some......well that is to be seen. There will always be uncertainty. It existed before diagnosis, and will remain after without a doubt!

Metamorphosis

I have been silent for some time on the blog. Life has returned to a bit of normalcy. Though life is never quite normal after a diagnosis of cancer. I have been busy with home repairs and the daily grind of work, lunches for kids, laundry and all of the things life brings. Summer has slipped away. And the coolness of fall is beginning to have a bite that is all to much like winter. This time is always one of my most favorite times of the year. It makes me want to put on a sweater brew some tea and read a good book. I kind of hole up, slow down and retreat into life like a turtle slipping back into its shell. That would be a good description of the last few weeks. During this time I had a second set of scans to reveal the process that is occurring with the cancer treatments. I drove to Urbana early in the morning for preparation for the scans. Contrast liquid is consumed over a period of time and radioactive tracers are injected into your blood stream for pickup by the CT and PET scans. Scan day is not unlike the diagnosis/staging scans that start the entire process. There is uncertainty, fear, and hope mixed together. You want to be positive but also worry about overreaching that hope and having your hope dashed by the reality of what might be seen. It is a place of calm. Waiting. Hoping. As you lay prone with your chest facing the ceiling, arms stretched over head on a narrow bed that moves you towards a narrow tube, you feel exposed and vulnerable. There is silence in the room. No music, no voices, just the magnetic hum of the machine that is peering into the recesses of your body searching for those dreaded signs of cancer. It is a bit ironic that these cells that have the darkness of death attached to them appear as light spots on the PET scan, shining brightly signaling there existence. Reflecting the contrast chemicals, revealing there continued assault on your body weakened by cancer and the "lifesaving" treatments you have been subjected to. Treatments that sap your energy take your hair, threaten to even take the feeling in your hands and feet, and give you a list of other side effects longer than most can imagine. As the table moves slowly in and out of the narrow tube your mind searches the recesses of your thoughts. Hope is there saddled by fear and the reality that this moment is yet another watershed moment that can define and redefine your very existence. As I laid there arms tingling from poor blood flow, waiting as the minutes slowly rolled by my mind drifted thinking about all that has happened in the last 2-3 months. The lives that have intersected with mine, the beauty that has emerged from the ashes. I lay there encased in the humming machine like a cocoon, wrapped around my broken body. My heart reaching out to a Creator God that has the ability to reach into that cocoon and touch the brokenness and make it whole. A new creation. Well. I prayed. The tears slipped down my face. I rested. In the embrace of God and the warmth of my cocoon. Sleep found me and I slipped away into silent dreams. Before I knew it, it was over. The movement of the machine slowed as I gradually found myself slipping out into the light of the room. Nurses attended to my IV and sent me home to wait. The next day found me back in Urbana to have a consultation with my oncologist. The scans were positive. There has been substantial success made with the chemo treatments. We are well on our way to our projected end date of the end of December 2009. After chemo is finished a month of daily radiation will be conducted to put a final closure to this journey.......or at least this phase of the journey. Once cancer has intersected with your life it never really goes away. The treatments may end, the cells may disappear, most of the side effects return to normal (hopefully), but the lessons and the refining that it forces upon you never really dissipate. The reality of cancer will always be there. It is a constant companion, a strange bedfellow of sorts.

A Message To The Broken

Brokenness is a place. It is a state of being. It is a reality that is unmistaken, shaped by forces at times that are uncontrollable. Brokenness can be brought on by the onslaught of disease, accident, genetic anomaly, and uncertain causes that science and mankind to this day still do not fully understand. Brokenness is also shaped by our own actions or inactions. Brokenness can be brought on by our own decisions and choices that send our lives, our bodies, and even our relationships tumbling towards destruction and collapse. Addictions, affairs, abusive behaviors, and the failure to meet the needs of those entrusted to you are just a few of the ways that brokenness can come into your life by your own hands. Brokenness at times comes at the hands of others. It steals into your life at a moment’s notice without warning. The headlines are full everyday of this brokenness. We are terribly familiar as a society with murder, molestation, rape, and countless other senseless acts perpetrated with a vengeance on the innocence of others seemingly without any sort of purpose and end. It makes no sense. It leaves us reeling asking why? Our minds rage against a world and often a God that would allow this sort of reality to enter our lives. The answers are often nonexistent, empty of any sort of understanding and even hope for redemption or healing. Brokenness is often not an isolated moment. It is something that enters a person’s life and consumes it. It engulfs your reality and redefines everything. Brokenness has the capacity to penetrate every corner of your life, your body, your mind, your heart, your soul, the very relationships that you reach out to for some sort of stability. It pierces the very core of your existence plunging its icy hands deep into any resolve and belief that one may have, shaking, tearing, and destroying any since of stability. Brokenness is a place that is shared by countless thousands and millions of people around our world. It is something that is happening as you read these words. Our humanity is groaning at this very moment bearing the building weight of broken lives, shattered dreams, and senseless acts of violence. Brokenness is personal. Likely you yourself  or someone very near to you are in this very place. Walking a path that is unmistakably painful, fearful, and possibly feeling as if you have no hope, no way to see through this storm. If this is your reality, if brokenness is your point of reference, then I welcome you along side. Brokenness is a journey that seems empty, void of any sort of security, a path that is cut off from everyone and everything that holds any sort of hope. It is a journey that seems to isolate us from everything around us, building a callous around our lives and our very hearts. If this is the place you are in right now, the journey that you face, your point of reference, I share it with you. I myself as I write these very words are walking a similar path of brokenness and uncertainty. I share the fear, the loss, the shattering reality that brokenness brings to life. I walk the same path with a future that seems out of reach, one that just months ago I could envision with great detail and hope. But now it is darkened by a great uncertainty. I peer ahead to see a glimpse of something, anything to hold on to but am left with nothing. Brokenness is my point of reference. I stand in the storm, raging around me, the waves threatening to overtake me, sweep the very life and breath I breathe away forever. My path is no different than yours. It may go by a different name or be brought on by other situations that seem far distant and unlike your reality, but I fully believe that brokenness of any cause places us eye to eye with an understanding that transcends specific details, life histories, even cultural and language barriers. No matter how different we are, brokenness is a point of reference anyone at any age can identify with. Tears are universal. Pain is universal. Loss is universal. Despite the differences that exist within our humanity, the moment brokenness intersects with our lives it acts as a great leveler, bringing us all to the same plane of existence. Where if we could lift our heads long enough out of the dim of our pain and fear we would see a world around us that is in that same place, that same reality, a broken hurting world, just as frightened as you and I are at this moment. It is true. I have looked. I have seen the brokenness around me; I have spoken to countless people who share this burden. I have seen their fear, heard their stories, and shared my own. In a since though most who are broken have never met, we exist in an unlikely brotherhood and sisterhood. We have been thrust into a shared existence linking us in a way that is difficult to understand. It is not a badge of honor, it often seems more like a curse, but it is something that we unmistakably share. There is a strange bond that emerges, one that builds with time if the destructive forces are able to be held at bay. It is true. I am here in this place right now with you and many more that surround us every day. The ranks of the broken are swelling daily. Our numbers grow. It is an unfortunate reality, but it is the truth or our existence, of our broken and fallen world. These words that I write are real. They are an expression of my journey and an unmistaken feeling that there is hope that lies amidst the broken and shattered existence that so many people share. Hope is often found in the most unlikely places. As life crumbles around us and the things that seemed so strong and stable collapse out of reach, hope rises. Out of the ashes it emerges in a manner that is often unrecognizable. Our entire point of reference has shifted, so too has our understanding of hope and the redemption that our minds and bodies ache to grasp a hold of. The words I write may be raw at times; they may signal difficulties and a reality that is not necessarily easy. They may not be what many who are broken long for. There is no easy answer to our brokenness. There is no simple incantation or positive thought process that can breach the gap that has emerged in our lives. Brokenness is complex, and so is healing. Our understanding of how things are to be resolved in our lives is shaped by many confusing and often contradicting ideas and beliefs. Many times as we read the countless resources that exist and are counseled by professionals and those that are around us, it leaves us with more questions than answers. At times the “well meaning advice of others” can turn the wrong way. Often these moments have the capacity to seep into our brokenness with a stinging effect that can suffocate us. This journey of brokenness is confusing and the process of healing is sometimes wrought with more dangerous pitfalls than the very thing that shattered our existence and plunged us into this place we are trying and hoping to make our way out of. Though this complexity exists, and the path is uncertain, Hope remains. Hope is a thread that exists in our lives. It has been there since the day we took our first breaths. It has existed alongside us as we built our lives. It exists now in the shattered reality of brokenness. Though we are broken, hope remains strong. In our weakness Hope rises as an unbroken thread stretching out into our uncertain future, beckoning us to follow and explore the potential that lies dormant and hidden by our pain. Hope waits. Ready for us to reach out and grasp its firm hand. The question is not if hope exists within our brokenness. The real question is if we are willing and able to allow ourselves to stretch out of our brokenness, our preconceived attitudes, and self imposed assumptions and grasp hold of the only hope that exists, the only hope for our brokenness, our humanity and very existence. There is hope and healing and a future no matter what our circumstances. It is true. I have seen it. There are many others that have shared in it as well and testify of its existence and power and potential. Lift your eyes out of the brokenness and glimpse it, it is before you. You are not alone.

 You are not without HOPE.

Anchors

It has been a while since I last posted. Emotionally I have slowed down significantly. For some time I have been running on an emotional high left over from the initial diagnosis. Life for good and bad has started to get back to "normal" (though nothing is remotely normal anymore). I was thinking early this morning that I have started to become one of those people that track time by doctors appointments, or treatments, or surgeries. Aughhhhh! I never wanted to be one of those types. I realized for me it was not at all an infatuation with illness (thank goodness) it is instead tangible and VERY REAL moments. Moments anchored by events that are easily remembered. We all do it. It is usually babies first steps, the last semester in college, or events like, right before I started my last job.....stuff like that. Unfortunately I have entered in with a group of fellow travelers that have other types of moments that mark a specific period or time in thier life. Stuff like, before the biopsy, after the diagnosis, during treatment, in between treatments, etc. Specific, very real moments in life. Unforgettable, and capable of drawing a very specific line in the sand. Separating the east from the west. A boundary of sorts. So be it. These are the tangible anchors of a life with illness. My goal is to not have them be the only anchors. In reality there is an entire life moving on along beside and around us with its own set of anchors. Those are the ones I choose to place a stamp on my life. Illness has its place in life. It is not life in its entirety. That little nugget of truth covers lots of other nasty things in life as well. Divorce. Job Loss. Addiction. Death. Fear. I choose different things to define the mile markers in life. 

Here is a Brief Clip Showing Some of the Work that the C3 Men's Breakfast Accomplished Over A Couple Of Weekends.

Thanks So Much Everyone!

The Lucky Ones

Days after I was diagnosed I went to Barnes and Noble to wonder the isles of books and sip coffee, in an attempt to be "normal". I restrained as long as possible from ducking down the isle that held the books on cancer. Eventually I succumbed acknowledging the fact that nothing was "normal" anymore. I found the section entitled cancer/cancer information, it was surprisingly small. You would think that such a large book retailer would have countless volumes on the subject, or maybe it was my hope that I would find that magic book that would tell me it was all going to be ok. I didn't. Instead I found lots of pink books entitled "Boobs" or "Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips". It was a bit disheartening, especially since I was a man, without breasts and sensing that anything with the words crazy, sexy, and cowgirl in the title really did not fit my situation or lifestyle either. With a cautious glance around to see if anyone was watching, I reluctantly pulled the "Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips" book off the shelf and found my way awkwardly to a table. Careful to not display the title to chance shoppers I read the book cover to cover. Though a bit embarrassing it was a very good book, full of sound information and resources that seemed to be helpful, if not then, definitely at some point in the future. It provided a thorough overview of necessary topics ranging from wholefood diets, self image, treatment effects, and unique ways to celebrate the fact that you were bald and "beautiful". I would recommend the book to anyone as a great point of initial reference (even if you are not a woman or even a cowgirl). I did go away feeling a bit frustrated that there were not more resources available for men. I went home and searched the Internet. Still resources for men were few and far between. It seems that unless your cancer has something to do with breasts or prostrates, you are lumped (no pun intended) into a massive group of dissimilar cancers. Resources are available for other cancer patients, unfortunately without the fanfare and more straightforward access as Cancers of the "nether regions". I expressed this frustration to a friend who pointed me to Lance Armstrong's book entitled "Its not about the bike" I picked up a copy and quickly read through it. I liked it. It had a bit much detail focusing on cycling, but that was an aspect of the man that could obviously not be separated from the larger reality of his battle with cancer. There were portions though that left my mind spinning. Armstrong's description of his diagnosis and the roller coaster of emotions that ensued was painfully raw and hit the mark with a clarity and similarity I could not deny. I myself am walking those darkened and fearful paths as I write these very words. Out of all the pages a couple simple statements that he made resonated with me in a powerful way. Armstrong tells of a letter that he received. It was from a man he had never met before. He himself had battled cancer. He wrote Armstrong to acknowledge his support and positive thoughts. As he finished the letter he made a strange statement that confused Armstrong. He wrote, "you probably do not understand this right now, but we are the lucky ones". What? How is anyone with cancer lucky? It is devastating. It not only has the potential to steal your life, but also has the destructive potential to steal your Hope. Those words are haunting. Lucky? We are the lucky ones. This brotherhood of suffering is somehow lucky..........blessed? It is diametrically opposed to any sort of sane thinking that those outside of this brotherhood would agree with. It actually is an almost dangerous statement. As if you say it as you are waking off a cliff without a safety net. A statement such as that redefines everything. Life. Death. And even Hope. But as I walk this path, and simultaneously encounter life in all its beauty and harshness, I find myself agreeing. "We are the lucky ones". I am lucky. I say those words with a part of me screaming, "how dare you, how can you say that". But it is true. The perspective that cancer gives to life is unbelievable. It has the power to refine you. Your thoughts. Your direction. Your focus. It is as if you look at life for the first time. Everything is different. Nothing is the same. Everything is turned on edge, revealing a freshness and an urgency that is not seen outside of cancer. If this clarity does exist in our normal lives, it is missed. Overshadowed by the busyness of life. By worthless and empty pursuits. Another quote from Armstrong's book was this: "Cancer is not about dying, it is about living" What a statement. Most would argue against it. But those that walk this path find it to be true. Life after diagnosis becomes "alive". It becomes real. It is as if you can grasp it with your own hands, breath it in, consume it. Oh if I could have had this view earlier in life. I knew that it existed. I sensed it. I chased it. Through the mountains. Through relationships. In the woods and fields of my youth. It was a whisper in the words of poets. And a reflection on the horizon as the sun slipped out of view. But i did not catch it until cancer became my reference. My reality. We who are members of this brotherhood and sisterhood of suffering are the lucky ones, because now we can truly live. And Love. And Hope. And I dare to say Dream. They are painful dreams, haunted with the shadows of uncertainty, but they are vivid dreams. Passionate dreams. Dreams that leave your heart aching, your soul longing. We are released from the fear of death. Our finite lives are bared. We come face to face with our mortality and realize that life is looking back at us. Raw and uncertain. But ALIVE none the less. There were days before cancer that I despaired. At times despising my life. But now I am hungry to live. I long to live. Whether that time be long or short, I hold tight to life and all of its glorious agony.

A Familiar Path

(Click on the image to view a larger version)

Above is a profile map of the Colorado Trail. It is just short of 500 miles in length. I spent a summer (approximately 60 days) hiking the trail. At least 1/2 of the trip I hiked solo. Alone. It included 14 mountain ranges with an average elevation of 10.000 feet. The lessons I learned on the trail parallel the lessons I am learning on this journey of cancer. There are lots of ups and downs. Days when you feel like you can't go any further. There are also days when suddenly the larger view comes into focus and it absolutely takes your breath away. Small things in life take on a greater significance. A phone call from a friend, a familiar face, the pleasure of a soft bed and a roof over your head. Securities we often take for granted. Hiking the trail as well as cancer has an incredible way of refining your focus. Life quickly becomes more real, important, and precious. All the other things easily fall away. On the trail you have lots of time to think. Your mind wonders and explores the recesses of yourself that our busy life does not permit us to venture into. Cancer is very similar. It exposes parts of yourself in ways never before felt. The only way to walk 500 miles through rugged mountains is to put one foot in front of the other. As you walk day in and day out you find yourself basking in the wonder of creation. No matter what difficulties came my way on the trail, whether they be rain, snow, heat, lack of water, wild animals, blisters, fatigue, or fear, the way to the end of the journey was simple. A single step repeated hundreds and thousands of times would eventually arrive at the end. It did not take superhuman strength or a talent that most do not have. It took a steadfast commitment. Step by step as the miles added up and the challenges slipped by. Today just like those days on the trail, is another step. Tomorrow yet another. I walk this journey in anticipation of the end, but I also know that there is much to learn in the process. It is the process, no matter what the hardship where great beauty and adventure can be found.

A Favorite Poem

The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I marked the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Broken Vessels

I was reflecting on the video I just posted from the Livestrong website. To see all of those faces. Young. Old. Friends. Families. Fighting the same battle. Walking the same path I am. It is both empowering and frustrating. So many lives. So many lost. I know the harsh reality of cancer. Our family has seen it take its toll. My brother lost the same battle I am fighting. Same disease. Same age of onset. People often try to find "reasons" why people get cancer. Obviously poor lifestyle choices increase the likelihood of certain types of cancer, but the reality is that it almost seems random. On the outside at least. I have no easy answers, and feel that oversimplification of causes or "curses" is painfully ignorant. I frame this disease as a path one must walk. We all have paths that stretch out before us. Many are equally difficult. Loss. Fear. Broken relationships. Financial Ruin. Illness. Age. And countless other challenges that we are faced with. No one is immune. We live in a fallen world, where good people die, and bad people prosper. Our world is often unfair. Life is often unfair. It is our response to that reality that is ultimately most important. My response is hope. Hope in a God that is outside and above this broken world, but not absent. He is a God that is moving, often quietly, but steady. Molding. Bending, but never breaking. He is the master potter. I am a broken vessel. At a young age I asked him to fill me. I have continued to this day. Fill me to overflowing. The more broken I am the more his life giving water flows out of me and saturates the world around me. Brokenness can be at once a curse from a broken world and a blessing from God. My hope today is that my brokenness will reach out. My sphere of influence will grow. Not I, But HE. Not my will, But Yahweh God's.

What would you say?

These are Real Emotions. Real stories. Real Challenges. Real Hope.

Michael Jackson Sighting!

Broken Bodies

Life is a balance act. Juggling time, commitments, expectations, and relationships is like the man on the street corner spinning one, two, three, four, five balls into the air. Faster and faster they spin, one wrong move and they all come tumbling down. A persons health is like that too. The difficult thing is you can't see the juggling act. It happens without knowing it is going on. Heart beating pulsing out blood. Lungs expanding drawing life giving oxygen into the body. Cells, tissues, organs transferring waste, regulating, keeping this fragile frame of a human being in balance. Alive. Sometimes like with certain types of cancer you have no idea anything is going wrong. It is a bit unnerving when you discover that the body is not in balance, not working as it should. I received a call yesterday late in the day from my oncology nurse. She said my blood results from earlier in the day came back. My white blood cell count is dangerously low. At that time in the treatment cycle my counts should be at least 500. Yesterday they were at 250. What? But I feel fine. I have energy. I look good. A bit tired but who would not be after a 13 hour work day. It is as if my body had betrayed me again. First the cancer now this. A white blood cell count as low as 250 places me in danger of infection. The simple common cold could send my fragile immune system into collapse. The nurse suggested not being around people. Good luck with that, I work in Human Resources. I train staff. I teach at a community college. Suggestions were to disinfect everything and wear a mask. I am not ready for a mask yet. I have prepared myself for hair loss, possible sterility, endless tests, being pierced in the chest to access a buried port under my skin, toxic chemicals slowly being injected into my body, nausea, rash, etc, but not a mask. My mind shudders with the thought. My heart screams.....but that will make me look like I am sick. What a stupid thought. I am sick! The mind is a fickle animal. It languishes in a state of denial even when there is no room to hide from the stark reality of life. I am not ready for a mask. I have emotionally faced cancer, at least the word, that dreaded term, the "C" word. I have obviously not completely processed the reality that I am sick. Or at least could become even more sick. Foolishness. Today I am a bit angry with my body. This cursed flesh that I have struggled with all my life. So I lift my hands to the heavens, to the architect of the skies. My Redeemer. Master surgeon of the heart. My God. I am in His hands. His will. His Plan. I rest here. I was drawn to the following scripture. It is good medicine for a broken body. Paul writes to the Corinthian church: " (1) For we know that when this tent we live in now is taken down-when we die and leave these bodies-we will have wonderful new bodies in heaven, homes that will be ours forevermore, made for us by God himself, and not by human hands. (2) How weary we grow of our present bodies. That is why we look forward eagerly to the day when we shall have heavenly bodies which we shall put on like new clothes. (3) For we shall not be merely spirits without bodies. (4) These earthly bodies make us groan and sigh, but we wouldn't like to think of dying and having no bodies at all. We want to slip into our new bodies so that these dying bodies will, as it were, be swallowed up by everlasting life. (5) This is what God has prepared for us and, as a guarantee, he has given us his Holy Spirit." 2 Corinthians 5:1-5.

Laughter: A Healing Balm

When the storms of life are swirling and the darkness begins to pierce your ability to see the light of day, it is easy to loose sight of simple joy. I was reminded last night of this. I ran accross this video I had discovered about a year ago. I found myself simply laughing.

Innocence Lost

The need is great. The challenges are many. While this may reflect the place I am in, it is evident more and more every day that this is the place that countless other people are. Right now. As I write. The despair, the hopelessness in peoples lives is striking. There is an emptiness that can be seen. We rely on caffeine, routine, passionate pursuits of love and lust to rattle the feeling of hopelessness loose from our bones. The news is streaked with stories of anguish and loss. Innocence shattered. It is a struggle to make sense of the senselessness. There is a fatal flaw within humanity brought on by a long ago battle. Lost. A battle of will. A battle of control. We fight the same battle still today. Our humanity stricken with the grief of a world shaken from its foundation. Without restoration there is hopelessness. With restoration there is life. I hope for restoration. I pray for it.

Grasping

I look around and there is a whole life left undone. Projects. Housework. Plans. Dreams. My mind screams for some sort of order. Control. Everything seems to be undone. It easily pushes what feeble balance I have off center. Frustration seethes. Emotions run high. This walk feels more like a tightrope sometimes than a path. The fatigue is beginning to creep in. With it comes the deepening reality of this illness. A further understanding of my current reality. Sometimes I pause and look into the mirror and think to myself......."this is real, this is really happening". It is staggering. A sudden wave washing over the moment, sweeping in a frigged numbness. My mind freezes trying to comprehend the magnitude of what I am facing. Life. Death. Hope. Uncertainty. How do you live in such a reality. Life at least tangibly has not changed significantly in the last few weeks. Dogs still need walked. Dishes still need done. Children tucked into bed. The difference seems to be a point of reference. A paradigm shift. It is dizzying. It has left me unhinged. My hands grasping for something to hold on to.

Perspective

Vision and perspective is such a difficult balance in life. As I was sitting in the sun today on the porch, I realized that I was suddenly struggling to see the future. I have spent most of my life wishing away my days, waiting, hoping, longing for those "greener pastures", financial ease, the next trip, the days when the kids get a bit older, or quieter, etc. I have missed much of the "now" in life. The odd thing is right now, I am having a hard time seeing what may be to come in life. Treatment is uncertain, prognosis is hopeful, but I have seen the painful truth of this disease walked before me by my own flesh and blood. I have seen the harsh reality of life. Death. Loss. The aftermath that moves on in a relentless arch towards normality, just missing the mark. It is a slippery slope trying to balance the need for today with a healthy vision for a future that is in actuality completely uncertain. The specifics of our day can change on a moments notice. Financial downturn, sickness, broken relationships, things completely out of our control. Things we try so hard to hold at bay. A life without experiencing the moment of today is empty. At the same time a life without the hopefulness of tomorrow is shortsighted. A path with no end or direction. It is a difficult balance. One that today I am facing.

Illusion

I was writing a friend earlier about the illusion of life. The mask we all wear that hides the true man or women that is behind it. It permits us to walk along in life looking as if we are seemingly well adjusted, capable, secure, etc. I know intimately this mask. It has been an old friend. Its illusion is so powerful it can even hide the deepest struggles from those that are closest to us. Of all things, I am beginning to think that this mask paralyzes us the most of anything in our lives. It keeps us from being seen for who we really are. It keeps us from reaching out because we are afraid to drop the illusion, to be seen as we truly are, the scars, the weakness, the humanity within ourselves. This journey that I am on has provided some amazing opportunity in the short while I have walked this path. I am fortunate to have had this mask taken from me. I can not hide now, I do not want to hide. It is a disservice to myself and I am finding to others around me to hide behind the illusion. It is invigorating to reach out unencumbered. The words I love you flow easier, thank you drips off your lips with sincere gratitude, laughter is richer, sadness is even somehow more powerful. I am uncertain of the challenges that await me. Right now I feel physically very good, tired, but good. I hope and pray that as the treatments take their toll combating the good in my body with the bad, I will continue to be seen as I am. Unmasked. Unashamed. Human. Hopeful. Passionate. Enduring. That I believe is the cry of all of our hearts.

The Ministry of Brokenness

On man. It is not getting better. Can't sleep. The heartburn has evolved into a case of painfully deep hiccups that are trying to send what little dinner I had into orbit. Yuck! So I will contemplate some of the amazing people I have met so far on this journey. The staff at the hospitals and clinic have been incredible. They have been warm and comforting. Each have gone well out of their way to comfort me along each step. They surpassed even what would be considered optimum service. Each have reached out in a servant like heart. The list includes front desk receptionists, technicians, radiologists, CT/PET scan techs, nurses, doctors, and the list goes on. I have been truly blessed by the professional care I have received so far. Many times individuals have spent not just minutes but even hours with me discussing things in detail and ensuring that I have all of the resources I need medically, emotionally, and financially. But the real heroes have been the those that have surrounded me outside of the medical facilities. My family, our church friends, old friends, complete strangers I encounter at work, fellow employees, and the beautifully honest fellow travelers that I have met at the cancer center and the clinic. These wonderful souls posses the ability to reach out in their time of need to comfort the "new kid on the block" (me). I have met those suffering with significantly worse diagnosis than myself, cervical cancer, prostrate cancer, Brest cancer, rare incurable cancer, many of which is complicated by other health concerns, age and even developmental disabilities. None of these paths that these fellow travelers walk are easy, but I have seen such a lightness of being in them all. Each trying to see the hope in the midst of the raging storm, providing to others a glimpse of light that they themselves are searching for. There is this strange principle I am discovering not just in myself but in those countless others that are members of this difficult brotherhood and sisterhood of suffering. I am noticing that a significant part of the healing process is to reach out and give to others, both those that are sick and those that are well. It seems to some possibly a bit ludicrous, but to me it seems as if it gives this journey a complete purpose, a usefulness of sorts. I am coming to call it "A ministry of Brokenness" I am seeing it as a powerful balm to all in need. It is said in scripture that the prayer of a righteous man is powerful, just think of the power in the prayer of a righteous and broken man or woman. In our weakness we are made strong. There is a deep truth in all of this.

And the side effects begin!

Ugh! This afternoon brought my first side effects. The wonderful dulling of my sense of taste and a raging case of heart burn. I have tried about everything to get it to settle but nothing seems to help. Oh well, it means that the "witches brew" of toxins are beginning to do their dirty work. First they attack the fast growing cells in the body such as mouth cells, stomach cells, and hair follicles. Then they begin the deep work attacking everything else (hopefully those pesky cancer cells the most!). My medicine cabinet is beginning to look like a pharmacy. I am sure I will add some wonderful additions to the list of ever growing names I can not pronounce. Little magic helpers that sooth the long list of things that go wrong as things hopefully start to go right! Well my 13 hour work day has drained me. It is time to settle in for a nights sleep with a firey belly.

Sitting and Waiting

Well the first treatment is coming to an end. I started things at about 8:30 and it is now nearing 2:00. The staging was positive. Stage 2, there was no presence in the bone marrow and no cancer noted within the abdomen or below. That is great! It seems we have caught it early. The treatment regimen looks to be 4 months (8 treatments) of Chemo (ABVD) and 4-6 weeks of radiation daily after the Chemo ends. I do not have any nausea yet, we will see what the weekend brings. Now is a waiting game, watching for side effects, blood level drops, and infections. It sounds like the 4 to 5 hours of Chemo is the easy part. It is the in between times where things can get "exciting"

Wired

I am sitting here right now in a lazy boy recliner with my feet up. No I am not on some sort of vacation, or watching a movie, or napping on a spring day. Today I am willingly being injected with some of the most powerful and poisonous drugs I have ever heard of. The side effects are long and nasty sounding, hair loss, diarrhea, constipation (not sure how you can have both at the same time!), mouth sores, bruising, easy bleeding, allergic reaction, collapse of white blood cell counts, risk of infection, etc. So far so good! The room is full. People of all ages. It is staggering the longer I walk this path how many people are battling this disease. I have been unfortunately very naive about the extent of cancer in our society. It is an equal opportunity disease. It knows no boundaries. The scans, heart test, pulmonary test, blood test, etc. have all shown that I am healthy......other than the little issue of cancer. I have the blood workup of an athlete. Unfortunately there are these tiny cells in my body trying to kill me from the inside out. It is a strange place to be, a bit surreal.

Waves

One of the most difficult parts of walking the early stages of cancer seems to be the waves of feelings, emotions, guilt, etc. that you feel. It is the strangest feeling. One moment you are having a normal conversation or doing simple daily tasks and SUDDENLY......WHAM you get hit by a wave of thoughts. It can be so powerful at times that it derails what you were currently doing. The thoughts swell around you and engulf you. At times they paralyze your mind. Even simple words or decisions are frozen. Everything seems different after diagnosis. The world around you, the laugh of your child, the touch of your spouse seem different. Everything is more intense as if you are clinging to things holding on to them not wanting them to slip away with the hours that tick on by in a relentless march forward to a future with what seems to be more uncertainty than ever. The pressure of life seems to pour upon you with a weight that suffocates your ability to see clearly. But at times this weight lifts. And for a moment there is a lightness of being. At times as you face your mortality there are moments where the importance rests solely in a single moment. The blueness of the sky, a breeze, the warmth of the sun, a laugh with a friend, the touch of a hand, these moments sometimes sharpen the focus of life. And at once time stands still pausing in the simplicity and perfection of that moment. Maybe that is how eternity feels.

Body Hair + Surgical Tape = OUCH!

I have begun the series of tests designed to stage my cancer. It has been a roller coaster of appointments, trips to Urbana, and multiple sticks for blood draws, blood tests, and who knows what else. I feel physically good still, to be honest the procedures attempting to understand the extent of my cancer have made me feel worse than I did before. The only truly bad part of all of this so far has been the removal of surgical tape in random places on my body. I have lost more hair in the last week than a golden retriever on a hot July day! While the bone marrow biopsy included pain like I had never felt, the surgical tape removal process leaves me feeling anxious and significantly apprehensive. The one on my backside makes me go white just thinking about it!

The Before Picture

Quick Demolition Work

And the fun begins!

The Hands and Feet of Christ!

C3 "Extreme Makeover"

Saturday was a wonderful day and an amazing expression of love! A crew of (at last count) 9 people descended upon my kitchen to make some dust and share a great Saturday. It is amazing how many people impact your life at different points of need. This single day was only possible with the help of 9 brothers in Christ (thankfully one being my father!), a deaconess (Thank you Laura for the lunch), some youth helpers, and an army of baby sitters in the wings. I pray that your kindness is brought back to you all 10 fold, pressed down and flowing over! (Pictured above in no particular order.......drum roll please! My father Charles, myself (very humbled but grateful) Justin, Kevin, Pastor Bill, Mike, Matt (the nail pulling Ninja), and Wayne.....not pictured Michael "I have a really cool drill", and "Electric Joel"). The day was truly amazing! The work that was completed would have taken me weeks and probably at least a few skinned knuckles. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Roller Coaster

Or maybe a yo-yo! Those are a couple of ways that could describe the last 7 days. Here is a brief recap. Surgery (my first ever), some really sweet drugs, pain, more sweet drugs, vomiting, lots of sleep, stiffness, a single call 24 hours later, fear, numbness, lots of hard conversations with the most important people in my life, peace, tears, lots of hard emails to other important people in my life, awkward questions from complete strangers, amazing grace, new found purpose, tremendous support, more prayer, tears, a beautiful small group meeting, awesome prayer, bathing prayer, cathartic prayer, peace, amazing friends and family, lots of flying plaster dust, kitchen makeover, wonderful Sunday service, more amazing prayer, incredible friends and family, first visit with the oncologist, wanted to run, watershed moment, could not turn back, smiling faces, beautiful facility, wonderfully compassionate and talented doctors, nurses, and support staff, positive visit, hope, treatment plan, lots of tests, more tests, staging, bone marrow biopsy scheduled (ouch!), 1st chemo treatment September 3rd.................

I stand here in peace!

Some have acknowledged a bit of disbelief about my sense of calm. 4 simple words. God's Grace.....Christ's sacrifice.

Peace!

Watershed

There are times in our life that act as watersheds. Times that shape our life and often change its course for an unknown future. We all have watershed moments some are similar like graduations, falling in love, marriage, children and so on. Sometimes though we experience watersheds that are pivotal, times when life changes course so drastically that it is hardly recognizable. Right now I am standing in that exact place, a place unrecognizable do to a single call from my doctor. A diagnosis. Cancer. One moment life is moving in one direction, the next it is heading down a path totally unfamiliar. The path that stretches ahead of me is frightening and most assuredly difficult, but I stand here with a hopeful heart, I desire life. To live to the fullest and offer a testimony of God's grace to those around me. I stand in peace.

Feathered Visitors

We had some visitors to the back porch this spring. A family of robins came to visit. I have a beautiful picture of the baby blue eggs but it is trapped on our memory stick from our camera. I am still trying to figure out how to rescue the many pictures we have waiting in some sort of digital purgatory. A few brief weeks and our little blue eggs hatched and became fuzzy little baby birds. Before we could realize they were MUCH BIGGER and already have flown the coop......literally. Now we have an empty nest. It will be our first of many with 5 kids who are growing almost as fast as the little fuzzy robins who graced our back stoop.

Buzzzzzz

Old houses and personal protective equipment. Or my life as a bug. You decide!

Proof is in the pudding

Nicole hard at work!

Painting Adventure!

Nicole and I have been painting the front porch. It is one slow job! We got a nifty heat gun and have been slowly scraping and chipping the old paint off the posts and rails. So far we have managed to get two posts done and about 3 feet of rail! What a difficult job. It will be nice when it is done! Above is a before picture showing the condition of the posts and rails. Below is an after picture to give you an idea of what it will look like.

What a difference!

Here is the after picture.

Spring Gardens

Spring has definitely sprung! Most of the spring gardens are planted and doing well. Lettuce, Carrots, Turnips, Onions, Garlic, Potatoes, Tomatoes, Spinach, Beets, Banana Peppers, and Cabbage. We will put in a few more things before summer fully sets in such as, Mellon's, Zucchini, and Green Beans. The new raised beds are doing well. I hope to have more put in at the end of the year for a total of about 18 6x3 foot 6 inch high raised cedar beds. These are all planted in a hybrid square foot/lasagna garden approach. I love raised beds they are neat and tidy and are wonderful to work with. Each spring I am easily able to get in and work up (accually I never even turn the soil anymore!) the beds nearly 2 to 4 weeks before most gardeners in the area. Due to the heavy spring rains this year I was able to get plants in before most gardeners were able to even begin the process of tilling.