DOMINE, NE IN FURORE! LORD, DO NOT REBUKE ME IN YOUR ANGER!

February 2, 2011, Seattle, WA 45 degrees mostly cloudy with sun breaks.

I have been living Psalm 6 this week. It is a cry of the soul for the redemption and revelation of God's presence. "Have pity on me, Lord, for I am weak; heal me, Lord, for my bones are racked. My Spirit shakes with terror; how long, O lord, how long? Turn, O Lord. and deliver me; save me for your mercy's sake....I grow weary because of my groaning; every night I drench my bed and flood my couch with tears. My eyes are wasted with grief and worn away because of all my afflictions. Depart from me, all evil, for the Lord has heard the sound of my weaping, The Lord has heard my supplication; the Lord accepts my prayer." At the tomb of Lazareth it simply says: "Jesus wept". For all time grief is given it's proper place in healthy human and spiritual behavior. Most tears are a manifestation of God's grace, my friend Frederick Buechner often says. This is one of those weeks where I have lived Psalm 6 and know God has heard the sound of my weaping and surrounds me with the strength of his loving arms. It all began last weekend when I took a turn for the worst. My digestive tract began to deterioriate into almost constant diarreah and I lost all desire for food. My energy level plummetted and it seemed we were taking several steps backward instead of forward. This is not that unusual nor unexpected, but it clearly presents some serious new potential problems. The chief of these is the onset of Graft VS Host Disease which typically attacks the "gut" or the skin. We had a consultation with the GI team this morning and they immediately scheduled me for an upper and lower GI procedure this afternoon, with biopsies and a thorough examination. We have our weekly clinical visit tomorrow, Thursday, so we hope to hear a report then and a plan of treatment.

Other sources of our grief and tears seem to be multiplied in our lives this week, as well. My next older brother, Tom, who lives near Wapato, was airlifted to Harbour View here in Seattle Sunday evening for emergency trauma care. He apparently had some form of leakage in his brain which was putting undue stress on his cerebreal cavity. We went to see him Monday morning between appointments at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance. He seemed to be deteriorating and by Tuesday, his condition was being complicated with pneumonia. That meant that I would no longer be able to go visit him, due to my lack of any stable immune system. My older sister in Alaska, Ophie, flew in to Portland and drove up with one of her daughters, Jan, on Tuesday, so they are doing the daily caregiving for him. There are other life history issues which are also coming into play in his larger medical crisis which make this a life and death drama. We would covet your prayers for Tom, both physically and spiritually.

Monday, I was also informed that a close brother in our church died from cancer. Doc Brace was a special friend who was like a father to me and I was like a son to him. We had both grown up in the depths of poverty and neglect. He fought his way out of those depths, literally, as a Golden Gloves Boxing Champion in Canada who represented that nation at the highest levels of the sport. He was a complex and difficult man who brought as much pain and suffering to people, as pleasure and joy. Regardless of his and our obvious shortcomings, we grew to love each other, especially when we both were battling cancer. I can't tell you how many times we would have treatment on the same day seated next to each other at the St. Mary's Regional Cancer Center in Walla Walla. I would give anything to be able to go home and share in his Memorial Service this coming Saturday, but I will just write an eulogy for one of the staff to read in my absence.

The thing that pushed me over the top emotionally, today was meeting Ryan. Ryan was on the same elevator with Kriss and me and I couldn't help speaking to him. He is three years old, just a little younger that our granddaughter, Rhona. His hair, what there is of it looked a lot like mine and so I took off my hat to show him we had something in common. I offered to let him wear my hat, but his mother said he never wore a hat and so I let it go. His mother had such an obvious and deep love for Ryan that it just overwhelmed me. She couldn't help herself from kissing and embracing this beautiful little boy, knowing that she very likely would not have all those years to love and cherish him in this world. It is a parable to all parents to treasure the gift of each day and take nothing for granted. Putting it all together, I was an emotional wreck by the time we had to meet with the GI Medical Team and them get ready for 4 hours of procedures. The nursing staff were like angels who embraced my tears with deep understanding and encouragement. I did put my game face on when absolutely necessary, or they might have shipped me off to the mental health unit. As I write this blog, I cannot stop the tears from flowing, mostly out of the deepest gratitude for God's acceptance of my tears and His power to take those expressions of love and intervene with His grace in the lives of Tom, Doc Brace, and little Ryan. My problems seem miniscule in the light of so much suffering that surrounds me. May God sustain us all this day with mercy and hope.


APRIL-MAY, 1972, AIX-EN-PROVENCE, FRANCE

Our little flat in the center of the old city had an oven to cook with, but no refrigerator. During the months of January-March, it was cold enough that we could put perishables on the window sill, but our luck ran out in April. We surmised it was some mayonnaise that had gone bad. We had made some tuna salad for supper and then gone to bed. The next thing I remember was hearing a loud thud in the hallway. I awoke with a splitting headache, but since Kriss wasn't in bed, I knew something was very wrong. The bathrooms for the entire apartment complex housing around 50 people were one floor up or two floors down from our flat. Kriss had chosen to go up one floor and the thud I had heard was her passing out on the first flight of stairs.I managed to get to her and revive her. She was too sick to walk, so I half carried, half drug her up to the bathroom where she could relieve herself and we both just lay there, semi-conscious. It was a severe case of food poisoning, but we had no telephone, no knowledge of where to get medical help in the middle of the night and no mental acumen to make rational decisions, regardless. In about 45 minutes, we helped each other back down to our flat and tried to go back to sleep. We were up and down a couple more times during the night. I seemed to have had a lot less severe case, but Kriss was totally incapable of moving about on her own. It seems incomprehensible looking back, but I had a commitment at school that morning and so I left Kriss something to drink and eat and told her I would be back as soon as possible. She could have easily gone into shock or some other medical crisis, and no one would have ever known, until possibly too late. I cringe at the depth of our ignorance and my own irresponsibility. By the grace of God she was alive and sitting up when I returned home, but it took us a couple of days to get any strength back.

From that low point in our last few months in Provence, we finished the Academic Year with some very meaningful highlights. Every year the Institute for American Universities had a formal celebration thanking the City and the City Officials for their hospitality. One American Student was chosen to represent IAU and the American students. I was given that honor and a speech, written by the IAU Director, which I was to memorize and share in the festivities, along with a check to assist in restoration projects in the City. I didn't realize what a big deal this was. I had the speech down pat, but I didn't know that all the local newspapers had reporters present. I was the finale of the celebration and did my best. I ended the speech with the words "We thank you very much.", in English as I handed the Mayor the IAU check. In the newspaper the next day, one reporter marvelled at the rare eloquence an American student could acquire after only 9 months in their fair city. Needless to say, it was a joyful day and we were ready to start the next adventure in Europe, travelling in a VW campervan for six weeks prior to returning home in mid-July.