"I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me"

Family means everything to us. We are in this fight for our survival together. We are facing personal hardships, and collectively encountering the effects they have on the rest of the family. I appreciate the well-intentioned professionals who offer resolutions to our difficulties, but they fail to realize we are not like most families. We remain together to see things through, to help one another, and give each other encouragement and love. We don't toss an elderly family member to the care of the state when we are able to care for her with in-home support. We don't kick out our young man who fights off the demons of addiction just because he loses a battle once in a while. We help him up, dust him off, and give him the encouragement he needs to fight the next battle. We know each other's idiosyncrasies, weaknesses, and strengths. We rely on each other for hope, understanding and forgiveness.

We can do it. This 94-year-old woman will not go into a respite home, or nursing facility for the time I'm in the hospital having double mastectomies, recovering, and during the long course of treatment which promises to knock me off my feet for a good long while.

We have the Lord to give us strength. He has given us courage and wisdom and love, and has provided for us in very lean times. He will make sure that we are taken care of, as a family, together.

"BREAKING TIES, BREAKING PROMISES"

He called from the bottom of the stairs, "Hey Mom, come here for a minute, no wait, I'll come up there." He knew I was tired and the day hadn't even begun yet. I fatigue easily some days. It's the cancer, but we don't like to talk about it. I try to be energetic, and believe it or not, sometimes I can pull it off. Not today. There's something about the color of my face, the lack of sparkle in my eyes, the look that says, "I really want to listen but I just need to rest."

He found me sitting comfortably in my easy chair at my computer in the living room. "Remember? No, you probably don't because of your memory," and then he had difficulty finishing what he meant to say. I wasn't sure if it was because he wanted to show me what he was holding, or because he was upset that he knew I was very tired, or maybe both. He's a very sensitive man of 30, and he's sad most of the days now because of our situation. Few things break up the darkness for him, maybe a silly remark will send him on a fit of laughter for a while, but then he's back to thinking deeply about my illness, and what will happen to me, and where his grandmother will live.

He showed me a Norman Rockwell print from a calendar, called "Breaking the Ties." It was very important to him that I remember this particular painting. To my astonishment, I did. I have amnesia for significant blocks of time in my life, up to decades. Sometimes a simple thing like a photo, or a letter, or a story will bring to mind a small part of a memory, out of its proper chronology, but nonetheless, welcomed after such a long time lost.

I stared at the young man of about seventeen in the painting. A suitcase was at his feet. He was looking beyond his father's head, anxiously waiting for a bus. His dog was resting his chin on the young man's knee. His father let the cigarette dangle carelessly, and stared at the ground. He wore working clothes, a laborer, maybe a mechanic.

Jim asked if I really remembered. "Yes. You bought this print in a glass frame for Mike when he was going off to Harvard."

It was awkward for us to linger over something this familiar now.

Families are supposed to stay together. Michael was supposed to come back from college every Thanksgiving, be a brother, a son, a grandson. Methodically he disowned the family with each Hallmark card.

The man we loved for different reasons was not supposed to die at 59 and leave a young widow of 38, a boy of 17 going off to college without shedding a tear, and the other boy of 11, burying his pain any way he could find.

Twenty years later, the duchess who bound this family together is no longer with us. We thought she would be here until she died. We made the promise to her, and we could not keep it.

The cycle of life continues. We are at this juncture once again, breaking the ties.

THE GOOD FIGHT

Yesterday my son and I were talking in the kitchen. He was discouraged and saddened by our dilemma, the direction the course of our lives has suddenly taken, and all the obstacles that seem to be placed before us, as though we are somehow cursed. Within the past couple of months, I've been diagnosed with breast cancer, and soon I'll have major surgery with intensive adjuvant postoperative therapy. This event by itself impacts the dynamics of our living situation as a family unit caring for my 94-year-old mother. It's quite possible that she will need to be placed in a nursing home for an indefinite time because of my inability to care for her.

For years we have gone against the cultural grain, America's solution for taking care of the elderly. Despite the professionals' advice from all corners, we've persevered and taken excellent care of her at home. The rewards far outweigh the inconveniences.

She delights in hearing her grandson talk so passionately about politics, animal rights, his dreams of becoming a broadcaster or photojournalist, football, baseball, old time radio....she listens, and laughs heartily because he's hilarious and witty. When he's not looking at her, she shakes her head and wipes the corner of her eye. She tells me, "I just love that young man. He's so smart. And so handsome."

When Chiefy sits in her lap, and she's gently patting him, he eventually cradles his chin on her arm and often falls asleep to the humming sounds of the chatter around him. She loves my cooking, my coffee, and everything I try to do for her. Some mornings when she barely makes it down the hallway, rolling her walker into the kitchen, her face lights up when she smells the coffee and knows that she has another day on this earth with her family. God has blessed her with wonderfully good health, almost pain-free every day except for morning stiffness.

She is so content sitting at the kitchen table, watching Jim, Chiefy and I, or looking out the window at a cardinal visiting the railing on the porch. When we're in our separate rooms, she's happily reading her books, still sitting at the table, waiting for us to reconvene for 3:00 coffee and cake, a tradition we've kept going for the past six years.

Jim came to me later in the day, and urged me to think again about what we should do. He reminded me of how people in the old country take care of their elderly. "They do not have nursing homes; they all live together until the parents die." He encouraged me to think about keeping her here while I'm getting surgery. When I come home (with tubes and drains and very weak), maybe the VNA could take care of me, and we could step up my mom's PCA visits.

I was thinking about it seriously, and asking the Lord to please help me with this, when my sister called. She also has breast cancer, although hers is metastatic to the bones, and lung and brain. We had a wonderful conversation about her end of life issues, her fears, and what she would like to do from now until that time. We both agreed that she's not "there yet" and should be thinking about today because she's feeling quite well, and tolerating her treatments without any serious toxic side effects.

Then a brief pause. I was looking out the window and watching a swan flying by the island, and it was as though an angel were flying. I could not speak because my voice would give me away. My eyes were filling up quickly with tears, and I could sense that hers were, too, but she is strong and mellow, and much older than I am. She suddenly asked me, "Have you had second thoughts about what to do with Mom?" I was astonished. Where did that come from? It didn't take me long to realize it was the Lord's doing, simply by opening up the discussion and listening to what she had to say. She affirmed without knowing what Jim suggested. Isn't that how the Lord works? He answers prayer, and affirms through others, and also in his Word.

Yesterday, I talked to Jim about "fighting the good fight", not looking at the obstacles you've already overcome, but running the race and concentrating on the prize, the finish line. When you come across the hurdles along the way, they'll be easier to jump over, because you want to finish the race to the end.

Today I was reading the Bible, specifically the second letter of Paul to Timothy.

"But you, be sober in all things, endure hardship... I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith."

HOW MUCH "BREAST CANCER AWARENESS" IS ENOUGH?

I was told to make a list of "good" questions to ask my surgeon at the preoperative appointment before having bilateral mastectomies. These questions should be based on the materials I was given to read, and my own research on the internet from reliable sites. Additionally, she would answer questions I may have after consulting with the radiation oncologist and medical oncologist about my postoperative treatment.

Really, at this point, I have just a few. They have to do with the popular phrase "breast cancer awareness."

Having worked at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, and continuing my health information documentation editor speciality in oncology, particularly breast cancer, I would say that I've been very aware, always ahead of the curve, excuse the pun...

Nine years ago when I had my first breast cancer, my focus was intense on keeping myself healthy, making sure I had a fighting chance to prevent the cancer from recurring. After the surgery, I was placed on five years of tamoxifen. I followed up closely with my oncologist with physical exams, blood tests which included tumor markers, and mammograms at six month intervals. When I learned about BRCA1 and BRCA2 gene mutation testing, I inquired about being tested to see if I carried the gene. It was "inconclusive". I have a very strong family history of breast, uterine/ovarian and colon cancer in aunts, my sister, and my mother. This history, and my own diagnosis of early stage breast cancer, put me at high risk for recurrence. The decision was made to alternate the mammograms with breast MRI scans every six months. I continued this regimen over the years faithfully. I also kept aware of new breast cancer treatments, different medications that had gone through appropriate clinical trials and were now FDA approved, and the latest information I could possibly read, every day, while editing the medical documents. I have been a long-time subscriber of several medical journals. I have access to medical information beyond the popular web sites. These include medical sites that provide research results from clinical trials and studies conducted all over the world.

I was fully aware.

In October, as usual, I had my six month mammogram at the Sagoff Breast Imaging Center at the Faulkner Hospital in Boston. I waited for the radiologist to call me into his office and go over the films. I was delighted that he didn't see anything new or different, and everything looked the same as it has for the past eight years. I was relieved. Yet, I knew about a rare type of breast cancer that appears on the top of the skin, and therefore cannot be picked up by a mammogram. It appears around the nipple and areolar complex, and looks very much like eczema, so most people think it's a rash from new detergent or soap.

"Would you mind taking a look at this?" I opened my examining robe and showed him the rash. I did not expect him to tell me it was eczema. What I heard him say is what I expected.

"Well, it does look like this rare type of breast cancer, Paget's. When are you seeing your oncologist?"

Fortunately, I had an appointment with my oncologist the following day,who agreed with the diagnosis of Paget's. A biopsy was scheduled in a few weeks. The pathology showed not only Paget's disease of the breast, but also ductal carcinoma in situ underlying the areolar complex, and invasive ductal carcinoma, approximately 1 cm. The surgeon was suspicious. An MRI was done to look for other possible sites of cancer in the same breast and also the contralateral breast.

What I heard from my surgeon was not what I had expected. The MRI results were positive for a larger, more "significant amount" of cancer. The tumor measured 3.5 cms.

Prior to the MRI, the surgeon and I had discussed mastectomy and reconstructive surgery, but I knew now that the treatment plans would change. The surgery would include a sentinel lymph node biopsy to see if the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes. We also agreed that bilateral mastectomies would make sense in my case. I guess the part of the treatment I wasn't prepared for was the adjuvant radiation and chemotherapy. I thought I could get away with surgery alone, like I did the first time nine years ago. This is a complicated presentation. Paget's, underlying ductal carcinoma in situ, invasive ductal carcinoma, and now a 3.5 cm tumor of which the immunohistochemistry won't be known until after surgery. It may not be the same type of cancer; it may be a more aggressive, fast-growing cancer.

I'm not concerned now about reconstructive surgery, putting myself back together to look anatomically beautiful and feminine again. So I have no questions about what kind of implants, silicone or saline, or tissue expanders, or prostheses. My questions have to do with the success of the chemotherapy, the possibility of being placed on Herceptin, and my ability to tolerate it, the survival percentages over the next 10 to 20 years, and the 3.5 cm tumor's immunohistochemistry, i.e., will it reveal metastatic cancer? Will I wake up one morning and discover a palpable something underneath the skin, my arm, anywhere else in my body? Will the follow-up interval CT scans and bone scans reveal metastases to the liver, lungs, or bones?

Yes, these are very "good" questions to bring to my appointment next week. There is one question no one can really answer. I've done everything I could to be proactive.

Someone, please tell me, how much breast cancer awareness is enough?

GIVE US THIS DAY...

Recently I learned I have breast cancer.

From the moment I learned that I needed a mastectomy, actually bilateral mastectomies, it became evident that my physical appearance will change dramatically over the next year. After the surgery, the treatment will include radiation and chemotherapy. Not only will I lose my breasts, but also my very long hair. I won't be able to have immediate breast reconstruction until after the treatment. For a while, I will be physically "beaten up" by the treatments, so it really won't matter much what I look like because I probably won't care. Excessive fatigue, nausea, vomiting, and severe depression are the standard side effects of the treatments.

Breast cancer has taken away the very undeniable essence of the feminine and nurturing aspects of being a woman.


This is not my deepest concern, though. At this time in my life, having breast cancer has turned my world inside out. Family events, which normally would have taken place in their own time, will now happen on an unnatural time line, one that is measured according to and because of my cancer treatments.


My family consists of my 94-year-old mother, and my grown son who helps me take care of her. We all live together in this sweet little cottage by the pond. We've made a commitment six years ago to come and live with her and take care of her so she could continue to live here instead of going to a nursing home. Now I must betray that promise. I will not be able to care for her, and my son could not possibly care for the both of us. It appears that very soon, our little family will be living in separate housing situations. This is very painful, and breaks my heart every time I sit with my mother at breakfast, or brush her silver hair, or watch her in secret as she covers up her stuffed animals with her shawl before she goes to bed.


The Elder Services are involved, and during their home visits, we discuss arranging her placement during the time of my surgery, but now this period has been extended because of the postoperative treatments. She is present during these conversations and at first she understood and accepted that it would be only for a week or two. I am not sure if she knows this has been changed from temporary to an indefinite living situation at a nursing facility.


She knows I have cancer, but some times she forgets by the end of the day. She is reminded when she comes silently into the living room and sees that I've been crying. Yesterday she took my face in her hands and said, "You are a very brave woman. I love you." She hugged me and kissed me on my face. I cannot imagine what she is thinking. How sad it must be for her if she realizes she is not coming back to her home after all.


She loves us all so dearly, especially her grandson, Jim. She cherishes his company, and she is so proud of him. He is very kind and compassionate, and spends a great deal of time with her, talking about history and current events, and baseball. She loves Chiefy, the little dog Jim brought into this family. We're all a family, even Chiefy, but in a few weeks, we will be separated. It is very painful to think about. Very, very sad.


"Give us this day, our daily bread…."

That Old Car Radio

It was quite early; the sun hadn’t taken its first look at the island yet, and the geese were beginning to organize their flight pattern for the day. I could hear their callings from one side of the pond to the other. My night had been a restless one filled with fear and turmoil. The hours waltzed through the darkness around my tiny room in slow motion. I sat up and parted the blinds of the window. I finally admitted that I belonged with the creatures of this predawn rhapsody and rose from my bed, more tired today than yesterday, and more inquiring of the Lord. I felt it was time for an answer. As I moved slowly through the blackness, fumbling with the silhouettes of pajamas and robe, I asked the Lord, “Why now? You had your chance 20 years ago when I didn’t give a damn about anything; I was the scum of the earth. All I wanted was a drink and a man to share it with. When I ran out of good times, I was so miserable, I actually wanted to die. That’s when you had your chance, Lord. Seven times I gave you the chance, but no, you wouldn’t let me die."

I nearly tripped going out of my room, realizing I had two of my legs in one pajama leg. I was getting up my courage, like Dorothy before the Wizard.

“Don’t you remember, God? Don’t you remember what happened? I was drinking Johnny Walker and gulping a bunch of pills that night, and speeding in my old Chevy on Route 3A, over the Fore River Bridge. I didn’t care about me or anyone. I just wanted out. I was drunk and high, and in the pit of my own misery. I started banging on that old car radio, the one with the chrome buttons, looking for something, anything, to quiet the noise in my head, until all of the buttons jammed up. Remember, Lord? That was a pretty neat trick you pulled.”

I measured out the coffee and poured the water in the pot. Leaning against the counter, I thought for a moment why I was replaying this. What for? God already knows what happened. Did I need to remind Him? Yes. Damn it. He’s been ignoring me lately. That’s how I felt this morning, that he needed to know I’m still here, and I’m in trouble, and I need His help. I may have not wanted it back then, but I want it now.

“Lord, of course you remember. You arranged the whole thing. You made those radio buttons get stuck so that only one station would come through. It was the voice of the preacher, that slow-talking, southern voice coming through that radio just like he was sitting beside me, telling me the story about Christ and the prostitute, and how the men dragged her to the city because they were going to stone her to death. Christ looked at them and told them something like ‘he that is without sin, let him cast the first stone’. And then he looked at her and told her to sin no more. I was so stunned. The preacher kept saying just like he was talking to me, ‘sin no more’. Christ would forgive me of all my sins because He died on the cross for me, and for all sinners, for everyone. Lord, I have to tell you, I pulled over and sobbed like a baby. I couldn’t stop crying. I had never heard of Christ as a grown man and talking to his disciples, and I had never heard of forgiveness of sins, or eternal life if we believe in Him.

And from that day until now, I haven’t been a drunkard, I haven’t been a prostitute, I haven’t cheated or stolen from anyone or did any of the things I used to. Lord you know that. You know how my life has changed, how I’ve changed. So I ask you, Lord, why? Why do you let this happen to me now?”

I took my coffee and sat in the living room, opened my bible, not really expecting a Charlton Heston moment, but in my simplistic mind, it came astonishingly close. I thought for a while before looking down at the page I had opened and asked the Lord to give me some reasons, some answers to what seem to be a universal question of mankind: why do the righteous suffer? Then I looked down and began to read the commentary to the Book of Job. The first line: “The book of Job wrestles with the age-old question, “If God is just and loving, why does He permit a truly righteous man like Job to suffer intensely?”

For nearly two hours, I read through the entire book of Job. I discovered many truths about life and integrity and humility, and suffering. One of the most important tenets remains that the real foundation of faith is not in God’s blessings He has bestowed upon us, but, rather, in the revelation of God Himself to us. When we pray to Him in humility and honestly, talking to Him from our hearts, He does reveal who He is--Almighty God Himself-- as natural and candid as that preacher did to me. One way He reveals Himself is through His Word, when we spend the time with Him in fellowship, talking to him in prayer, and waiting for His answer.

It is truly miraculous what He revealed about Himself to me today, just because I spoke to Him, alone, in the quiet of the morning, searching for the answers, asking Him honestly why He is allowing my life to take this direction now. I learned that in my heart of confusion, anger, despair, and frustration, the Lord heard my words because I was earnestly seeking Him. I pray that He give me strength to endure the trials and sufferings He has called upon me to undergo.

THE CUP OF AGONY

Oftentimes when someone is downtrodden and enduring life’s troubles, others may casually say, “We all have our cross to bear.” This, of course, refers to the cross Christ was forced to carry on his flogged shoulders—that very cross on which he was nailed, crucified, and suffered excruciating and unimaginable physical pain. It is almost blasphemous when we attempt to compare our human sufferings to those of Christ.

This morning I was reading the scriptural account of Christ’s prayers in the Garden of Gethsemane. The LORD set the cup of agony before him—this was the purpose of his life on earth. He was praying in the Garden, a stone’s throw away from his disciples who were sleeping. He was praying so fervently and in such agony that he was “sweating drops of blood”, asking first of the Father that the cup be taken from him. After an angel appeared before Christ to strengthen and encourage Him, He again prayed, “ O my Father, if this cup may not pass from me except I drink it, thy will be done”.

At any time, Christ could have called a legion of angels to help him fight off the centurions coming for him, led by Judas. At any time, Christ could have prevented his appointed fate and lived beyond his thirty-third year, a life of human manhood, taking a wife and continuing his carpentry work, raising a family, living out his years faithful to God as a human man. He knew from the beginning of time the purpose of His destiny on earth. In perfect submission and obedience, he “drank the bitter cup of agony”.

The dark abysmal times ahead of me and my family, the physical and emotional pain we must endure for a while, and the financial hardships we’ve suddenly been thrown into, have brought me to my knees before God. I have asked Him for strength and wisdom so that I may endure the struggles in my life.
This cup of agony is sweet compared to that which the Lord had to drink.

Upon a time, 40 years and 3 days ago...

i was pulling up the blinds and looking out over the pond at two swans, one was struggling a bit in the partly frozen ice to keep up with its mate.


i thought about last year when perhaps it was the very same two who were caught in the sudden northeaster and could not find their way home to the island, or to any shelter along the coast, and there they were in the morning, stuck in frozen drifts of snow, looking toward one another, about twenty feet apart. my sobbing would not end that day. i thought one was dead because i could see the other was dragging itself, literally a few inches every few minutes, and the other wasn't responding, not lifting its head or wing, giving no sign of life at all. i watched for hours, checking on them, drove around to the other side to get a closer look, and there they were, two white mounds like marshmallows on the pond which was covered with huge drifts of wet, heavy snow. two days in frigid temperatures and cloudy days, and still this devoted bird would not give up the fight. the third morning i lifted the blinds, the bright sun's reflective rays were on the snow. i looked for the swans. i saw the tracks, and then i saw one swan. i gasped and sobbed, but then i grabbed my binoculars and focused with trembling hands. the swan had reached its mate, and was covering it with both wings and half its body. i watched for so long, ignoring everything around me while this incredible miracle unfolded. apparently it was able to reach the other probably in the middle of the night, and provided warmth, at least comfort, to its dying mate. it was to me the saddest story i had witnessed of these beloved birds. i went about my day as the sun was brilliantly making its climb above the trees. i knew it would soon be shining directly onto the pond. thick clumps of icy snow that hung on tree limbs were finally dropping to the ground. boxes of snow on car roofs slid down onto the windows and rested on their hoods. i looked out the window at the mound of snow where the swans were. i couldn't understand what i saw at first. there were two sets of tracks and two mounds of white moving toward the shore! i grabbed my jacket, quickly slid into my unlaced boots, and ran down to the pond where i saw, just a few feet away from me, these champions of the winter, the snow beauties who survived the brutality of subzero winds and 8 foot drifts. they thawed out and began their journey of survival together. i was so astonished that the other was not dead. i hung onto their every move, watching and sobbing, and moving closer to them, and they to me. finally, they stretched out their wings, their beautiful, delicate and strong white wings. they leaned their necks back and then forward, and suddenly they lifted themselves off of the snow and flew majestically into the air, gracefully, slowly, around the island and around again, touching down in the middle of the pond. in a few minutes, they flew off again, around the island two or three times, and again touched down. they did this a few times before finally disappearing behind the cove and reappearing a few moments later with several more swans, apparently the rest of their family...i clapped "bravo" and excitedly ran back home.


i thought about your email you sent a few days ago as i was pulling up the blinds, looking at the swans, thinking about the connection between the swans, you, and "me". and then i thought how strange and haunting, how sad that last paragraph of yours sounded to me. what were you referring to? before turning on my computer this morning, i sat on the couch drinking coffee, thinking about it. then i thought about the date you sent it. december. december what. this is only december 5th. why would you want me to know if i remembered a day in early december. the meaning of this day was important. it was 40 years ago. my only clue.



the swans represent undying love, devotion, caring. swans usually mate for life unless the other dies. ah, it came to me. december 2nd. 40 years ago.


happy anniversary. happy friendship. happy life. especially, happy life.


i will write about everything soon, i promise.


life is changing rapidly for me, and because it is changing for me, it is for my family. life now is sad. we have lost the laughing of the day that lingered around supper time and stayed with us until we fell asleep, a peaceful, carefree sleep, so that we could wake up happy. i think we sometimes wish we did not wake up at all. now we are worried and sad, anxious and frightened. and we are angry at God, at doctors, at ourselves, and tragically at each other. we cry. i know we all cry because we are miserable. we hurt because we are broken, and we think we cannot be fixed. we say unkind thoughtless things to each other, and then we expect apologies. things seem convoluted, surreal.


one thing is certain. there is hope. there has to be hope. i know it because there are miracles of God and survivors of Nature and good friends like you and professionals who sincerely help. the waiting is unbearable at times. waiting for answers, waiting for pain to go away, waiting for peace.


waiting for a sustainable peace, inside the mind. does it come to one who must practice meditation, or to one who must earn the right to have a quiet mind? or does it come to one who is humble and undeserving, and simply believes that the Lord will provide?


"they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint."

YOU ARE MY SISTER

Dear Connie,

How are you holding up with your monthly chemo? Are you beginning to feel the benefits, i.e., less bone pain, less nausea, no more headaches? I know the weather affects your pain dramatically; that's why many people who can afford it move to warmer and drier locations. Or they go on a "chemo holiday" for a couple of months and take a trip somewhere they've never been.

It's important for you to have fun, "get out of Dodge" and enjoy yourself. If you have a special friend who would go with you for a weekend trip to Gloucester or Newburyport, or Martha's Vineyard, then you should go. Have a great time for yourself. Shop. Take pictures. Eat, eat, eat.

I found a couple of photos of Paul and Annie. Adorable.

I know it must sound insignificant, but pieces of information help with my memory. Looking at those photos of when you and Annie were younger, I may begin to remember what it was like when I was that age.

Was I happy being your sister even though I was a profoundly sad daughter traumatized by our father?

I talked to Annie yesterday and asked her how you are. She doesn't want to tell me. I cannot remember growing up, you don't know that. She didn't know until I told her. I have not been able to remember many decades of my life. My doctors tell me it was a protective mechanism. Still, there was always the reference to my relationship with you, that because you were so much older, 14 years older, and left the family to get married when I was only 5, that I didn't really know who you were. I don't remember when you came to visit, or when you finally moved back to Massachusetts.

I guess the first time I remember anything meaningful was when we both got breast cancer eight years ago. We talked about it, about the similarities, the different treatments we sought, and then we went our separate ways again.

Now you are dying. Your cancer has come back so insidiously to your bones and lung, and brain. I am frightened for you, and I cry often. They told me all I can do for you is be there and listen, wait, respect your treatment choices, and the way you want to live the rest of your life, and the way you want to die. I know there are better ways for you to live, and better ways to approach the end-of-life.

You do not want to see me. It would be too distressing for me to see you in so much pain? You are right; it would hurt me to see you like that and not be able to do anything to help you.

The real reason I believe is that you do not want to frighten me because you fear I may face this some day. You are protecting me.

You are my sister.

WHEN YOU ARE IN TROUBLE

“DO NOT hide Your face from me in the day of my trouble;
Incline Your ear to me;
In the day that I call, answer me speedily.
For my days are consumed like smoke,
And my bones are burned like a hearth.
My heart is stricken and withered like grass,
So that I forget to eat my bread.
Because of the sound of my groaning
My bones cling to my skin.
I am like a pelican of the wilderness;
I am like an owl of the desert.
I lie awake,
And am like a sparrow alone on the housetop.

He shall regard the prayer of the destitute,
And shall not despise their prayer.
This will be written for the generation to come,
That a people yet to be created may praise the LORD.
To hear the groaning of the prisoner,
To release those appointed to death.”

Psalm 102

THE ONE WHO SITS ON YOUR BED TONIGHT

Just when we think we’ve made some progress with our innermost shortcomings—our weaknesses and darkest souls—something happens to remind us that we have more work to do, more self examination of our hearts, more humbling, more praying, more asking for God’s help and forgiveness.

The great theologian, Oswald Chambers, wrote about this process:

“Ultimately, God will allow nothing to escape; every detail of our lives is under His scrutiny. God will bring us back in countless ways to the same point over and over again. And He never tires of bringing us back to that one point until we learn the lesson, because His purpose is to produce the finished product. It may be a problem arising from our impulsive nature, but again and again, with the most persistent patience, God has brought us back to that one particular point. Through this process, God is trying to impress upon us the one thing that is not entirely right in our lives.”

Notice that God brings us back over and over again to the same point, that same weakness; but are we willing to actually give it up?

Think about it. Let’s say the Lord is sitting beside you on your bed tonight, and He says to you, “There are a few things we need to talk about.” And He patiently begins to list quite a bit more than you expected. After He is through talking, He then asks you, “So, do you think you’ll be able to give these things up?” What do you think you would say?

I know what I’d say. “You want me to give up ALL OF THESE THINGS?”

The Lord is kind and merciful, and full of compassion and love, but He’s no fool. He is also a judge, and that means when we sin, knowingly, repeatedly, we deserve to be punished. He gives us so many chances, so many ways out of bad situations. But the Lord knows our hearts, and He knows when we really genuinely try to give up things in our lives that are hurtful, sinful, and unhealthy for us and our families.

He’s still sitting beside you on your bed. You can ask Him now. “Take this darkness away from me, cut it out of my heart, Lord, and take it from me! Forgive me for what I have done to shame You, Lord, and please have mercy on me. You know my heart, Lord. Show me what’s wrong, and make me the person You want me to be.”

He’ll walk with you and direct each step. He’ll be your friend, your brother, your father, your counselor, your Spirit guide. He’s God. God the Father, God the Son Jesus Christ, and God the Holy Spirit. He will help you. All you have to do is ask. He knows you’re not perfect, and He doesn’t expect you to be perfect. He’s just waiting for you to ask for His help.

LILIES OF THE FIELD

Sunday, mid morning, and we are taking Chiefy to the park. Inside my own head is where I am, and I feel guilty.

There are many troubles I allow myself to think about, soaking up precious time instead of participating.

It was a few days ago that I asked the Lord to show me something that would take me back to being the person of faith I used to be. Years ago, even when I had so many troubles, no money or job, nothing but difficulties, I was always thanking the Lord for each day that He provided for us, and I was always reading His Word and praying.

He wouldn’t answer me right away because that’s how God is. Sometimes He makes us wait it out and He gives us time to think upon things ourselves. Then when we least expect it, the answer is in something that He created for us to meditate on. If we understand God’s nature, we know to dig deeper and there will be more answers waiting for us in His Word.

On the way to the park, we are winding around the narrow street, the curbs edged with graceful lilies, their tall stems stretching toward the clouds, and their orange faces proudly glistening in the sun. We agree that they are just beautiful, and marvel at how they seed themselves each year. That’s how they spread along the sides of the roads and into the fields (into the fields, lilies into the fields, lilies of the fields.)

Thank you, Lord.

“Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.

But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”

TO MY SON, JIM

“Let not your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful.”

For many months I have been in physical pain and anxious about the uncertainty of my prognosis.

My dear son has shared in my sufferings. I look at his face and I grieve that I do not have the answers to his questions.

This morning, the Lord led me to a scripture in John 14: 21. “Let not your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful.” I continued reading. I started from the beginning of the chapter.

The following is an excerpt from Matthew Henry’s commentary on John 14.

A general caution which Christ gives to his disciples against trouble of heart Let not your heart be troubled. They now began to be troubled, were entering into this temptation.


Christ took notice of it. Perhaps it was apparent in their looks; it was said (ch. 13:22), They looked one upon another with anxiety and concern, and Christ looked upon them all, and observed it; at least, it was intelligible to the Lord Jesus, who is acquainted with all our secret undiscovered sorrows, with the wound that bleeds inwardly; he knows not only how we are afflicted, but how we stand affected under our afflictions, and how near they lie to our hearts; he takes cognizance of all the trouble which his people are at any time in danger of being overwhelmed with; he knows our souls in adversity. Many things concurred to trouble the disciples now.


Christ had just told them of the unkindness he should receive from some of them, and this troubled them all. Peter, no doubt, looked very sorrowful upon what Christ said to him, and all the rest were sorry for him and for themselves too, not knowing whose turn it should be to be told next of some ill thing or other they should do. As to this, Christ comforts them; though a godly jealousy over ourselves is of great use to keep us humble and watchful, yet it must not prevail to the disquieting of our spirits and the damping of our holy joy.


He had just told them of his own departure from them, that he should not only go away, but go away in a cloud of sufferings. They must shortly hear him loaded with reproaches, and these will be as a sword in their bones; they must see him barbarously abused and put to death, and this also will be a sword piercing through their own souls, for they had loved him, and chosen him, and left all to follow him. When we now look upon Christ pierced, we cannot but mourn and be in bitterness, though we see the glorious issue and fruit of it; much more grievous must the sight be to them, who could then look no further.

Let not your heart be troubled.

Upon the word troubled, Be not so troubled as to be put into a hurry and confusion, like the troubled sea when it cannot rest.

Upon the word heart: "Though the nation and city be troubled, though your little family and flock be troubled, yet let not your heart be troubled. Keep possession of your own souls when you can keep possession of nothing else.’’

The heart is the main fort; whatever you do, keep trouble from this, keep this with all diligence. The spirit must sustain the infirmity, therefore, see that this be not wounded.

The remedy he prescribes against this trouble of mind, which he saw ready to prevail over them; in general, believe. "Believe in God, and his perfections and providence, believe also in me, and my mediation. Build with confidence upon the great acknowledged principles of natural religion: that there is a God, that he is most holy, wise, powerful, and good; that he is the governor of the world, and has the sovereign disposal of all events…


Here is a particular direction to act faith upon the promise of eternal life, v. 2, 3. He had directed them to trust to God, and to trust in him; but what must they trust God and Christ for? Trust them for a happiness to come when this body and this world shall be no more, and for a happiness to last as long as the immortal soul and the eternal world shall last.

Believe and consider that really there is such a happiness: In my Father’s house there are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you, v. 2.

See under what notion the happiness of heaven is here represented: as mansions, many mansions in Christ’s Father’s house. Heaven is a house, not a tent or tabernacle; it is a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. It is a Father’s house: my Father’s house; and his Father is our Father, to whom he was now ascending; so that in right of their elder brother all true believers shall be welcome to that happiness as to their home. It is his house who is King of kings and Lord of lords, dwells in light, and inhabits eternity.

Here we are as in an inn; in heaven we shall gain a settlement. The disciples had quitted their houses to attend Christ, who had not where to lay his head, but the mansions in heaven will make them amends. There are many mansions, for there are many to be brought to glory, and Christ exactly knows their number, nor will be straitened for room by the coming of more company than he expects. He had told Peter that he should follow him (ch. 13:36), but let not the rest be discouraged, in heaven there are mansions for them all.

See what assurance we have of the reality of the happiness itself, and the sincerity of the proposal of it to us: "If it were not so, I would have told you. If you had deceived yourselves, when you quitted your livelihoods, and ventured your lives for me, in prospect of a happiness future and unseen, I would soon have undeceived you.’’ The assurance is built, upon the veracity of his word. "If there were not such a happiness, valuable and attainable, I would not have told you that there was.’’


The belief of Christ’s second coming, of which he has given us the assurance, is an excellent preservative against trouble of heart, Phil. 4:5; James 5:8. That he will come again to receive all his faithful followers to himself. He sends for them privately at death, and gathers them one by one; but they are to make their public entry in solemn state all together at the last day, and then Christ himself will come to receive them, to conduct them in the abundance of his grace, and to welcome them in the abundance of his love. The coming of Christ is in order to our gathering together unto him, 2 Th. 2:1


If he has prepared the place for us, he will prepare us for it, and in due time put us in possession of it. As the resurrection of Christ is the assurance of our resurrection, so his ascension, victory, and glory, are an assurance of ours.


"If I go and prepare a place for you, if this be the errand of my journey, you may be sure, when every thing is ready, I will come again, and receive you to myself, so that you shall follow me hereafter, that where I am there you may be also.’’

WHO IS GOD TO US?

This sermon was delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 22, 1855, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON

"The carnal mind is enmity against God"--Romans 8:7

What is God to us? He is the Creator of the heavens and the earth; he bears up the pillars of the universe; his breath perfumes the flowers; his pencil paints them; he is the author of this fair creation; "we are the sheep of his pasture; he hath made us, and not we ourselves." He stands to us in the relationship of a Maker and Creator; and from that fact he claims to be our King. He is our legislator, our law-maker; and then, to make our crime still worse and worse, he is the ruler of providence; for it is he who keeps up from day to day. He supplys our wants; he keeps the breath within our nostrils; he bids the blood still pursue its course through the veins; he holdeth us in life, and preventeth us from death; he standeth before us, our creator, our king, our sustainer, our benefactor, and I ask, is it not a sin of enormous magnitude--is it not high treason against the emperor of heaven--is it not an awful sin, the depth of which we cannot fathom with the line of all our judgment--that we, his creatures, dependent upon him, should be at enmity with God?

But the crime may seem to be worse when we think of what God is. Let me appeal personally to you in an interrogatory style, for this has weight with it. Sinner! why art thou at enmity with God? God is the God of love; he is kind to his creatures; he regards you with his love of benevolence; for this very day his sun hath shone upon you, this day you have had food and raiment, and you have come up here in health and strength. Do you hate God because he loves you? Is that the reason? Consider how many mercies you have received at his hands all your life long! You are born with a body not deformed; you have had a tolerable share of health; you have been recovered many times from sickness; when lying at the gates of death, his arm has held back your soul from the last step to destruction. Do you hate God for all this? Do you hate him because he spared your life by his tender mercy? Behold his goodness that he hath spread before you! He might have sent you to hell; but you are here. Now, do you hate God for sparing you? Oh, wherefore art thou at enmity with him? My fellow creature, dost thou not know that God sent his Son from his bosom, hung him on the tree, and there suffered him to die for sinners, the just for the unjust? And dost thou hate God for that? Oh, sinner! is this the cause of thine enmity? Art thou so estranged that thou givest enmity for love? And when he surroundeth thee with favors, girdeth thee with mercies, encircleth thee with loving kindness, dost thou hate him for this? He might say, as Jesus did to the Jews, "For which of these works do ye stone me?" For which of these works do ye hate God? Did an earthly benefactor feed you, would you hate him? Did he clothe you, would you abuse him to his face? Did he give you talents, would you turn those powers against him? Oh, speak! Would you forge the iron and strike the dagger into the heart of your best friend? Do you hate your mother, who nursed you on her knee? Do you curse your father, who so wisely watched over you? Nay, ye say, we have some little gratitude towards earthly relatives. Where are your hearts, then? Where are your hearts, that ye can still despise God, and be at enmity with him? Oh! diabolical crime! Oh! satanic enormity! Oh! iniquity for which words fail in description! To hate the all-lovely--to despise the essentially good--to abhor the constantly merciful--to spurn the ever beneficent--to scorn the kind, the gracious one; above all, to hate the God who sent his son to die for man! Ah! in that thought--"The carnal mind is enmity with God;" there is something which may make us shake; for it is a terrible sin to be at enmity with God. I would I could speak more powerfully, but my Master alone can impress upon you the enormous evil of this horrid state of heart.

QUALITY OF LIFE AND THE RIGHT TO DIE

When I was much younger, a vibrant animated woman, I took care of my very ill husband, a commitment that I made to myself and to God. I could not walk away from that. I could not leave a very ill man alone or worse, put him in a nursing facility at the age of 50. How unkind, heartless. I took care of him without the assistance of any one else, no one, no visiting nurse, no health care assistant.


At times he would deliberately cause bitter and hateful arguments to provoke violence because he wanted me to just go away. His pride and manhood were injured very badly. After all, he was a very robust and vigorous man who was used to being independent, and physically active. His disease took him down with no mercy. It stripped him of all his dignity and denied him of his masculinity, his sexuality.


To make matters so much worse, he was a generation older than I, and he imagined all kinds of things once I stepped out of the door. He could not help his fantasies. It was beyond his control. I was once a beautiful woman who was genuinely innocent about what lurks inside a man's heart. The most seemingly benign gestures were meant to seduce me away from him, but thankfully I never spent even more than a smile on another man.


He knew the world in a way that I didn't. He was an ex-felon who did his hard time at Levenworth for bank robbery back in the 40s. Horrific thoughts of what evil men could do to me plagued his mind to the extent of paranoia.


Many times I was followed by a black town car, moving slowly behind me as I walked. I didn't know if men would jump out to kidnap me, or if they were from the FBI protecting me.


His illness became worse with each month, despite the excellent care he received from the best doctors and hospitals. I became bitter inside, very depressed, always on edge, but always faithful, and loving, yet fearful and vigilant.


No one is able to predict what their temperament will be like when they reach their threshold of pain, their fear of dying, their agony. Guilt and suffering. Night terrors and restlessness. Beyond the ability of reason. They beg to die. They beg for you to help them die.


"Here's the gun, wear these gloves, and then throw it over the bridge into the river…."


"This is a cocaine dealer. Here's $200. Meet him at Park Street. I'll go out in peace, just clean up before you dial 911. Tonight. Do it!"


"Call Roger, tell him to get me some Valium, 100 of the 5's. Tonight. Here's $500. He knows where. Just wait for his call and meet him later."


Day after day, demanding I go along with these schemes to assist in his death. He was in so much pain. He just wanted to die.


It was a Sunday in May, Mother's Day, the sky was parakeet blue. He sent the boys out for the morning. It was just as though he was the Jim Lenahan in the days of laughing and storytelling, and that sparkle was in his Irish eyes….it all came back to him, to us. He took me in his arms, unsteadily at first, and then whirled me around a few times, laughing and dancing, until we fell on the bed. When I looked up at him, his eyes were open, and he was smiling.


I knew he was gone.

I did not authorize an autopsy. They assumed he died from complications of his recent heart surgery.


I was most thankful that he no longer had to suffer the anguish, and that the last few moments of his life were happy.

EVERY HUMAN LIFE

“In Iraq, lives differ in value -- and so do deaths. In this disparity lies an important reason why the United States has botched this war.” Those were the first words I had ever read by Andrew J. Bacevich. It was an article in the Washington Post, July of 2006, “What’s an Iraqi’s Life Worth?”


The insurance claim to the beneficiaries of an American soldier who dies in the line of duty is $400,000, while a dead Iraqi civilian is reportedly worth up to $2,500 in condolence payments. Bush stated during one of his speeches that "every human life is a precious gift of matchless value," it really isn’t so in Iraq.


Andrew Bacevich is a professional military man, having attended West Point, obtained a PhD from Princeton, served for 20 years in the U.S. Army, and is a Professor of History and International Relations at Boston University. I’ve since read his contributions to the Weekly Standard and National Review, and I just finished his latest book The New American Militarism: How Americans Are Seduced by War. He has an interesting political viewpoint regarding the war, and the military, which at first glance seem to be in conflict, but after reading the book, I understood how we Americans have placed our trust in our country’s military power, just on the say-so of its generals. Bacevich reminds of President Eisenhower’s farewell address in 1961, when he warned the country about the development of “the military-industrial complex”. I remember that coined phrase all too well in the 60s.

It was while driving on the expressway last week that I heard the name Bacevich and wondered if he was giving a lecture or maybe appearing on Bill O’Reilly, since BU is O’Reilly’s alma mater. I turned up the volume.


“The Department of Defense announced today the death of a soldier who was supporting Operating Iraqi Freedom. First Lieutenant Andrew J. Bacevich, 27, of Walpole, Massachusetts, died on May 13th, in Balad, Iraq, of wounds suffered when an improvised device exploded near his unit during combat patrol operations….”


An ironic tragedy it is when a retired colonel, a conservative, now against the war and building up the military machinery, loses his son to the very military machinery he once supported.


No matter how you lose a child, in times of war or peace, it’s a pain that never leaves.

The following is an excerpt from Basic, a poem written by Steven Kowit from the Dumbbell Nebula (Roundhouse Press).

“One gray morning in the second week of basic training, lacing up his boots, that shy, phlegmatic, red-haired boy who bunked above me whispered,
‘Steve, I don’t believe I’m gonna make it…’
‘No way, man! You’re doing fine! Hey, look, c’mon, we’re late.’
and shrugged him off to race out just in time to make formation in the mist of that Kentucky morning.
--He was right. He didn’t. He took a razor blade that night, and crawling underneath the barracks, slashed his throat.”

THE HALLWAY

I'm sure we've all choked on the well-intended advice: "When God closes one door, He opens another..."


Sometimes we have to wait a long time between locked doors, the hallway.


The hallway is where some of us lose faith and hope. We forget why He's making us wait, or why He even closed the door.


I've pounded my clenched fists on those doors and demanded He let me out of this hell, this frightening darkness, only to discover that He will, but in His time.


He makes us wait it out to think things over. Then, when we're ready to accept His plan unconditionally and without questions, He opens the door, and we're free to walk.


I'll tell you the truth, the last time the door opened, and I realized what He chose for this phase of my life, I discovered that maybe I should have stayed in the hallway. Maybe I wasn't ready for what He wanted from me.


Many are called, few are chosen. I responded to His call without counting the costs, and picked up the cross and followed.


What He chose for me requires personal daily sacrifice, giving of myself, and being isolated from a vibrant world I had once been a part of. A few times I tried running back into the hallway, but of course, the door was closed and locked.


I remain in this circumstance the Lord has arranged for me and my 93-year-old mother. I thank Him each day for bringing my heart to the place of humility and compassion, a place I otherwise never would have known had it not been for the hallway.

WHERE TO DIE

Ever read The Random Friday Question in The Washington Post (it’s actually under the title of Raw Fisher by Marc Fisher). Sometimes he has the most thought provoking ideas.

Today, for instance, his question was Where to Die. Well, I’ve given it a lot of thought, only because I’m a firm believer in families. The entire concept of putting a family member, who is elderly, mentally ill, disabled or terminally ill, in a nursing home facility really goes against my core belief of taking care of one’s own family.

In the Old Country, they did not have that luxury. When the generations before ours came to America, they must have been appalled at the thought of growing old, witnessing what Americans do to their beloved parents and grandparents when they become incontinent, or when they cannot speak in complete sentences, or when they shuffle when they walk, and have tremors as they lift the fork to their toothless mouths. How terrified it must have been for them, our grandparents, and our parents, wondering what would become of them, when they could no longer do for themselves?

My grandmother lived in a little village outside of Milan, Italy, until she came here to America as a teenager, alone. She made her way by cleaning and cooking. She spoke only Italian, Classical Northern Italian. She was very cultured, very intelligent. She knew all of the operas because she used to sneak into La Scala opera house and listen to the opera singers. She knew so much about politics, what was happening all over Europe politically, and she knew about ancient history, art, and great literature. She taught herself to read and write and speak English. After my grandfather died at a young age, my grandmother lived alone in New Hampshire, enduring the bitter harsh winters, and led an isolated and independent life. She lived alone for twenty-three years.

The day came when, after a serious fall, she could no longer live independently. My parents brought her to Massachusetts, to a nursing home within walking distance of their house. I don’t understand why. My mother and father were only in their late fifties, and they had an extra bedroom. They lived on this beautiful pond. My grandmother would have loved spending the rest of her life with them.

My mother is widowed, and is ninety-three. I’ve been taking care of her for the past five years. I have assistance from my son and a nurse. We really love living here on the beautiful pond. My son and I came here so that she will be able to live- and die- here, with her family, in her own home.