Yearly Archives: 2011

Deadly Words

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I wonder if I’ll ever again hear the word “September” and not link it with the word “cancer.” Today is the two year mark of that dreadful day when Nate and I sat in front of a somber medical team receiving a death sentence.

The evening before, September 21, we’d had a quiet dinner and talked about our 40th anniversary coming in 2 months. We agreed Nate’s sore back would feel much better by then and decided a 3 hour drive to Greenfield Village would be realistic and fun. We could stay at a bed and breakfast and wander through the museums without an agenda.

Before bed that night we got caught up on bills, and then Nate said, “Since my stomach’s been bothering me, maybe something else is wrong besides my back. At least with the pre-op physical, we’re catching it early.”

I wrote in my journal, “I’m really nervous about tomorrow. Strengthen us, Lord, for whatever’s coming.”

On the morning of the 22nd Nate woke with bad abdominal pain but left the house before 6:00 am as always, taking the South Shore Line to Chicago’s Loop. Fear crept into my journal words that morning: “I’m so glad all of this is under your control, Lord. I know you won’t leave us alone.”

I picked Nate up at 2:30 on the corner of Monroe and Wabash near his office, and we threaded our way across town to Rush Medical Center. When we stepped off the elevator, the stainless steel sign on the opposite wall said, “Oncology.” I looked at Nate who said, “It’s just because they have a nice conference room on this floor.” But my hands started shaking.

In the waiting room we talked, holding back the fear something very bad was about to happen. There were precious few facts: Nate needed surgery on his spine; the pre-op physical included red flags, prompting tests; a scan showed a mysterious mass; doctors stressed a meeting a.s.a.p. to discuss what they’d found; we braced for the words “bleeding ulcer.”

As we waited, Nate pulled out his Post-its and read his notes. “I hope this meeting doesn’t take long,” he said. “I’ve got a jam-packed afternoon at work.”

The news turned out to be a thousand times worse than we’d anticipated, and Nate didn’t live to see Greenfield Village on our anniversary. But God lavishly answered my prayer for strength, and as promised, never once left us alone.

My temptation now is to think, “We’re finally adjusting, and all of us are healing. Surely the road ahead will be smooth.” But of course no one has promised that, especially not God. What he has promised is continued strength to endure, along with his reassuring presence, no matter what comes.

Unlike the deadly words announcing cancer, God’s words are always full of life.

“May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” (2 Corinthians 13:14)

Happy with Haphazard

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Recently, I was cruising down an expressway when a pickup loaded with living room furniture passed me on the right. A second vehicle followed him, with an 18-wheeler after that.

All of a sudden the top item on the pickup’s pile let loose, a square-shaped easy chair upholstered on all sides. It fell off the truck, tumbling end-over-end behind him, heading straight for the following car. That driver stood on his brakes as my lane of traffic flew past, swerving to avoid the chair, ending up on the shoulder.

Behind him the 18-wheeler, which I saw in my rear view mirror, slammed on his air brakes producing a cloud of blue smoke as he veered into the center lane and stopped at an angle. I wondered how many vehicles had hit or bumped each other as a result, and was sharply aware of the split-second choices each driver had been forced to make.

The pickup driver continued on his way, unaware of the havoc he’d caused. If he eventually went back for his chair, the venom awaiting was surely plentiful, not to mention policemen with tickets.

As I continued driving, I thought about that freak accident and the person who caused it by not securing his load. We’ve all met people who travel through life leaving chaos in their wake, damages of all kinds. The question is, might that be me?

Am I careful to speak and do with an eye on what will be left in the rear view mirror? Have I ever gone for a laugh without considering the fall-out for every ear in the room? Have I avoided an uncomfortable social situation when I could have been a blessing? Have I backed away from a demanding conversation without considering another’s need?

If we aren’t careful, we can tumble through life knocking into people and stepping on their feelings like that bulky chair blasted helter-skelter down the highway. And what about God? Do we sometimes do that to him, too?

I wonder if leading a life marked by carelessness, tardiness and messiness might not qualify. I so admire Jesus for never evidencing any of those. He was never confused, never in a frenzy, never disorganized. He lived an intentional, controlled life, and as a result accomplished every good thing his Father gave him to do. He solved problems, touched tenderly, brought healing and spoke love, the opposite of leaving chaos in his wake.

I want to please this same Father, though I know I’ll never perform to the level of his Son. But the question “What would Jesus do?” is a good one. I know what he wouldn’t do. He wouldn’t trample over people, knocking into their feelings like a chair tumbling down the highway.

Jesus “received honor and glory from God the Father when the voice came to him from the Majestic Glory, saying, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.” (2 Peter 1:17)

Skipping Through LIfe

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Jack and I had trouble leaving the beach on this summer-like day perfect for wading. Strolling Lake Michigan’s wave line, I found 9 pieces of beach glass and an abundance of “Indian beads.” The water was smooth with gentle inch-high mini-waves tickling the sand, sparkling with sunshine. I looked up at several jet-stream clouds in a blue sky and thanked God I wasn’t on an airplane moving away from where I stood, pretty stones in my pocket, feet in the water.

Searching for a reason to stay, I decided to skip a few stones, hoping to break my record (though I couldn’t remember what that was). Side-arming flat rocks close to the water, it was fun hunting for good skippers: flat on both sides, thin, not too lightweight, rounded edges. How many thousands of stones had I skipped into this lake? I remember the day Dad taught Mary and me to do it, captivating us with his successful demo (though we didn’t care much about his talk of trajectories and angles).

I also remember teaching our first two boys to skip stones. They took to it immediately as most kids do, flinging rocks into the water like baseball machines fling balls into a batting cage. They’d shout for our attention. “Mom! Papa! Watch this!”

When a stone didn’t skip as they’d hoped, they’d yell again. “That wasn’t a good one! Watch this one! Are you watching?”

Every parent hears this oft-repeated refrain from their kids. “Watch me! Watch me!” We hear it so often it can drive us loony, pulling us from other conversations or thoughts of our own. “Look at me!”

In a way, though, we adults do the same thing. We walk through life wanting to be noticed, and more specifically, appreciated. If we’re skipping along well, we want others to see. If we’re sinking, we want others to care. We don’t shout it to a crowd like children do, but we pray it out to God in private. “Lord, do you see the injustice coming at me here? Are you aware of this other trauma unfolding in my life? Have you looked at my stress level? Examined my pain? Observed my heartache? Are you watching?”

Thankfully his answer to all of the above is a resounding, “Yes!” Although parents become irritated with too many “watch me’s” from their children, God’s patience is bottomless, limitless, boundless. It’s watertight.

He sees us every minute of every day… and night. And unlike weary parents who sometimes look over at their kids just to stop the “watch me’s” from continuing, God watches with genuine interest and sincere compassion each minute that he’s looking at us.

In other words, always.

By the way, the best skipper I had today was only 6, but I know God was watching.

“The eyes of the Lord search the whole earth in order to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.” (2 Chronicles 16:9a)