Bottomed Out

Christmas was a wonderful time for me to spend with family this year, and having just had my third chemotherapy treatment, I felt remarkably well enough to enjoy much of the usual fare: gift exchanges, holiday treats, and Christmas movies.

For as well as I felt over the weekend, I have increasingly become more and more fatigued, and as of yesterday, I discovered through a blood test that my white blood cell count has bottomed out. This means my risk of infection is high, and if I do develop a virus or infection, my body does not have the resources to fight it. So, my oncology nurse has ordered me to stay home this weekend, away from all the germs and bacteria.

Not that I feel much like getting out, anyway.

The timing of my white blood cell count bottoming out has corresponded ironically with my soul feeling sort of bottomed out. As much as I enjoyed Christmas with my family, I felt a little cold toward Jesus. Nausea and fatigue, though not horrible, feel a little overwhelming by their constant drain. I don't know that I'm looking for a "normal" life. Most days I'd be happy just to feel like doing my own laundry. Jesus could do something about this couldn't he?

My spiritual malaise has been complemented by my lack of desire to pray and read the Bible. So this morning, in an effort to show Jesus I care just a little, I pulled out the prayer book and found Psalm 18 suitably assigned for today. When I got there, I felt rewarded for my little effort by words like, "You protect me with salvation-armor; you hold me up with a firm hand, caress me with your gentle ways. You cleared the ground under me so my footing was firm," and "I love you, God— you make me strong," and "I sing to God, the Praise-Lofty, and find myself safe and saved."

The words didn't make me feel better, necessarily. But they did help me feel understood. Once again I found my Lord allowing me to express disappointment and grief, and then dealing with me lovingly. He is, afterall, a man acquainted with sorrows.

And then, with my heart feeling a little more alive again, I read these words from Michael Card from A Sacred Sorrow, which captured exactly what is happening in my heart.

"I acknowledge before You, Lord, the glaring gap in the difference between what I feel and what I believe. Right now, I feel like you don't really care. So many situations in my life are out of control. Why don't You just fix them? So much in and around me hurts right now. Why don't you just heal them? Were I willing to take more time to pray, I'm feeling right now that from my side of things, this could become a shouting business. DO SOMETHING!

"But, You have already done something, haven't you? You did what it took to become familiar with all the sorrows I feel pressing in on me even this very moment. You felt the gap between what You felt and what You believed, didn't You? Jesus, I'm so sorry I said You didn't care. Is there anything I could say that would have caused you more pain than that? You didn't come to fix things for me, did You? You came to join me. Thank You. Would You, in the sacrament of this moment, enter right now into the holy of holies that is my hurt? Come in, not to fix but to simply be present. Be Immanuel inside that sacred, hurting place, even if it's for only a few precious moments."

So, I keep going, telling this little story of mine. Cancer and white blood cell counts and discouraged hearts and prayerless days will come and go, but Jesus is with me for good.

Good News

Today, I received good news. The cancer antigen in my blood that is being tracked after each chemo came back already in the "normal" range after just two treatments and all of my radiation. I have been rejoicing all day. My levels were above 400 after my initial surgery to remove the tumors (they didn't do the test prior to surgery from what the doctor said), and it has been gradually coming down. Today, the nurse told me it was 19. Anything below 20 is considered normal.

This number isn't definitive. I'm not "cured" or in remission. The number could go back up, especially once chemotherapy is finished and if the cancer decides to spread. But for now, for all the continued uncertainty, I am going to accept the good news as just that: good news. And it certainly makes all the side effects a little more worth it, knowing the chemotherapy seems to be doing its job -- getting rid of the cancer and making me healthy again.

I couldn't wait to tell you all who are going through this with me.

It's not lost on me that we are just about to celebrate some other really good news next Tuesday. The Gospel message about Jesus' birth, life, death, and resurrection is just that: Good News. And as excited as I am about my blood levels, I couldn't help but think all day that this other Good News is so much better. In fact, it makes all the side effects of life a little more worth it, knowing that the Good News of Jesus is accomplishing its purpose in my life -- getting rid of sin and making my soul healthy again.

And I am even more excited to share this gospel news with you.

--

I head back to the hospital in the morning for round three of chemotherapy. I will be admitted until Saturday morning, and will then be whisked away by my mom back to her house. I am so thankful that I get to spend Christmas with my family. I will be thinking about you all during that time as well.

A Head Full of Hair in Glory

I miss my hair.

It's not just that my head is cold or my scalp is itchy. I miss the way my hair felt laying on the pillow. I miss brushing it and putting it in a pony tail. I even miss the funny way it would stick up in the back after a night's sleep.

With hair, I could take on a different look each day. People knew if I got up late or didn't have time to shower based on the condition of my hair. My boss could tell if I had plans after work based on how primped it was. Some days I wished it would all fall out. Now that it has, I miss it.

Losing my hair is not the only thing I struggle with physically right now. But it is one of the biggest reminders each day that my body is fragile. Just like everyone else's body, mine is amazingly resilient and created with so much intricacy. But for all its wonder, it's still wasting away.

With these thoughts fresh in my mind, I heard an important verse from Philippians on Sunday with a new urgency. Even though this body is wasting away, decay is not the final word for it.

"But there's far more to life for us. We're citizens of high heaven! We're waiting the arrival of the Savior, the Master, Jesus Christ, who will transform our earthy bodies into glorious bodies like his own. He'll make us beautiful and whole with the same powerful skill by which he is putting everything as it should be, under and around him." -Philippians 3:20-21 from The Message

As I heard this verse , I suddenly realized that resurrection is not just an Easter message, it's also an Advent one. When we wait for Jesus' return, we are waiting for life with him in a transformed body. And right now, I'm just imaging spending glory with a head full of hair.

By the way, tomorrow is my last radiation treatment.

A Good Day

Today was a good day. I felt good when I woke up, and had the energy to spend the day like any old Saturday. I cooked, I cleaned, I payed the bills. My dad was here to help with some house projects, and we went to the farmers' market. Just before he left, we put the finishing touches on the outdoor light display at my house, which you see just above. My dad made the small multi-colored trees out of tomato cages and twinkle lights. (He's a genius!) This evening, a friend came to share a bowl of soup with me, and now that it's dark and I'm feeling like hibernating, I'm going to snuggle under a blanket and either watch a movie or read. It was a good day.

At some point in the middle of this good day, I commented that I hope I have a bunch a good days. It would be a relief, actually, to have several good days in a row. But then I realized that in the wanting, I was losing a little of the gloriousness of this good day. I can be content with today; I can wait for what tomorrow will bring. And for both, there will be grace from Jesus to walk in it.

This is one of my difficulties in celebrating Advent each year, all the looking ahead. It makes me forget about the importance of today, of living well in this moment. Peter understood the temptation, and in one of his letters, he says we need to let the anticipation of the future change the way we live today. Go ahead and look forward to what's ahead, and then go ahead and be faithful right now.

"So, my dear friends, since this is what you have to look forward to, do your very best to be found living at your best, in purity and peace." - 2 Peter 3:14 (The Message)

Later, he calls this "growing in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ." Today, when everything was going well and I was looking forward to a bunch of good days, I hope I grew in grace. And tomorrow, when things may not look so rosy, I hope I will still look forward and grow.

RELATED POSTS:
LL's "Come to Call" on Seedlings in Stone

The Presumption of Heat Pumps

Sunday, I woke up a little more frigid than usual, realizing that my furnace was not actually blowing heat, just a little 60 degree, recirculated air. A quick call to my dad and then to the furnace repairman, and I was gearing up for a cold day of sitting by the space heaters.

Until the furnace decided to kick back on -- operating rather intermittently over the next couple of days. It took a service call, a sales rep, and two technicians to finally finish the job today of installing a brand new heat pump and furnace, with 10-year warranties and other kinds of life-time guarantees. Plus I have a new programmable thermostat, and supposedly my high efficiency will earn me some credit with the local utility company. Not bad for three days of chill.

In the midst of recovering from chemotherapy and at the risk of oversimplifying Advent, I almost felt a little presumptious buying an appliance for its 10-year qualities. Who knows what this next year may bring; let alone 10 years.

But as I reflected on what the expectation of advent really means during this season, I am reminded that even for a person with cancer, waiting for Jesus is not about waiting for death. It's about waiting for life, better life, longer life, more glorious life. When Jesus comes, I won't need a new heat pump and furnace, but as long as I am living, feeling the need for warmth and comfort, heat pumps and furnaces are no more presumptious than food and clothes. They are icons of the life we seek in the one true Life Giver.

This evening as I sit in my new, warmly efficient home, I feel full of the hope of heaven, that Jesus is coming again to give us the life he promised and that we experience in part even now.

Entering the Season of Expectation

Chemotherapy went much better this second round, and I am so thankful to the Lord. I am still experiencing some nausea, fatigue and pain, but in much more manageable chunks. Thank you for your well wishes and prayers for me over the weekend.

Unfortunately, yesterday evening was one of my worst times, so I didn't get to join with friends as planned to light the first Advent candle of the season. I hope you did.

I have been reflecting differently this year on the anticipation of Jesus' comings. I typicially think of advent in three ways -- Jesus coming to the earth incarnate, Jesus incarnating himself in my heart through salvation, and Jesus coming to reign ultimately on "that day." In the midst of cancer, each one of these comings seems more significant, more important that it happened, happens, will happen.

This morning as I was finishing up a chapter on Job in Michael Card's A Sacred Sorrow, I found words for my advent thoughts this morning. Though I haven't experienced God's absence in this time quite like Job did during the initial days of his sorrow, I have found my interactions with God to be more subtle, more quiet. And in this stillness, they call me with a more profound sense of urgency to see and meet with my wonderful Savior. Here's how Card describes it:

"In the end, the real miracle of Job is the spiritual intuition of Jesus he discovers through his pain and deep sense of abandonment by God. It provides a glimpse inside the mystery of just how God uses a false perception of His absence (for indeed, His very nature makes it impossible for Him not to be everywhere) to awaken in us the hunger for Immanuel ("God with us"). . . . Without the pain, he would never have know the need. Without the need, he would have never seen ahead to the One who will perfectly fulfill that need. The shadow of Jesus of Nazareth is there in Job. His prayers of protest are only a small drop in a sea of laments that would eventually call forth the coming of Jesus." (p.59)

Advent is an expectant time, a time of joy and beauty. But it also is rooted in the reality of suffering, from the Man of Sorrows and those who follow after him. Oh, for the day when suffering has ended, however.