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.