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.