Now Is The Time

   The time has come.  I am asserting that the chapter of my life that has been dominated by cancer and chemo and blood counts and ports and meds is now merely historical in nature.  Today I choose to set it all aside.  I had my port removed yesterday and, while I am quite sore today, the whole thing came out rather uneventfully (at least that is what I was told because they put me under for the procedure).  The removal of the port signifies that I am finished with this lymphoma episode that lasted about eleven months.  It is now recovery time in more ways than one.  It is time to renew my commitment as father and husband.  I did not relinquish those titles as I went through this cancer, but I need to now reclaim those in an active sort of manner.  It is time to not be a cancer survivor, but now I am a father-husband-teacher again.  It is time to re-establish my priorities which were thrown out of whack because of what I was going through since November of last year.  It is time to live life again.
   Sure.  It could be argued that I was living by surviving and by getting through that whole experience.  But I need to give up on those things that were a part of that experience and be more of what I was intended to be, to live in a way that builds relationships, that reaches out to others in more proactive ways, to be what I could not be for a while.  I want to wear my seatbelt over my shoulder instead of under my arm, a trick I learned to protect my port area that was in the left side of my chest. But more than that.  I want to coach again, to be a good dad again, to support and nurture my wife rather than the other way around, to renew all of that without the cloud of cancer serving as that omnipresent asterisk behind my name.  It is time.

   Thank you to those of you who have cared and prayed and read this blog.  If I do write more -- someday -- it will be in a different format under a different set of circumstances.  This then is the final installation to this collection.  There will be no real epilogue, no Paul Harvey "the rest of the story" sort of ending.  This entry wraps things up.  Thank you, God, for your healing touch in my body, for giving me a sense of normalcy once again.  Thank you to all of you for encouraging me with your cards and thoughts and meals and responses to this blog, but now is the time to put this chapter of who I was behind me.
   I must move forward with the life God gave me instead of checking my rear view mirror all of the time.  First Corinthians, to quote it completely out of context, says that "the old has gone, the new has come."  Thanks again.  Now continue your prayers for others in need.  Thank God my health is not in need of healing prayers any longer.  Please thank God on my behalf that I can wrap up this blog with the news I have of being cancer-free.  Now I need to go.  I have things to do.

Two Trains

   We each have experienced moments like I am living through right now.  Every so often life offers up those times when joy and frustration collide.  It is so difficult to prepare for the times when good news and bad news seem to drive into each other like two trains on the same track.  One never seems to have the warning needed to handle it all well.  Some will suggest I am overplaying this all in my mind right now and I am just being overly dramatic, but I get uncomfortable in these moments. Perhaps some time in the near future I will regret what I am writing tonight, but I need the catharsis that writing can provide. Maybe I will feel better when this is over.  I hate it when my joy is challenged by...ah, never mind. Let me explain.
   I am eagerly looking forward to Monday afternoon when I have a graduation ceremony of sorts to attend.  It doesn't know it yet, but the port in my chest is going to have a "coming out" party.  This will signify the somewhat official end of this whole cancer experience.  Sure, I still have to take the meds and have a few doctors appointments, but that stuff is merely window dressing, formalities, minor hoops to jump through as though I were a trained dog.  After eleven months of having this appliance accessorize my chest, eleven months since the poking into this target area started, I will be excited, even honored, to have this thing leave me.  Soon I will be able to hear the word "port" and think about ships and sailors instead of chemo and cancer.
   But then I hear another train coming from the other direction.  Today my wife and I endured another round of one-sided blather from our son on Facebook who is choosing to publicly air his complaints about us and the choices we have made in establishing and upholding our household.  We try to ignore the criticism, but it is still hurtful.
   Enough.  It's not worth it.  I have joy.  Tonight I choose to not let it be tainted, especially by someone I love.  Joy and frustration have collided before.  They will collide again.  It is up to me to decide who comes out on top.  I get to pick who wins.  Tonight, I choose joy.  See you soon, Port.  I am eager to be at your coming out party.

"Time Heals All Wounds..." Really? When?

   Time is a gift many of us have.  It helps us refocus, recharge, and move on.  Other times it becomes an enemy that we have to wade through and overcome. Getting through until the next day or even the next hour can be akin to climbing Mount Everest backwards in a snowstorm without your trusty sherpa.  Please pray for Danielle today. Her husband Brandon died of my form of lymphoma one month ago yesterday.  Here is today's Facebook post from her:

It was one month ago yesterday. Still seems like just yesterday I was sitting there right next to you in the hospital room with all the hope in the world that this would turn around. Not a second of a day goes by that your not on my mind. You were so much more then my husband-you were my best friend, my whole world, the best dad ever, the boys’ whole world, such a strong man of faith and a great leader of our family. We had so many laughs over the 12 and a half years we had together. At only 29, I know that without a doubt you gave me absolutely the best 12 and a half years of my entire life. I miss you so much babe and can’t wait until we reunite one day in heaven 💚💚💚

  Do you know of someone who is grieving a recent loss?  Pray for them.  There are plenty of distractions those first few days -- friends, family, funeral, meals, cards and well-wishes -- but it is not long before the frequency of those well-wishes ebbs.  After a while, one can be left to find their own way.  Grief is a strange entity that cannot be timed or measured or predicted.  Every so often it just raises its ugly head and grabs the bereaved person in unexpected ways.  If someone you know comes to mind, I challenge you to send a note, a card, or an e-mail that can be a reminder that you are still praying for them and still want them to feel a sense of encouragement.  (By the way, if you are not still praying, pray now.  God is not keeping a tally on such things.  He just wants to hear from us.) Danielle has great memories of her time with Brandon on this earth.  These are gifts from God, not punishments.  Tears of grief can often remind us of how blessed we have been.  They can also point to a future when there will be no more tears, no more grief, no more sadness.

Jesus, hold Danielle close to you today.  

Let her know that she is surrounded by people who care about her.  

Help her to know that when she is hurting, when grief jumps up like a wolf in chase of its prey, 

she can count on God's people to rise up for her and present her to you for comfort.  

Help us not to be petrified by grief, 
but to take it -- to keep standing -- and allow it to make us stronger.  

Easy say...hard do.  Bless Danielle today.  Bless us all in this regard.  Amen.

Family and Faith and Hope and Challenges

   It doesn't seem that long ago and for me to mention it now doesn't really make sense.  There is no magical calendar date kind of a reason to celebrate today.  But I find myself thankful.  About seven and a half years ago two new children joined our family.  We already had four of them, so what was two more?  But these two have changed our lives.  Temamen is now thirteen years old (we think) and has discovered that American sports are definitely worthwhile pastimes.  He likes to try them all and so far only lacrosse has not met with his approval.  Tessa is twelve, plays the role of bothersome little sister well, and enjoys conversations with just about anyone who will listen.  They both do well in school and have just changed us.  I am thankful to be allowed by God to come through my experience with cancer and still be their earthly father for a while longer.
   The story is one of faith.  My wife and I were old seven and a half years ago.  We are both older than we were then, but we are also a little younger than we were.  By 2010 we had lived half a century each, and had decided that our proverbial quiver was full enough with four children.  But God changed things.  He gave us an opportunity to exercise our faith in ways that did not make any sense. There were hurdles to jump, oceans to cross, money to raise, and issues too big for us to solve.  But he gave us the courage to walk on water to meet him and has blessed us through it all.  When we were expecting to be turned down by the adoption agency for reasons of age and cancer, we were instead approved.  When we ran out of money and needed $1000 by the next morning, a friend from California sent in a check without knowing our circumstances but it arrived on the day we needed it...for $1000.  When we needed air fare, it was there.  When we needed food, it was there.  When we needed our other children to join in the challenge, they were there.  When our faith wavered, he came through.  Faith and hope are blessings from God.  We were privileged through the whole story to experience those blessings first-hand.
   But faith gets challenged.  Ten years after Connie was recovering from her bout with cancer, I was challenged with my own version of it.  When a new job opportunity was offered to me, that faith was again challenged.  As our fourth child Robbie is now going through his prodigal days and living a life that has nothing to do with how he was raised and we have no sign that his poor choices will be abating any time soon, our faith is once again challenged.  It is hard to go through this episode as a parent and as a family.  Our choice to adopt him was the right one, but that nagging doubt creeps in every once in a while and I hate it.  But he is here, he has life, and he is the one who must find his way.  His bouts of mental illness and poor choices and self-inflicted problems bother me so much that there are times that I find it hard to pray for him.  I find it hard to imagine what he can become if he were to find that sense of faith in Jesus instead of himself.  As a dad I need to once again step into the kind of faith that says, "We'll get through this.  With God, we can do this."  I need to find that sense of certainty that someday Robbie will also understand that the fullness of life does not depend on freedom without responsibility, independence without family, love without commitment.  But I honestly do not carry that kind of faith all the time.  I should...but I don't.  "God, you have worked in marvelous ways for us.  We are so blessed by your goodness.  Please help me as a father to find that sense of faith and certainty that you have the power to bring Robbie out of his dark days.  Help us to know what to do and what not to do.  Protect our family through all of this.  Watch over him tonight.  Amen."
   We have so much.  We are blessed.  Family is indeed a gift from God.  But now that I have six children, two sons-in-law, two grandchildren, a dog and a cat, one would think that by now I would have it all figured out.  But this faith thing still seems to come and go even though I know better.  That frustrates me.  But from what I understand of God and faith and hope and challenges, I think it is being renewed already by the hard things that are a part of life. The child-like trust in a good Father is a daily choice.  I need to choose it each day.  I need to be more like Tessa who prayed this prayer many years ago (and it lives on in the oral tradition of our family):

"Dear God, you did real good today.  Thanks.  Amen."

"But he knows the way I take; 

when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold.

My feet have closely followed his steps; 
I have kept to his way without turning aside...

For he stands alone, and who can oppose him?"

Job 23:10-13

The Adventure of My Job

   It's October.  One year ago this month my diagnosis of lymphoma was confirmed.  God has blessed me by allowing me to continue this earthly life a little while longer.  While I strive to be a good husband and father, I am not always.  I try to do my best, to make a difference, to represent Jesus and his love in everything I do, but I fall short...often.  But I so love being a dad.
   I am also a teacher.  "Oh, you're a middle school teacher," someone inquired of me yesterday.  "What do you teach?"  This question is asked with the assumption that it will be followed by a subject or two.  I really strive to teach students.  I try to do my best, to make a difference, to represent Jesus and his love in everything at do at school too, but this also is difficult.  Here I often fall short as well. But you see, I cannot teach subjects without teaching students, and students can be tricky.  My job description is not too specific.  In fact, no sane person has ever attempted to write one.  So what is it I do?  Just what does a teacher do?
   A teacher plans lessons, grades papers, writes stuff on the board, goes to parent meetings, goes to faculty meetings, works on special projects, fills out forms, hangs stuff on bulletin boards, meets with other teachers, runs copies, takes kids home when they miss the bus, goes into Plan B mode automatically when the technology goes funky, monitors detention hour, and takes out the trash when the kids dump their marinara sauce and applesauce from lunch time into the trash can that had lost its liner four hours ago and is now buried at the bottom.  But a teacher doesn't always just "do;" teachers also "think." A lot. When I think about my students, it is always about making their lives better. I think a lot about connecting with students as individuals, like the student who is shy, the one who is lonely, and the one who just cannot sit still.  I think about the one who cannot do 10 divided by 2 without a calculator, the one who is a bully but comes from a home that is unstable, the one who doesn't care about grades and his parents are too busy to notice, the one who jabs his neighbor with a pencil, the one who is getting good grades but shows no emotions at all, the one who is far too overconfident, the one whose grandma just died, the one who smells a little bad, the one who stays up too late, the one who sneaks in snacks when asked not to, the one whose locker looks like a war zone, the one who is emulating the characters from the R-rated movies he has seen, the one who isn't ever listening, the one who lies to his mother while I am standing right there, the one who is always making excuses, the one who either will not or cannot write even semi-neatly, the one who calls other kids names without knowing the definitions of the labels he uses, the one who knows the right way but goes the wrong way, the one who always forgets to sign up for hot lunch, and the one who is in need of a bathroom way too frequently.  A teacher's job includes making a large amount of long-range decisions, a vast amount of short-range decisions, and an infinite amount of reactionary decisions.  A teacher needs to be in several places at once, and one of those places never seems to involve eating lunch in the teacher's lounge.
   As as teacher I have the most fascinating job imaginable.  It's October, and that means I have eight more consecutive months to grade papers, go to meetings, and make lesson plans...and to think about how to make the lives of children better.

The Modern Road Trip

   "106th to Farmer to East Allegan to Grant...106th to Farmer to East Allegan to Grant..."  Soon I will be on my way to Otsego High School for another cross country meet and I am memorizing my directions.  With today's marvelous computers, finding where to go is easy.  But I have yet to latch on to modern navigational tools and all of their programming skills.  When I am traveling I still rely on a basic sense of direction to get me to where I am going. But I know the methods I use to find my way in this world are becoming archaic.  With Siri and all of her technologically-advanced friends like MapQuest and Google, getting from Point A to Point B has never been easier.  Plug in an address and wait for a device to tell you where to go, when to turn, what you will see along the way, and what the color scheme will be when you get there.  No longer is it necessary to know names of streets, how an address system is laid out in a city, or the landmarks to watch for along the way.  Now one does not need to have any familiarity with any town or city to feel comfortable in finding one's way around.  Gone is the need to ask for directions.  Gone is the need for the intuitive and the old "north-south-east-west" innate sense that I have.  Gone too is the challenge of getting lost just to see if I can find my way home.  While it used to be an asset, my sense of directional skills has been superseded by a talking tool.  I now can leave my mantra of "106th to Farmer to East Allegan to Grant..." at home and never again do I have to know where I am once I leave the house.
   I wonder if we are now living our lives in much the same way as we navigate.  I feel many have no idea of where life is leading them until they get to wherever they end up.  Do we have a clear understanding of our landscape, our goals, our priorities before setting out in life?  Or do we wait for machines and computers and navigational systems to set the course for us?  What do I think about an issue?  Let me get on line and see what others are saying.  Do I know what my goals in life are?  Let me glean from the internet what the different possibilities are and I will just blindly follow.  I may be directionless, but I think I am on my way to somewhere.
   This cancer experience has reminded me my days are numbered.  I want to use what I have been given to encourage and bless other people.  I don't want to be told by machines what to think and where to turn and what I should be doing and where I should go.  I wonder if there is a metaphor here in these navigational tools that points at how our children are growing up directionless and just waiting to be told to go somewhere.  It may be a stretch.  I may sound like an old foagie in this not-so-subtle rant.  But I think about these things and wonder.
   Today I will not be using any technology to find my way to Otsego High School.  I know what milestones to look for and I have my innate ability to find my way around.  No thanks, Siri...I  will do it on my own today.

   P.S.: I am back home now.  I made it there and back without getting lost or stopping to ask for directions.  Siri?  She stayed home all day.  It is possible.

"Do Unto Others..."

   I challenge you.  Just look. Notice what is going on around you.  There are people that are blessing others in simple and beautiful ways. If you take the time to see it, you will be amazed at the people around you who are busy showing that other people matter. Notice how certain people are selflessly impacting the lives of others.  Jesus did this on many occasions.  As I continue to recover from my bout with cancer, I am striving to live a less selfish life and to find ways to use my "post-cancer self" to increase the joy and value of living for other people.  There are so many who spread the love and their actions take so many different forms.  Here is what I have noticed just in the last 24 hours:

• I used to live across the street from Tom.  I have not seen him nor heard from him in probably 20 years.  He sent me a message on Facebook just to encourage me to heal and to stay strong.
• My son's soccer coach took the time before the game last night to ask how I was doing and to remind me that he and the whole staff at his school have been watching my progress and praying for me.
• One of the aides here at school told me today of how her family has taken in a young woman to live with them for her last year of high school. Her family life was non-existent due to divorce and drugs.  This girl is on schedule to graduate with honors and is looking forward to being the first person in her family to go to college.
• My son had an easy goal-scoring opportunity in front of him in last night's game.  Instead of shooting, he passed it to a teammate who had not scored at all during the year and in cold truth is a horrible soccer player.  The kid scored and all we could hear was his laughter as he celebrated his first-ever soccer goal.  The rest of the team was thrilled too, even though they were winning easily at the time (final score: 13-1). My son just smiled.
• One of my son's teachers who was sitting with me at the game witnessed this assist-and-goal combo and said to me, "Your son plays soccer like he lives life."  Then I just smiled.
• While working on a math assignment, I witnessed a student take the time to explain how to do one of the problems to another who was having a difficult time understanding.  The assistance was offered without my prompting.
• I heard on the radio that at a local Starbucks, someone started a "pay it forward" chain, asking the cashier at the window how much the bill of the person behind them was and then paying for it.  The Starbucks cashier reported that 31 people in a row chose to bless the folks behind them.  (I can only hope that Person #32 accidentally left his wallet at home.)  
• One of my eighth-grade boys fist-bumped a kindergartener today for no apparent reason.  After my student was out of earshot, I heard the little boy's friend ask him, "Who was that?" The kindergartener said, "I don't know, but he's my friend."

   Simple, and that was just what I saw in 24 hours.  All of it is so simple.  Notice someone.  Compliment someone.  Help someone.  Achieve with someone.  Encourage someone.  Love someone.  Get out of the way so someone else can shine.  St. Francis of Assisi (1181-1225) once said, "Preach the gospel at all times and if necessary, use words." While he probably said this in some form of old renaissance Italian and while the translation may have been altered a bit over the years, the message rings true today.  Take the challenge.  Give it a try.  It ain't hard.  Make it a habit.

"You are the light of the world.  A city on a hill cannot be hidden.  

Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl.  

Instead they put it on a stand and it gives light to everyone in the house.  

In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds 

and praise your Father in heaven" -- Jesus (Matthew 5:14-16)

My Life Is A Multiple-Choice Quiz

   It is Friday.  It is the first day of autumn and it happens to be about 142 degrees outside (well, maybe only 95 degrees, but it seems hotter than that).  While we do have air-conditioning at school, the room was never what you would call "comfortable" today.  Besides, once a middle schooler starts sweating at lunch break, the aroma does not go away just because he comes into the semi-air-conditioned classroom. For me, the advent of the weekend has promises of rest and recuperation from the busy schedule of teaching.  It might allow me to rest up and be prepared to go again come Monday morning (although I always feel more optimistic about that now on Friday afternoon than I do on Sunday evening).  I feel as though my health is fine, but I have some frustrations and lingering questions about it (presented as a multiple choice quiz -- that's the way we teachers do it):

1. I am tired at the end of the day.  The primary cause of this exhaustion is:
     a.) I am a middle school teacher.  It always happens that way to everybody.
     b.) I am still recovering from my bone-marrow transplant.
     c.) I am getting older...by the day.
     d.) It just varies from day to day.  There is no primary cause.
     e.) I am just a whiner.

2. My joints are stiff and sore when I first start moving in the morning.  The primary cause of this is:
     a.) I am a middle school teacher.  It always happens that way to everybody.
     b.) I am still recovering from my bone-marrow transplant.
     c.) I am getting older...by the day.
     d.) It just varies from day to day.  There is no primary cause.
     e.) I am just a whiner.

3. I cannot gain weight or strength.  The primary cause of this is:
     a.) I am a middle school teacher.  It always happens that way to everybody.
     b.) I am still recovering from my bone-marrow transplant.
     c.) I am getting older...by the day.
     d.) It just varies from day to day.  There is no primary cause.
     e.) I am just a whiner.

4. I like my students...but only most of the time.  The primary cause of this is:
     a.) I am a middle school teacher.  It always happens that way to everybody.
     b.) I am still recovering from my bone-marrow transplant.
     c.) I am getting older...by the day.
     d.) It just varies from day to day.  There is no primary cause.
     e.) I am just a whiner.

   You are welcome to take this assessment for yourself, but I really don't have the Answer Key ready yet.  The tricky thing is that some of these could be answered by a combination of options or even by the response that always loomed large for me when I was a student: "f.) All of the above."  I never liked that one as an option though -- as a student I think I checked that one every time just to be sure I got at least part of the question right.
   Well, it's a weekend.  Thinking about it a little more, maybe I should wait and take this quiz for myself in about 48 hours.  My self-assessment will probably be more accurate then.

My Regular Oncologist

   I had a doctor's appointment today with my "regular oncologist."  This term, "regular oncologist," is a term that I had never thought I would be using a year ago at this time.  But it meant that my bone marrow team has turned over the reins of my care back to my basic, every-day, run-of-the-mill cancer doctor.  He too is pleased with how things are going.  My labs were good, the scans are clear, I am slowly gaining weight (I still have to find fifteen more pounds somehow), and my progress is very good.  After today I don't even have to see the regular oncologist for three more months.  This is all great news.  He was surprised to hear that I have been back at work full-time for the last month or so and that, other than the tiredness that has become a part of who I am, I am progressing very well.
   This is all great.  I am thrilled for myself, my family, and my school community.  But I am also awaiting the news of the times that will be set for Brandon's funeral.  As I mentioned in the last post, I have a kindred soul named Brandon who just passed away from the very disease, non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, that I have been fighting.  Brandon also had a bone marrow transplant.  The juxtaposition of my good news stands in such stark contrast with the impending funeral procedures and associated grief Brandon's family must endure in the next few days and then months.  God does things in his way, on his terms.  His decision to allow me more time on this earth when others do not have that opportunity still confounds the minds of those of us going through these things.  Why save me?  Why take a 30-year-old father of two little boys?  If nothing else, such a contrast reminds me of the importance of each day and the responsibility I now have of living life to the fullest and to be ready to serve my God in whatever way I can.
   My hair is growing back.  My taste buds are slowly normalizing.  My endurance is gaining.  Even my weakened fingernails are getting stiffer.  I feel as though I have turned a proverbial corner today on toward renewed and renewing health.  Now comes the challenge of making each day count for something good and for working toward fitness and vitality.  It is good to have a regular oncologist.  It is even better to not have to see him for another three months.  Thank you, God.  Now empower me to do what I need to do with each day.

My Brother Brandon

   I received this text from my friend Nancy last night at 10:45 pm:

"Phil, I'm sorry to tell you that Mary texted me a little bit ago that Brandon died tonight.  It's not out to the general public but I wanted you to know before you found out on Facebook or some other way.  My heart breaks for Danielle and those little guys!! We continue to pray for complete healing for you you as we pray for Brandon's family." 

   I never met Brandon, but I knew him well.  I never spent time with him, but we were brothers.  I never even spoke to him on the phone, but I knew to some degree what he was going through. This is not as confusing as you may think.  Brandon had lymphoma too.  We were tracking each other's progress on line and had initial plans to meet a week from today at a benefit that was to be held for him.  We had common prayer warriors who knew both of us well (Bev, Judy, Nancy, to name a few) even though the two of us had never met.  We kept hearing from them how we needed to meet each other soon and share war stories and encouragement.  Brandon and his wife Danielle watched my blog while I charted their progress through friends and Facebook.  But during a respite in his treatments a few months ago, Brandon's cancer returned with a vengeance and the treatments he had to have in Milwaukee could not interrupt the progress of his disease.  Through it all I marveled at the faith and the strength of Danielle as she tended to Brandon's needs while simultaneously working hard on the craft of motherhood for her two little boys. A few days ago, Danielle posted that Brandon needed a feeding tube and things were not looking good.  Then this morning she posted the following passage of her Facebook page:

"I write this with great sadness in my heart. My loving husband, Brandon, passed away last night. As many of you know Brandon had fought a long, very hard battle with a very aggressive cancer. Many of us would not have been able to go through a lot of the things Brandon had to endure. He went through so much pain and suffering-especially in the last week of his life. He was my best friend and my other half. A part of me died with him last night. He was the best husband and the BEST dad to our boys. I have peace in my heart knowing he is in heaven now and no more pain!! The last couple days were extremely difficult for me and I'm so thankful I have family and close friends who were there to support the many many difficult decisions that fell into my shoulders. So many life challenges are ahead of me but I know Brandon has a strong soul and he will be right by my side guiding me along the way. Please pray for my kids, they are going to miss their daddy so much! Once we have visitation and funeral arrangements in place I will let you all know." 

   I hate cancer.  This disease is vicious.   I hateithateithateit.  But when it affects the young, the children, the parents of pre-schoolers, I find myself loathing the disease in a whole new way.  

God, what is going on?  Why is this thing allowed to do what it is doing to families?  You don't owe me an answer, but it honestly makes no sense.  Bless Danielle and the boys.  I don't know what else to say so I leave it at that today.  

Keep Calm and September On

   Whew.  It's September.  I forgot the truth about Septembers and how they can shock the systems of teachers. Although I love teaching and classrooms and students, each day can seem hurricane-like in its busy-ness.  Each day has me running from one activity to the next.  On most days I hardly have time to eat.  Each afternoon finds me tired.  Each evening I feel a little stiff and sore, as though I have been on a horse for just a little too long, but my doctors predicted that would be the case for me as I continue recovering from the stem cell transplant.   Up early, take my meds, off to school, deal with 43 fascinating children, race off to the sporting events or activities of my own children, find something to eat for dinner, get lessons prepared for the next day, grade a few papers, help out with the household chores, then sit down and realize how exhausted I am.  Before I know it, I am back in bed and...(yawn!)...zzzzzz.
   Psalm 37 reminds me to not fret.  Psalm 46 says to be still.  Psalm 1 exhorts me to stay rooted. Psalm 3 tells me that God is the lifter of my head.  Psalm 150 orders me to praise the Lord. Through the demands of September, I need these reminders. As September gives way to autumn, I need to live these out. As autumn ebbs and Christmas approaches, these are still truths that must be exemplified in my life. Through the New Year, the cold of winter and all the way through until June's graduation ceremony, I must continue to make these a part of my life.  When summer comes, and teachers relax, these truths must continue to echo through the essence of it all.  Cancer has taught me once again of the urgency of embodying these truths every season, every day.  Do not fret...be still...stay rooted...God lifts my head...I must praise Him...these are good reminders for September's chaos.  These are my reminders for life.
 

Saturday Sports and Memories

   It's a September Saturday.  Sports are in the air.  Every college football fan is still optimistic about his team's chances for the upcoming year.  Kids are into their fall soccer schedules.  And we just came home from our first middle school cross-country race.  My son Tem ran.  So did several of my students.  It was so exciting to see each of them push and challenge themselves successfully in this race.
   I have not been to a cross country event in many years.  Cross country is a phenomenally simple sport that involves running over a two-mile course (five kilometers in high school) through countryside terrain or city parks or golf courses or school campuses.  Each course has different conundrums to challenge the runners: hills, rough patches, sharp turns, uneven ground.  Bad weather can further increase the challenge, making mud where there was none or bringing a wind that can impede forward progress or chill the runners and stiffen their muscles.  I was a runner through high school, and remember those days and friendships fondly.   Lessons about perseverance and discipline, hard work and endurance, teamwork and respect did not have to be taught.  These were all inherent to the sport itself. 

John D. Warners

   But I missed my dad today.  John Warners was both my father and my high school cross country coach.  Every race I ever ran or watched,  he was there except for the one day we ran against Creston High School during my senior year and lost by one point.  My grandmother had suffered a heart attack during the day and my father and mother were at her bedside.  She died that afternoon, right about the time we were running.  Even now that day seems like a recent event in my mind.
   My father should have been at the race today. His grandson would have made him proud.  In the field of about 150 middle school runners, Tem crossed the finish line in third place today.

My son Tem and his grandmother, Jane Warners

He ran very well.  But knowing my father, he would have been proud of Tem long before the race today.  He would have been proud because his grandson works hard at school, is kind to people, has a great sense of humor.  There were times when I was growing up that I felt as though my father was proud of his children only when we performed well or achieved something great.  That was the impression I had. Retrospectively I was wrong.  What changed my perspective was watching him interact with his grandchildren over the years.  He loved them and was proud of them simply because he was their grandpa and not because of how they performed.  But my father died four years ago. While he knew and loved my youngest children, today would have been special for him.  My mother was a spectator today and she mentioned how great this would have been for Dad to see. Today the old coach could have seen his youngest grandson excel in the sport that he loved.  It would have been special.
   On this Saturday in September, sports are in the air.  On the cross country course today, so was the nostalgia.  It is good to reflect and reminisce.

Zesty Fun Facts

   You can find out a lot about a group of people when you spend an overnight with them in a small bunkhouse.  You can find out even more about them when you ride on a school bus with them for an hour and a half...two days in a row.  About fifty of us from school (43 students, 3 teachers, and a few random but invaluable parents) experienced a 24-hour excursion together to a camp near Lake Michigan to kick off our school year.  We were taught lessons on leadership, working together, community, and courage by the camp staff.  Trust, teamwork, communication, and cooperation were the buzz words our hosts used often.  It was a wonderful way to watch students interact and work together.
   But besides those lessons, there were others that I gleaned along the way, and many of them made me smile.

• I learned that Anna likes the word "zesty."  It was a funny story that we will just keep to ourselves.  But trust me...it was funny.
• I learned that Cam will not stop drinking when the fountain drinks are free and available.  I thought the boy was on the verge of drowning so I closed down the bar.
• I learned that there still is a "wow" factor for thirteen-year olds when they encounter sand dunes and rainbows.
• I learned some unnamed seventh grade boy can snore with the best of them.
• I learned that one of them can also pass gas in his sleep...no kidding.
• I learned I have to stop calling Taylor by her sister's name.  
• I learned that Connor has Jewish blood.
• I learned what a "po-po car" is.
• I learned that after twenty-four hours of intermittent rain mixed with adolescent perspiration, dirty laundry, and Doritos (nacho cheese flavor, of course), the aroma left behind in a school bus can be a bit pungent.
• I learned other little and sundry things about this group of students that makes me smile and know that we are in for a good year.  I have once again been impressed with how patient students can be with each other, how much fun they can have together, and how much fortitude many really have when things become difficult. I also noted that several of them need to improve in these areas as we chip away at their own insecurities and social handicaps.  

   I like these kids.  Oh sure, some have rough edges we will have to polish, and some have not been given the same opportunities as others to excel in school and in life.  But I was able to see each one as an image bearer of God who then fully deserves my honor and respect and love and care.  I am excited to be around students again after being on vacation from them for too long.  And I will do my best this year to not let the little things that used to bother me become issues. Besides, middle schoolers are a lot more fun than adults.  When was the last time adults enjoyed a word like "zesty" so much they giggled every time it was mentioned?

Lost Without Truth

   School begins tomorrow...again.  After exactly three-point-five days of school last week, we are now just concluding a four-day holiday weekend.  It is appreciated but still rather strange to have such a long weekend following what was essentially a short week.  We have four days of school this week -- with two of them being spent with my students at camp -- before another weekend is upon us.    We have no real chance of getting into a routine together until maybe next week. So it is.

   I deal with children whose world is changing so quickly around them.  I listened to a speaker named Abdu Murray yesterday.  His premise is that the world is changing exponentially faster on our children than it ever has on any previous generation.  His claim is that we as a society are now past a post-modern phase of thinking and into what he has labeled "the post-truth age."  The post-modern age is highlighted by the call to be accepting of differences we find in each other; post-truth reasoning makes anyone a villain who dares to espouse that there are definite truths governing our world.  If I believe in Biblical norms, I am intolerant.  If I believe in the sanctity of marriage, I am a bigot.  If I dare express truth regarding the claims of Jesus Christ, I am essentially Hitler and Stalin rolled into one great evil tyrannical maniac.  Post-modernism still held room for the possibility of finding truth.  Post-truth claims there is no truth to discover.  When truth is dispelled, there are no guideposts or landmarks to chart our course.  There is no common ground or genuine community between individuals and groups of people.  A "self-first" society turns us even more inward.  Ultimately there is no reason to help someone in need, there is no reason to show empathy for someone in a difficult situation, there is no reason to "love one another."
   For those of us who are striving to shape the world of our children, this can all be scary, like the waves the disciples were focusing on while in their boat.  But when Jesus showed up, the waves were calmed and the disciples once again witnessed the power of truth in action.  Jesus often reminded them of how he epitomized what was true: Jesus was "...full of grace and truth" (John 1:14).  He said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life" (John 14:6).  He began so many of his teachings with the phrase "I tell you the truth..." Truth is rooted in Jesus Christ.  Truth can be offensive.  We may not like it, but our opinions, which the world is now claiming must guide us, are fickle and without merit.  It is only through truth that we can live lives that have any kind of meaning, for as Jesus said, "If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples.  Then you will know the truth and the truth will set you free" (John 8:31-32).
   School will be in session again tomorrow.  Truth will be there, on display every day for my students.  That fact will be the framework of everything we do, even if it is not routine in other places.

Face to Face

   The first week of school is now done. This first week lasted three-and-a-half days.  I know...it hardly counts.  But we will call it a week because those of us who work at school are tired as we get used to "schoolness" all over again.
     One of my goals with seventh graders is to help them understand that the people of the past were real people with flesh and bones and feelings and emotions and such.  At our school we are able to start each day with a Bible reading and devotions. This week I was showing my students (and learning myself) a bit about the reactions different people had when they first met Jesus.  It is a rather interesting exercise because it begs the question, "What would I have done if I had met Jesus face to face?"

• Peter witnessed a miracle of a large catch of fish when he first met Jesus (Luke 5).  His response was one of shame and fear: "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" Yet he soon dropped everything and followed Jesus for the next three years.
• The blind beggar knew that Jesus could heal him (Luke 18).  To get the attention of Jesus, he sat by the side of the road and yelled and screamed, even though the crowds were telling him to be quiet.  His request was simple and straightforward:  "Lord, I want to see."  His faith and persistence were rewarded by Jesus with the miracle of restored sight.
• The twelve-year-old version of Jesus wowed the teachers and the priests at the temple. "Everyone who heard him was amazed of his understanding and his answers" (Luke 2:47).  Meanwhile of course his parents had been looking frantically for him for three days...imagine the anxiety this would cause the typical American parents of today.  Yet Jesus' response was calm: "Didn't you know I had to be in my Father's house?" (Luke 2:49 - italics added). 
• The Roman centurion had a very ill servant and approached Jesus with a request for healing (Matthew 8).  His quiet understanding is fascinating, considering he was a Roman citizen and a leader of soldiers representing Caesar.  "I do not deserve to have you come under my roof.  But just say the word, and my servant will be healed" (Matthew 8:8).

   Ashamed...bold...amazed...contemplative: What would my first reaction have been if I could have met Jesus face to face while he was on earth?  My guess is that I would have been all of those things rolled up into one excitable package.  But perhaps I need to be more in awe of him today.  I never met Jesus in his human form while he was on earth (I am old, but not that old), but I have met and do know Jesus.  He knows and loves me. So where is my awe and excitement?  I don't want to take him for granted.  I don't want to get to be so familiar with Jesus that I forget to be amazed and surprised and humbled.  I should be more amazed than what I am when I think about the Lord.  Being in Jesus every day should always keep me in awe. Perhaps I should meet him for the first time...again.

I can only imagine what it'll be like when I walk by your side

I can only imagine what my eyes will see when your face is before me

I can only imagine...I can only imagine.

Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel?

Will I dance for you Jesus, or in awe of You be still?

Will I stand in your presence or to my knees will I fall?

Will I sing hallelujah? Will I be able to speak at all?

I can only imagine...I can only imagine.

I can only imagine when that day comes when I find myself standing in the Son

I can only imagine when all I would do is forever, forever worship you.

I can only imagine...

                                                                                       -- Bart Millard (b. 1972)

The First Day

    We made it through!  Day One of the school year 2017-18 is now completed and I am ready to report that both I and my new batch of Rockford Christian School seventh graders made it through Day One safely.  No tears, no blood, not even too much anxiety.  Without trying to overstate things, being back at school today seemed like the completion of a slow-forming circle to me.  I was in and out of school so much last year--I missed the last month of the 2016-17 year entirely--due to my struggle with lymphoma.  I was not able to finish out the year with my students, and strangely I felt like I was letting them down.  But today I was back with no restrictions.  It just felt good.  The cancer that sidetracked me last year is currently in my history and not my future.  I am tired right now (3:30 pm) but I usually am anyway after the first day of school.  Rumor has it the kids come back again tomorrow so I should figure out what we are going to do with them then, but God has blessed me with a good school, a good job, an unmerited sense of confidence from my peers, and a renewed sense of enthusiasm for all of it.
   Oh sure, there are details and schedule changes and individual needs and lesson plans.  There will be papers to grade and grades to record and parent phone calls and conferences.  Three words I still do not like are "meetings," "agendas," and "committees,"  and all three of these words are a part of this job.  What I am saying is my joy for the job is not purely unbridled and naive idealism.  I understand what I am getting myself back into again...and I still feel like having this job is both an honor and a privilege.  Thank you, Lord, for giving me another opportunity to do this job well.

"Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!
Great is thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness,
Morning by morning new mercies I see!
All I have needed thy hands hath provided.
Great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me." 

Thomas Obediah Chisholm

(1866-1960)

Hurry Up and Wait

   "The calm before the storm..." is an old figure of speech referring to those few moments of down time just before some big event is going to occur.  My father used to say that the military's version of this concept was expressed as "Hurry up and wait."  Consider a bride waiting for her wedding party to get down the aisle before she is escorted to the front of the church or a basketball team in the locker room just before charging out on to the floor for a big game or a speaker at a big rally just prior to walking on to the stage.  Each of these situations produces a few moments of poignant solitude, a time of transition that is accompanied by a very loud and impatient silence.
   I have worked hard this summer at getting better so that I can return to my life as a teacher. Sometimes that meant just resting or taking a slow walk all the way to the neighbor's driveway, but it was work.  I was soon able to drive my truck without adult supervision.  I found my own way to school to get my classroom ready for the new school year.  Then came the good news that I was actually allowed to start the year with my students.  It seems I have been busy getting ready for this new school year ever since I was diagnosed with lymphoma back in November.  That high-alert mentality intensified this week with association meetings on Tuesday and Wednesday, then a school staff meeting yesterday and an Open House event for students and their families last night.  School begins on Monday morning.  I am ready.
   But now I have today. I went to school for a while this morning, but my time spent there was not all that fruitful and I found myself focusing on extraneous things.  I am ready.  I met many of my students last night and some claim they like vacation too much and don't want to come back to school which makes me all the more challenged to provide a great year for them.  I am ready.  My health is good, my attitude is positive, my excitement is high, my idealism is overflowing.  I am ready.  The bulletin boards are set, the chairs are positioned, the room looks great, the lesson plans are set (well, for the first few days at least -- I never liked writing detailed lesson plans anyway).  I am ready.  And now I sit in the calm before the onslaught of a new school year.
   Calm is good.  One lesson I learned through my cancer experience is that I cannot always be doing.  There must be times of waiting.  After the pain and discomfort and nausea had subsided, cancer offered long periods of forced relaxation.  That time allowed me to get stronger.  I did not always appreciate those times, but waiting was what I needed to do.  Now I am almost there.  I just have a couple more days to wait.  Strength can be gained in the waiting.  Find those moments of calm and learn to appreciate them.  "But those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength.  They shall mount up on wings like eagles..." (Isaiah 40:31).

The Verdict Is In

   When this journey with cancer began back in October, I was unaware of the emotional ups and the downs that would accompany this adventure.  I didn't understand the overwhelming sense of exhaustion that came with the challenge until I lived through it.  I didn't appreciate the chemo-brain confusion until I experienced it for myself.  I had no way of predicting the severity of the nausea and the discomfort brought on by the chemotherapy.  But then when the good news rolls around, I cannot adequately convey to you the excitement of it all that I am feeling, the relief of returning to health, and the opportunity to look ahead without considering cancer as the first factor in my decision making.
   At the meeting with my bone marrow transplant team today, I was given a lot of good news:

• I have been given permission to start the school year at full-time beginning on Monday, August 28 (this was the best news of all for me).
• I no longer have to wear a mask and gloves (and therefore I will have to come up with new ways to scare children).
• I do not have to meet with the transplant team again for another four to six months (we had been meeting every other week). Instead I have been handed back to my regular oncologist ("my regular oncologist"-- who would have thought I would ever use such a term in my lifetime!?).
• I do not have any dietary restrictions (other than my own taste buds and their refusal to appreciate different foods).

   There are still a few issues to consider and that we will have to monitor:

• The cat scan shows a spot under my arm that is suspicious, but that spot has been present during each of the three scans I have undergone and evidently it is not changing.  "We will just have to watch it" is the official protocol for dealing with it.
• My hemoglobin is still lower than it should be, but trending in the right direction.  This explains the shortness of breath I experience when exerting myself.  
• I will get tired...really tired...but that is because I have no muscle tone and my hemoglobin is still low (it might also have something to do with the fact that school is starting).  Only time will bring each of these back to acceptable levels.
• The taste buds are still out of whack.  Dairy products leave my mouth feeling like it is coated in some kind of lacquer.  Sweets taste nothing like I remember them tasting but more like the sealant used on cheap stationery.   

   Through this journey, I have learned and I have been blessed.  I have suffered and I have persevered.  I have been supported by a family that loves me and has been patient with me.  I have seen what God's presence in my life can do for my attitude and my outlook.  I have tried to not let my joy diminish because of cancer or chemotherapy.  I have been encouraged by people whose health crises are far worse than mine.  I have been frustrated with complainers who have nothing to complain about.  I have been angry about seeing people die from this pit-of-hell disease.  But for now, rather than getting too philosophical about all I have learned and seen and experienced, I think today is a day to just be thankful and to smile.  Good news has a way of making one feel good.  I feel good.  Thank you, God.

Jim's Text

   My friend Jimmy caught me off guard yesterday.  He gave me a dose of my own medicine just when I needed it. About 3:00 pm I received a group text from him sent to each of the four other guys in our small group.  It simply read:
             "Wondering how content 
                 you are today, men.  

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18:  
Rejoice always, pray continually, 

give thanks in all circumstances; 

for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."  

   Yesterday at 3:00 pm, I was not content.  I was feeling pressures that were both real and perceived and I was having a silent and private pity party that Jimmy quite rudely interrupted.  I was feeling justified in my frustrations and, like a pig in the mud, I wanted to stay there rather than taking the time to declutter the muddiness of my life. What had me frustrated? Oh, there was nothing earthshaking; it was just a bunch of little bothers:

• I was having trouble with my computer.
• My computer was having trouble with me.
• My next appointment with my bone marrow transplant team is Monday and I have questions I want answered now, like "Can I start school?" "When will my fingernails stop breaking?" "When can I get my port out?" and "Why does dairy still taste like some form of toxic sludge?" 
• At school my curriculum responsibilities are different this year and I had been attempting to negotiate the first few weeks of lesson planning in Algebra and 7th Grade Math (two new courses for me) when I did not have all of the resources I was supposed to have or a clear sense of scope and sequence for the classes.
• I will be teaching all new science material again this year.
• I lost my 8th Grade Bible class.  This was my favorite one to teach last year.
• I received a phone call regarding my pet scan and I did not receive a glowing "All Clear" report. Instead it was a cautious "Mostly Clear" report.  There is something in the right armpit that is suspicious.  The doctor told me not to be concerned until we could run more tests (yeah, right).  Follow-up to this unexpected news starts on Monday. 
• I know I am going to miss a friend who has recently moved for another job.
• When I arrived at home, the kitchen was a mess, the dishwasher needed to be emptied, the trash had to get out, the lawn needed mowing, and the kids were just being lazy about even seeing the work that needed to be done (actually, they were just being kids but I didn't have time or patience for that). 

   I placed them altogether in an old pot, kept them over a low heat, let them stew in their own juices, and the result was worry and frustration.  I was feeling anxious instead of culling and disposing of the worries I had so that I could protect my sense of contentment.  Why did I slip into that trap again of collecting the little problems facing me and not laying them down so that I could have a sense of mental calm?  I don't know.  The challenge continues for me to fight for that sense of contentment in my spirit.  I am glad now that Jimmy texted us all at 3:00 yesterday.  The other guys might have been content at that moment, but I was not.  His intrusion into my day was necessary.  Once again, timing is everything (thanks, Jim).

Finding the Answer

   "So how are you doing?  How is your health?"  This is a question that is bound to come at me frequently as school is starting up again soon.
   "Good and improving every day."  I think this will have to be my company line soon because I want to move on with my life.  This question is not unlike the one asked to a traveler who has just spent ten months living in a foreign country and experiencing all of the adventure associated with that setting.  Or like someone who has just been on a long backpacking trip with all of its frustrations and triumphs.  Or like someone who has just been through insufferable grief of some kind.  It is so difficult to adequately convey how impactful these experiences really are.
   "So, how are you doing?  How was it all?"  Honestly, there is no way to adequately answer such a question because the person asking has such a limited frame of reference.  While I might appreciate a person's willingness to inquire, there is no way for one to wade into the life-changing experience I have undergone.  This cancer thing has been a key player in every decision I have made since October.  There is no way to explain all that I have been through and how I have changed.  "Good and improving every day."  This just may have to suffice for a while.
   We all just have to keep moving.  While I understand that for a while I will be the guy who had cancer, I hope this is not my identifying mark of distinction for too long.  I don't want to be defined in that way.  I want to have other characteristics attached to who I am and what I do and who I am becoming.  Cancer will definitely have a place in my private and personal list of "Most Influential Lifetime Experiences," but it is not the first item on that list, nor is it the most important.
   So, how am I doing?  I am doing well.  My stamina is slowly returning.  I wish this happened a little more quickly.  I walked about five miles yesterday with my family along the beach at Ludington State Park and I was tired -- really tired -- at the end of the day.  I was stiff and sore when I woke up this morning, but have since loosened up.  In a few days I am expecting to receive the official go-ahead from my transplant team to start school on August 28.  I cannot imagine them telling me I am not ready.  I feel ready.  I am still a light-weight; fifteen more pounds would get me back to normal. The appetite for food is returning but some things still have some weird associated tastes that remind me all is not quite normal yet -- ice cream, sweets, cheese, coffee, and beer may or may not ever give my taste buds the same pleasure they did a year ago.
   But how am I doing?   Honestly, I am good...and improving every day.  Thanks for asking.

The Fine Art of Not Knowing

   Mike McCarthy, press secretary for President Bill Clinton, once said his job was best described as "the fine art of telling the truth slowly."  The truth of my life (at least for the next month) is unfurling ever so slowly and I wish I understood more of the story now.  Two weeks from tomorrow is the first day of school.  One week from tomorrow I will discover if my transplant team allows me to be present at school for that first day...or not.  I have a conundrum here.  I have to get ready for the new year and everything it entails but I don't know if I or some random "guest teacher" will actually be in the classroom with my kids.  This is frustrating.  There are other factors that contribute to this confusion:

• I have to prepare a classroom with bulletin boards and seating arrangements as if I will be the teacher in charge, even though it might be someone else.
• If I am able to go back for that first day, will I have the stamina needed to go each day, every day, and all day?
• I have to start thinking about the curriculum, much of which is new to me and most of which I have neither seen nor laid hands on just yet.  
• I have to become an expert at the aforementioned curriculum soon because after the first day of school, students will get into the habit of returning for 179 more days in rapid succession and I need to have something for them to learn.
• I have to be ready to sound authoritative in my writing about the curriculum because I may need to write the lesson plans out for some stand-in adult authority figure.
• Since my short-term disability plan is exhausted, I have to complete a lengthy application regarding long-term disability benefits, even though Lord willing I will never need to utilize that service.  But just in case...
• Although not school related, I have a pet scan tomorrow that the insurance company initially refused to back financially.  After a bunch of back-and-forth phone calls, the insurance guys have relented and are now willing to help us out.  Just another curve ball in the week.
• The Detroit Tigers continue to lose and I don't know why.  It might have something to do with the fact that they are not playing well this year.  Duh.



My friend John Grisham

• I have to suspend the reading of John Grisham novels for a while (my summer reading accomplishments include The Whistler, The Rainmaker, A Painted House, Bleachers, The Confession, and Ford County).  This leisure activity must give way to reading more professional sorts of material, lesson planning, paper grading, and the other enduring responsibilities that every teacher has.  Now if I was an aspiring law student living in the Memphis, Tennessee area and I was confronted with a case of well-shrouded but thoroughly entrenched corruption in some powerful law firm and/or other high-ranking institution during a siege of weather when temperatures were in excess of 100 degrees (with a 90% humidity factor, of course) and my air conditioner was broken, maybe Grisham's books would be considered professional development.  For now, I have to set aside my friendship with John and attend to these other matters.

    Not knowing is frustrating.  I wish I had a much firmer grasp on what my life will look like on August 28 and beyond, but for now I will have to let the story unfold slowly.  That's how a storyteller like John Grisham would want me to do it anyway.  But to be honest, I am going to miss those young lawyers from Tennessee and their acquaintances,  the people from impoverished but lovable cigarette-smoking, cheap-beer-drinking, front-porch-sitting families who are long on loyalty but short on intelligence or the high-school homecoming kings and queens whose lives have been destroyed by tragedy of some kind or another.  But I guess I can meet some more of them during Christmas vacation.

The Old Horse

   My cart was getting in front of my horse today.  I tried to keep it from rolling too quickly, but there were moments when it was moving nearly out of control.  Please understand that the proverbial horse I am working with is really a slowly plodding old nag and I cannot make it travel any faster.  The horse takes its time, deals with its meds, makes its appointments, and health wise improves ever so slowly.  It is very content to move along at its own methodical pace with no concern for the fact that the new school year is just around the corner.  Meanwhile my cart is getting more full and therefore rolling more quickly.  In the cart are all the things I have to do before school starts.  Also in the cart are the feelings of self-doubt and lack of confidence that always seems to plague me at this time of year.  New courses I have to teach are in the cart.  New computer programs that I need to learn are in there as well.  Then of course that ugly little hint of nagging fear that I won't physically be ready for it all when it starts -- that's in there too.  I hate that fear.
   1 Peter 5:7 implores me: "Cast all of your anxiety on Him because he cares for you." Why is this simple adage such an "easy-say-hard-do" challenge for me?  I have believed in Jesus a long time and I still have issues with this command.  I don't trust the way I should.  I want to keep things under control.  I want to appear capable and polished in what I say and do.  I want to be the expert in something -- in everything --  instead of always feeling like the new guy.  I want, I want, I want.
   This sounds exactly like so many characters we read about in the Bible.  King David had his issues with this.  Certainly Peter, Samson, and Jezebel were "I Want" all-stars.  It was this attitude that got Adam and Eve -- and therefore the rest of mankind -- in trouble.  But think about how many other people living today battle the same temptations of wanting to be in control and wanting to appear competent as a way of fueling personal egos.  So many have the desire for self-sufficiency and self-determination -- I am not alone in this.
   I have to slow down the cart.  To do this I must remove the heavy items and just leave them by the side of the road.  Later I can pick up the things that I really need.   I cannot let this cart run over my horse.  After all, that horse is me and I need to learn to lighten my own load.  I have to get that sense of fear out of the cart and just leave it in a ditch somewhere.  That is my biggest problem. I hate that cart when I allow it to bump my butt and it threatens to run me over.  My cart will be lighter tomorrow.  One day at a time, sweet Jesus...

The Value of Sport

   I just got home from football practice.  No...seriously, I just got home from football practice.  What is a 57-year-old guy recovering from cancer who is 25 pounds underweight doing at a football practice?  Don't be alarmed.  I didn't wear the pads or the helmet and didn't even participate in the non-contact portions of the practice.  My friend Tim, the head football coach at a local high school, asked me to come talk to his team during an extended break in the two-a-day practice schedule and share my story of faith and the role it played through my cancer experience.  I never say "No" to such an opportunity because ultimately my story is not my story but God's story through me.
   Tim is a good coach.  He gets it.  Football is important to him, but its importance has very little to do with wins and losses.  The sport is an allegory for life, a tool that is used specifically for building boys into men.  I am not referring to the stereotypical grunting/scratching/burping kind of men, but Tim is very intentional about training these kids to become men of faith, men of courage, and men of character.  Unity, togetherness, and leadership all are important for Friday night's contest, but they become more important for the rest of life.
   As I think back on my life, I learned a lot in school, but I learned a lot more about myself and my potential as a leader from my coaches and sports.  These lessons are far more defining of who I am today than lessons about the origin of World War One or diagramming a sentence with a dangling participle.  I am not bemoaning a classroom education, but instead I want to assert that sport, when led well by a coach with the proper perspective, can be life-altering for a young man.  I learned lessons in perseverance and teamwork through sport.  I learned the ideals of trusting my guys and admitting when I am wrong through sport.  I learned how to handle disappointment and to deflect the tendency to blame others through sport.  I didn't have to memorize wise sayings like, "When the going gets tough, the tough get going;" I lived it through sport.
   When I took my now-teenaged son Tem on his first backpacking trip soon after he arrived home from Ethiopia seven years ago, I reminded him to never ever quit.  Over time this slogan has become our phrase.  We use it together all the time.  I love that.  In the last few months, those words have come back to me as well, and I hear them in Tem's little seven-year-old voice.  Keep going!  Don't quit!  You've got this!  Push through!
   This is the value of sport.  Have a great year, Northpointe Christian High School!  You've got this.  Remember the lessons you gather along the way.  They will make you strong regardless of your wins and losses.  "Never ever quit!"