The Cake

   I went to bed early last night, before my daughter Tess and her friend Vivian were finished cake-making in the kitchen.  While lying in bed, I heard laughter and joy from these two amateur bakers.  When I came into the kitchen this morning, I found a kitchen that was...um...destroyed.  Just about every kitchen gadget and baking pan had been utilized the night before and most were coated in a thick hardening purple plaster that I assumed was meant to be frosting.  Then I saw it -- the project of the evening -- on the table.  It sat there and almost seemed to have its own light emanating from it (I might have even heard violin music at that very moment, but I am not certain).  The cake.  It was indeed disguised in thick purple frosting that oozed off the plate and over the table.  The mere weight of the frosting seemed to collapse the cake itself in places.  I don't think Gordon Ramsay would have approved of the results.  It was all simply a beautiful mess.
   I am forty-eight hours away from having my stem cells harvested.  I have a hard time sleeping at night now that I have this new catheter in the right side of my chest.  It has one end that goes up just under the skin into a vein in my neck while the other end has three different leads dangling out that look like they could be attached to any one of a number of random power cords that we have in our house.  The whole shebang is anchored in the middle by a silver-dollar-sized clamp and it is covered by a windowed bandage.  This will be a part of me for a while.  I still also have my port from chemo days in the left side of my chest and currently I am receiving three injections each morning of neuprogen into my belly to aggravate my stem cells enough to make them want come out of my bones and play with the other blood cells.  I am a mess.  But I too am a beautiful mess.
   I love those moments when obvious examples of truth just rise up and slap me in the face. The kitchen is now cleaned up, my body is currently being cleaned up (a bit more slowly than the kitchen), and my spirit is under the constant process of being made holy.  This is sanctification.  It is good to have a clean kitchen again.  It will be wonderful to have a clean body again.  But all the messes of this world seem like minor details in light of the great love our Savior has for us and the joy we have because of his enduring promises.  If allowed, he is willing to clean us up and present us as perfect.  Each of us is a beautiful mess, but we don't need to stay that way.

"At one time we too were foolish, disobedient,

deceived, and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures.

We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another.

But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared,

he saved us, not because of the righteous things we had done,

but because of his great mercy."        Titus 3:3-5

New Hardware, The Orange Bucket, and Crystal

   Today I was a busy boy.  I had an event-packed morning.  I had a new piece of hardware surgically installed on the right side of my chest, I had more blood taken out of me, I received three injections of neuprogen that is now working in my bone marrow, I delivered 24 hours worth of urine to the lab (one of my least favorite tests so far on this journey -- peeing into a bucket for an entire day and then keeping it just to pass it along to perfect strangers who pretend to be happy to receive it seems more than a little weird), and I heard more details regarding the stem cell transplant that is coming up than I could possibly remember.  This was all before lunch time.  On Monday I go back to the hospital to start the stem cell harvesting.
   And just about the time when I am becoming overwhelmed by all the new gadgets and information,  I see Crystal, a friend of mine who is a nurse on the infusion floor.  She meets me and gives me a hug and a smile.  Her timing in the midst of my haze could not have been better.  Then just as I was leaving the treatment center for the day, still feeling a bit overwhelmed, I received a hug and a smile from David, a friend whom I have not seen in years, and is facing bladder cancer.  And on my way home,  I realize once again the blessings I have in relationships with people. I also remember that my wife has been at my side since 6:15 this morning, and that she is also going home with me to make sure I am doing fine.  It was great to see Crystal.  It was wonderful to see David.  But I have the incredible privilege of living with Connie.  Life is good.
   (By the way, I slept most of the afternoon.  After all, it was a busy morning and a man my age can only take so much excitement -- but at least I don't have to pee into that bucket anymore.)

The Book

   If my entire cancer experience would be turned into a book, we are at the point of beginning what I hope would be the fourth and next-to-last chapter.  This is what the table of contents would look like:

• Chapter 1 -- The First 56 Years
• Chapter 2 -- "Cancer?  Me?  Really?": An Introduction to The Big Nasty
• Chapter 3 -- How and Why Chemotherapy Sucks Almost As Much As Cancer
• Chapter 4 -- The Stem Cell Transplant: Science Fiction Meets Reality
• Chapter 5 -- My 58th Year...and Beyond

   We have had and continue to have many appointments that are leading up to this stem cell transplant.  We have met with a whole series of people in preparation for this: doctors, nurse coordinators, social workers, financial coordinators, dietitians, pharmacists, physical therapists, and a partridge in a pear tree.  We have also had multiple tests to make sure the heart, lungs, kidneys, and other random body parts are good to go for this journey.  So far I have passed all the inspections and, like a trick pony, have successfully jumped through all the necessary hoops.  My transplant will be an autologous transplant, meaning that I can serve as my own donor.  Tomorrow I get a new line inserted into my chest to serve as the conduit for all the comings and goings.  Next week Monday they begin harvesting my bone marrow.  To do this, I have to take injections of Neupogen, a drug that shakes the stem cells out of the bone marrow and into the bloodstream, where they can be harvested.  This is called apheresis.  The harvesting can take two to three days, but I intend to give them enough in the first day since I am such an over-achiever.  Two weeks later I will be admitted for about three weeks as they put the good cells back into me, but only after they hammer me again with more chemotherapy.  I then will be open for any germ or disease floating around so they keep me in a sterile isolated environment.  After all of this, I will have to be inoculated for anything and everything since every inoculation I have ever had since babyhood no longer will be a part of me.  The adventure is about to begin.
   But the real adventure begins in Chapter 5 when I get better.  It is called, "Life."  I am so looking forward to it. I can tell you that there will be a marked difference in tone and vision between Chapter 1 and Chapter 5.  In Chapter 1 of this book, life was assumed.  It was a given that all had it and, while it was a good commodity to have, it was common and normal.  But when Chapter 5 rolls around, the concept of life will be elevated and appreciated in new ways (thank you for this insight, God). It will be celebrated and venerated.  Nothing will be able to tarnish the importance of this gift of life.  And if you don't believe me, just watch...or you can wait and read the book.
 
 
   

Schedules and Checklists

   I might be actually breaking a modern day record today.  On this day, April 24, 2017, I have six -- count 'em -- six different medical appointments within a five-hour window.  I should call the Guinness Book of World Records people to determine if there is a category for such a record.  If not, they should create one.  This is in advance of the stem-cell transplant I will be undergoing.  It seems as though life, as I know it, will change significantly.  Here is my roster for today:

• 10:00 -- Nutrition Class
• 10:30 -- Chest X-Ray
• 11:00 -- Meeting with Dr. Williams, the transplant doctor (she is also really smart)
• 11:30 -- Meeting with Lori, my transplant coordinator (a role that is a hybrid between tour guide and den mother)
• 12:00 -- Meeting with the Infectious Diseases people (when they zap me with chemo and take a lot of my blood cells, I will be quite susceptible to any kind of virus, germ, bacterium, dust, bad luck or bad habit so I guess they need to tell me to be good and be careful)
• 2:00 -- Meeting with Dr. Campbell, my oncologist

   I feel a bit like a baton at a track meet.  I am in the exchange zone right now, getting passed from one all-star doctor to the next all-star doctor.  I am hoping Dr. Williams is running the anchor leg because I really want this race to be over soon.  But the fans are still cheering, still praying me through this experience.  Thank you so much for your continued support, love, good vibes, cards, and prayers.  Please keep cheering.  Remember there are others fighting The Big Nasty besides me.  Please keep these friends of mine in your prayers too:

• Howie (pancreatic cancer) - slowly gaining strength but chemo regimen has been reduced
• Becky (breast cancer) - bald and beautiful and fighting like a warrior
• Nancy (lymphoma) - chemo is done (!!) and scans are pending
• Brandon (lymphoma) - just starting out a stem-cell transplant now
• Scott (bladder cancer) - facing his second bout of cancer with confidence

   Please also pray for Dana's family as they wade through the grief they are experiencing following her death from pancreatic cancer.  This is part of the cruelty of this disease -- it significantly impacts so many people beyond just the ones who are physically affected.  But know that cancer will not ever be victorious because "...I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:38-39)."  Let's go, team!

In Honor of My Grandmother

   My wife has been gone to a conference in Chicago since early Wednesday morning and she should be home again this fine Saturday afternoon.  (A conference?  Take a look at the picture...looks like a little too much fun to be at a conference.)  It has only been four days.  I look forward to her return.  My two-at-home children have made my stint as a single parent quite easy.  Each one is quite self-sufficient, does what is expected, and even with a busy schedule we have been able to survive quite well.
   But this is not the way for a family to function in the long term.  I marvel at those who are single parents.  This must be the most difficult job in America.  Bless you.  For those whose spouse must travel a lot for work, you rank right up there too in my mind.  Bless you.  These times apart for my wife and I have occurred quite infrequently during our 32 years of marriage. Our jobs or job-related activities have not demanded that we spend significant time away from home. But for many, this is a reality. That leaves the other behind to raise children, do household chores without the assistance or appreciation of another adult, run to soccer practice and two hours later return to soccer practice, follow through on school functions and academic progress, and then quite possibly still also deal with diapers and colic. You people are amazing.  God bless you.
   For many years, my grandfather was a truck driver.  He would drive the two-lane roads of America (pre-Interstate days), eat in little greasy-spoon, family-operated diners along the way, smoke two or three packs of cigarettes each day to stay awake and pass the time, and be behind the wheel of that truck for eighteen hours at a crack.  From what I am told, he would typically be on the road for twelve days at a time and that would allow him to be home every other weekend.

I. Cannot. Even. Imagine. 

Now granted, this was back in the 1930s and 1940s before many of the modern limitations on labor had been issued.  My grandfather also refused to join the union for various reasons and therefore did not have the protection on his time and activity that others may have had.  Life, it could be argued, was different back then.  But it all gives me a new picture of the strength of my grandmother, a woman who could have been seen as sweet and demure and quiet.  I would like to publicly suggest that it was my grandmother who had the more difficult job.  Raising three children by oneself mandates that one becomes a warrior, and I don't care when in history that might have occurred.

I. Cannot. Even. Imagine.

   Thank you Lord for my wife.  Thank you for her presence in my life and in our family.  Thank you for her ability to accompany me well through cancer.  Thank you for how together we raise our children, deal with our disappointments, and look forward to our future.  Help me to appreciate her just a little bit more today.  Help her to know how loved she is.  Amen.
   Now on to soccer practice after I switch over the laundry and feed the dog...

Blessings and Hope

   I had a taste of "normal" today and it tasted good.  I had no health-related appointments today.  I had no chemo-based nausea today.  I had very little "metal-mouth" taste today.  I went to school for the day -- yup, the whole day -- and drove myself.  I emerged at 3:15 and did not feel completely wiped out.  I added in an after-school meeting and then went to my son's track meet, not getting home until 6:30.  I hardly had time to eat.  I proctored a make-up Bible quiz for some students.  I taught my fun-loving math students and my blessed seventh grade Bible scholars.  It was normal.  As I write this at 8:00 pm, I am officially exhausted, but it was great.
   It is a blessing to begin to feel better.  I am now four weeks removed from my final chemotherapy treatment and have not felt this good since early October.  While I know this feel-good-fun-factor will be short-lived (my impending stem-cell treatment includes more chemotherapy), it is encouraging to actually feel good for a while, even though I know it is temporary.  But I consider it a taste of things to come.  I have hope.
   When I was younger, I never felt obligated to explore the thought of pain and suffering, much alone the thought of hope.  None of that was ever real or necessary for me.  It never made sense to think about such things when one is blessed with good health and vitality.  In fact, such thinking is impossible.
   As I have aged, my body has slowed a bit, but I always had good health and (besides a knee surgery) never have been slowed by anything too brutal.  Now that this cancer experience has zapped me, I am learning about myself.  I am learning that I have hope.  I never understood the power of hope in a personal way before, but the realization that I have hope only comes because I have experienced suffering.  The power of hope was untapped in my life for fifty-six years, but in my fifty-seventh year of life, I discovered it.  Hope allowed me to understand that a "normal" day is a blessed day.  Hope provides joy when doing the things that used to be simply "typical."  Even though I am exhausted, hope allows me to recognize and appreciate greatness in all I once considered "mundane." Hope makes no sense -- it is a gift from God.  Thank you, Lord, for the gift of hope.  "For those who hope in the Lord will have their strength renewed (Isaiah 40)."  I understand that more fully now.  I will never again consider hope as something normal.  You have given it to me.  Thank-you.  Amen.

The Schedule Has Its Victims

   The odyssey continues.  Yesterday my medical appointments included a visit with the stem-cell transplant team where I dealt with the upcoming issues of physical therapy and a schedule, and all it cost me was roughly 15 vials of my own blood and a little urine. The urine was no problem (they can have all they want), the amount of blood necessary was a little surprising but that was not too bad either. Then today I had to have some lung-capacity tests (I can blow hot air as successfully as just about anyone) and a bone-marrow biopsy which included a needle into my pelvis to extract some bone and some marrow.  After rolling up her sleeves and gritting her teeth, the nurse practitioner poked, then pushed, then shoved a relatively large needle (think a hollow metal inverted version of the Washington Monument) into my pelvis.  After she wiped the sweat off her brow and put her elephant euthanizing tools away, she congratulated me on my hard bones and said that they were an advantage for me during every day of my life except this one.  I was able to walk out of the procedure under my own power.  I am relieved to report that it was not quite as painful as I made it seem, but nonetheless neither was it a pleasurable experience.  All is well.  For the most part.
   But the schedule.  I did not like what they had to tell me.  One month from today I am scheduled to enter the hospital to begin a three-week stay to begin the stem-cell transplant.  This was not what I had hoped for.  I was not-so-secretly hoping that I could finish out the school year with my students.  Instead I will be the "boy in the bubble," watching from afar as my 39 favorite students wrap up the 2016-17 school year.  This is disappointing to me.  I think of all that has to be done and to be re-organized as this new reality is put upon me and the school.  My wife reminds me this is a good thing because it allows me more time to recover before school begins in September.  While this is true, it does not minimize the desire I have to be with Ainsley and Jess and Dylan and Emma and Carter and Drew and Sam and Noah and Whit and Eli and Morgan and Olivia and Josh and Sophie and Alex and Bernadette and Ross and Ocean and Zack as they complete their eighth-grade year and move on to one of several high schools.  I don't feel like I have served them well this year.  While I will Lord willing have the opportunity to be with my seventh graders again next year, I want to teach the eighth graders some more.  I need to be with them more.  I will be unable to help them finish their RCS learning.  I won't be able to assist with exams.  I will not be allowed to attend their graduation ceremony.  This has me frustrated.
   "Would You Rather...?" is a fun pastime I have played with these students this year.  "Would you rather be at school with 39 great kids or get your stem cells extracted, cultivated, then re-introduced into your body, all the while dealing with more chemotherapy?" My choice has been made for me.  I have to get past what I would rather do and do what I would rather not do.  One day at a time, sweet Jesus...

Backpacks and Discipline

   What a week.  The school week was different because it was our "iExplore Week," a special week immediately after spring vacation when students have the opportunity to sign up for alternative classes for one week.  Our school hosted classes such as Robotics, Cooking Around the World, and The History of Grand Rapids.  Before I became ill, I had to submit a proposal and decided to offer "Backpacking."  After all, I had led many trips in the past, this was an interest of mine, and it would be a blast.  Then cancer came along and as it always does, it upset the entire plan...at least it tried.
   I could not carry my backpack.  Heck, I could not even go up a hill without grabbing the bottoms of my gym shorts as if it were late in the fourth quarter.  Chemo has a way of really knocking down one's endurance.  But we still went ahead with our plans.  With great leadership all week from Alex, my long-term and valued replacement teacher, and my niece C.J., who joined us for the two-day hike, we made it all happen.  I am glad it is over but at the same time I am thankful that we were able to go for the sake of our students.  Final numbers: 14 students, 2.5 leaders (I was the half), 2 days (1 night), about 18 miles on the Manistee River Trail and North Country Trail. and all survived.  Was it fun?  Not all of it.  Was it a learning experience?  Definitely.  Was it worthwhile? Most difficult experiences are.

   Too often we try to evaluate the worth of an experience by asking our children or ourselves, "Was it fun?"  It is as if every experience must somehow be placed on a continuum that stretches from "FUN" on one end to "BORING" on the other end.  The implicit understanding is that much of life should be on the "FUN" side of things.  This is faulty thinking.  Like that backpacking experience, not all of it was fun.  Not all of it was pleasant.  But as was discussed in church today, when we have those difficult times in life, those "Desert Episodes" when life is just plain hard, terms like "fun" and "boring" have no meaning.  But also during these times we can learn so much about ourselves and our God.  Characteristics like "perseverance" and "discipline" and "relentlessness" and "endurance" and "adventure" come through.  These are the times when God can speak to us so much more clearly.  When we know that we cannot do life on our own, we cry out to him and he carries us.  Often, instead of allowing our children or our students to go through such things, parents and teachers alike opt for activities that could be described with words like "comfort" and "safety" and "easy" and "achievable" attached to them.  There is no growth in these activities.
   Fun?  No, that does not describe our backpacking trip.  Boring? This word doesn't work either. Perseverance and discipline and relentlessness and endurance and adventure?  Much better.  These characteristics are far more valuable when they are offered experientially to our children.  The lasting impact on one's personhood is immeasurable.  These are the characteristics that are desperately needed when one is in a difficult time, a "Desert Episode."  Trust me.  I know.  I have cancer.

God's Job: Creating and Renewing

"Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.

Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me."

                                                                                                     Psalm 51:10-12

   When David was caught in adultery and was confronted by Nathan the prophet, he poured his heart out to God begging for forgiveness.  Psalm 51 is a beautiful picture of how each of us is to throw ourselves on the mercy of a powerful and just God.  We are to recognize the impact and seriousness of our sin, but then give it over to God and strive to live more for him.  Sin separates us from God, and David knew that without God guiding him, his life would be empty and meaningless.  

   In many ways it seems to me that cancer and sin are similar.  I cannot save myself from either of them.  I have no personal power over either of them.  Only when I acknowledge my powerlessness can I begin to get the help I need.  Only God can heal me from both.  My plea through this experience is like David's desire: "You can do it, God!  I cannot!"  I want to be recreated and renewed.  I need to be restored and sustained.  

   I have been at school the last couple of days and have felt both energized and exhausted.  I realize there is a part of me that is just impatient with this cancer.  I know that getting well is all a process, but I want that process to move along a little more quickly.  

   Next week I have more medical-appointment interruptions to my life.  We need to deal with all the preliminary details for this stem-cell transplant.  I need to allow God to do the work in his time, not in mine.  This is hard for me right now.  I am tired of dealing with personal health issues, but then David was tired of carrying his sin around too.  I sense the parallel here -- and the reminder that I need to get refocused and allow God to do the healing work in me.  While I want to fix it, I cannot.  "So God, create...renew...restore...sustain, because I can't do any of that.  Give me the patience to wait well while you are fixing me.  Amen."

Clean Clothes

   We are home again.  We arrived yesterday around suppertime and have been busy with the typical post-vacation chores: going through the mail, sorting out the clothes, cleaning up the car, throwing away the leftovers that were in our refrigerator a week ago before we left on vacation, putting things away.  This process has been complicated by the fact that our washing machine is not working well (it won't drain properly) so we will be having to make trips to the local laundromat.  In doing so, we hope our children understand that having a washer and dryer in the house is a blessing, especially when both are working well!
   We also went to church this morning.  This too was a blessing.  We were confronted with a message from our pastor based on Leviticus 16 and 23 -- The Day of Atonement.  One of his key points is that we do not recognize or remember the holiness of God and we tend to overemphasize the holiness of self.  "We need to meet God halfway" is a sentiment that has no biblical basis.  A holy God living among an unholy people is a fascinating concept, one that must be pondered only with the accompanying amount of awe that makes it all even somewhat understandable.  There is nothing we can do to make ourselves holy enough to meet with God on our own.  It is only when we give ourselves over to him fully, broken and filthy as we are, that he then can do something with us.  It is he that makes us clean and worthy.  It is he that has the power to restore us and make us adoptable by him.  Only he has the authority to make things right.
   And again, it all speaks to me and my cancer.  I have no power over this disease.  I can take a shower, put on my best clothes, comb my hair (wait a minute...I can't do that), play a musical instrument, learn a foreign language or two, and win a Nobel Prize, but I will still have cancer.  All of the outward stuff does not clean up what is inherently me.  I must leave it up to God to restore and make right.  "I delight greatly in the Lord; my soul rejoices in my God.  For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness..." (Isaiah 61:10).  If I am to be a true follower of God, I must allow him to dress me!  This is a part of his restoration project in me. I find it all quite fascinating that God has reminded me about allowing him to put clean garments on me when my washing machine is broken.  I love holy irony.
 

Every Vacation Needs Rain and Snow

   The adventure of vacation continues!  Oh sure, it all looks easy when you are planning it and of course it is easy for you when you are in good shape and the life of the party.  And for the most part, it has gone quite well.  But yesterday was a trip within a trip.

• Dateline: Washington, D.C. and Arlington, VA
• Time: April 6, 2017
• Major Threat to the Well Being of Americans Visiting the Nation's Capitol: The Weather

   On the one day that we had set aside to wander our nation's capital city, it rained (hard) all day, and blew (also hard), and tornadoed (not even lying).  Without getting into too many of the details, we had our idyllic visit to Washington D.C. interrupted by weather that caused it to be a day we won't soon forget.  We wandered as well as we could, from The Capitol Building to the White House to the Washington Monument to several of the Smithsonian buildings, but ultimately we had to leave about 3:30 because we were cold (all of us), soaked through and through (all of us also), and quite tired (that would be just me).  We agreed that it was still worthwhile, but barely.  When your most impressionable moment of visiting Washington D.C. is hunkering down behind a snack kiosk as branches fall around you and the wind is knocking people over, it might have been a better idea to go to Palm Springs for a vacation.
   On the way back to Kate's house in northwest Ohio today, we hit snow through much of Pennsylvania.  This was not just a random flurry or two in the air, but this was three inches of quickly accumulating slush through the mountains.  Welcome to Spring Break.
   But these are all mere circumstances.  My health is holding steady.  I traveled well, I walked fairly well, I slept fairly often.  I have another week before the stem-cell appointments get started and we find out if I am a candidate to continue the process.  My schedule for appointments looks more like a full-time job than a schedule for appointments.  Once again, one day at a time, sweet Jesus...
   Twenty-four hours from now we will be back in Grand Rapids.  The adventure of vacation will be history, but the adventure of cancer continues.  Here we go!

   (Special thanks go out to Mr. and Mrs. Steve Hunefeld of Richmond, Virginia and Dr. and Mrs. James Zimmerman of Wauseon, Ohio for allowing us to bunk in at their homes, eat their food, play in their yards and horse around with their children this week.  It was all a blessing.)

Richmond, VA

Grandson Jesse on top of Uncle Tem

Granddaughter Nora with my daughter Tessa

   April 4, 2017 -- Richmond, VA -- 1:30 p.m. -- 78 degrees F. -- and for the first time in maybe four months the guy with lymphoma does not feel cold.  I am currently wearing shorts.  We have had a wonderful time visiting Abby and Steve and Nora here in Richmond.  The accompanying temperature is certainly a perk that I appreciate.  We have been doing a lot of walking the last couple of days and it still mandates that I take it easy when we return.  I seem to be able to handle the flat surfaces fairly well, but since the red blood cells are still not as numerous as they should be, any climbing/steps/uphills gets me to breathing fairly heavily quite quickly.  It is hard to imagine ever being able to go for a walk without expecting to take a nap afterward, but I am told that might be possible again.  Today we wandered down by the Potterfield Bridge and Belle Isle.  The Potterfield Bridge crosses the James River and it was here in the spring of 1865 that Abraham Lincoln stood to watch Richmond burn as the Union troops took over the city and essentially ended the war.  One week later, Lee and Grant signed papers signifying surrender at Appomattox Court House.  Two weeks later, Lincoln was dead.  This city is a history textbook just waiting to be opened and read.
   Belle Isle is also a site of historical significance.  Much of the last two hundred years Belle Isle has been used by industries of various types.  But during the Civil War, this island served as a notorious prisoner of war camp.  This camp included tents (no buildings) and it allowed the cold and the wind to reign supreme.  The tent city was surrounded by bermed-up land and the word was that if any prisoner was on the wrong side of the berm, he would be shot on sight.  Another area just waiting to be opened and read.
   I hope that when this lymphoma is over, and I am healthy again and taking walks without taking naps, we will be able to look back at this journey and see there are lessons to recall when we open and read what is there.  It will be important to remember the lessons of my past, of my story.

Harpers Ferry, WV

   A vacation, while fighting off the adventures of chemotherapy, is an adventure.  But I am doing well.  We are doing a week's worth of "Daughter-Palooza" by spending some time with Kate and her family in northwest Ohio, and then moving on to Richmond, Virginia, to visit Abby and her family.  Two daughters, two grandchildren, two sons-in-law, six different states.  Tonight we are in Harpers Ferry, WV enjoying the area and currently a motel.  Last night my wife slept with another man while I slept alone.  She and our grandson Jesse decided to have a camp-out in his tepee-like tent in his new "big-boy bedroom." While Connie said it was a good night, I know she was up at 5:00 this morning looking for Jesse's water bottle...and they did not go back to sleep because they started having conversations that just never seemed to stop.  From musical instruments to HGTV to basketball to whatever new topic came along, they had a lot of pre-dawn discussions about a lot of different topics. Meanwhile, in the guest bedroom, I slept well.  And I am not apologizing for it.
   Harpers Ferry is a great town.  With a population of only 300 people, Harpers Ferry is a Civil War era industrial burg and is located on a peninsula of land formed by the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers.  It was here that John Brown attacked a military armory, hoping to encourage slaves to escape their masters and join in his abolitionist cause. It did not work because when he captured the armory, it was soon discovered that ammunition was nowhere to be found.  Weapons are not all that effective without ammunition.  His uprising was quickly quelled and within six weeks he was hanged for his actions.  All of the downtown area has been renovated to that time period and makes for a wonderful leisurely walk...and we walked a lot today.
   Besides all this history, there is a personal history here as well.  The Appalachian Trail runs through this little town and in fact is home to the national headquarters of the A.T.  Many years ago Connie and I led a group of high school students from Northern Michigan Christian High School on a spring break backpacking journey on the Appalachian Trail.  We started our hike near the Pennsylvania/Maryland state line and ended the trip here in Harpers Ferry.  Today, just like eighteen years ago, we stopped by the A.T. national headquarters offices.  As I looked at the displays and books, the memories of backpacking came flooding back.  I was again inspired to make a future visit...but without a vehicle, just our backpacks.  We walked maybe three to four miles today (without backpacks) and I admit that I am quite tired.  Hopefully one day soon I will be able to walk 20-25 miles again (with a backpack).  I was inspired toward that goal again just by being in this town that most people have never heard of.
   A vacation is an adventure.  But adventure can bring inspiration.  I hope to return again...and I haven't even left yet.