Silent Nights

(Written over the course of a December where Christmas plans were canceled twice in heartbreaking fashion.)

It's quiet around here. Anticipation is still high, but not like the glory days of grade school where sleep was considered an enemy. No, those days started fading away three years ago. Or was it four? I don't really remember. Regardless, we will indeed celebrate and celebrate big this year because family is always worth celebrating. Jesus is always worth celebrating.

This Christmas, you may find me staring out my front window at any given moment. I feel like a hypocrite, because a large portion of my life I wondered why this beautiful, joyful season was considered a time of pain and grief for some people. Then, somehow, I became one of those people. At least sometimes.

My default has consistently been to think of Christmas as the time for generosity, lightheartedness, friendship. Where is the room for *those other people*? Only experience has shown me how both find room in the same space: The one where the idea--the ideal--of Christmas is left behind and the entirety of God's promise is received.

There's a spiritual gift God has given all of us this year. I don't mean the ability to prophesy or work miracles, but I mean the ability to see what God has been telling each of us for the last twelve months. How was He working? What story was He writing? I know it's been written well, but I want to read it well. 

Knowing my tendency to misinterpret, here's hints at a couple of my own chapters:

Though it's not where I expected to be, to see myself only as "alone" in the narrowest sense of the word is to ignore the most precious gifts God has given me this season. Because I alone get to celebrate the affection and smiles of my children as they open their gifts. Only I get to witness the day-to-day unfolding of their lives. They look to me to walk beside them on this journey. I'm one in eight billion and it's an honor.

And I was the one who prayed that God would keep me from a "boring life." (And I still think you should pray like that.) I asked to be tested. I put my life God's hands to go wherever He would take me. More than any prayer I've ever prayed, I know He heard that one.

---

I want those prayers to lead me to a deeper place than just a therapeutic exercise of "re-framing." I want it to be an acknowledgment of the blessings I've been given and the ones on the way. I truly want to see it as part of a carefully crafted story. Not ignoring grief or heartbreak but understanding the built-in benefits of the life I've been privileged to live.

Every ending is the opportunity for a new beginning, and I want to celebrate a day of brand-new mercies. I want to embrace every good and perfect gift God has for me. Those gifts point back to the gift of a Child born on that one silent night. It was a gift for all people and God help me not to forget how "all" includes me. 

And it includes you.

On these silent nights, sometimes you may struggle to find Him, but He's not struggling to find you. And He will come. He always does.

We Are Not Destroyed

The Apostle Paul writes in his second letter to the Corinthians that we are "troubled on every side...perplexed...persecuted...cast down, but not destroyed."

Who is? We are. Specifically: God's people are. Not the people God forgot about. Not the ones who messed up a little bit. Not the ones God loves less. We are.

Everyone has their 2021 story and ours is a novel mostly of tragedy and crisis. (I made that pretty clear in my last post.) If group therapy taught me anything this year, it's that I'm not alone in my pain and if the Apostle Paul is to be believed, it's something we all go through. Even people God loves.

A year ago on New Year's Day, I wrote about "missing miracles". Those things are still missing.  In fact, the posters I hung on the telephone poles are curled up and faded. The phone calls with false hope have stopped coming in. I'm not sure about all that stuff Paul said, but I've certainly been pretty perplexed in 2021.

But my favorite part of this Scripture is "cast down, but not destroyed," because that really speaks to where we've been this year. Not forgotten, not unloved, but cast down. 2021 was that necessary reminder that down doesn't lose the title fight, tackled doesn't end the football game and behind doesn't disqualify the racer.

We are not destroyed and because we are not destroyed that means we're moving forward.

So come on, 2022. What do you got?

Everything just changed, Part 2

Remember this post?  That was from less than two months ago.

At the time the cancer had spread to who knows how many new locations and a bunch of other scary stuff like that.

Then there was this post.

That day we learned that the cancer wasn't near Anne-Marie's collarbone and hadn't spread any further than the chest cavity.  We knew that the team at Compass would push us to investigate further, most likely with a biopsy in the chest area.

However, Dr. Smith had mercy on us and honored our request to not be scheduled for anything in late January/early February so we could go to Disneyland.  By the time Compass figured out we were back from California, they considered everything urgent and immediately scheduled us for a consult with a pulmonologist (respiratory specialist) which led to being scheduled for a biopsy.  Dr. Smith told us the biopsy was being performed in order to "molecularly analyze" the cancer.  Getting a look at the cell structure of the cancer cells in the newly-enlarged lymph nodes was the best way to find a more effective treatment.  (Whatever you say, doc.)

The biopsy was to be surgical in nature in that we would be at Legacy Salmon Creek Hospital, have an anesthesiologist and be in a short stay room.  The procedure would be camera-guided through Anne-Marie's airway to the target location near the sternum.  The tissue samples would then be extracted with a needle and immediately analyzed on site by the pathologist.

On Thursday, February 16, we went in for the chest biopsy ordered by Dr. Smith and The Vancouver Clinic.  I don't think I've ever been less nervous on hospital day.  The morning was boring for the most part.  We did the paperwork, waited the normal two hours, said a simple prayer and they wheeled her back to the OR.

---

Cafeteria, staring out the window, waiting room.  I have a routine.  It's not superstition, but it is methodical.  I know how to distract myself just enough but not cause any unnecessary stress.  I want to be relaxed enough for the doctor to come into the waiting room and tell me anything.

I also know how long the procedures are supposed to take.  This time the doctor was a little late.  Not enough to be worried, but late.  He came quickly into the waiting room.

"Is it all right if we talk here?"
"Sure.  That's fine."
"I'm sorry I'm late.  We tried and tried but we took a bunch of samples from different areas and we couldn't find any cancer."
"Really?" (Relaxation regimen had not prepared me for this type of news.)
"Yes.  The results are preliminary, but were so clearly some kind of benign granuloma that after that many tries we decided to stop."
"OK.  Doctor, this is very unexpected.  We're here because of the cancer."
"It is apparently some other type of inflammation on the scans."
"Well, can I go see her?" (I start to get up.)
"No. I just finished five minutes ago, cleaned up and walked here.  She's in recovery now.  They will call you back within the next hour."

Granuloma. It's what they found near the collarbone, too.

And so I sat surrounded by a fog of shock for the next hour.  I used the time to text a few close friends and family before the nurse called me back to see Anne-Marie.

When I got back to the room Anne-Marie was awake.  I waited until the nurse left before I asked, "Has the doctor talked to you yet?"

I won't share it here, but you can imagine the conversation and the joy that followed.  We were back home before the kids even got out of school.

---

Fast-forward a week to Friday, February 24.  Post-op with Dr. Smith.  It was planned even before we went in for the procedure, but for a totally different purpose.  This was the day we were to learn the new treatment plan developed from the molecular analysis of the cancer.

They had nothing to analyze.  And Dr. Smith told us the obvious: the result of last week's biopsy was very good news.  No presence of cancer in Anne-Marie's lymph nodes did put us on a brand new treatment plan.  The new plan is to maintain and resist against the one place where they believe cancer is still located in the upper left lung.

Anne-Marie is now required to get a shot every two to four weeks to help keep any rogue cells at bay.  The injection has few side effects and will combine with the quarterly CT and bone scans to make sure everything is still OK.  No chemo.  No harsh hormonal treatments.  That's all.  Seeya in a couple weeks.

So since everything changed back in December, everything changed.  And it just keeps getting better.

We are thankful to God for His mercy and know these are miraculous results.  The doctors have worked very diligently to make sure this wasn't what they thought it was and believe they have provided us with a thoroughly-sought-out solution and we appreciate that.  We're also thankful for all of you and your prayers, kind words, text messages, gifts.  It's meant so much more than you'll ever know.  We don't know exactly what's next, but believe that we can see this last tumor killed off, too.

To God be the glory for the things He's done thus far.

Now maybe we can move on and talk about Disneyland.

2016

I don't have to explain 2016 to you. Unless this is the first post you've read, you'll know that it's been terrible. 2016 has been a year beyond emotional expression.

The difficulties of 2016 have been expressed over the course of punishing weeks that turned into months. Every struggling step told the story. The story of weary days and nights somehow turned into a year.

Tonight that year is over. I'm so glad.

But let's not say it was all bad. Sure there was that stage IV cancer thing. Riots on the streets of my hometown. The car unexpectedly quitting on me for good. The ugly election. Dear friends calling other dear friends stupid, ignorant, racist, whatever as a result of the ugly election. That happened and I don't know that it helps pretending like it didn't.

Even with all these things happening in our daily lives, it's not like we walked around all inconsolable all the time. We still laughed together, had special times building great memories together, teased each other, made new friends, ate amazing homemade food, stayed up too late (probably  while eating amazing homemade food).  In so many ways the year was wonderful.

And people were wonderful to us. Our family never knew how much we were loved than when our whole world exploded into flames and our friends and family came running.

Some of the toughest memories of the year will always have a touch of sweetness to them because they bring along with them the thought of a friend who came by just at the right time. Undoubtedly, some of you reading this right now were among those people. Thank you.

2017 hands us all kinds of uncertainty. You all know what the doctors have said and can probably understand why we aren't really looking for relief to miraculously come by flipping a page on a calendar. We know that only Jesus can help us through this. Whether this all gets better or worse when the clock strikes twelve, we still have joy in our grief.

So we're dispensing with the idea of making 2017 a good year. Or even a "better" year for that matter.

In 2017 we're chasing after time.  Good times, bad times, time lost, time wasted, time stolen, time spent doing and being the important things. The things that build relationships. The things that last.

Those kind of moments quickly turn into days. And those days turn into years. And those kind of years are always good ones.

Let's get started. Now.

1st stop: the California Redwoods

2nd stop: Disneyland

Attention shoppers...

The time is now October and the store is now closed.  Please bring your final church selection to the registers at the front of the store.

---

We took three months to make the decision, but the time has come.  October is here.  The leaves have turned.  The prayers have all been prayed.  The store is now closed.  Let's go home.

Our family will be attending Portland Pentecostal[s] Church pastored by Steve Hanson.

(I asked Pastor Hanson if the name of the church was "Portland Pentecostals" or "Portland Pentecostal Church".  He told me that the congregation is called Portland Pentecostals, but that the humongous sign just off the I-205 freeway was too narrow to fit PentecostalS and ever since then the church has also used the title Portland Pentecostal Church on occasion.)

PP[C] is located in SE Portland near Mt. Scott.  Pastor Hanson and his wife, Yvonne, have pastored the church for 25 years and taken it from a small congregation that met on Sandy Boulevard to a Southeast Portland where they [crazily] bought the recently-vacated funeral home at Lincoln Memorial Park.  They've been there long enough that the've successfully established the church's identity in the area and shaken off most of the undertaker jokes.

I met Steve Hanson completely outside of a church setting almost 20 years ago when he was a union carpenter and I had a summer job with the same company.  I'm glad to say he's the same guy as a successful pastor in SE Portland as he was installing cabinets in SW Portland in the 90's.  In this very unique time in our lives, the Hansons and Portland Pentecostals have been welcoming and understanding and we are very grateful.

---

So for all the "best churches" out there: we were so impressed with the different people we met and the work you're all doing.  Many would think that the past three months would give us a list of negatives for every church we visited.  Not at all so.  The hardest thing was trying to sort through all the positives.  This time in our lives is through and we've made a choice that we believe is best (that some certainly won't agree with).  But we can definitely offer some great recommendations for the places and people that have opened their doors and their hearts to us this summer.  Thank you all.

Easter 2014

You could get rid of the chocolate bunnies.

Easter egg hunts could go away.

We could all decide not to go for pictures with the fuzzy rabbit in the mall concourse.

The resurrection cakes, eggs, candy ideas could all be deleted from Pinterest.

Your church could cancel its drama/concert/sermon series/face painting/bouncy house extravaganza this morning.

In fact it could cancel church next week, too.

And it wouldn't reduce the power of the Resurrection at all.

Not at all.

It stands alone in its power to change, heal, forgive and restore and that's whether we celebrate it or not.

That's what makes Easter so amazing.

Just enough

It's happened a thousand times.  I get to the end of my day and finally have time to post on my mostly-neglected blog.  The kids are in bed, the house looks halfway okay, the bills are rather paid.  Enough laundry is done to be able to go to work tomorrow.  Speaking of work: I made my quota today.  I've been trying to fit in an extra project each day, but can't quite make it happen yet.  But it's all done.  Now it's time to blog away.

The problem is I'm physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted.  Everything I have in me was thrown at this day.  There's nothing that I want to do less than anything more.  No more work.  No more traffic,  No more hide and seek.  No more cleaning up messes.  Nothing.

In all of this I can smile knowing this one blessed thing: the day is over.

And I made it.

I didn't have the energy to do more laundry.  I didn't have enough money to pay extra on my bills.  I didn't have the speed to get another project sent off.  But I made it.

In our society of excesses and extremes I keep expecting to get a standing ovation or somehow catch a second wind that allows me to party 'til midnight, but that isn't how today's story will end.

It will end with me going (running) to bed, laying my head on my pillow and--in the 30 seconds it takes for me to fall fast asleep--having the assurance that in the morning God will once again bless me with just enough.

I don't believe children are innocent

Oh, this pains me.  It pains me to the core because I want it to be true.  The idea of childhood innocence is everything I want: sentimental, romantic, whimsical, dreamy.  But mostly untrue.

---

When I walk in the room, my two-year-old is standing in the middle of a thousand shards of glass with his hand on a tablecloth we told him not to touch ten seconds earlier.  "Did you pull the tablecloth?"  I demand (while trying to use mental telepathy to keep his bare feet from deciding to run across the glass-covered tile).

"Sissy did it."

My son started talking in full sentences five weeks ago and learned to bear false witness about two minutes later.  How did I mess this up?  I've tried to model honesty and integrity to him since the day we met.  He knows his sister's been downstairs for half an hour and couldn't have had anything to do with the broken glass.  He sticks to his guns.

"Bud, did you pull the tablecloth and break the glass?"
"Sissy did it."
"Don't lie to me!"
"Sissy did it. No-no, Sissy."

---

This type of scenario plays out a dozen times a day at our house and often stirs up these deep emotions.  I feel like I want to believe that my kids are better than what I see on a daily basis.  I want to believe when the clerk at the store says my daughter is a "sweet little angel".  Then I read the words of King David.

"Behold I was shapen in iniquity and in sin did my mother conceive me."

Now some people will probably say this is a reference to some scandalous relationship between David's mother and father.  I honestly have no idea.  But just taking it at face value complies with the Pentateuchal* concept of a fall from innocence.  In other words: nobody's innocent.  This is what I don't wish to believe.

My kids are perfect.  Not like those brats at the store, or airport or Sunday School, or wherever else.  They're tired.  They're just exploring their surroundings.  They're overstimulated.  They're just being a KID.

Yes, they are.  And they're standing there repeating a bald-faced lie over and over again.

*sigh* Et tu, Brute?

I want this to be like all those cards said at the baby shower.  Or maybe like those Precious Moments figurines that blew up in the 80's.  You know, where the kid is standing all red-faced next to a broken glass holding a handful of flowers up toward his mom 'cause he feels so bad and the figurine is called "The Smallest Apology...the Largest Love" or something of similar sentiment.

Are my kids very trusting, wide-eyed and inquisitive?  Certainly they are, but that's about the extent of the dreamy perfection.  The fact is--oh and how it pains me to type it--my kids have taught me at least as much about selfishness as they have the (so-called) innocence of youth.

Now that I'm a parent, every time I want to ball up my fists and demand to have things my way, I think a second time. How about considering Anne-Marie's opinion every now and again?  And am I really going to lose my patience over things so trivial as waiting for someone else to have a turn, how "she looked at me", or what the ones who love me most ask of me?

Our hearts are like gardens.  My job is to plant the good stuff.  But weeds keep popping up everywhere without even trying.

* Pentateuchal just means "found in the first five books of the Bible".  I kinda like "Genesisian" better.

Switching from telephoto

When I was a kid, my mom had one of those Eastman Kodak 110 cameras with the telephoto lens. You guys remember the telephoto lens.  It was the little switch you flipped on top that manually moved a different lens in front of the shutter.  The telephoto lens made stuff in the distance look like it filled the viewfinder.  I have no idea how that all worked, but I guess it was a primitive version of zoom.

I think my life has been stuck on telephoto for the past few weeks. The fact of the matter is, I can't get a job.  I really want to get a job, but--no matter how hard I try--I can't.  I've applied and been turned down at Macy*s (gotta love the *), Starbucks, Wal*Mart (there it is again), Target, Domino's and about 40 design firms. Really.

There's nothing like sitting in an interview for a job that pays $8.35 an hour and thinking, "I could DESIGN the building we're sitting in and you're saying I'm not qualified to stock the shelves inside of it?"  That's a new level of frustration.  It puts you on the dividing line of being humbled and being humiliated.  Every day I get to decide which side of the line to jump off on.  Some days it's one side; some days the other.

I can't say that I'm above any of the jobs I've applied for.  Far better men than I have happily worked a lifetime doing more menial tasks.  I guess maybe I've been a little (more than a little) spoiled.

That's where telephoto comes in.  Telephoto cuts the big picture out so all you see is one area.  If I switch out of that mode and look at real life, everything seems so much better.  My wife and kids are healthy and here with me.  We have a house to live in.  The bills are still being paid on time.  We've been blessed by God to be starting a new life and ministry here in Puyallup.  We have all kinds of old friends back home and all kinds of new friends here.  Food is still being put on the table at our house. Even cookies sometimes.

It's been said that whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger.  I hope this is another one of those things. Even if it's not, God is still good to ask me to live a little weaker.

One of the worst parts of the Easter story

There's one part of the story Easter weekend that always gets me. That's when Jesus was laughed at.

I know that among all the betrayal, beating and blood this seems so minimal. Maybe the reason it always seems to get to me is because it's one of the few things that Jesus went through that day that I can relate to. Have you ever been laughed at? It hurts.

To be mocked and made a joke in front of people is one of the worst things I've ever experienced. But some of those relatively few times, I probably--at least in some way--brought it on myself. Jesus didn't. He was kind, peaceful, loving. All of those things that don't deserve scorn. But He endured it and forgave.

Who have I neglected to forgive? How about you?

If yesterday was Good Friday and tomorrow is Easter Sunday what do they call today?

Maybe "I'm-totally-confused-about-what-God-is-doing Saturday"?

'Cause you know that's how those eleven guys felt.

Anyways, I've spent the last week and a half to two weeks giving you my opinions. That's what they were: opinions. Or I guess you could call them positions.

Opinions are those things that we in the USA are so good at blabbing freely. We argue our position on a topic or event that's completely out of our realm of influence and know full well that it won't change a thing. In fact, a lot of the stuff we throw our opinions out on are things that, in the course of history, come and go and life goes on.

This is different than belief. What I believe defines who I am. If I say I believe it, popularity and politics don't really matter. I guess that means I should be willing to admit those things we never say. I don't believe in any political party. I don't believe in some particular legislation. I don't believe in the government. I don't believe in the economy. I don't believe in medicine. I don't even believe in myself a lot of times.

I believe Jesus came to Earth to die in our place and make our wrongs right. I believe He rose from the dead to give us a chance to experience this redemption personally. I believe in Calvary. I believe in Easter.

Happy Easter!?

OK. I know I'm really late on this, but last week we were on vacation. So, I thought since we're going to have our family Easter dinner tomorrow, I should do my annual Easter post a week late as well.

Just today I read this from Paul's letter to the Romans:

We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. For Christ did not please himself, but as it is written, "The reproaches of those who reproached you fell on me." For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope. May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus. (15.1-5, ESV)

I wish I knew if I belong in the "strong" category or the "weak" category. Probably both, depending on which day (or minute) you talk to me.

Endurance and encouragement: two things we could all use. Albert Barnes said that Christ "threw Himself" in front of all our mistakes, failures, the things we did wrong. Paul says that this should give us hope. Not just the fact that we read this, but that God will send us someone strong to raise us up.

I'm thankful to all the people that have been that "someone" in my life. I plan on being that to someone else.

How can I say thanks?

Search the mid 80's. You might find a little kid not quite old enough to understand that his parents marriage was falling apart. His mother tried to explain it to him, but he never quite understood.

Go back to the late 80's. You'll find a school-age boy living in a poverty-level rental home--a broken one. Mom had my brother and I sleep in one of the bedrooms and invited my aunt to use the other so they could split the rent. Mom slept on the couch in the living room for three years until she could afford a house.

Find me in the mid 90's drunk in my upstairs bedroom on Coke mixed with whiskey. I was praying for someone to hear me. To help me. Needing any kind of hope in my life. Knowing I couldn't make it on my own.

Jump to 2001. Search for a young man--three days married--kneeling in front of a chair in a small town in Mexico searching for answers. Wondering how he would fly home when planes were now used as weapons of terror. How would he lead his new family when all the rules had changed?

Search for me and find me. But you won't find me there anymore.

37 years ago, Andrae Crouch put it far better:

How can I say thanks
For the things You have done for me,
Things so undeserved,
Yet You gave to prove Your love for me.
The voices of a million angels
Could not express my gratitude.
All that I am and ever hope to be,
Lord, I owe it all to Thee

Must Jesus Bear the Cross Alone?

By Thomas Shepherd, G. N. Allen, and Henry Ward Beecher

Must Jesus bear the cross alone,
And all the world go free?
No, there’s a cross for everyone,
And there’s a cross for me.

How happy are the saints above,
Who once went sorrowing here!
But now they taste unmingled love,
And joy without a tear.

The consecrated cross I’ll bear
Till death shall set me free;
And then go home my crown to wear,
For there’s a crown for me.

How Easter Feels

I'll never forget the feeling that I felt standing in the narrow hallway of the Oregon City Church of the Nazarene on the day of my wedding. I was there watching through the window of the side door with my Pastor, Gary Gleason, and his son and my Best Man, Stan, as the music started and the parents were seated. Before I had an extra second to get prepared, Pastor--in his Gleason-like manner--said, "Let's go!" and led us through the door.

The thoughts in my head were racing as I watched Pastor Gleason pass mine and Stan's appointed place at the foot of the steps. He ascended to the platform, where he would soon address the crowd. Stan and I remained stock still, waiting for our cue, and trying to act natural. The anxiety grew and questions began to fill my mind. "Am I ready for this?" "Do I really have what it takes to make this work?" "I don't have much more time. I wonder..."

Mid-thought, my soon-to-be sister-in-law, Kara, made it to the front of the aisle. As tradition goes, my Best Man left my side to escort her, the Matron of Honor, up the steps and onto the platform. As I watched my last bit of moral support disappear behind me, my nerves hit an all-time high. Was I ready for this? I tried--and failed--to look like I was in control.

Then, as I looked down the aisle and through the back doors of the sanctuary, anxiety gave way to anticipation. All that I was worried about disappeared into all that I had been waiting for. Just within sight, at the far end of the room stood my ivory-decked bride. What had I been so worried about? All the stress, work, dreaming, planning, living was put into focus as I became fixed on the true object.

I think that maybe that is just how it felt on that dark night, two thousand years ago. All of the grief, the agony, and the despair was resting on Jesus' shoulders. The fulfillment of the plan was depending on Him, and yet we can see His opposing emotions as He cried, "O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt." (Matthew 26:39)

Somewhere in the middle of all the anxiety and dread, Christ looked through the portals of time and saw the true object: you. As His focus changed, He became something more than just another great man in the pages of a history book. The apostle Paul would describe it like this: "Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross." We were that joy.

And can it be that I should gain
an interest in the Savior's blood!
Died he for me? who caused his pain!
For me? who him to death pursued?
Amazing love! How can it be
that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
- Charles Wesley