Kipling's Hard Saying

Rudyard Kipling, in his poem "If", wrote the following:

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

He then goes on to with an even more extensive list of things for which, if you fulfill them, you would be considered "A Man".  Kipling certainly had VERY high standards, as I have found it difficult to find men that fulfill just this small section of the poem.  How often do we lose our heads due to someone else!  Maybe if there any poem that we should keep in our memory, it is this one.

A River Runs Through It

The movie entitled "A River Runs Through It" (1992), based upon the works of Norman Maclean, tells the story of two brothers who grow up in Montana in the early 1900s.  They are reared in the same home, go to the same church, have the same parents, and in probably most cases, had very similar early childhood experiences.  However, as the story unfolds, it becomes clear that the two brothers are very different, and consequently their lives take very different paths.  At one stage of the movie, the girlfriend of one of the boys comments "Why is it the people who need the most help ... won't take it?".  This is the question of every older brother who has a younger brother (as in the story) who NEEDS help, but will not take it. 

Maybe the truth of the matter is that in such complicated relationships, the truth of the matter is that the person may not "take it", but as is later mentioned in the movie "… maybe what he likes is somebody TRYING [emphasis mine] to help him."  I continue to try.  I hope one day he will take it.

As a side-note, I highly recommend the movie and the novella (by Norman Maclean).

Thoughts and Prayers: A Diary as Paraphrased by a Friend

The following was written by me in honor of my friend, Bill Roberts, mentioned in my previous post.  It was read on Thursday August 2, 2012 at his Memorial.

Thoughts and Prayers: A Diary as Paraphrased by a Friend

I stand here a member of my church’s choir, sharp in mind and strong in body.  My Redeemer lives, and I sing forth His praises.

Unlike most people, I understand the diagnosis presented to me.  It is easier to think of it objectively, as my training has prepared me. I know how the process works, and how my body will respond.  I know what must be done.

I never thought taking on the “mind of Christ” would involve removing part of my brain.  This is but the first stage.  Chemotherapy and radiation must follow. Although, in the end, I will probably suffer as did Job, I am grateful that my wife and friends are not like his.  I know that intersession is being made for me and my family.  In everything I give thanks.

What do communion and chemotherapy have in common?  Life through death.

Having now experienced radiation and chemotherapy, I now understand what Jeremiah meant by a “fire being shut up in my bones”.  I pray during my sleepless nights that “by His stripes I was healed”, but if this is my “thorn in the flesh”, I pray that God’s grace be sufficient.   

I stand here a member of my church’s choir because of the Lord’s great love.  Though my body objects, my mind demands it to stand and my voice to sing.  His compassions never fail.  My Redeemer lives, and I sing forth His praises.

I pray that God will quicken my mortal body.  My mind is still sharp.  I want to continue my University research.  There are still many things that I want to do, that I want to discover, that I want to learn, but my body seems to continue to get in the way.  I pray without ceasing.       

It is difficult to answer which statement is more difficult to hear: that you have cancer, or that it has returned.  I am reminded of the comment in John in which Jesus was asked to place blame for the man who was lame.  Was it due to him or his parents?  It was that God might be glorified.  May God be glorified!

I can no longer stand with my church’s choir.  My mind can no longer coax my body to cooperate.  Though my strength is failing, the Lord is still my portion.  I wait on Him.  From here I can see my children in their youthful strength praising God.  My children will do things I will never do (and I do not mean in terms of their choice of hair color).  Like Elijah to Elisha, I pray for both of them to experience a double portion of God’s Spirit.  My Redeemer lives, and I sing forth His praises.

I now have a glimpse of Paul’s struggle – to remain here or to be absent from this body and present with the Lord.  Some days I desire to be absent.  I pray that God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven, for His is the Kingdom and the power and the Glory forever.

My body does not let me do what I want it to do.  I hear my wife calling out that she has arrived home.  Though I cannot stir, my heart is stirred.  I smile and call her name.  A man shall leave his father and mother, and they shall become one.  We are one.  I do not pray for myself, as I will soon have the chance to ask questions directly to my Creator.  I pray for her, that the Lord bless her and keep her, that the Lord shine His countenance on her, that He be gracious to her, and that He give her peace.

If I stay silent, the rocks will cry out!  My breathing has become labored, yet I will still praise Him.  How frail are these tents that God has provided us.  Though my body fails, yet I know that in my flesh I will see God.  With a final gasp I have ended my time on this earth, but it has prepared me to shout forth in the life that is beyond.  My Redeemer lives!   I see Him face-to-face.  Great is His faithfulness. 

Two Friends Have Passed On Due to Cancer

It has been a long week.  On Sunday afternoon (July 22) I learned that my colleague and friend, Professor Kris Sikorski passed away.  He has been fighting the battle with cancer since last August (2011).  In trying to think of one word that captures Kris as a researcher, as an educator, as a fellow colleague, and as a friend—the word that comes to mind is sincere. Kris will indeed be truly missed.  Kris' memorial service was on Thursday evening, and a celebration mass was held on Friday (July 27).  Just before entering mass, I learned that my other friend who was fighting cancer, Dr. Bill Roberts passed away.  Bill had a classic "batman" character.  At work (i.e. "by day"), he was a brilliant researcher and scientist, overseeing a large pathology lab here at the U.  When not at work (i.e. "by night"), he was a devoted husband and father, and an avid outdoorsman.  My last memory of Bill was from about a month ago.  Even then, his body was weak from his fight with cancer.  He could hardly move, and spoke very little.  However, when his wife arrived home from church, he could her her voice … he smiled and said her name aloud.

Both Kris and Bill are no longer with us but with the Lord.  The will live on here though the lives of those with whom they interacted.  The will live through their impact on their children and students, both at the U and at their respective churches. Neither of them will be forgotten.  

Marriage - A Life of Shared Experiences

You can tell a lot about a person by the tone with which they recall memories.  We all have things in our lives that we seek to actively remember -- things like, possibly, the day of our wedding, or the day one of our children is born.  But then again, there are lots of things that we can recall from the past when our memories are jogged by a song, or a smell, or a sound, or some other cue.  Whenever this happens to you, or when you are listening to someone going through the process of recollection, pay attention to the 'tone' of the memory.  Does the person naturally gravitate towards the positive or quirky or funny, or do they focus on the negative? 

I have just recently celebrated my wedding anniversary, which has motivated me to take the proverbial stroll down memory lane.  To say that I have been "happily married" for 17 years would possible be viewed as either a blatant lie or an optimistic exaggeration considering all the things that have happened since my wife and I joined together.  However, I think it is fair to say that our decision to marry was in part love (of course) but also in part the mutual admission that we wanted to have a shared experience.  Marriage is just that -- it is the decision to join in a life of shared experiences.  Were some experiences blissful - yes.  Was every experience bliss - no.  The joy after 17 years of marriage is to admit that in spite of the nature of the particular experience, what is important to me is that I was able to share it with my spouse.  I look forward to many more experiences together.

Don't Just "Be Alive" -- Live.

This past week I went through my normal round of tests that are required every three months: blood work, 24-hour urine work-up, and a bone marrow biopsy.  The latter is by far the most annoying, as no matter how many times you have had one done, you still do not get used to the little 'tap tap tap' you feel as they are trying to make it through the surface of your hip bone into the marrow.

All of this is investigation, in my case, is to scrutinize the body for the abundance of and/or imbalances in an immune system signaling agent.  If they were to find such an imbalance in the lab workups, it would indicate the presence of plasma cells in my bone marrow -- a particular type of which is cancerous.  The bone marrow biopsy is a secondary test to "look for" these plasma cells.  When I was originally diagnosed in 2009, they found that 30% of my bone marrow had already been invaded by "bad" plasma cells.

This time, they did not find any imbalance.  I am still in remission.

The nurses at the Bone Marrow Transplant (BMT) unit rejoiced with me.  Some patients do not make it.  Some patients live, but their lives never resume to anything close to what they were experiencing before.  Some people decide not only to stay alive, but to LIVE.  Their lives may be different, but they will indeed go on living, not just being alive.

Some people are so enamored with the idea of "being alive".  I FEEL ALIVE is the hallmark yell of my generation.  I want more.  As Thoreau said, "… and not when I had come to die discover that I had not lived.”  For most, being alive is easy.  For cancer patients and survivors, being alive in and of itself may be difficult.  For all of us … the goal should be to move beyond being alive to living.

Response to friend's cancer fight

Society has conditioned us to think that for every action or every statement, there is an "appropriate" response.  Misdeed leads to the asking of forgiveness.  "I love you" is to be reciprocated (when true), and on and on it goes.  However, there are some statements, some pieces of news, for which there is no appropriate response.  I am not talking about statements like "Do I look fat in this dress?".  I am talking about news for which you merely stand there in awe, longing to say something appropriate but coming up empty. 

A friend of mine is currently dying of a brain tumor.  He and I have known each other for some time -- prior to my own collision with cancer.  At the time I contracted cancer, we did not really talk about it.  We left things at a very scientific level -- both able to discuss the nuances of the treatment plans, and the impact on things like the body and the mind.  I am back to living life, and he is dying.  Now having both been on the other side of treatment, we can easily talk about treatment plans (although our views have changed), common medication, and common aches and pains.  But what do you say, when standing there having fought the fight and appearing to be winning, you see your friend loosing?  Do you tell them to fight?  Why -- because you did?  You want to encourage them that there is the possibility of life after cancer, while at the same time you do not want to oversell what you know to be a precarious situation.  

Sometimes, when you have not travailed through something, like cancer, you think that if you were to do so, you would know what to say.  You would come out the other side with something.  The journey must bring you to a point that situations are no longer awkward.  Well … this is not true.  What you realize is that the only thing that you can do is empathize with the journey.  You can sometimes relate to particular mountaintop or particular valley experiences, but in the end, you cannot express the place to which you have actually arrived any better than they can.

We require of ourselves an answer or response when sometimes there isn't one.  There is no single statement that will either make him feel better, or will make you feel better.  Sometimes the best thing to do is to merely to sit there and listen -- to allow the friend to paint the picture of the journey he has been and is current on -- and say nothing profound at all … safe journeys.