During last half of this year I must have written over a dozen posts that I erased upon reading the final draft because they were just too dark. They represented what was in my heart, but there has been a lot of emotion in my life this year, and much of it just isn't valuable for sharing. It's my yoke, I need to pull the load. As I write this particular post, I am determined to publish it regardless of how it comes out.
In my new world perspective I find myself believing that there are some perspectives on death and suffering that actually provide evidence of God's existence. This true story has all three; suffering, death, and proof of design that I can't explain without God's existence.
Michelle and I had a rough day Friday (actually, mostly me but I managed to bring Michelle down too). At some point Saturday morning I watched the last half of 'Legally Blond' on TV. In the final scene of the show, Reece Witherspoon gives a commencement speech, the graduating class throw their tassel laden hats in the air, and I'm suddenly transported back to the same image from the 2001 Allen high school graduation at Prestonwood auditorium. I cry silently and then tell Michelle we should go to Springdale Arkansas and look for a distraction from our life. We go, she does some shopping, we take in a movie at the dollar theater, and we eat a high end date style dinner at Taco Bueno.
Shortly after we got home, the psycho puppy freaks out. He's whining, barking, and trying to squeeze into the two inch space at the bottom of our couch. Finally, after the level of chaos became unbearable, I walked behind the couch, grabbed the back, and tilted the couch so Newbie could examine the underside and get over his obsessive compulsive madness. As Newbie moved under the heaviest part of the couch (it's actually a hide-a-bed) the extra weight made it slip out of my hand. Suddenly the room was filled with a pained howl that is permanently imprinted in my mind.
The next thing I know my little dog runs straight into the wall, spins wildly, crashes through a TV tray (with pictures of Mandy on it), wedges into the corner of the room for a moment, does a virtual back flip out of the corner, and then launches into the air, a brown and grey blur.
Next, I watch it die.
In hind sight, I'm surprised that I didn't see it earlier but I believe this is because I was still juggling the couch, reacting to such unexpected chaos, and distracted by the sound of furry and crashes.
The first time I saw it was when Newbie launched into the air. Newbie's path through the air matching it's speed and direction. As the ground squirrel looked back to see where the dog was, the psycho puppy landed and delivered a quick kill.
Years ago Newbie killed a big, black bird and left it in the bath tub for us. When I told Michelle about it she was sad for the bird. From time to time following yesterday's excitement and drama I find myself feeling a wee bit sorry for the ground squirrel...but only briefly. My fondness for these happy little rodents is quickly overcome with thoughts of what I said to Michelle about the bird.
"God gave birds the gift of flight. If one of them can be killed by a dog that stands 6 inches tall, the death is Gods way of saying that he needs to eliminate that particular line from the gene pool."
This is equally if not more true for a squirrel that decides to take up residence in a couch that is the favorite sleeping place of a terrier. This is even MORE true if the terrier is Newbie the psycho puppy.
I have no doubt that God designed natural selection to compliment his design of our ever changing world. Watching Newbie demonstrate that he is faster than a ground squirrel when competing on his home court was further evidence of God's divine design.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Wearing 58
Having lived over half a century, I've been to a number of funerals. Every funeral I've attended I've always worn a suit and tie, it is what I was taught. It was always the right thing to do.
When Shane died, I deviated from the norm and instead of getting out my best suit, I went shopping.
Take a trip back with me nearly 30 years. My earliest memory of Shane's connection with the Broncos was when he was around Devin's age. We moved to Portland Oregon and they had a number of Phillips 76 gas stations in the area. When we would drive by one, baby Shane would look up through the back window of our Honda fastback, see the bright orange 76 ball, and yell "Go Broncos!".
The connection has been that long.
Four or five years later Shane was further refining his alighment with the Broncos and more specifically with John Elway
So it started back that far. Far enough back that the word "always" is appropriate.
When Shane turned 12 he entered the world of working in professional sports (no kidding - I thought he would get a job mowing lawns but I guess I wasn't specific enough when I suggested he find work so he could have more spending money).
When it came to sports apparel, I would steer him to the racks of team tees. Shane, finding the expensive "authentic" apparel would have none of it.
"But Dad! These are the REAL team Jerseys, just like the players wear in games!" he would exclaim.
I, in turn, would explain you could get a team tee shirt for $8.00 rather than spending $70 for the "real thing".
But Shane had a job, Shane had money of his own, Shane was dedicated to sports, and Shane saved up and purchased those "real" jerseys. Meanwhile, I kept buying the $8.00 tees.
Prior to this funeral, I've never paid more than $20 for a sports team shirt.
When Shane died and it was time to say goodbye, I decided to do it dressed in a way that would have made him smile.
I did something I would never do. I went to an "official" outlet and dropped just under 300 dollars for a pair of Denver Bronco Jerseys (one for Michelle). Not just a "real" jersey, but as Shane would have said "The best ones with the letters and names sewn on, not stenciled".
That's why the jersey.
It's about what matters to the boy. But why number 58?
The number 58 is worn by Denver Broncos outside linebacker Von Miller. Von is a graduate of Texas A&M. Von makes 1.33 million dollars a season, runs the 40 in 4.49 seconds, and Von had his father call my little boy the day Shane got home after his first chemotherapy session.
Shane was invited to "hang out" with Von and some of the other Broncos, but a few short days later Shane's colon blew out and the rest is history.
After Shane passed, another call came inviting Cassandra, Devin, my daughter, son-in-law, and Cassandra's mother up to training camp. Von met with Cassandra and Devin. He signed a jersey that he wore in a game last season and gave it to Cassandra.
Von also set Shane's family up in the VIP Accommodations for the training camp day, met with them, and gave Jack and Mandy tickets to an upcoming game.
I wear the jersey, rather than a suit, out of respect. It's about respect for my son who loves sports so much. It's about an NFL player who didn't have to do anything, but chose to show respect to my son and his family.
Been there, done that. Got the shirt.
It's the last time I'll ever attend a funeral and not wear a suit.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Making My Way Back...
In a surprise move that will ruin the "Just go to Google and search for 'Not only does he talk too much'" advice I've been giving for years, I've changed my Google profile and the name of my blog.
My little sister was keeping my 86 year old dad in the loop as Shane quickly progressed through his illness. After Shane died, my dad got confused and thought it was me.
I took a quick trip up to Gillette Wyoming to either explain the situation or REALLY freak my dad out by showing up.
While we were there, we talked about this weird "dying isn't that big of a deal" attitude that is prevelant in the Crawford line.
For my dad and me faith was not something you work at. It just is. Although I've spent countless hours debating God's existance with my intelectual but non-believing friends, in my mind, the discussion was always just rediculious. I'm perfectly willing to have the same debate about the existance of air, light or gravity and each of these discussions would be equally silly.
This faith doesn't come from my heart. Truth be told, I'm not much of a "this comes from the heart" kind of a guy. It all comes from my mind. I can't look at the obvious signs of design all around me and not have the existance of a creator be a no-brainer. Perhaps I'm morphing into a completely different post so let me realign...
So, I'm in Wyoming trying to freak out my dad by showing up and using his confusion to suggest a reserection thing.
We were talking about how Shane faced his death with wonder, anticipation, and virtually no fear. I asked my dad if that attitude was prevelant on the Crawford side or if it came exclusively from my Grandmother's father (I'll write another post about him later).
Dad assured me it was all his mom, not his father.
Thinking back on raising my kids I couldn't begin to count all the times I said "If it wasn't so perminant, I would LOVE to die and check out the other side".
I remember when my grandmother Crawford died. It wasn't this sad, everybody cries kind of a thing. She wasn't bothered that it was coming, and when it finally happened, everyone was so happy for her.
Mission accomplished.
So here we are. The boy is gone (I called him that right up to and including this year) and if you read my earlier posts, he won't have time to miss us before we start showing up. Meanwhile, the acturaial folks that are advising me on how to manage my money in retirement tell me I've probably got another 30 years down here.
Thirty years of serving the lord, helping the kids, and now (as if I needed one more thing to look forward to)...
Making my way back to Shane.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
What I'm Not Going to Say
When we started planning the memorial service for my son Shane, my daughter asked me if I wanted to get up and give a eulogy. As many of you know, I’m a person who loves to hear himself talk, especially in front of large crowds, but in this case it took me mere nanoseconds to decline. I really have no desire to stand before my loved ones and friends as I cry like a little girl who just had a big dog knock her down and eat the ice cream off her cone.
Streaming tears and shaking shoulder sobs aside, Shane’s life really didn’t deserve silence, so here’s what I’m not going to say about him at the service this afternoon.
{The room is silent. I stand and quietly walk to the podium dressed in tennis shoes, Levis, and a bright orange Broncos jersey donning the number 58. I reach the podium and stare at the crowd until the inactivity grows and the room begins to become uncomfortable and then I speak in a booming voice}
Why all the gloomy faces? My son just died! This isn’t supposed to be a sad time so suck it up, join me, and consider what I just said...
My son, Shane Robert Crawford is dead!
{pause for reflection}
Let’s consider what that means to us and then let’s consider an appropriate reaction based on what Shane would want.
My Grandfather died before Shane was born. One of Shane's grandmothers died while he was still figuring out how to walk and learning that when his parents say “hot” it’s a pretty good idea not to touch it.
Another of his grandmothers died a couple of years ago.
The way I always envisioned it, the order would be his Grandfather Crawford next followed by his Grand Patti and Grand John in no particular order, then his mom as a result of a threat that I would be placed to rest in North Dakota if I dared to go first. Finally after all that was out of the way he would carry on for another 30 or 40 years and THEN it would be his turn.
That’s how it played in my head. That’s how it was supposed to go.
From one perspective, I see Shane’s death as a form of cutting in line. It wasn’t supposed to be his turn and I’m totally weirded out by the concept of him meeting my father at the pearly gates and offering to show dad around. It’s surreal to me that he’s going to understand whether unborn babies, like his sister Stephanie Rae, get a soul and exist in eternity or if God, knowing they won’t make it to term omits the soul. I’ve been wondering about that since before Shane was born and now he gets to know the answer before I do. From the perspective of cutting in line, Shane sort of cheated.
From the other perspective Shane’s early passing is more of who Shane came to be. The product of my greatest desires, the result of his mom’s and my best efforts, so let me tell you about my 40th birthday.
Michelle was planning a surprise party and it was Shane’s job to get me out of the house. He offered a tennis match and I accepted.
As we walked to the courts my mind was overwhelmed with one thought. Not today! Shane and I had been playing tennis for years and this little snot nosed teenager wasn’t going to beat me for the first time THAT day. Not on my 40th birthday. I just couldn’t let that happen.
I’m proud to report that I beat Shane is straight sets. 6-1, 6-3. I let NOTHING go. If I had to dive for a shot and destroy an elbow, so be it. I wasn’t going to lose for the first time. Not on that day. Shane begged for a third set. “Just for fun” he said as I wheezed and choked down big gulps of air. I refused, we got back earlier than planned, the surprise was ruined and I suppose Shane failed in his mission.
I’m pretty sure that was the last time I ever beat Shane at tennis and as he progressed from snot nosed teen to young adult he methodically checked off victory after victory as he whittled away at all of the things I did better than him.
I suppose beating me at sports is no surprise. He was younger and faster so when he took a disc golf match or slammed a basketball jumper back into my face it was to be expected. Every time he beat me I was glad. It was my job to make him better than I was.
One day Shane came to visit, took a look at the bridge between my LAN and my WiFi, then sat me down and said “Dad, you’re really not technical anymore. You still think you are, but if it’s OK with you I want to reconfigure your DHCP server and security and make it better.
That was a little harder for me but upon reflection, this too was a blessing. My boy was better, he was beating me and that was how things should be.
The last time I remember watching my son and realizing he had bested me once again was when I watched his interaction with my grandson. Devin was the world to Shane and Shane’s devotion to his son and wife was second to none. I found myself realizing Shane was coming out of the gate as a better father and husband than I had been. Unlike the other times when there was a twinge of pain in the defeat followed by joy in seeing what my little boy had become, seeing Shane spend time with Devin was nothing but pure joy for me. His mom and I did a great job on the foundation then God and Cassandra were molding him into something amazing.
So here we are, sitting in this church feeling stunned and confused. At the tender age of 30, Shane is dead and gone.
It’s surreal.
Shane’s cancer and his death put my head in a fog and I struggled with the simplest thoughts, but as my mind clears I realize he’s done it again. This wasn’t a cut in line, it was Shane beating me yet another time. This time he has beat me to the ultimate prize and if I think about it, REALLY think about it, this is like seeing him with Devin. His arriving at the finish line first, getting there before his remaining grandparents, getting there before his mom and me, this isn’t a thing that is sad. This is a thing to be celebrated and talked about for years to come.
So I ask you again. Why all the gloomy faces? My son just died! This isn’t supposed to be a sad time so suck it up, join me, and consider what I just said. My son, Shane Robert Crawford is dead!
Let’s celebrate his life, and as my friend Chris Ifland said, let’s celebrate it well.
Streaming tears and shaking shoulder sobs aside, Shane’s life really didn’t deserve silence, so here’s what I’m not going to say about him at the service this afternoon.
{The room is silent. I stand and quietly walk to the podium dressed in tennis shoes, Levis, and a bright orange Broncos jersey donning the number 58. I reach the podium and stare at the crowd until the inactivity grows and the room begins to become uncomfortable and then I speak in a booming voice}
Why all the gloomy faces? My son just died! This isn’t supposed to be a sad time so suck it up, join me, and consider what I just said...
My son, Shane Robert Crawford is dead!
{pause for reflection}
Let’s consider what that means to us and then let’s consider an appropriate reaction based on what Shane would want.
My Grandfather died before Shane was born. One of Shane's grandmothers died while he was still figuring out how to walk and learning that when his parents say “hot” it’s a pretty good idea not to touch it.
Another of his grandmothers died a couple of years ago.
The way I always envisioned it, the order would be his Grandfather Crawford next followed by his Grand Patti and Grand John in no particular order, then his mom as a result of a threat that I would be placed to rest in North Dakota if I dared to go first. Finally after all that was out of the way he would carry on for another 30 or 40 years and THEN it would be his turn.
That’s how it played in my head. That’s how it was supposed to go.
From one perspective, I see Shane’s death as a form of cutting in line. It wasn’t supposed to be his turn and I’m totally weirded out by the concept of him meeting my father at the pearly gates and offering to show dad around. It’s surreal to me that he’s going to understand whether unborn babies, like his sister Stephanie Rae, get a soul and exist in eternity or if God, knowing they won’t make it to term omits the soul. I’ve been wondering about that since before Shane was born and now he gets to know the answer before I do. From the perspective of cutting in line, Shane sort of cheated.
From the other perspective Shane’s early passing is more of who Shane came to be. The product of my greatest desires, the result of his mom’s and my best efforts, so let me tell you about my 40th birthday.
Michelle was planning a surprise party and it was Shane’s job to get me out of the house. He offered a tennis match and I accepted.
As we walked to the courts my mind was overwhelmed with one thought. Not today! Shane and I had been playing tennis for years and this little snot nosed teenager wasn’t going to beat me for the first time THAT day. Not on my 40th birthday. I just couldn’t let that happen.
I’m proud to report that I beat Shane is straight sets. 6-1, 6-3. I let NOTHING go. If I had to dive for a shot and destroy an elbow, so be it. I wasn’t going to lose for the first time. Not on that day. Shane begged for a third set. “Just for fun” he said as I wheezed and choked down big gulps of air. I refused, we got back earlier than planned, the surprise was ruined and I suppose Shane failed in his mission.
I’m pretty sure that was the last time I ever beat Shane at tennis and as he progressed from snot nosed teen to young adult he methodically checked off victory after victory as he whittled away at all of the things I did better than him.
I suppose beating me at sports is no surprise. He was younger and faster so when he took a disc golf match or slammed a basketball jumper back into my face it was to be expected. Every time he beat me I was glad. It was my job to make him better than I was.
One day Shane came to visit, took a look at the bridge between my LAN and my WiFi, then sat me down and said “Dad, you’re really not technical anymore. You still think you are, but if it’s OK with you I want to reconfigure your DHCP server and security and make it better.
That was a little harder for me but upon reflection, this too was a blessing. My boy was better, he was beating me and that was how things should be.
The last time I remember watching my son and realizing he had bested me once again was when I watched his interaction with my grandson. Devin was the world to Shane and Shane’s devotion to his son and wife was second to none. I found myself realizing Shane was coming out of the gate as a better father and husband than I had been. Unlike the other times when there was a twinge of pain in the defeat followed by joy in seeing what my little boy had become, seeing Shane spend time with Devin was nothing but pure joy for me. His mom and I did a great job on the foundation then God and Cassandra were molding him into something amazing.
So here we are, sitting in this church feeling stunned and confused. At the tender age of 30, Shane is dead and gone.
It’s surreal.
Shane’s cancer and his death put my head in a fog and I struggled with the simplest thoughts, but as my mind clears I realize he’s done it again. This wasn’t a cut in line, it was Shane beating me yet another time. This time he has beat me to the ultimate prize and if I think about it, REALLY think about it, this is like seeing him with Devin. His arriving at the finish line first, getting there before his remaining grandparents, getting there before his mom and me, this isn’t a thing that is sad. This is a thing to be celebrated and talked about for years to come.
So I ask you again. Why all the gloomy faces? My son just died! This isn’t supposed to be a sad time so suck it up, join me, and consider what I just said. My son, Shane Robert Crawford is dead!
Let’s celebrate his life, and as my friend Chris Ifland said, let’s celebrate it well.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
You Can't Understand My Pain
One more "come say good-bye" call. One more "dump your life on everyone else and run" imposition on my friends.
You can't understand my pain. You think you can, but you're wrong. Let me try to explain.
First of all, this trip was different than the others, Shane died this time. Our friend Gwen found out something like 4:30 a.m. and immediately drove to Colorado Springs from Gillette Wyoming to comfort us.
Gwen, Michelle and I went to the Sonic drive in for Route 44 drinks. As we sat and drank our drinks the conversation drifted to the subject of Shane looking in on us from whatever form he was currently in.
I said, "I think that when we die we enter the realm where God exists and so logically that alters our time perspective to God's time perspective."
Next I asked "Do you believe that?"
Gwen thought and then said that she did. My next question was totally logical (in my mind anyway).
"If you believe Shane can come watch us, does he watch us when we poop?"
Gwen, who I think got a degree in Theology at some point, went on a long biblical based response that I must admit I didn't listen to very well (in my defense, I'm in a fog like I've never experienced before and I can't even connect with MY thoughts very well). When she got done talking I said this:
"The bible tells us that from God's perspective a thousand years is the same as a minute. That means 100 years, a tenth of a thousand, would take about 6 seconds which is a tenth of a minute. Now figure that Michelle and I probably have around 30 years left before we join him so that would be just under two seconds from Shane's perspective. Cassandra should show up in about 4 seconds and Devin will take more like 5 or six"
"There's no way they can watch us when we poop - it just happens too fast"
"We believe Shane's joy is complete. We believed that before he was sick, we believed it when he was going to die, we believe it now when he is dead."
"But it's better than that. For Shane he was writhing in the pain of his cancer, his brain was shutting down from the ammonia that his liver wasn't clearing out of his system then after 5 hours in hospice on a morphine drip he's in the presence of God and his Grandparents. Two seconds later he is joined by Michelle and I. Three seconds after that Cassandra shows up and a second or two later he's with Devin."
All that and he didn't have to watch us poop.
You can't understand my pain. It causes me tears (like the ones making the monitor fuzzy right now) but more than half the time the tears are tears of joy. The rest are like the tears when he went away to college...
...only this time it's better.
You can't understand my pain. You think you can, but you're wrong. Let me try to explain.
First of all, this trip was different than the others, Shane died this time. Our friend Gwen found out something like 4:30 a.m. and immediately drove to Colorado Springs from Gillette Wyoming to comfort us.
Gwen, Michelle and I went to the Sonic drive in for Route 44 drinks. As we sat and drank our drinks the conversation drifted to the subject of Shane looking in on us from whatever form he was currently in.
I said, "I think that when we die we enter the realm where God exists and so logically that alters our time perspective to God's time perspective."
Next I asked "Do you believe that?"
Gwen thought and then said that she did. My next question was totally logical (in my mind anyway).
"If you believe Shane can come watch us, does he watch us when we poop?"
Gwen, who I think got a degree in Theology at some point, went on a long biblical based response that I must admit I didn't listen to very well (in my defense, I'm in a fog like I've never experienced before and I can't even connect with MY thoughts very well). When she got done talking I said this:
"The bible tells us that from God's perspective a thousand years is the same as a minute. That means 100 years, a tenth of a thousand, would take about 6 seconds which is a tenth of a minute. Now figure that Michelle and I probably have around 30 years left before we join him so that would be just under two seconds from Shane's perspective. Cassandra should show up in about 4 seconds and Devin will take more like 5 or six"
"There's no way they can watch us when we poop - it just happens too fast"
"We believe Shane's joy is complete. We believed that before he was sick, we believed it when he was going to die, we believe it now when he is dead."
"But it's better than that. For Shane he was writhing in the pain of his cancer, his brain was shutting down from the ammonia that his liver wasn't clearing out of his system then after 5 hours in hospice on a morphine drip he's in the presence of God and his Grandparents. Two seconds later he is joined by Michelle and I. Three seconds after that Cassandra shows up and a second or two later he's with Devin."
All that and he didn't have to watch us poop.
You can't understand my pain. It causes me tears (like the ones making the monitor fuzzy right now) but more than half the time the tears are tears of joy. The rest are like the tears when he went away to college...
...only this time it's better.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Siding With the Underdog
Michelle sent me a three word email today.
"Liver is worse".
Just so we're all up to speed and on the same page:
In my last post (Vaccine?) I said that lots of people try to encourage me by telling me God has promised he will never give us more than we can handle.
I may have believed that before but lately it has seemed to me that such a statement is complete crap. Finally, I went bible mining to find the context of such a thing.
What I found was that I didn't find it. I found a place in first Corinthians 10 where we are told God doesn't do entrapment, i.e. we can handle any temptations that come along (1 Corithians 10:13 specifically) but that passage doesn't speak to my ability to handle this mess my little boy is suffering through.
My little daughter is really struggling with this thing and it might be so big that she can't handle it. I'm clear in my belief that Michelle can't handle it. For me, I think I got a vaccine that leaves me better prepared but I am in no way under the illusion that I can handle this thing either.
Oddly though, this dark place isn't where the three word email took me.
It took me to Judges 6 and 7 where Isreal was getting beat up over and over by a kingdom called Midian. God asked a guy named Gideon to be the vessel to solve the problem. Gideon recruited 33,000 guys to help fight the battle but God, apparently thinking the odds were not impossible enough, told him to let everyone who was afraid of the fight to leave.
22,000 folks booked and Gideon had 10,000 left. God still didn't like the odds and put together another test (based on how the remaining folks drink water) and whittled Gideon's fighting force down to 300.
Spoiler Alert - If you are going to read the book or see the movie you might want to skip this next paragraph:
Long story short, after trimming Gideon's fighting force down to 9/10th of 1 percent of what it was, God give Isreal the victory in the fight.
I wonder if there was a point in time when Gideon had something he couldn't handle on his hands?
The email took me to 1 Kings 18:25 where this guy named Elijah was in a "my God's better than your God" kind of a thing with the servants of a false God called Baal. The priests of Baal were trying to get their God to accept a sacrafice without their help (they failed miserably).
Anyway, Elijah and his helper dudes put some wood out and prepared an ox to be sacraficed to our God (the one I'm pleading with regarding my little guy). Then he had his helpers pour four pitchers of water on the wood, then four more, then four more. Then when the wood was so wet that it flowed out of the alter and even filled a trench around the alter, he prayed for God to accept the offering.
Fire came down from heaven and consumed the offering...and the wood...and the water in the trench...and even the rocks.
I wonder if, after everything was soaked but before the fire came down from heaven, Elijah could handle that task?
Bottom line here is God has given me something I really can't handle but that works because although it's massive for me, it's tiny for a God who doesn't need good odds.
I can't handle it so I'm not even trying.
I accept the solution might be he makes the situation completely abysmal and impossible then goes "TaDa!" and Shane gets to see Devin play the mushroom in the 2nd grade play.
I also accept that God's answer might be "Hey, this really sucks for Shane so I'm going to bring him up here where things are pretty freakin cool" and if that's his answer I'm going to be glad for Shane just like I was when he got his NBA Championship ring because that second solution would be better for Shane than the ring was. And I'll comfort his mother and I'll comfort his sister and we'll rebuild our lives just like the folks in Isreal had to rebuild the rock alter that God vaporized.
And if we're lucky we'll be like those guys, telling stories of how awsome this whole crazy thing was for Shane and how we can't wait for our turn to make our loved ones cry.
"Liver is worse".
Just so we're all up to speed and on the same page:
- Shane got diagnosed with Colon Cancer that is metastatic and has spread to his liver.
- Shane needed chemotherapy right away if he was to have any chance of prolonging his life
- After a single dose of chemo his colon ruptured
- Shane went into emergency surgery to have a portion of his colon removed.
- Shane had to stop taking the chemo because it will stop the surgery from healing.
- Shane needs to eat to get nutrition but his digestive system is broken
- Shane can't heal without nutrition.
- Shane can't be fed interveinously because his liver would have to process the nutrition (did we mention his liver is sick from the cancer?)
- If they don't restart the chemo the cancer will destroy his liver.
- They can't restart the chemo until he heals.
- Continue this list from #6 above...
In my last post (Vaccine?) I said that lots of people try to encourage me by telling me God has promised he will never give us more than we can handle.
I may have believed that before but lately it has seemed to me that such a statement is complete crap. Finally, I went bible mining to find the context of such a thing.
What I found was that I didn't find it. I found a place in first Corinthians 10 where we are told God doesn't do entrapment, i.e. we can handle any temptations that come along (1 Corithians 10:13 specifically) but that passage doesn't speak to my ability to handle this mess my little boy is suffering through.
My little daughter is really struggling with this thing and it might be so big that she can't handle it. I'm clear in my belief that Michelle can't handle it. For me, I think I got a vaccine that leaves me better prepared but I am in no way under the illusion that I can handle this thing either.
Oddly though, this dark place isn't where the three word email took me.
It took me to Judges 6 and 7 where Isreal was getting beat up over and over by a kingdom called Midian. God asked a guy named Gideon to be the vessel to solve the problem. Gideon recruited 33,000 guys to help fight the battle but God, apparently thinking the odds were not impossible enough, told him to let everyone who was afraid of the fight to leave.
22,000 folks booked and Gideon had 10,000 left. God still didn't like the odds and put together another test (based on how the remaining folks drink water) and whittled Gideon's fighting force down to 300.
Spoiler Alert - If you are going to read the book or see the movie you might want to skip this next paragraph:
Long story short, after trimming Gideon's fighting force down to 9/10th of 1 percent of what it was, God give Isreal the victory in the fight.
I wonder if there was a point in time when Gideon had something he couldn't handle on his hands?
The email took me to 1 Kings 18:25 where this guy named Elijah was in a "my God's better than your God" kind of a thing with the servants of a false God called Baal. The priests of Baal were trying to get their God to accept a sacrafice without their help (they failed miserably).
Anyway, Elijah and his helper dudes put some wood out and prepared an ox to be sacraficed to our God (the one I'm pleading with regarding my little guy). Then he had his helpers pour four pitchers of water on the wood, then four more, then four more. Then when the wood was so wet that it flowed out of the alter and even filled a trench around the alter, he prayed for God to accept the offering.
Fire came down from heaven and consumed the offering...and the wood...and the water in the trench...and even the rocks.
I wonder if, after everything was soaked but before the fire came down from heaven, Elijah could handle that task?
Bottom line here is God has given me something I really can't handle but that works because although it's massive for me, it's tiny for a God who doesn't need good odds.
I can't handle it so I'm not even trying.
I accept the solution might be he makes the situation completely abysmal and impossible then goes "TaDa!" and Shane gets to see Devin play the mushroom in the 2nd grade play.
I also accept that God's answer might be "Hey, this really sucks for Shane so I'm going to bring him up here where things are pretty freakin cool" and if that's his answer I'm going to be glad for Shane just like I was when he got his NBA Championship ring because that second solution would be better for Shane than the ring was. And I'll comfort his mother and I'll comfort his sister and we'll rebuild our lives just like the folks in Isreal had to rebuild the rock alter that God vaporized.
And if we're lucky we'll be like those guys, telling stories of how awsome this whole crazy thing was for Shane and how we can't wait for our turn to make our loved ones cry.
Vaccine?
In February my wife was diagnosed with a metastatic cancer. The doctor said "When I have to call someone in here and tell them they have less than three months to live I make them bring someone else to drive them home".
We were referred to an Oncologist who had Michelle do a scan. The radiologist read the scan and passed the info on to the Oncologist who told us it had spread to "many" of Michelle's organs.
She (the Oncologist) went on to say that it presented as a stage 4 cancer that would give Michelle less than 2 months to live, but Michelle didn't have the other related symptoms that should be present. We were told she must wait three months and get another scan.
June came. Michelle doesn't have cancer. It's something called Sarcoidosis.
A vaccine is an antigenic material that is injected into the body. The body thinks it is a nasty disease so the immune system goes nuts, builds lots of antibodies, and gets ready for battle. Then when (if) the "real" disease shows up it is totally outgunned and the immune system wins the battle.
June came. I has spent the last six months considering how I would handle it if/when they told me my wife was going to die in a few months. I spent way too many hours considering what it would take to get through the chemotherapy, how I would keep it together, what that meant to Michelle, what that meant to me, what that meant to my children.
Shortly before we got the "all clear" signal on Michelle's disease we got a call from my son who had just turned 30. Same story as my wife. Metastatic cancer. Months to live.
It was deja vu all over again. Essentially the same diagnosis (Michelle was pancreas and liver, Shane was colon and liver). Crazy coincidence, wasn't it?
Was it?
Since we started living this Country and Western song that is our current life, a bunch of people have told me that the bible promises that God won't give us more than we can handle. I've spent some time in the bible and I can't find what they're telling me. I can find 1 Corinthians 10:13 that tells me I won't get temptations beyond what I can bear but nothing about God not giving me more than I can handle.
That said, my first post on this subject of Shane trying to steal the thunder from his Mother's cancer diagnosis talked about my prayer being for Gods will and for grace for me if his will is out of sync with what I want.
As we near the end of July we all realize we need plenty of grace. This puppy is way out of sync with what I want, and then it occurred to me. A vaccine is used to build your immunity. A vaccine is an inert dose of a nasty things to come so you can build up and get ready for the "real" one.
So what are the odds that a doctor will give a 55 year old woman a false stage 4 metastatic cancer diagnosis and only offer a few months to live?
When a doctor makes a mistake like that, what are the odds it will take 4 months for the "truth" to appear?
What are the odds of getting a stage 4 metastatic cancer diagnosis offering a few months to live on or around your 30th birthday?
What are the odds of both things happening at about the same time?
What are the odds of the older person's diagnosis being proven false a few weeks after the younger person's diagnosis being proven true.
Is there a grace vaccine?
We were referred to an Oncologist who had Michelle do a scan. The radiologist read the scan and passed the info on to the Oncologist who told us it had spread to "many" of Michelle's organs.
She (the Oncologist) went on to say that it presented as a stage 4 cancer that would give Michelle less than 2 months to live, but Michelle didn't have the other related symptoms that should be present. We were told she must wait three months and get another scan.
June came. Michelle doesn't have cancer. It's something called Sarcoidosis.
A vaccine is an antigenic material that is injected into the body. The body thinks it is a nasty disease so the immune system goes nuts, builds lots of antibodies, and gets ready for battle. Then when (if) the "real" disease shows up it is totally outgunned and the immune system wins the battle.
June came. I has spent the last six months considering how I would handle it if/when they told me my wife was going to die in a few months. I spent way too many hours considering what it would take to get through the chemotherapy, how I would keep it together, what that meant to Michelle, what that meant to me, what that meant to my children.
Shortly before we got the "all clear" signal on Michelle's disease we got a call from my son who had just turned 30. Same story as my wife. Metastatic cancer. Months to live.
It was deja vu all over again. Essentially the same diagnosis (Michelle was pancreas and liver, Shane was colon and liver). Crazy coincidence, wasn't it?
Was it?
Since we started living this Country and Western song that is our current life, a bunch of people have told me that the bible promises that God won't give us more than we can handle. I've spent some time in the bible and I can't find what they're telling me. I can find 1 Corinthians 10:13 that tells me I won't get temptations beyond what I can bear but nothing about God not giving me more than I can handle.
That said, my first post on this subject of Shane trying to steal the thunder from his Mother's cancer diagnosis talked about my prayer being for Gods will and for grace for me if his will is out of sync with what I want.
As we near the end of July we all realize we need plenty of grace. This puppy is way out of sync with what I want, and then it occurred to me. A vaccine is used to build your immunity. A vaccine is an inert dose of a nasty things to come so you can build up and get ready for the "real" one.
So what are the odds that a doctor will give a 55 year old woman a false stage 4 metastatic cancer diagnosis and only offer a few months to live?
When a doctor makes a mistake like that, what are the odds it will take 4 months for the "truth" to appear?
What are the odds of getting a stage 4 metastatic cancer diagnosis offering a few months to live on or around your 30th birthday?
What are the odds of both things happening at about the same time?
What are the odds of the older person's diagnosis being proven false a few weeks after the younger person's diagnosis being proven true.
Is there a grace vaccine?
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Hoping for Terrible Things
My son, Shane, has two greyhounds. The biggest is named Ajax and the smaller is Tiki. Shane and Ajax have a special bond and one time while we were sitting in Shane's living room, Ajax walked up and plopped his head in Shane's lap. Shane started petting the dog and said "It's going to be really hard for me when you die, boy".
The night before last I was sitting on the couch where Shane ususlly sits and Ajax walked up and put his head in my lap hoping to get petted. As I mindlessly scratched his ears I heard myself absently say "I sure hope your break my son's heart a few years down the road, boy"
Then I thought "Wow, what a terrible thing!"
Looking back on the past couple of years, I realize I've spent a lot of time hoping for some terrible things. Some of the more recent include:
In February Michelle was diagnosed with metastatic cancer. Scans showed it was all over her bones, liver, galbladder, lungs and lymph system. Once the diagnosis was made she started seeing an oncologist who told us it was either stage four cancer or advanced sarcoidosis. We found our self hoping for sarcoidosis.
While Shane was in Brazil he got diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. When he came back to the states the doctors here thought it might be a nasty liver infection. The liver infection was dangerous but treatable so obviously we wanted it.
It's choices like that. If Shane is around to share the pain of Ajax dying a number of years from now it means, well, Shane is around a number of years from now.
It means this nightmare he's currently living will shrink back into remission then pop back out with an offer of new and different terrible things somewhere down the road.
It means our lives will be filled with many more future opportunities to hope for something terrible because the alternative is worse. It means more "get here right away" calls and more all night drives wondering if we will arrive in time. It means more pain, more tears, more struggling to "keep it together". If offers a future filled with terrible things.
We're hoping for more terrible things.
The night before last I was sitting on the couch where Shane ususlly sits and Ajax walked up and put his head in my lap hoping to get petted. As I mindlessly scratched his ears I heard myself absently say "I sure hope your break my son's heart a few years down the road, boy"
Then I thought "Wow, what a terrible thing!"
Looking back on the past couple of years, I realize I've spent a lot of time hoping for some terrible things. Some of the more recent include:
- For the last 4 or 5 months I've been hoping my wife has an advanced case of Sarcoidosis that has spread to all over her and is causing painful leisions on her organs and bones.
- A month ago I was hoping my son had a life threatening liver infection.
- Today I'm hoping Shane's pain continues and he will continue life with the hassle of a colostomy bag.
In February Michelle was diagnosed with metastatic cancer. Scans showed it was all over her bones, liver, galbladder, lungs and lymph system. Once the diagnosis was made she started seeing an oncologist who told us it was either stage four cancer or advanced sarcoidosis. We found our self hoping for sarcoidosis.
While Shane was in Brazil he got diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. When he came back to the states the doctors here thought it might be a nasty liver infection. The liver infection was dangerous but treatable so obviously we wanted it.
It's choices like that. If Shane is around to share the pain of Ajax dying a number of years from now it means, well, Shane is around a number of years from now.
It means this nightmare he's currently living will shrink back into remission then pop back out with an offer of new and different terrible things somewhere down the road.
It means our lives will be filled with many more future opportunities to hope for something terrible because the alternative is worse. It means more "get here right away" calls and more all night drives wondering if we will arrive in time. It means more pain, more tears, more struggling to "keep it together". If offers a future filled with terrible things.
We're hoping for more terrible things.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Choose Joy
The Crawford family has been spending a little extra time at
the bottom of the barrel lately.
Michelle’s mom died shortly followed by her grandmother. For
some reason that still totally escapes us her step-father turned on her and
spent over a hundred thousand dollars trying to (in his words) destroy us. Her MS got worse and for a while earlier this
year she was using a wheel chair. She
still gets scary bad pain in her legs. My
career of 28 years ended. Michelle left
her job in April. We’re in the middle of
moving out of the town we’ve lived in since 1989 and going to Oklahoma where we’re
both starting new jobs. Michelle got
diagnosed with Cancer in February. Shane
got diagnosed with cancer in June (and Shane’s is nasty bad).
Shane came home from the hospital yesterday and I had a
chance to take my head out of him reacting badly to chemotherapy, the
possibility of him going septic, and the pain they couldn’t control. My head instantly jumped back to Michelle’s
PET scan on July 10 to figure out more of her cancer diagnosis puzzle. My job in Oklahoma, which has spent the last
couple of weeks buried in the WAY back of my mind has come forward far enough
for me to realize that school starts in a week and a half and I’m WAY behind
where I planned to be on multiple projects. I’ve missed deadlines in my efforts with the
software used by the social workers. I
haven’t checked out the infrastructure and software build for my class. I’m behind on the disc golf course I was
going to have built before school started on July 18th. I’m behind in prepping for my first sessions
teaching computer programming. Sheesh, I
don’t even know when my classes will be held or who my students are.
Michelle and I went to a little 50s diner for breakfast and
were talking about our situation. At one
point I reminded her that Joy isn’t a normal state in life, it’s a choice. Mandy had a friend who was dying and her
friend used to say “I choose joy” as a guiding force in her life.
It’s smart.
Michelle and I decided to go to work at a ministry which
focuses on helping at-risk kids. Many of our kids have been through the kind of scenarios
that scary movies are made of. Many arrive with a chip on their
shoulder. Many arrive totally bewildered and hurt. We take them from where they are when they arrive and teach them how to deal with
this thing called life.
One of the big things the kids, and all of us, need to
understand is that there are things we can control and there are things
we can’t. When dealing with the things
we can’t control we still have a choice.
We can choose how we let them affect us emotionally.
I’m at a place where part of me wants to withdraw and just
find a way to make it all go away. When
I consider the pressing issues in my life right now, control is so far away
that I realize I can’t even offer myself the illusion of control.
And then it occurs to me that this just isn’t true. I can’t control Michelle’s health. I can’t control Shane’s fight with the liver
cancer, the colon cancer, and the mess that is flowing through his blood stream
to all the other regions of his body. I can't control the hate coming from Michelle's step-father and there
is an endless list of less important things that I also can’t control but I
still get to control my choices.I've thought it over and I choose Joy. To that end, this will be my last "dark" post for a while. That doesn't mean I won't have any more tears, heck, I know someone who crys when strangers win big on game shows (and I'm not naming any names, but her initials are Michelle Crawford). The fact is that most of what is hard and sad for me right now is the result of an incomplete picture from what is probably the wrong perspective.
I bet I will look back on all this in 500 years and smile.
(and Kudos to my little daughter’s friend Sarah who is already looking back)
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
I've Called to Make You Uncomfortable
Bows and flows of angel hair, ice cream castles in the air
feather canyons everywhere, I've looked at clouds that way.
But now they only block the sun. They rain, they snow on everyone. So many things I would have done but clouds got in my way.
I've looked at clouds from both sides now, from up and down and still somehow, it's clouds illusions I recall. I really don't know clouds at all.
When Joni Mitchel wrote that song she spoke to my sole (and apparently made me cry today). There are these things in life that have two distinct perspectives and after I put all my mental energy into understanding, I realize I got nothing.
When I had my episode with the pulmonary embolism there was about 48 hours when it was more likely that I would die than live. They actually kicked someone out of the ICU so they could give me the bed and Michelle asked me if we should tell people what was going on.
Beyond calling Shane and Mandy and saying "Hey, your dad is in the hospital and you can come visit if you want to" I decided not to tell folks what was happening during those first two days.
My reasoning was it would only upset people unnecessarily if they thought I was going to die and then I lived. If I died then Michelle could just tell them a couple days later and blame me (and at that point, being dead, I would have the ultimate trump card so nobody could be angry with me).
It worked out pretty well.
Then back in February of this year when Michelle got diagnosed with cancer we used the same strategy and didn't tell a bunch of people. My reasoning was we didn't have the full story and knew we couldn't answer all the questions. The news offered nothing good to anybody and it was pretty hard when we got it.
As it played out, someone we did tell told someone else who was very close to us. When the person we didn't tell discovered our little cover-up they were very hurt and upset.
So I've thought about the whole tell / don't tell thing and I find no easy answer. If I do tell you I feel like the conversations are best summed up like this:
He told me the most important thing is not to ignore it or avoid him. "It's bad enough that my wife is dying, but suddenly I'm damaged goods and people cross the street so they won't have to come face to face with me. That just makes it worse."
Next, he said, ask about her. Just ask "How's Michelle doing". That's all. Don't probe for detail because if I feel a need to dump detail you provided the opportunity with the three word question and I know I'm free to dump. If, on the other hand, it's too hard to talk about right then I might give a non answer. Something like "Fine" or "She's Michelle". When that happens, know that I appreciate you asking but I really don't want to talk, or more importantly THINK about what is actually going on. (by now you probably get that I substituted my wife's name to leave hers out of the post).
Most of you know that I'm someone who loves to hear himself talk (to the detriment of many) but these last weeks I'm pushed the "ignore" button many times when the phone rang. I've ignored people reaching out to me in text messages and in social media. When that happens, it isn't that I don't love you or care about your offers to help or pray - it's just that I can't handle it right now.
I tell my friends and break their hearts. This talk is doomed right from the start.
The truth can tear us both apart. My sharing brings us down.
But silence makes you feel outside. You're hurt if I should run and hide.
You want to stand there by my side. Yet I have left you out.
I see this news from both sides now. Shut up or share and still some how
This news will hurt us either way. I'm clueless which news I should say.
feather canyons everywhere, I've looked at clouds that way.
But now they only block the sun. They rain, they snow on everyone. So many things I would have done but clouds got in my way.
I've looked at clouds from both sides now, from up and down and still somehow, it's clouds illusions I recall. I really don't know clouds at all.
When Joni Mitchel wrote that song she spoke to my sole (and apparently made me cry today). There are these things in life that have two distinct perspectives and after I put all my mental energy into understanding, I realize I got nothing.
When I had my episode with the pulmonary embolism there was about 48 hours when it was more likely that I would die than live. They actually kicked someone out of the ICU so they could give me the bed and Michelle asked me if we should tell people what was going on.
Beyond calling Shane and Mandy and saying "Hey, your dad is in the hospital and you can come visit if you want to" I decided not to tell folks what was happening during those first two days.
My reasoning was it would only upset people unnecessarily if they thought I was going to die and then I lived. If I died then Michelle could just tell them a couple days later and blame me (and at that point, being dead, I would have the ultimate trump card so nobody could be angry with me).
It worked out pretty well.
Then back in February of this year when Michelle got diagnosed with cancer we used the same strategy and didn't tell a bunch of people. My reasoning was we didn't have the full story and knew we couldn't answer all the questions. The news offered nothing good to anybody and it was pretty hard when we got it.
As it played out, someone we did tell told someone else who was very close to us. When the person we didn't tell discovered our little cover-up they were very hurt and upset.
So I've thought about the whole tell / don't tell thing and I find no easy answer. If I do tell you I feel like the conversations are best summed up like this:
- Ring, Ring, Click ... "Hello?"
"Hey, person I love a bunch! I just wanted to call and give you some
news that you don't want to hear and is sure to make you miserable. Better yet, I'm going to put you into a situation where you are powerless to do anything, will have no idea what to say, and you will feel really awkward if you keep silent"
"Well gee, thanks for calling with the tragic news! Given that I can't really offer any solutions, how about I ask you a bunch of detailed questions that are sure to drag you back through this thing? Not only will it remind you how completely helpless we both are, but it will help keep the details fresh in your mind so you can use them to head-trip back into the worst case scenario that tortures you over and over each day!"
"Well thanks for calling and putting us both in this quagmire of helplessness."
"Any time buddy. You know I wouldn't do this if I didn't love you"
He told me the most important thing is not to ignore it or avoid him. "It's bad enough that my wife is dying, but suddenly I'm damaged goods and people cross the street so they won't have to come face to face with me. That just makes it worse."
Next, he said, ask about her. Just ask "How's Michelle doing". That's all. Don't probe for detail because if I feel a need to dump detail you provided the opportunity with the three word question and I know I'm free to dump. If, on the other hand, it's too hard to talk about right then I might give a non answer. Something like "Fine" or "She's Michelle". When that happens, know that I appreciate you asking but I really don't want to talk, or more importantly THINK about what is actually going on. (by now you probably get that I substituted my wife's name to leave hers out of the post).
Most of you know that I'm someone who loves to hear himself talk (to the detriment of many) but these last weeks I'm pushed the "ignore" button many times when the phone rang. I've ignored people reaching out to me in text messages and in social media. When that happens, it isn't that I don't love you or care about your offers to help or pray - it's just that I can't handle it right now.
I tell my friends and break their hearts. This talk is doomed right from the start.
The truth can tear us both apart. My sharing brings us down.
But silence makes you feel outside. You're hurt if I should run and hide.
You want to stand there by my side. Yet I have left you out.
I see this news from both sides now. Shut up or share and still some how
This news will hurt us either way. I'm clueless which news I should say.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Sometimes "Ok" Needs to be Enough
Ever go into a restaurant (or anywhere really) and have someone ask you "How are you doing?"
Sure you have. We all have. The whole asking how you are doing is a social norm where someone asks a question they don't want to know the answer to which is followed by a canned answer that doesn't need to be true because nobody cares what it is.
Here's an extension I've noticed in the past and haven't given much thought to.
"How are you doing?"
"Ok"
"Just Ok? Really? You aren't fantastic, you aren't great?"
We got one of those at the restaurant this morning. I forced a smile and said "I'm sorry, but ok is all I've got". In return she rolled her eyes and started the process of taking our order.
After the perky waitress left Michelle went completely out of character and said exactly what I was thinking (in a mocking tone no less - it was delightful):
"How are you doing?"
"Ok"
"Just Ok? Really? Not great?"
"Well, my son is in the hospital dying from cancer. Is that ok?"
Now we reach the part of the post where I impart some kind of amazing wisdom, but I've got nothing.
Well, nothing beyond sometimes "ok" needs to be enough.
Sure you have. We all have. The whole asking how you are doing is a social norm where someone asks a question they don't want to know the answer to which is followed by a canned answer that doesn't need to be true because nobody cares what it is.
Here's an extension I've noticed in the past and haven't given much thought to.
"How are you doing?"
"Ok"
"Just Ok? Really? You aren't fantastic, you aren't great?"
We got one of those at the restaurant this morning. I forced a smile and said "I'm sorry, but ok is all I've got". In return she rolled her eyes and started the process of taking our order.
After the perky waitress left Michelle went completely out of character and said exactly what I was thinking (in a mocking tone no less - it was delightful):
"How are you doing?"
"Ok"
"Just Ok? Really? Not great?"
"Well, my son is in the hospital dying from cancer. Is that ok?"
Now we reach the part of the post where I impart some kind of amazing wisdom, but I've got nothing.
Well, nothing beyond sometimes "ok" needs to be enough.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Comic Relief
My family doesn't always react as you might expect and we often use humor during the gravest times. Over 20 years ago Michelle was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and ever since she gets two defective brain jokes for every offering of sympathy.
Michelle had some problems back in February that put her into a wheel chair (when Mandy wasn't plopping her in a regular chair so she could see how long she could keep the thing up on two wheels). As a result, Michelle had some neurological exams and MRI images to determine if the problems that kept her from walking were a pinched nerve or the MS. One of the MRI pictures showed she has lesions consistent with a blood based or metastatic cancer (which opens a whole other story I'm not going into right now). I'll never forget the day they we got called into the office so they could give us the news.
To be clear, I'm a guy who rarely recalls a date, but this one is etched in my mind forever. It was February 14th of this year. We got home from the doctor consult and there was a vase of orchids on the table with a card from Mandy. The card said:
When Shane got the news about his mother I believe his comment was along the lines of "Oh great, we already have to ride bikes for the MS, now we have to walk for cancer too?"
So as you can imagine we've spent a lot of time sitting in the hospital this week, and as you can imagine we've spent quite a few hours trying to keep it together. Well, our friend Tim came to visit one afternoon and at some point he suggested we go downstairs and donate blood.
For my part, I never pass up an opportunity to donate blood with Tim because he always falls down afterwards and it's a hoot to watch the nurses and techs freak out. (Apparently Tim doesn't fall down anymore so that's a pint of blood I'll never get back...but I digress)
So I'm laying on the little couch waiting for my turn. Now, keep in mind that idle time is the worst time when you are dealing with an illness like Shane's - your mind can wander so many unpleasant places. Anyway, there is a 50's radio station playing in the background and as the tech is doing the iodine prep the song "Oh where oh where can my baby be" comes on (now the people my age are connecting to where I'm going while the young'uns are a bit lost). I found myself struggling to keep my composure when a thought, typical for me, but probably unthinkably cruel for normal people, crosses my mind.
"I could wait until she sticks the needle in my vein and then just stop fighting these tears and start sobbing like a little girl - that would be interesting"
Well the thought of the tech's reaction broke the emotion brought by the song. The needle stick was just routine. As my opportunity to be mean to this complete stranger vaporized it served as a gentle reminder. Laughter is the best medicine (well, that and chemotherapy, anti-nausea medicine, morphine, and colon stints so my son won't be full of ... um ... so my son won't get septic).
Michelle had some problems back in February that put her into a wheel chair (when Mandy wasn't plopping her in a regular chair so she could see how long she could keep the thing up on two wheels). As a result, Michelle had some neurological exams and MRI images to determine if the problems that kept her from walking were a pinched nerve or the MS. One of the MRI pictures showed she has lesions consistent with a blood based or metastatic cancer (which opens a whole other story I'm not going into right now). I'll never forget the day they we got called into the office so they could give us the news.
To be clear, I'm a guy who rarely recalls a date, but this one is etched in my mind forever. It was February 14th of this year. We got home from the doctor consult and there was a vase of orchids on the table with a card from Mandy. The card said:
"Getting a cancer diagnosis on the most expensive flower day of the year ... nicely played".
When Shane got the news about his mother I believe his comment was along the lines of "Oh great, we already have to ride bikes for the MS, now we have to walk for cancer too?"
So as you can imagine we've spent a lot of time sitting in the hospital this week, and as you can imagine we've spent quite a few hours trying to keep it together. Well, our friend Tim came to visit one afternoon and at some point he suggested we go downstairs and donate blood.
For my part, I never pass up an opportunity to donate blood with Tim because he always falls down afterwards and it's a hoot to watch the nurses and techs freak out. (Apparently Tim doesn't fall down anymore so that's a pint of blood I'll never get back...but I digress)
So I'm laying on the little couch waiting for my turn. Now, keep in mind that idle time is the worst time when you are dealing with an illness like Shane's - your mind can wander so many unpleasant places. Anyway, there is a 50's radio station playing in the background and as the tech is doing the iodine prep the song "Oh where oh where can my baby be" comes on (now the people my age are connecting to where I'm going while the young'uns are a bit lost). I found myself struggling to keep my composure when a thought, typical for me, but probably unthinkably cruel for normal people, crosses my mind.
"I could wait until she sticks the needle in my vein and then just stop fighting these tears and start sobbing like a little girl - that would be interesting"
Well the thought of the tech's reaction broke the emotion brought by the song. The needle stick was just routine. As my opportunity to be mean to this complete stranger vaporized it served as a gentle reminder. Laughter is the best medicine (well, that and chemotherapy, anti-nausea medicine, morphine, and colon stints so my son won't be full of ... um ... so my son won't get septic).
Friday, June 28, 2013
I'm Not Praying for a Cure
The last post, "Playing Where's Waldo with God" wasn't just philosophy, it was my heart felt reaction to challenges we faced as a family. Starting in February when I wrote the post, we didn't have an answer, and today Waldo is still out there in the noise.
The middle of last week Shane (who was working in Brazil) had some health issues and flew home early. Sunday after church we got word that my little boy lies in a hospital bed with colon cancer that has metastasized and spread. Along with the tumors in his colon, he also has tumors all over his liver and cancer surging to every corner of his body through his blood. Michelle and I helplessly watch as doctors work swiftly in an attempt to prolong his life. I'm completely powerless to do a single thing about it, and for my part I'm not praying for a cure.
During our first few years of marriage Michelle got pregnant twice and both babies died. Shane was our third pregnancy, but before Shane there were the years of "trying" without success.
At that time I was a young deacon in the church in Casper Wyoming. I prayed desperately during those years telling God what good parents we would be, and how we would do everything to raise a fine Christian example in a child if God would just hear and respond to our pleading for a baby.
We got nothing but silence from God.
As we tried to fill the hole in our hearts left by the children we lost, we turned to the medical community and went through all the humiliation testing. The doctors tried to determine why Michelle wasn't getting pregnant and I continued my fruitless attempts to get God to hear as I begged for a child.
Still, God was silent.
It seemed as if he didn't care, or wasn't listening.
As the years went by and the situation got more hopeless and desperate, the day came when my prayer changed. Instead of telling God what I needed, what I wanted, I closed my eyes and told God how I was tired of the situation that I obviously couldn't handle myself. My prayer changed and rather than telling the Lord what I wanted, I begged him to tell me what HE wanted.
The next day the doctors called and asked Michelle and I to meet with them. During the meeting they told us that we would never have children.
I hit my knees that night and said "Fine God, I got it and I'm ok with that answer, but I still have this hole from the babies we lost. Please tell me how to fill it. Should I get more involved with the youth at the church? Should we adopt? Can you make this desperation go away? Lead me, Lord, show me the way to find peace".
The following Wednesday we found out Michelle was pregnant with Shane.
The lesson was two fold. First, and most importantly, he is God. He doesn't need me to tell him what I need, what I want, or how to run things.
Second, from the perspective of the big picture, I'm pretty much clueless about what is best for me. If you had asked me if losing those first two children was a good thing at the time, there is no way I would have gotten the correct answer. Sitting here 30 years later, I realize it was one of the best things in my life up to that point. My kids are so much more valuable to me than they would have been otherwise and my personal growth through those hard times helped form who I am now.
God might know that it's time to take Shane back or he may understand a different outcome. Even though the Waldo is completely lost in the noise for me right now, I have a clear understanding of who I am, who God is, and faith that God's grace is going to be sufficient should it turn out that I need it.
So I'm not asking God to cure my son's cancer.
It's not that I don't pray. In situations like this, prayer is all I have, but my prayer doesn't offer up what I want. Matthew 6 tells me he already knows that and it tells me I need to ask for God's will to be done.
My prayer is that God will exercise his will in this situation and if that happens to be different than what I'm hoping for I ask that he gives me the extra grace I need to get through it.
The middle of last week Shane (who was working in Brazil) had some health issues and flew home early. Sunday after church we got word that my little boy lies in a hospital bed with colon cancer that has metastasized and spread. Along with the tumors in his colon, he also has tumors all over his liver and cancer surging to every corner of his body through his blood. Michelle and I helplessly watch as doctors work swiftly in an attempt to prolong his life. I'm completely powerless to do a single thing about it, and for my part I'm not praying for a cure.
During our first few years of marriage Michelle got pregnant twice and both babies died. Shane was our third pregnancy, but before Shane there were the years of "trying" without success.
At that time I was a young deacon in the church in Casper Wyoming. I prayed desperately during those years telling God what good parents we would be, and how we would do everything to raise a fine Christian example in a child if God would just hear and respond to our pleading for a baby.
We got nothing but silence from God.
As we tried to fill the hole in our hearts left by the children we lost, we turned to the medical community and went through all the humiliation testing. The doctors tried to determine why Michelle wasn't getting pregnant and I continued my fruitless attempts to get God to hear as I begged for a child.
Still, God was silent.
It seemed as if he didn't care, or wasn't listening.
As the years went by and the situation got more hopeless and desperate, the day came when my prayer changed. Instead of telling God what I needed, what I wanted, I closed my eyes and told God how I was tired of the situation that I obviously couldn't handle myself. My prayer changed and rather than telling the Lord what I wanted, I begged him to tell me what HE wanted.
The next day the doctors called and asked Michelle and I to meet with them. During the meeting they told us that we would never have children.
I hit my knees that night and said "Fine God, I got it and I'm ok with that answer, but I still have this hole from the babies we lost. Please tell me how to fill it. Should I get more involved with the youth at the church? Should we adopt? Can you make this desperation go away? Lead me, Lord, show me the way to find peace".
The following Wednesday we found out Michelle was pregnant with Shane.
The lesson was two fold. First, and most importantly, he is God. He doesn't need me to tell him what I need, what I want, or how to run things.
Second, from the perspective of the big picture, I'm pretty much clueless about what is best for me. If you had asked me if losing those first two children was a good thing at the time, there is no way I would have gotten the correct answer. Sitting here 30 years later, I realize it was one of the best things in my life up to that point. My kids are so much more valuable to me than they would have been otherwise and my personal growth through those hard times helped form who I am now.
God might know that it's time to take Shane back or he may understand a different outcome. Even though the Waldo is completely lost in the noise for me right now, I have a clear understanding of who I am, who God is, and faith that God's grace is going to be sufficient should it turn out that I need it.
So I'm not asking God to cure my son's cancer.
It's not that I don't pray. In situations like this, prayer is all I have, but my prayer doesn't offer up what I want. Matthew 6 tells me he already knows that and it tells me I need to ask for God's will to be done.
My prayer is that God will exercise his will in this situation and if that happens to be different than what I'm hoping for I ask that he gives me the extra grace I need to get through it.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Playing Where's Waldo With God
Imagine you went in to see the doctor for a check up. The doctor sends you to radiology to get a picture of one thing and the radiologist notices you have cancer.
How would you react? How would your family react? What would happen to your world starting at that moment?
It doesn't have to be cancer. Let's say you and your spouse found out you are pregnant and the baby dies? You go through a period of depression and morning that finally ends when you get a new baby but that one dies too?
How would you deal with something like that?
Well, it's not all hypothetical. Things like this actually happen to real people. Every instance is life changing and has the possibility to become an event that ends your happiness. It's terrible, it's scary, it's confusing and frustrating.
Life would be so much better if the victim of devastating life situations such as this were given an opportunity to decide if the situation was good or bad, but let's face it, there's no good to be found in something like: "You have Multiple Sclerosis and someday you won't be able to walk."
Consider life as a book of "Where's Waldo" puzzles. On each new page is a picture with mass confusion and chaos. Somewhere in the picture is a guy named Waldo who is wearing black suspenders, a shirt with red and white stripes, and apparently the same clothes as every other time you've met him.
The game is to sift through all the noise, confusion, and distraction until you can finally solve the puzzle by finding Waldo. Once you find him you get a brief moment of joy as suddenly the chaos and confusion are totally unimportant because all of your focus is on Waldo and all the other parts of the big picture just don't matter anymore. You savor this moment for a time then suddenly a quick turn of the page plunges you back into a brand new quagmire of confusion, frustration, and distraction as you find yourself trying to navigate your way through a new, different, and often harder puzzle.
Life often contains situations not unlike the "Where's Waldo" book. Things are familiar and easy, then without warning the page turns and we are plunged into a confusing and frustrating puzzle.
The key thing here, is to understand that buried somewhere in all the noise and confusion, God has hidden a little Waldo that he calls a blessing. While the blessing is unseen, it is tiny and seemingly impossible to figure out. We spend vast buckets of time searching through, and focused on, the chaos. We get frustrated as we wander aimlessly about the puzzle and simply repeat our failures. We spend so much time in the chaos and confusion that it's easy to have that, rather than the blessing, become what we focus on. As long as we are making that mistake, the blessing eludes us.
Once we spot the blessing, however, it becomes the subject of our focus, and the chaos and confusion quickly fades into noise that is a very minor inconvenience at worst, or a mosaic background that accents our Waldo blessing at best. From that point on when our eyes enter what used to be confusing and frustrating, they jump straight to the blessing and the chaos fades into the background. Now it's familiar. Now it's all about Waldo and the noise is unimportant. Now it's easy...
Until God decides it is time to turns the page.
On page 991 of the bible we are told not to worry about our life and asked "who, by worrying, can add a single hour to his life?" it goes on to tell us to seek the kingdom of God and his righteousness and these other things (our daily needs) will be given to us.
We have a choice. Want miserable? Focus on the chaos and confusion. Get caught up in the hopelessness and frustration of the puzzle and lose sight of the Waldo that is lost in the situation. Focus on the situation so completely that you allow yourself to worry that maybe the Waldo isn't even there.
Want the blessing instead? Focus on it. Understand that the noise makes blessing better. More noise, more confusion, and more chaos only makes the blessing that much better when it is finally revealed.
Learn to enjoy and anticipate the blessing even before you find it. Focus on the blessing during the chaos and confusion and before you know it, it's all about Waldo. Once you learn this approach you will have no problem going on to the next page (or even getting the advanced book with the biggest nastiest puzzles).
How would you react? How would your family react? What would happen to your world starting at that moment?
It doesn't have to be cancer. Let's say you and your spouse found out you are pregnant and the baby dies? You go through a period of depression and morning that finally ends when you get a new baby but that one dies too?
How would you deal with something like that?
Well, it's not all hypothetical. Things like this actually happen to real people. Every instance is life changing and has the possibility to become an event that ends your happiness. It's terrible, it's scary, it's confusing and frustrating.
Life would be so much better if the victim of devastating life situations such as this were given an opportunity to decide if the situation was good or bad, but let's face it, there's no good to be found in something like: "You have Multiple Sclerosis and someday you won't be able to walk."
Consider life as a book of "Where's Waldo" puzzles. On each new page is a picture with mass confusion and chaos. Somewhere in the picture is a guy named Waldo who is wearing black suspenders, a shirt with red and white stripes, and apparently the same clothes as every other time you've met him.
The game is to sift through all the noise, confusion, and distraction until you can finally solve the puzzle by finding Waldo. Once you find him you get a brief moment of joy as suddenly the chaos and confusion are totally unimportant because all of your focus is on Waldo and all the other parts of the big picture just don't matter anymore. You savor this moment for a time then suddenly a quick turn of the page plunges you back into a brand new quagmire of confusion, frustration, and distraction as you find yourself trying to navigate your way through a new, different, and often harder puzzle.
Life often contains situations not unlike the "Where's Waldo" book. Things are familiar and easy, then without warning the page turns and we are plunged into a confusing and frustrating puzzle.
The key thing here, is to understand that buried somewhere in all the noise and confusion, God has hidden a little Waldo that he calls a blessing. While the blessing is unseen, it is tiny and seemingly impossible to figure out. We spend vast buckets of time searching through, and focused on, the chaos. We get frustrated as we wander aimlessly about the puzzle and simply repeat our failures. We spend so much time in the chaos and confusion that it's easy to have that, rather than the blessing, become what we focus on. As long as we are making that mistake, the blessing eludes us.
Once we spot the blessing, however, it becomes the subject of our focus, and the chaos and confusion quickly fades into noise that is a very minor inconvenience at worst, or a mosaic background that accents our Waldo blessing at best. From that point on when our eyes enter what used to be confusing and frustrating, they jump straight to the blessing and the chaos fades into the background. Now it's familiar. Now it's all about Waldo and the noise is unimportant. Now it's easy...
Until God decides it is time to turns the page.
On page 991 of the bible we are told not to worry about our life and asked "who, by worrying, can add a single hour to his life?" it goes on to tell us to seek the kingdom of God and his righteousness and these other things (our daily needs) will be given to us.
We have a choice. Want miserable? Focus on the chaos and confusion. Get caught up in the hopelessness and frustration of the puzzle and lose sight of the Waldo that is lost in the situation. Focus on the situation so completely that you allow yourself to worry that maybe the Waldo isn't even there.
Want the blessing instead? Focus on it. Understand that the noise makes blessing better. More noise, more confusion, and more chaos only makes the blessing that much better when it is finally revealed.
Learn to enjoy and anticipate the blessing even before you find it. Focus on the blessing during the chaos and confusion and before you know it, it's all about Waldo. Once you learn this approach you will have no problem going on to the next page (or even getting the advanced book with the biggest nastiest puzzles).
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