Walla Walla WA, November 29, 2010, Winter is here to stay, snow and cold, 26 degrees
We have had lots of family come and share Thanksgiving with us here on the farm. Three of my older brothers came and one sister-in-law. Hanna and Cleo were both home, so we had a house full. I was coming off of a lot of post-chemo medication and my immune system must have been effected because I came down with a pretty serious sinus cold. Kriss had had it the week before, but she seemed to get over it faster than I am. I was able to preach at all three services on the 28th, but it pretty much wiped me out and I am going to take it easy this week and get healthy so I can go to Seattle without the complication of a sinus infection or bronchitis. The Seattle Cancer Care Alliance has sent out the last donor blood test packets, they should get them back this week. I also have to submit a blood sample to them this week for some test that they need to do.
I continue to be surrounded by loving hearts and hands. A Doctor in our congregation sent me an article recently published in the New England Journal of Medicine entitled: "Reduced Mortality after Allogeneic Hematopoietic-Cell Transplation". This was a study done at SCCA from 1993-1997 and from 2003-2007. It involved over 2,500 patients and showed "significant decreases in mortality" and "in the risk of severe Graft Versus Host Disease caused by viral, bacterial, and fungal infections; and damage to the liver, kidneys, and lungs". The conclusions from the study stated: "We found a substantial reduction in the hazard of death related to allogeneic hematopoietic-cell transplantation, as well as increased long-term survival, over the past decade. Improved outcomes appear to be related to reductions in organ damage, infection, and severe acute Graft Versus Host Disease". I had shared the Sunday before this article appeared some of the statistics concerning mortality and long-term probabilities after transplantation. They were sobering to say the least and I can't tell you how much I appreciated the thoughtfulness of my parishioner to send me some updated information. It confirms our decision to go ahead with the Allogeneic Transplant. We know that all of your prayers and expressions of concern will tip the scales toward healing and restoration.
I am feeling an increasing impact from the latest R-Chop chemo. Not only physically, but emotionally, I don't have the coping capacity I seemed to have just a few weeks ago. As the date approaches to leave home and go to Seattle for up to 4-5 months, it feels like we're leaving most of what we have known and loved for the past 32 years. I guess that is the essence of faith, or "pistis" in the New Testament. Biblical faith is like a coin. On one side is content, or what one believes. On the other side is obedience, or the actual stepping out and putting that faith into practice. Content matters. It is essential to understand the truth of the Gospel and the identity and promises of Jesus. But it isn't enough to "know" the truth. This is where the English language reveals a certain poverty of expression. In both French and Spanish there are two words and levels of "knowing". In French to "know - savoir" something factually implies a simple knowledge or superficial reality. Ones knows a name, address, or fact, but it doesn't imply depth or true comprehension. To "know-connaitre" changes the conversation and relationship dramatically. Now one has moved beyond superficial acquaintance to intimacy and deepening awareness. It is what we encounter in the Gospels over and over again from the words of Jesus. He seemed to have the gift of looking deep within the soul and heart of people and speaking to their deepest needs and fears. All pretense was instantly dissolved and people were exposed, for better or worse, for who they really were and their true motives in seeking Jesus. In spite of that terrifying public revelation of the true self, Jesus spoke a word of healing and hope. People understood that here is a Teacher/Rabbi who "knows-connaitre"
me fully and completely. There is no use in pretending anymore. It is time to be authentic and real, no matter how frightening and humiliating it feels. The miracle, of course, must have been the life-saving look into the Savior's eyes and the vision of perfect love and grace. Some "knew-savoir" the Truth that stood before them, yet they turned away for whatever reasons and failed to act on that faith. Others "knew-connaitre" that they were in the presence of Truth itself and they would sacrifice anything and everything to live out that knowledge to their last breath. It is not enough for us to "know-savoir" the statistical possibilities/probabilities of healing after a transplant. We must act on that knowledge in leaving all that is known and comfortable and going to our own version of Canaan to find a new life and future. I cling to the promise Jesus personally gave to the Apostle Paul in 2 Cor. 12:9: "My grace is all sufficient and efficacious, for my power and strength are only made perfect in the face of your weakness and inadequacy." I guess it's accecptable to acknowledge my increasing weaknesses and inadequacy. I have a feeling that they are only going to multiply during the transplant process. What keeps me moving forward is that life-giving promise that Jesus' power and grace keep expanding concurrently with my shrinking capacities and strength. To all of you reading these words, may you "know-connaitre" the love of Jesus and rejoice in the miracle of following God's invitation to your own Canaan.
Yakima Valley Community College, Fall 1969.
I was used to driving to Yakima every day to go to IKE. In fact, YVCC was even closer to home and I was looking forward to starting College and trying to serve God in all the various Christian ministries in which I was involved. Academically, college was both a review of what I had learned at IKE, and truly a challenge from top notch professors who could have taught anywhere they wanted. I rapidly learned time management was essential. There were just too many responsibilities after school, evenings and weekends to let anything slide. I put homework first and rarely left campus without finishing any assignment due the next day. I made friends with a few people on campus, but I was so involved in ministry with Junior and Senior High School students that most of my energy and time was consumed in that arena. I must have come across as a fairly strange guy. I never knew what a typical college student did for "fun" or entertainment. No one ever invited me to a party or other occasion where I might have made inappropriate choices. One form of rebellion or independence that I did choose, was to let my hair grow down to my shoulders. It was the era when "real christians" didn't have long hair and so it began to cause something of a controversery among the boards of Campus Life and Young Life. They tried to get me to cut my hair, but it was a futile attempt on their part. What caused me to end up getting a buzz cut only 18 months later was when fashion and taste reversed and all the people who had been harrassing me to get my hair cut, were sporting long hair and going to styling salons regularly. The hypocrisy made me realize how frail and fleeting convictions could be.
What consumed most of my time and energy was working with young people. I spent almost every spare moment making phone calls, visiting schools, sending out correspondence, meeting with youth in small groups and large gatherings, teaching Bible classes or attending student activities. As I write this list, I am struck by how much my life still involves almost all of these things. The essence of ministry is building trust and creating a meaningful relationship with others. My wife has a note stuck up next to the computor that says: "Jesus is my life, Friendship is my agenda!" It's a quote from a cancer patient/pastor who we listened to on the internet a while ago. He was talking about why he had chosen to stop all life-saving and extending treatments and let nature and God take their course. He is 74 years old, so I can understand why he is making that choice. At 59 years of age, it isn't as attractive.
Living at home and going to College meant that I was still fairly dependent upon my mother financially and personally. In fact, much to my children's disgust and disbelief, I never learned to do my own laundry, ever! My mother did it until I left for France in 1971. The family I lived with in France did the laundry for us and I got married to Kriss December 30, 1971. I tried to do a load of laundry once after we were married, but the pink undergarments that emerged resulted in my banishment from the washer and dryer. My incredibly independent daughters simply cannot conceive of how I could have survived with such ignorance, let alone how Kriss could have put up with such immaturity. I can testify to the fact that it is possible to get through life without knowing how to do laundry, but I wouldn't recommend it.
That first year of College was so consumed with studying and ministry that it seemed to just fly past. I have a suspicion that part of my out of balance lifestyle was an unhealthy way of avoiding deeper personal issues that I was too "busy" to even acknowledge. Doing "God's Work" is the ultimate alibi and cop out for not addressing significant issues in life. Pastors are notorious and tragically, nefarious, when it comes to rationalizing unhealthy behavior. They will defend to their last breath and day in ministry their need to put others' needs ahead of their own. God has a way of getting our attention, however and in the coming summer of 1970, life would be turned upside down with new adventures in work and relationships.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
REALITY CHECK!
Walla Walla, WA, Friday, November 19, 2010 Snow in the mountains, 45 degrees in the valley.
We have finally received word as to when we will be returning to Seattle for the preparation for the stem cell transplant. In order to keep the cancer I already have in remission, I had my fourth R-Chop treatment here in Walla Walla on Wednesday, November 17th. I am two days in recovery from that treatment and am tolerating it as well as can be expected. There will be a dip early next week as I come off of some of the medications they give to counteract the more unpleasant side effects. We will have some family coming for Thanksgiving, arriving on Wednesday the 24th, so I should be in pretty good shape by then. I have had some college age guys come out and help get the final stacks of hay put in the barn for winter. It is a big relief to get things done on the farm so we can sleep easier at night and know the good hay is safe from rain and snow damage. We sell the good grass hay to horse people over the winter, so it has to be dry and free of mold and mildew.
Our four children begin blood work today, November 19th, to find the best donor from among them. Hanna and Ella are driving up from the Portland, OR area to the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance this morning to get the process started. Cleo and Amos will submit blood work from Walla Walla and Colorado as soon as they receive their packets. We will leave Walla Walla December 14th and have appointments beginning the morning of December 15th. They would like to have the donor selected and present with us at that time, I hope that will be possible. Amos is probably the only one who would have any trouble being available for that timeframe. We will have consultations with Dr. Press and other people up and until the 29th of December which is the day I would begin pre-transplant chemo to suppress my immune system and wipe out any residual cancer cells floating around in my body. That is the point of no return. There is no turning back and we are committed to doing the transplant on January 4, 2011.
During our pre-R-Chop consultation with my Oncologist here in Walla Walla, we had a very frank and open Reality Check, from his perspective, about the chances of survival and success of the transplant. He wants us to have as much awareness as possible of the risks and possible outcomes we may face. Specifically, 20% of transplant patients don't survive the transplant itself; 45-50% of patients have their cancer return even with the transplant; and 45% of transplant survivors develop graft versus host disease which can be fatal as well. His honest opinion is that if I choose not to do the transplant, he would treat me in Walla Walla with no chance of a cure. I would continue to have periods of remission, but that the cancer would reappear over and over until it would effect vital organs and I would die. He would do everything he could to make me comfortable, but that I would have to make choices about quality versus quantity of life. The one thing he cannot offer to me is hope for a cure. That is the most significant thing having a transplant keeps in play. It is the intangible factor that can tip all of the statistical factors from failure to success.
In Paul's Epistle to the Romans, Chapter 5, we read: "Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace (shalom) with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not desappoint us, because God has poired out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." It is the combination of all of your loving prayers, support and the hope of God that gives us the faith and courage to face this life and death struggle. Through the lens of divine hope we focus on the 80% of those who survive the transplant; the 50-55% whose cancer is cured and never returns; the 55% who don't develop graft versus host disease; not to mention the chance to cure my myleo-dysplastic syndrome and have a new immune system from one of my children in their 20's or 30's. Who knows what crazy and amazing things God might do with a 30 year old immune system in a 60 year old body. It is both inspiring and frightening to those who have to live and work with me.
So for the next 4 weeks, we will prepare to wrap things up here in Walla Walla and get ready to relocate to Seattle for 3 and 1/2 to 5 months. Kriss will be going back and forth from Seattle to Walla Walla from time to time, especially during calving season. We have people lined up to help with that and feeding all the animals when winter sets in for real. I have made a count of our hay supply and we should have plenty to get through until Spring. We have processed all of the calves from 2009 and they all turned out in exceptional shape. In fact, Thundering Hooves, wants to talk to us about helping them manage their all natural grass fed beef production in the future. It would be helpful to just be in the consultation business and not have to do all the physical work, which I probably won't be able to do for a couple of years, anyway. We will meet with them on the 24th of November to see what they are thinking. We have developed a genetic strain of beef cattle that can finish on just grass and alfalfa hay at about 18 months of age and produce a 700-800lb. carcass that grades choice with perfect marbling and back fat cover. At the very least, they want to have access to our breeding stock and see what they can do to help us expand our operation so they can guarantee the best quality they can to their ever growing customer base. God has a way of providing for every need we have, even when we don't have any idea how things could possibly work out. I had a similar reality check the night I graduated from Dwight D. Eishenhower Senior High School, June 10, 1969.
Yakima, WA, June 10, 1969 Graduation/Commencement, Class of 1969.
I was very pleased to have finished High School. It was a difficult, but fruitful year in my life intellectually and spiritually. I graduated in the top 5% of the class academically,and received two Awards in Band and Orchestra. Secretary of Washington State Ludlow Cramer gave a speech on "Challenge and Response". My father came over from Seattle to attend the ceremonies and I appreciated his coming, but would find out the next day one of his main motives in being there. After the hoopla was over at the school, we were invited to an all class graduation party at the YMCA in Yakima, to keep us off the streets and try to keep people sober and alive. It was a pretty lame party and I left by 3:00 am. I was to start my summer job working for Windy Point Fruit Farms at 7:00 am that same moring, so I thought I should get home and get a couple hours of sleep before starting a new job and a new reality.
Windy Point Farms was owned by some very wealthy people in Seattle and managed by the Delt Clark family. Delt Sr., Delt Jr. and brother Dale all worked on the farm and they had several hundred acres of mixed soft and hard fruit that kept a lot of people busy summer and winter. I had worked on a lot of cattle and hay operations, but this was my first experience in fruit production on a commercial scale. I had a lot to learn, but I was willing and eager to learn all I could and I ended up working for them off and on for the next two years. What I remember most about the first day at work, was what was awaiting me when I got home around 6:00 pm. My mother was waiting for me with the news that after my graduation ceremony, my father had asked her for a divorce. What a great graduation present. I was hoping and praying that being together for my graduation would somehow bring my parents together. It was a bitter pill to swallow and, of course, my mother used it to alienate me from my father and align myself with her side of the story. It would take them a couple of years to sort out all the legal baggage, but they would ultimately legally divorce and get on with their lives. I felt like I was set adrift on a boat alone, with only Jesus standing behind me to guide me through the storms of life, just like the picture I bought myself for graduation that still hangs in my bedroom.
Windy Point Farms was the perfect place to spend a summer coping with family issues and learning everything there is to learn about fruit production, packing and marketing. Just a few weeks after starting work, cherry harvest began. We all had the option to either pick cherries, which was piece work and you got paid by how much you picked, or an hourly wage driving a tractor or working in the packing shed. I thought I would try my hand at picking cherries, which would probably earn me more money per day. I was right. I can even remember that I picked 30 buckets of cherries my first day, and got paid .90 cents per bucket or $27 dollars that first day. Since hourly wages were about $1.85 an hour, I made close to $3.00 an hour being a "fruit tramp" or picker. Whenever I could, I would pick fruit and make extra money. Otherwise, the summer crew would thin fruit, prop up limbs, set out bins and ladders for the next harvest and work in the packing shed sorting fruit and storing it for shipment. There was always more to do than we had time for and it made the days go by quickly. Apricot harvest was next and I was selected to run a highlift picking machine that held a dozen buckets around the cage that you controlled with hydralics to go forward, backward and up and down. Apricots had to be color-picked, so you only picked those with a bronze tint to them so they would ripen with enough sugar content and yet be firm enough to survive the sorting and packing process. I got pretty good at it and could pick over 100 buckets of apricots a day. There is a lot of culling during the packout of apricots and they would set the culls in 1000 lb. bins and then dump them out in the orchard for fertilizer as they broke down. One day I asked if I could sort out some of them that were still perfectly edible and safe to eat. They asked me what I intended to do with them, fearing that I was going to sell them on the sly and they wouldn't permit me to do that. I said that I had been in touch with a christian ministry among the poorer families in Yakima and that I would personally sort out the apricots and deliver them to the agency and they would distribute them free of charge to needy families. Thus began a ministry of working after regular working hours, going through the cull bins and hauling them to Yakima to feed those in need. I met some great people and families doing that ministry and since I had been poor and in need much of my early years, I could appreciate what fresh fruit could mean to these families, especially the children. The Clarks were very pleased with my work ethic and my spiritual commitment. They attended the Parker Heights Presbyterian Church and so we shared that in common. I had enrolled in Yakima Valley Community College for the Fall Quarter. Mostly, I felt called to stay in the Yakima Valley in order to continue serving in the ministries God had placed me into. I would be the Campus Life Leader at White Swan High School, assist with the Young Life Program at Wapato High School, teach 7th grade Sunday School at the Community Presbyterian Church in Wapato and help lead their Junior High School Weekly ministry, plus go to school full time and work Saturdays and holiday breaks for Windy Point Farms. I learned early on to trust in God's all sufficient grace to manage my time and use me to minister to others for His glory. I lived at home with my mother and continued to drive to Yakima every day to attend College. It was a daunting challenge to take on, much like the medical battle we are about to face 41 years later.
We have finally received word as to when we will be returning to Seattle for the preparation for the stem cell transplant. In order to keep the cancer I already have in remission, I had my fourth R-Chop treatment here in Walla Walla on Wednesday, November 17th. I am two days in recovery from that treatment and am tolerating it as well as can be expected. There will be a dip early next week as I come off of some of the medications they give to counteract the more unpleasant side effects. We will have some family coming for Thanksgiving, arriving on Wednesday the 24th, so I should be in pretty good shape by then. I have had some college age guys come out and help get the final stacks of hay put in the barn for winter. It is a big relief to get things done on the farm so we can sleep easier at night and know the good hay is safe from rain and snow damage. We sell the good grass hay to horse people over the winter, so it has to be dry and free of mold and mildew.
Our four children begin blood work today, November 19th, to find the best donor from among them. Hanna and Ella are driving up from the Portland, OR area to the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance this morning to get the process started. Cleo and Amos will submit blood work from Walla Walla and Colorado as soon as they receive their packets. We will leave Walla Walla December 14th and have appointments beginning the morning of December 15th. They would like to have the donor selected and present with us at that time, I hope that will be possible. Amos is probably the only one who would have any trouble being available for that timeframe. We will have consultations with Dr. Press and other people up and until the 29th of December which is the day I would begin pre-transplant chemo to suppress my immune system and wipe out any residual cancer cells floating around in my body. That is the point of no return. There is no turning back and we are committed to doing the transplant on January 4, 2011.
During our pre-R-Chop consultation with my Oncologist here in Walla Walla, we had a very frank and open Reality Check, from his perspective, about the chances of survival and success of the transplant. He wants us to have as much awareness as possible of the risks and possible outcomes we may face. Specifically, 20% of transplant patients don't survive the transplant itself; 45-50% of patients have their cancer return even with the transplant; and 45% of transplant survivors develop graft versus host disease which can be fatal as well. His honest opinion is that if I choose not to do the transplant, he would treat me in Walla Walla with no chance of a cure. I would continue to have periods of remission, but that the cancer would reappear over and over until it would effect vital organs and I would die. He would do everything he could to make me comfortable, but that I would have to make choices about quality versus quantity of life. The one thing he cannot offer to me is hope for a cure. That is the most significant thing having a transplant keeps in play. It is the intangible factor that can tip all of the statistical factors from failure to success.
In Paul's Epistle to the Romans, Chapter 5, we read: "Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace (shalom) with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not desappoint us, because God has poired out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." It is the combination of all of your loving prayers, support and the hope of God that gives us the faith and courage to face this life and death struggle. Through the lens of divine hope we focus on the 80% of those who survive the transplant; the 50-55% whose cancer is cured and never returns; the 55% who don't develop graft versus host disease; not to mention the chance to cure my myleo-dysplastic syndrome and have a new immune system from one of my children in their 20's or 30's. Who knows what crazy and amazing things God might do with a 30 year old immune system in a 60 year old body. It is both inspiring and frightening to those who have to live and work with me.
So for the next 4 weeks, we will prepare to wrap things up here in Walla Walla and get ready to relocate to Seattle for 3 and 1/2 to 5 months. Kriss will be going back and forth from Seattle to Walla Walla from time to time, especially during calving season. We have people lined up to help with that and feeding all the animals when winter sets in for real. I have made a count of our hay supply and we should have plenty to get through until Spring. We have processed all of the calves from 2009 and they all turned out in exceptional shape. In fact, Thundering Hooves, wants to talk to us about helping them manage their all natural grass fed beef production in the future. It would be helpful to just be in the consultation business and not have to do all the physical work, which I probably won't be able to do for a couple of years, anyway. We will meet with them on the 24th of November to see what they are thinking. We have developed a genetic strain of beef cattle that can finish on just grass and alfalfa hay at about 18 months of age and produce a 700-800lb. carcass that grades choice with perfect marbling and back fat cover. At the very least, they want to have access to our breeding stock and see what they can do to help us expand our operation so they can guarantee the best quality they can to their ever growing customer base. God has a way of providing for every need we have, even when we don't have any idea how things could possibly work out. I had a similar reality check the night I graduated from Dwight D. Eishenhower Senior High School, June 10, 1969.
Yakima, WA, June 10, 1969 Graduation/Commencement, Class of 1969.
I was very pleased to have finished High School. It was a difficult, but fruitful year in my life intellectually and spiritually. I graduated in the top 5% of the class academically,and received two Awards in Band and Orchestra. Secretary of Washington State Ludlow Cramer gave a speech on "Challenge and Response". My father came over from Seattle to attend the ceremonies and I appreciated his coming, but would find out the next day one of his main motives in being there. After the hoopla was over at the school, we were invited to an all class graduation party at the YMCA in Yakima, to keep us off the streets and try to keep people sober and alive. It was a pretty lame party and I left by 3:00 am. I was to start my summer job working for Windy Point Fruit Farms at 7:00 am that same moring, so I thought I should get home and get a couple hours of sleep before starting a new job and a new reality.
Windy Point Farms was owned by some very wealthy people in Seattle and managed by the Delt Clark family. Delt Sr., Delt Jr. and brother Dale all worked on the farm and they had several hundred acres of mixed soft and hard fruit that kept a lot of people busy summer and winter. I had worked on a lot of cattle and hay operations, but this was my first experience in fruit production on a commercial scale. I had a lot to learn, but I was willing and eager to learn all I could and I ended up working for them off and on for the next two years. What I remember most about the first day at work, was what was awaiting me when I got home around 6:00 pm. My mother was waiting for me with the news that after my graduation ceremony, my father had asked her for a divorce. What a great graduation present. I was hoping and praying that being together for my graduation would somehow bring my parents together. It was a bitter pill to swallow and, of course, my mother used it to alienate me from my father and align myself with her side of the story. It would take them a couple of years to sort out all the legal baggage, but they would ultimately legally divorce and get on with their lives. I felt like I was set adrift on a boat alone, with only Jesus standing behind me to guide me through the storms of life, just like the picture I bought myself for graduation that still hangs in my bedroom.
Windy Point Farms was the perfect place to spend a summer coping with family issues and learning everything there is to learn about fruit production, packing and marketing. Just a few weeks after starting work, cherry harvest began. We all had the option to either pick cherries, which was piece work and you got paid by how much you picked, or an hourly wage driving a tractor or working in the packing shed. I thought I would try my hand at picking cherries, which would probably earn me more money per day. I was right. I can even remember that I picked 30 buckets of cherries my first day, and got paid .90 cents per bucket or $27 dollars that first day. Since hourly wages were about $1.85 an hour, I made close to $3.00 an hour being a "fruit tramp" or picker. Whenever I could, I would pick fruit and make extra money. Otherwise, the summer crew would thin fruit, prop up limbs, set out bins and ladders for the next harvest and work in the packing shed sorting fruit and storing it for shipment. There was always more to do than we had time for and it made the days go by quickly. Apricot harvest was next and I was selected to run a highlift picking machine that held a dozen buckets around the cage that you controlled with hydralics to go forward, backward and up and down. Apricots had to be color-picked, so you only picked those with a bronze tint to them so they would ripen with enough sugar content and yet be firm enough to survive the sorting and packing process. I got pretty good at it and could pick over 100 buckets of apricots a day. There is a lot of culling during the packout of apricots and they would set the culls in 1000 lb. bins and then dump them out in the orchard for fertilizer as they broke down. One day I asked if I could sort out some of them that were still perfectly edible and safe to eat. They asked me what I intended to do with them, fearing that I was going to sell them on the sly and they wouldn't permit me to do that. I said that I had been in touch with a christian ministry among the poorer families in Yakima and that I would personally sort out the apricots and deliver them to the agency and they would distribute them free of charge to needy families. Thus began a ministry of working after regular working hours, going through the cull bins and hauling them to Yakima to feed those in need. I met some great people and families doing that ministry and since I had been poor and in need much of my early years, I could appreciate what fresh fruit could mean to these families, especially the children. The Clarks were very pleased with my work ethic and my spiritual commitment. They attended the Parker Heights Presbyterian Church and so we shared that in common. I had enrolled in Yakima Valley Community College for the Fall Quarter. Mostly, I felt called to stay in the Yakima Valley in order to continue serving in the ministries God had placed me into. I would be the Campus Life Leader at White Swan High School, assist with the Young Life Program at Wapato High School, teach 7th grade Sunday School at the Community Presbyterian Church in Wapato and help lead their Junior High School Weekly ministry, plus go to school full time and work Saturdays and holiday breaks for Windy Point Farms. I learned early on to trust in God's all sufficient grace to manage my time and use me to minister to others for His glory. I lived at home with my mother and continued to drive to Yakima every day to attend College. It was a daunting challenge to take on, much like the medical battle we are about to face 41 years later.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
CBA - Cost versus Benefit Analysis!
Walla Walla, November 13, 2010, Overcast, 50+ degrees.
Dr. Press had Dr. Maloney call me yesterday with the latest news and recommendations from the Seatttle Cancer Care Alliance (SCCA). They have concluded that none of my siblings are acceptable transplant donors. Due to age, prior medical history or current medical status, none of them appear viable at this time. The next step in the process is to have all four of our children tested to see which of them has the genetic markers that match mine which would be the strongest for long term recovery. Dr. Maloney noted that I seem to have a very complex DNA and that it would be unlikely that even the national or global donor bank would identify a perfect donor match. My wife, of course, said that she could have told them from the start that I am a very complex,( meaning sometimes difficult person to match with), individual and so she wasn't too surprised. She added, however, that it is one of the reasons she loves me so much. Nevertheless, we are once again at a crossroads of treatment options and major league decision making. Dr. Maloney acknowledged that using one of our children as a stem-cell donor is not the ideal. It multiplies the level of risk to a new level of lethality and he could not clearly recommend whether to even have the transplant or not. The one decision we made, was to have another R-Chop treatment on my three week cycle this coming Wednesday, November 17th. I was hoping to have finished that cycle, but it appears to be necessary to keep the cancer in as conplete a state of remission as possible. I can have up to six R-Chop treatments and this next one will be the fourth. Each treatment intensifies the length and severity of the side effects and time of recovery. So far, by the grace of God, I have tolerated those side effects surprisingly well and hope to continue that track record.
That leaves us with the responsibility of making the final decision about the course to follow. There is no clear medical path to choose on the way to long-term health. How I wish there was an Oz-like yellow brick road that we just had to follow and it would lead us to the Emerald City of health and strength. Ironically, Seattle is called the Emerald City. I don't consider that a definitive sign in this case, but it is worth taking into consideration. In that fanciful world, Dr. Press is the Wizard, Nurse Dot and PA Britta are the good witches and my wife and children take turns playing the roles of the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion. I will leave it up to them to identify themselves. I am loath to identify anyone as the wicked witches, but there are probably some volunteers for even those roles. The great message of the Wizard of Oz, for me, is that the only way they could ever reach their dream destination was to stick together and courageously overcome all the life-threatening obstacles that were thrown in their way. We owe a tremendous debt of appreciation to all of you who pray for us and overwhelm us with love and encouragement. By God's grace and all of your support, we are confident that we will be led to choose the right path; God's path, which is notoriously narrow, steep, dangerous and hard to navigate, but leads to the mountain meadows of life. We will probably await the results of our children's blood tests to make a final, final decision. I would envision an all-family consultation with Dr. Press when those results are known. That is how we started this process over 5 years ago and it is important to keep the continuity along the way, for my family's sake if for no other reason. Pray for all of us in the crucible of decision making. In the meantime, we will remain in Walla Walla until mid-December, most likely. We have some family coming out West for Thanksgiving and so we will welcome them and their support.
Emotionally, the delay and complications take an increasingly heavy toll. Just when we come to terms with one treatment option and all the related risks, it feels like it is jerked out from under our feet and we land on our keesters, bruised and uncertain. Like a boxer getting off of the canvas, you take your lumps and try to come up with a new game plan that will produce a better outcome. I have often quoted the words of the Apostle Paul in 2 Cor. 4 in this blog. I hate to be so repetitive, but I relate completely with these words: "Hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." The presence and power of God's Spirit available to all believers somehow miraculously keeps me moving forward, and seeking to know and serve Christ more fully every day. I had two funerals on Tuesday this week and have another one this afternoon. One of the best antidotes for self-pity is obedience. It would be easy to turn away from those in grief and mourning with the justification of my own medical problems and needs. My ministry is not a profession, but a vocation. I am called by Christ to love others as deeply and authentically as long and as fully as God has loved me. It is both healing and helpful to forget about myself and my situation, and beg God to use my meager and halting thoughts to reveal the hope of God's eternal love to those that God chooses to place in my path. If tears are grace, like my friend Frederick Buechner is oft to write, I have such an abundance of mercy in my life that it just keeps running out of my eyes in thanksgiving for God's all sufficient and efficacious grace. Walking the foreign halls of Dwight D. Eishenhower High School the Fall of 1968, I needed all of the grace and strength of God could provide to remain faithful to following and serving God in a new school.
Dwight D. Eishenhower High School, Yakima, WA Fall of 1968
Before I ever enrolled IKE I knew that I would be ineligible from playing basketball or tennis. I willingly accepted that as part of God's invitation to deny myself, take up my cross and follow Jesus to a new school. I also accepted the loss of my friends, position and stature God had given to me at Wapato High School and the Wapato community at large. It was inevitable that some of my peers at Wapato would tell me to my face that I was a traitor, stupid, thought I was better than them and an idiot, in general. It didn't make for a pleasant transition. I lived two blocks away from Wapato High School on Satus Avenue, and I drove by the school every day on my 20 mile pilgrimage to IKE. Students at IKE were less than welcoming. Word gets around very quickly in any school about "new kids" and I was no exception. I made the mistake of wearing my Wapato letterman's jacket to school one day and the IKE football coach shoved me into a corner and told me it wasn't acceptable to wear foreign letterman jackets in his school and he would tear it off of me if I ever wore it again. First amendment freedom of speach, obviously didn't exist in those hallowed halls. I decided discretion was better than valor, so I hung the jacket in the closet.
IKE was unlike any other High School in Eastern Washington. It was more of an elite Academy for College Preparation. You registered for classes each Trimester which lasted 12 weeks. Some classes only lasted for one Trimester and others like French or Math would continue the whole year, but you had to re-register every 12 weeks. It had a reputation for being an elitist school and it didn't help that you drove up Nob Hill Boulevard to 40th Avenue and turned right to get to school. It was often alluded to by other High Schools as the School near Snob Hill Boulevard and the student body actually lived out that identity. I was an unwelcome intruder in their superior world and they made me feel very unwelcome. I know God had some very good reasons for sending me there, I just couldn't see them through the tears I often shed walking alone in the hallways.
Because I wasn't elgible for athletics, I had lots of time to devote to other things. IKE was the perfect place to redefine your life and priorities. First Trimester I enrolled In English Litt which was manditory for almost all 500 Seniors in the Class of 1969. Lectures were given in the multi-purpose auditorium to all 500 of us at one time. All Lectures were taped, so if you were sick or absent, you could go to the Library after school and catch up. I decided that being the best student I could be, would be a valid reason for being at IKE. Even though I heard the Lecture the first time, I would take my class notes and re-listen to the Lecture to make sure that I didn't miss anything. I never left school without finishing my daily homework assignments. I signed up for both Band and Orchestra and quickly rose to first Trombone in both of them. I became friends with the second Trombone player right away and he turned out to be a dedicated christian brother. I could see God's hand beginning to open doors of friendship and fellowship within a couple of weeks.
Having time to spare because of no sports, I joined the Youth For Christ Club at IKE and attended the Young Life Club there and at Wapato High School, as well. I also returned to the Community Presbyterian Church in Wapato, much to my Mother's approval, and began teaching the 7th grade Sunday School Class on Sunday morning. I discovered very quickly the joy of Christian Service. You didn't have thousands of fans cheering for you like in sports, but there seemed to be a cloud of witnesses pulling for you, even if they were invisible to others. As a result of my decisions to follow Christ to IKE, I met my future wife at a Saturday Morning All Valley Prayer Meeting for Youth For Christ. It met at 6:30 am, once a month, and it was a real sacrifice of time and sleep to get there. Kids from High Schools all over the Upper and Lower Yakima Valleys attended. I can still remember the morning Kriss walked into that meeting, I was smitten from day one, but it would take years before we found God bringing us together.
In the Winter Trimester, I was connected to a Basketball League in Yakima and enjoyed playing again and staying in shape. One of the friends I made in French Class was a guy named Bobbi Di Pietro Jr. He was a gifted athlete, especially pitching in baseball, but he needed help academically from time to time and we became pretty good friends. He was only a Junior and I helped him alot with French Class. Every day after I had had a basketball game, he would quiz me on how many points I had scored. When I told him, he would tell me he would find a way to get me eligible to play for IKE. I told him why I was there and that it was OK if I didn't play intersholastically. He respected both my French knowledge and my spiritual commitment. In the Spring, I really missed playing tennis. IKE was a state powerhouse in tennis and over a 20+ year run, they never lost a dual tennis match. That string would come to an end when my own son, Amos, played for Walla Walla High School and his team beat IKE when he was a Sophomore. IKE's first singles player missed the team bus that morning, but drove to Richland, WA on his own and begged the coach to let him play. I have the greatest respect for that coach who clung to his rules and standards to not let people play who didn't ride the team bus. He got a lot of grief from the Yakima tennis community for his convictions.
God was faithful throughout that Senior Year. I was chosen to be a part of a Gifted Student Project with students from IKE and Davis High School. We had special lectures in Yakima and went to Seattle for several days for enrichment courses. I tried to be a witness for Christ in all aspects of my student life at IKE and I continued to visit the secretary who had inspired me to attend there from day one. As graduation day approached, I knew that the big decisions coming up about College and life would impact much of my future. Little did I know that the night of my graduation would reveal a new dimention to my life that was beyond anything I ever imagined.
Dr. Press had Dr. Maloney call me yesterday with the latest news and recommendations from the Seatttle Cancer Care Alliance (SCCA). They have concluded that none of my siblings are acceptable transplant donors. Due to age, prior medical history or current medical status, none of them appear viable at this time. The next step in the process is to have all four of our children tested to see which of them has the genetic markers that match mine which would be the strongest for long term recovery. Dr. Maloney noted that I seem to have a very complex DNA and that it would be unlikely that even the national or global donor bank would identify a perfect donor match. My wife, of course, said that she could have told them from the start that I am a very complex,( meaning sometimes difficult person to match with), individual and so she wasn't too surprised. She added, however, that it is one of the reasons she loves me so much. Nevertheless, we are once again at a crossroads of treatment options and major league decision making. Dr. Maloney acknowledged that using one of our children as a stem-cell donor is not the ideal. It multiplies the level of risk to a new level of lethality and he could not clearly recommend whether to even have the transplant or not. The one decision we made, was to have another R-Chop treatment on my three week cycle this coming Wednesday, November 17th. I was hoping to have finished that cycle, but it appears to be necessary to keep the cancer in as conplete a state of remission as possible. I can have up to six R-Chop treatments and this next one will be the fourth. Each treatment intensifies the length and severity of the side effects and time of recovery. So far, by the grace of God, I have tolerated those side effects surprisingly well and hope to continue that track record.
That leaves us with the responsibility of making the final decision about the course to follow. There is no clear medical path to choose on the way to long-term health. How I wish there was an Oz-like yellow brick road that we just had to follow and it would lead us to the Emerald City of health and strength. Ironically, Seattle is called the Emerald City. I don't consider that a definitive sign in this case, but it is worth taking into consideration. In that fanciful world, Dr. Press is the Wizard, Nurse Dot and PA Britta are the good witches and my wife and children take turns playing the roles of the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion. I will leave it up to them to identify themselves. I am loath to identify anyone as the wicked witches, but there are probably some volunteers for even those roles. The great message of the Wizard of Oz, for me, is that the only way they could ever reach their dream destination was to stick together and courageously overcome all the life-threatening obstacles that were thrown in their way. We owe a tremendous debt of appreciation to all of you who pray for us and overwhelm us with love and encouragement. By God's grace and all of your support, we are confident that we will be led to choose the right path; God's path, which is notoriously narrow, steep, dangerous and hard to navigate, but leads to the mountain meadows of life. We will probably await the results of our children's blood tests to make a final, final decision. I would envision an all-family consultation with Dr. Press when those results are known. That is how we started this process over 5 years ago and it is important to keep the continuity along the way, for my family's sake if for no other reason. Pray for all of us in the crucible of decision making. In the meantime, we will remain in Walla Walla until mid-December, most likely. We have some family coming out West for Thanksgiving and so we will welcome them and their support.
Emotionally, the delay and complications take an increasingly heavy toll. Just when we come to terms with one treatment option and all the related risks, it feels like it is jerked out from under our feet and we land on our keesters, bruised and uncertain. Like a boxer getting off of the canvas, you take your lumps and try to come up with a new game plan that will produce a better outcome. I have often quoted the words of the Apostle Paul in 2 Cor. 4 in this blog. I hate to be so repetitive, but I relate completely with these words: "Hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." The presence and power of God's Spirit available to all believers somehow miraculously keeps me moving forward, and seeking to know and serve Christ more fully every day. I had two funerals on Tuesday this week and have another one this afternoon. One of the best antidotes for self-pity is obedience. It would be easy to turn away from those in grief and mourning with the justification of my own medical problems and needs. My ministry is not a profession, but a vocation. I am called by Christ to love others as deeply and authentically as long and as fully as God has loved me. It is both healing and helpful to forget about myself and my situation, and beg God to use my meager and halting thoughts to reveal the hope of God's eternal love to those that God chooses to place in my path. If tears are grace, like my friend Frederick Buechner is oft to write, I have such an abundance of mercy in my life that it just keeps running out of my eyes in thanksgiving for God's all sufficient and efficacious grace. Walking the foreign halls of Dwight D. Eishenhower High School the Fall of 1968, I needed all of the grace and strength of God could provide to remain faithful to following and serving God in a new school.
Dwight D. Eishenhower High School, Yakima, WA Fall of 1968
Before I ever enrolled IKE I knew that I would be ineligible from playing basketball or tennis. I willingly accepted that as part of God's invitation to deny myself, take up my cross and follow Jesus to a new school. I also accepted the loss of my friends, position and stature God had given to me at Wapato High School and the Wapato community at large. It was inevitable that some of my peers at Wapato would tell me to my face that I was a traitor, stupid, thought I was better than them and an idiot, in general. It didn't make for a pleasant transition. I lived two blocks away from Wapato High School on Satus Avenue, and I drove by the school every day on my 20 mile pilgrimage to IKE. Students at IKE were less than welcoming. Word gets around very quickly in any school about "new kids" and I was no exception. I made the mistake of wearing my Wapato letterman's jacket to school one day and the IKE football coach shoved me into a corner and told me it wasn't acceptable to wear foreign letterman jackets in his school and he would tear it off of me if I ever wore it again. First amendment freedom of speach, obviously didn't exist in those hallowed halls. I decided discretion was better than valor, so I hung the jacket in the closet.
IKE was unlike any other High School in Eastern Washington. It was more of an elite Academy for College Preparation. You registered for classes each Trimester which lasted 12 weeks. Some classes only lasted for one Trimester and others like French or Math would continue the whole year, but you had to re-register every 12 weeks. It had a reputation for being an elitist school and it didn't help that you drove up Nob Hill Boulevard to 40th Avenue and turned right to get to school. It was often alluded to by other High Schools as the School near Snob Hill Boulevard and the student body actually lived out that identity. I was an unwelcome intruder in their superior world and they made me feel very unwelcome. I know God had some very good reasons for sending me there, I just couldn't see them through the tears I often shed walking alone in the hallways.
Because I wasn't elgible for athletics, I had lots of time to devote to other things. IKE was the perfect place to redefine your life and priorities. First Trimester I enrolled In English Litt which was manditory for almost all 500 Seniors in the Class of 1969. Lectures were given in the multi-purpose auditorium to all 500 of us at one time. All Lectures were taped, so if you were sick or absent, you could go to the Library after school and catch up. I decided that being the best student I could be, would be a valid reason for being at IKE. Even though I heard the Lecture the first time, I would take my class notes and re-listen to the Lecture to make sure that I didn't miss anything. I never left school without finishing my daily homework assignments. I signed up for both Band and Orchestra and quickly rose to first Trombone in both of them. I became friends with the second Trombone player right away and he turned out to be a dedicated christian brother. I could see God's hand beginning to open doors of friendship and fellowship within a couple of weeks.
Having time to spare because of no sports, I joined the Youth For Christ Club at IKE and attended the Young Life Club there and at Wapato High School, as well. I also returned to the Community Presbyterian Church in Wapato, much to my Mother's approval, and began teaching the 7th grade Sunday School Class on Sunday morning. I discovered very quickly the joy of Christian Service. You didn't have thousands of fans cheering for you like in sports, but there seemed to be a cloud of witnesses pulling for you, even if they were invisible to others. As a result of my decisions to follow Christ to IKE, I met my future wife at a Saturday Morning All Valley Prayer Meeting for Youth For Christ. It met at 6:30 am, once a month, and it was a real sacrifice of time and sleep to get there. Kids from High Schools all over the Upper and Lower Yakima Valleys attended. I can still remember the morning Kriss walked into that meeting, I was smitten from day one, but it would take years before we found God bringing us together.
In the Winter Trimester, I was connected to a Basketball League in Yakima and enjoyed playing again and staying in shape. One of the friends I made in French Class was a guy named Bobbi Di Pietro Jr. He was a gifted athlete, especially pitching in baseball, but he needed help academically from time to time and we became pretty good friends. He was only a Junior and I helped him alot with French Class. Every day after I had had a basketball game, he would quiz me on how many points I had scored. When I told him, he would tell me he would find a way to get me eligible to play for IKE. I told him why I was there and that it was OK if I didn't play intersholastically. He respected both my French knowledge and my spiritual commitment. In the Spring, I really missed playing tennis. IKE was a state powerhouse in tennis and over a 20+ year run, they never lost a dual tennis match. That string would come to an end when my own son, Amos, played for Walla Walla High School and his team beat IKE when he was a Sophomore. IKE's first singles player missed the team bus that morning, but drove to Richland, WA on his own and begged the coach to let him play. I have the greatest respect for that coach who clung to his rules and standards to not let people play who didn't ride the team bus. He got a lot of grief from the Yakima tennis community for his convictions.
God was faithful throughout that Senior Year. I was chosen to be a part of a Gifted Student Project with students from IKE and Davis High School. We had special lectures in Yakima and went to Seattle for several days for enrichment courses. I tried to be a witness for Christ in all aspects of my student life at IKE and I continued to visit the secretary who had inspired me to attend there from day one. As graduation day approached, I knew that the big decisions coming up about College and life would impact much of my future. Little did I know that the night of my graduation would reveal a new dimention to my life that was beyond anything I ever imagined.
Friday, November 5, 2010
VESSELS OF HOPE!
Walla Walla, WA November 5, 2010, Overcast fall day, 48 degrees.
My friend Jim's wife died yesterday. I spoke with him over the phone in the afternoon to schedule a home visitation so I could pray with them. She didn't survive the evening. I talked with him this morning and asked if he still wanted me to come over, he broke down as he affirmed that he did. Jim and his wife Gaye are people that I know and care deeply about. They have never attended a worship service in our church, but God has put me in their lives for times like this. For some reason, they know that I love, value and respect them as people and friends. I may only see them once a year, but there is a bond that gives them the freedom to call upon me in the face of the most difficult times of their lives. I take no special credit for that bond. It originates entirely from what the Apostle Paul describes in 2 Corinthians 4:7-10: "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body." I have felt like a clay vessel this week. The side effects of my last chemo took full effect on Tuesday and Wednesday. I was exhausted and couldn't keep food in my body for long. I am technically limited in what I am supposed to do, but I need and want to do more than just sit around and rest. It is a chess game of energy and common sense. I have no problem coming home and crashing when I hit the wall, but the emotional toll I pay when I hiberate too long is pretty high. By the grace of God, I started feeling better yesterday and today. I can only function a few hours at a time, but I pray that God will guide me to use that time to make a difference in the lives of others. I don't feel like it is an inability to relinquish or let go of things. I think alot about St. Paul's earlier words in 2 Corinthians, chapter 1 where he says that "God comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God." It is a privilege to allow God's abundant love and hope flow through us into the lives of others. I sat with Jim, family and friends this afternoon and talked about the services for Gaye next Tuesday. I remembered Jesus often being called to homes of people who had just lost a loved one. I have nothing to offer people in such a time except the love and comfort of Christ. We laughed, cried, and prayed together. Gaye is a woman of faith and hope in Christ. We will celebrate her life and give thanks for Christ's victory over death. I will continue to be a friend to Jim and so many like him that seek the power and promise of the resurrection. In spite of our personal limitations, God is only looking for willing hearts and hands to reveal the Lord's love and mercy. We have the privilege of sharing God's grace out of the abundance of divine comfort. Never disqualify yourself from serving others. It is not competence God seeks, but commitment. God provides the very words and love others need to hear. However, only we can choose to be a vessel in the Lord's hands. Rejoice in the face of your limitations, God only sees our potential in obedience to the Spirit's gentle touch.
On the medical front, we have gotten more information from Dr. Press in Seattle. So far, the only complete stem cell match is my sister Patsy. However, three other siblings are half-matched and they would do in a pinch. Brother Harvey is the only one of those three who has never had cancer, so he would be the likely candidate. Dr. Press wrote today that another sample arrived two days ago, so he would like to get those results before making a final donor selection. I think that is from brother Dan in Bismark, ND. He is even younger than Harvey and also has never had any form of cancer, that I know of. It is difficult to learn how to be patient. I would like to get things moving forward and have some idea of when and where, but it is not in my hands. That is a humbling reality. I am trying to learn what submission looks like in the real world. I am willing to let God guide the pieces of my life, I just wish it would happen quicker. I suspect that when I am in the midst of the stem cell transplant process, I might wish it wasn't happening so soon. During the summer of 1968, I found that events in our nation and my family were outside of my control, as well. It was a critical time of choosing which path I would follow in the yellow wood of life.
New Amsterdam, New York, Summer of 1968
For some reason, I found myself leaving Wapato, WA and flying to upper New York State to spend the summer with my eldest sister, Patsy, her husband Paul Pagiotas, and their three children. I think it had something to do with creating a bond with my older siblings and they lived on a 150 acre former dairy farm and needed a willing helping hand who had some farming knowledge. I remember it rained almost the entire first month I was there. Lake Effect moisture from the Great Lakes was the excuse, but it drove me crazy and I didn't know what to do with myself. I tolerated their children and tried to help out any way that I could. My sister is an amazing chef and I was introduced to Italien and Greek cuisine that I love to this day. When it stopped raining, I was able to begin the farm and household tasks that Paul expected. We had to mow all the meadows that had been put into the Federal CRP program. Paul had an old International Harvester hand crank starting tricycle tractor and an attached mower he expected me to use for that purpose. We went out to get it ready for mowing and there were some sycle blades that needed replacing. Paul was a brilliant Nuclear Engineer, but he had no farm sense or experience. He brought out his power drill and bits and started drilling out the rivets. I kept my mouth shut for the first couple of rivets, but finally I couldn't help myself. I suggested that there was a lot easier way to do that with a chisel, hammer and punch. His Bronx pride almost got the best of him, but he guardedly allowed me to demonstrate and we got the job done in a tenth of the time. If you didn't get the tractor started on the first crank, it could spin backwards and break your arm in two. I learned to dred starting the tractor in the mornings during mowing season, but we got the meadows mowed, in spite of all the young trees growing out from the fence rows. Second job was to repaint all the black window shutters on a two story house that had windows everywhere. It was a very historic home, listed on some historical register and Paul and my sister had done an amazing job restoring to its original glory. The only thing worse than priming and painting the shutters was to reinstall them on the house. However, the biggest job of all was to reinforce the rock piled foundation on part of the house and build an outside stair entrance to the basement, 8 feet wide and 8 feet deep and 8 feet long digging through solid New England granite. Paul helped me dig and chip on the weekends, but during the week, it was pretty much up to me. As we approached the divinely appointed depths, I would show him how much I had accomplished that day and confidently say that I was sure we were finished. Every day, he would measure and say: "A little deeper, a little wider." I grew to hate those words. I didn't know if we would ever get it right, but we did and then we got to start the task of building forms and pouring cement to reinforce walls before the stairs could be built. Paul told me to build a box one foot square so we could accurately measure sand, gravel and cement. I meticulously built that box and swore that it was perfectly one foot square. When it came time to mix the cement, amazingly we had some product left over from a three square foot sack. Paul suggested that we should contact the Federal Weights and Measures Commission and report that they had been using an erronious standard and that we were in possession of the authentic one square foot measure. It became a running joke and I think he kept that box around for years, just to get a chuckle once in a while.
The greatest challenge I had that summer, wasn't work or culture. It was the letters I was getting from my Mother back in WA state about my parents relationship. Since I started first grade, my parents had been separated many of those years for economic reasons. In 1966 my father had left Wapato to begin working for Boeing Aircraft Company in Seattle and my mother had refused to relocate, so we were fatherless again.You would think that having 13 children would create an unbreakable bond, but they drifted apart and the marriage died. My mother was convinced Dad was having an affair and so she wrote heart wrenching letters to me describing what a "devil" he was and how horrible she felt. She was trying to force me to choose her side in any eventual dissolution and I didn't know how to deal with her feelings or the situation. It was a spiritual crisis. I didn't understand how God would allow my family to crumble and die. I alternated between anger at my father and pity for my mother. I remember going out to the meadows in the evenings and begging God to heal my parent's relationship and give me back a "normal" family. If you remember the summer of 1968, it seemed like our nation was falling apart, as well. Bobby Kennedy was assassinated in Los Angeles, and the Democratic National Convention in Chicago exploded into anarchy. Vietnam, the literal war in the inner cities and generational disfunction and distrust made life seem out of control.
In the midst of all the chaos of my family and nation, God spoke to me a life changing challenge. I had been reading and meditating on the words of Jesus: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me. What good is it, if one should gain the whole world and lose his soul?" Those words seemed to never leave my consciousness. I finally came to the conclusion that God was asking me to take those words seriously and act upon them in a significant way. I felt deeply that God was calling me to leave Wapato High School and go somewhere else my SR. Year of High School. I had no idea where that might be, but I knew deep within me that Jesus was asking me to deny myself all that I had accomplished in the past and be willing to follow him wherever He would guide me. It was a deeply difficult decision that would change the direction of my life forever. I made the choice to obey that call and returned to Wapato the end of August. My mother was the Librarian at Wapato High School and I dreaded telling her that I didn't feel God wanted me to go to school there that Fall. When I finally had that conversation with her, I foolishly suggested that maybe I should go to Seattle and live with my Father and go to school there. NOT! She predictably refused to even consider such an idea, but didn't flat out forbid me from leaving Wapato High School for another school system. I cried out to God to give me some direction, some sign to guide me in that decision. The first response I got was the Wapato High School tennis coach standing on my doorstep in tears, begging me to reconsider and assuring me that God would use me in Wapato. I wasn't deterred. My basketball coach had a much more mature spirituality and after the initial shock, told me to remember that if "I put my hand to the plow, never look back." I valued his words and support and continued to be a close friend. During basketball season that year, Coach Groenig had just assumed the Varsity Coaching Position. They lost the first ten games of the season and I would often stop by his home after games to give him support. He never got angry with me about abandonning the team and even got me connected with a basketball league in Yakima which I played in. God taught me a great deal about love and friendship from Jerry and Beth Groenig. He would eventually win enough games that year to get in a playoff to go to Districts, but they lost. He would become a WA State Hall of Fame High School Coach and I appreciate him to this day. God finally spoke to me through a Secretary at Dwight D. Eishenhower High School in Yakima, WA. I just drove around one day to visit High Schools in the area and walked into the office of IKE and asked how I could enroll as a student. She asked me where I lived and I told her in Wapato. She was surprised and wanted to know why I wanted or needed to drive 25 miles toYakima for School. My only answer was that I felt God was leading me to go somewhere else for my Sr. Year. She could sense my sincerity and said: "We need people like you in this school." She told me how and where to enroll and I felt God's affirmation to become a Cadet for the next nine months. My entire life would change forever because of that act of obedience.
My friend Jim's wife died yesterday. I spoke with him over the phone in the afternoon to schedule a home visitation so I could pray with them. She didn't survive the evening. I talked with him this morning and asked if he still wanted me to come over, he broke down as he affirmed that he did. Jim and his wife Gaye are people that I know and care deeply about. They have never attended a worship service in our church, but God has put me in their lives for times like this. For some reason, they know that I love, value and respect them as people and friends. I may only see them once a year, but there is a bond that gives them the freedom to call upon me in the face of the most difficult times of their lives. I take no special credit for that bond. It originates entirely from what the Apostle Paul describes in 2 Corinthians 4:7-10: "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body." I have felt like a clay vessel this week. The side effects of my last chemo took full effect on Tuesday and Wednesday. I was exhausted and couldn't keep food in my body for long. I am technically limited in what I am supposed to do, but I need and want to do more than just sit around and rest. It is a chess game of energy and common sense. I have no problem coming home and crashing when I hit the wall, but the emotional toll I pay when I hiberate too long is pretty high. By the grace of God, I started feeling better yesterday and today. I can only function a few hours at a time, but I pray that God will guide me to use that time to make a difference in the lives of others. I don't feel like it is an inability to relinquish or let go of things. I think alot about St. Paul's earlier words in 2 Corinthians, chapter 1 where he says that "God comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God." It is a privilege to allow God's abundant love and hope flow through us into the lives of others. I sat with Jim, family and friends this afternoon and talked about the services for Gaye next Tuesday. I remembered Jesus often being called to homes of people who had just lost a loved one. I have nothing to offer people in such a time except the love and comfort of Christ. We laughed, cried, and prayed together. Gaye is a woman of faith and hope in Christ. We will celebrate her life and give thanks for Christ's victory over death. I will continue to be a friend to Jim and so many like him that seek the power and promise of the resurrection. In spite of our personal limitations, God is only looking for willing hearts and hands to reveal the Lord's love and mercy. We have the privilege of sharing God's grace out of the abundance of divine comfort. Never disqualify yourself from serving others. It is not competence God seeks, but commitment. God provides the very words and love others need to hear. However, only we can choose to be a vessel in the Lord's hands. Rejoice in the face of your limitations, God only sees our potential in obedience to the Spirit's gentle touch.
On the medical front, we have gotten more information from Dr. Press in Seattle. So far, the only complete stem cell match is my sister Patsy. However, three other siblings are half-matched and they would do in a pinch. Brother Harvey is the only one of those three who has never had cancer, so he would be the likely candidate. Dr. Press wrote today that another sample arrived two days ago, so he would like to get those results before making a final donor selection. I think that is from brother Dan in Bismark, ND. He is even younger than Harvey and also has never had any form of cancer, that I know of. It is difficult to learn how to be patient. I would like to get things moving forward and have some idea of when and where, but it is not in my hands. That is a humbling reality. I am trying to learn what submission looks like in the real world. I am willing to let God guide the pieces of my life, I just wish it would happen quicker. I suspect that when I am in the midst of the stem cell transplant process, I might wish it wasn't happening so soon. During the summer of 1968, I found that events in our nation and my family were outside of my control, as well. It was a critical time of choosing which path I would follow in the yellow wood of life.
New Amsterdam, New York, Summer of 1968
For some reason, I found myself leaving Wapato, WA and flying to upper New York State to spend the summer with my eldest sister, Patsy, her husband Paul Pagiotas, and their three children. I think it had something to do with creating a bond with my older siblings and they lived on a 150 acre former dairy farm and needed a willing helping hand who had some farming knowledge. I remember it rained almost the entire first month I was there. Lake Effect moisture from the Great Lakes was the excuse, but it drove me crazy and I didn't know what to do with myself. I tolerated their children and tried to help out any way that I could. My sister is an amazing chef and I was introduced to Italien and Greek cuisine that I love to this day. When it stopped raining, I was able to begin the farm and household tasks that Paul expected. We had to mow all the meadows that had been put into the Federal CRP program. Paul had an old International Harvester hand crank starting tricycle tractor and an attached mower he expected me to use for that purpose. We went out to get it ready for mowing and there were some sycle blades that needed replacing. Paul was a brilliant Nuclear Engineer, but he had no farm sense or experience. He brought out his power drill and bits and started drilling out the rivets. I kept my mouth shut for the first couple of rivets, but finally I couldn't help myself. I suggested that there was a lot easier way to do that with a chisel, hammer and punch. His Bronx pride almost got the best of him, but he guardedly allowed me to demonstrate and we got the job done in a tenth of the time. If you didn't get the tractor started on the first crank, it could spin backwards and break your arm in two. I learned to dred starting the tractor in the mornings during mowing season, but we got the meadows mowed, in spite of all the young trees growing out from the fence rows. Second job was to repaint all the black window shutters on a two story house that had windows everywhere. It was a very historic home, listed on some historical register and Paul and my sister had done an amazing job restoring to its original glory. The only thing worse than priming and painting the shutters was to reinstall them on the house. However, the biggest job of all was to reinforce the rock piled foundation on part of the house and build an outside stair entrance to the basement, 8 feet wide and 8 feet deep and 8 feet long digging through solid New England granite. Paul helped me dig and chip on the weekends, but during the week, it was pretty much up to me. As we approached the divinely appointed depths, I would show him how much I had accomplished that day and confidently say that I was sure we were finished. Every day, he would measure and say: "A little deeper, a little wider." I grew to hate those words. I didn't know if we would ever get it right, but we did and then we got to start the task of building forms and pouring cement to reinforce walls before the stairs could be built. Paul told me to build a box one foot square so we could accurately measure sand, gravel and cement. I meticulously built that box and swore that it was perfectly one foot square. When it came time to mix the cement, amazingly we had some product left over from a three square foot sack. Paul suggested that we should contact the Federal Weights and Measures Commission and report that they had been using an erronious standard and that we were in possession of the authentic one square foot measure. It became a running joke and I think he kept that box around for years, just to get a chuckle once in a while.
The greatest challenge I had that summer, wasn't work or culture. It was the letters I was getting from my Mother back in WA state about my parents relationship. Since I started first grade, my parents had been separated many of those years for economic reasons. In 1966 my father had left Wapato to begin working for Boeing Aircraft Company in Seattle and my mother had refused to relocate, so we were fatherless again.You would think that having 13 children would create an unbreakable bond, but they drifted apart and the marriage died. My mother was convinced Dad was having an affair and so she wrote heart wrenching letters to me describing what a "devil" he was and how horrible she felt. She was trying to force me to choose her side in any eventual dissolution and I didn't know how to deal with her feelings or the situation. It was a spiritual crisis. I didn't understand how God would allow my family to crumble and die. I alternated between anger at my father and pity for my mother. I remember going out to the meadows in the evenings and begging God to heal my parent's relationship and give me back a "normal" family. If you remember the summer of 1968, it seemed like our nation was falling apart, as well. Bobby Kennedy was assassinated in Los Angeles, and the Democratic National Convention in Chicago exploded into anarchy. Vietnam, the literal war in the inner cities and generational disfunction and distrust made life seem out of control.
In the midst of all the chaos of my family and nation, God spoke to me a life changing challenge. I had been reading and meditating on the words of Jesus: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me. What good is it, if one should gain the whole world and lose his soul?" Those words seemed to never leave my consciousness. I finally came to the conclusion that God was asking me to take those words seriously and act upon them in a significant way. I felt deeply that God was calling me to leave Wapato High School and go somewhere else my SR. Year of High School. I had no idea where that might be, but I knew deep within me that Jesus was asking me to deny myself all that I had accomplished in the past and be willing to follow him wherever He would guide me. It was a deeply difficult decision that would change the direction of my life forever. I made the choice to obey that call and returned to Wapato the end of August. My mother was the Librarian at Wapato High School and I dreaded telling her that I didn't feel God wanted me to go to school there that Fall. When I finally had that conversation with her, I foolishly suggested that maybe I should go to Seattle and live with my Father and go to school there. NOT! She predictably refused to even consider such an idea, but didn't flat out forbid me from leaving Wapato High School for another school system. I cried out to God to give me some direction, some sign to guide me in that decision. The first response I got was the Wapato High School tennis coach standing on my doorstep in tears, begging me to reconsider and assuring me that God would use me in Wapato. I wasn't deterred. My basketball coach had a much more mature spirituality and after the initial shock, told me to remember that if "I put my hand to the plow, never look back." I valued his words and support and continued to be a close friend. During basketball season that year, Coach Groenig had just assumed the Varsity Coaching Position. They lost the first ten games of the season and I would often stop by his home after games to give him support. He never got angry with me about abandonning the team and even got me connected with a basketball league in Yakima which I played in. God taught me a great deal about love and friendship from Jerry and Beth Groenig. He would eventually win enough games that year to get in a playoff to go to Districts, but they lost. He would become a WA State Hall of Fame High School Coach and I appreciate him to this day. God finally spoke to me through a Secretary at Dwight D. Eishenhower High School in Yakima, WA. I just drove around one day to visit High Schools in the area and walked into the office of IKE and asked how I could enroll as a student. She asked me where I lived and I told her in Wapato. She was surprised and wanted to know why I wanted or needed to drive 25 miles toYakima for School. My only answer was that I felt God was leading me to go somewhere else for my Sr. Year. She could sense my sincerity and said: "We need people like you in this school." She told me how and where to enroll and I felt God's affirmation to become a Cadet for the next nine months. My entire life would change forever because of that act of obedience.
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