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.