I came to the Clinic the same way that I have each day.  The same security officer greeted me with the same question that he has asked every day: “Do you have any guns, knives, or weapons?”  I just couldn’t help it.  I responded, “Nothing except these hands of steel.”  His laugh made me think he didn’t believe me.
      As I sat in the lobby for blood work it struck me this morning how many patients are far worse off than I am.  I sat across from a man who has a leg prosthesis.   One lady didn’t have enough strength to move her wheelchair.  Lots of folks simply looked terrible.
      Just one stick for one vial of blood.  The young medical student was alive and refreshing.  She is in school here and wants to become a Physician’s Assistant.
      I headed to the Transplant Center where I spent the rest of the day, learning my fate.  The nurse who handled most of the visit was magnificent.  Lots of the staff in the Transplant Center have a desire to be there and they love the patients.
      After about 45 minutes Dr. Goertz came in.  He was his typical self.  Bright.  Focused.  And to the point.  He could not have been more pleased with how I tolerated the chemotherapy.  It did its job, preparing me for the transplant. 
      My heart is in good shape, as are my lungs despite the cold. 
      The hours of swimming in a pool that I didn’t want in the first place were worth it.  Four years ago we bought the house at Beaver.  I complained when I cleaned the pool that summer.  I would never have purchased a house with a pool unless it was this particular house on Beaver Lake.  No other house in our neighborhood has a pool. 
      Teresa must have heard a word that I didn’t.  It was her idea to view the house in the first place.
      I didn’t know then that the pool was a gift from God, four years before I needed it.
      It takes a couple of days for the results of the bone marrow biopsy to be available, but according to my bloodwork, it appears that the myeloma was whacked by the chemotherapy.  That is very good news.  It gives the doctors and me hope that the transplant will be worth it.
      Dr. Goertz went on to his next patient and Nurse Nikki resumed her interview and training.   After dealing with the health stuff that had been on her checklist, she flipped the page and asked me the next question on her required list.
      “How is your mental health?”  I could tell by the smile under her mask that she really didn’t need to ask the question.
      She had me sign the consent forms.  Chemo Day is scheduled for September 12th and Transplant Day for September 14th.
       News of the morning couldn’t have been more positive.
      After spending an hour or so in the apartment, I headed back to the Clinic to see the surgeon who will insert the port on Friday.   I had to walk through the same metal detector and by the security staff.   The guy who is usually there was replaced by a young guy, maybe in his mid to late 20s. 
      I couldn’t help it a second time in the same day.  He asked me if I had any guns, knives, or weapons.   I responded as I had earlier in the morning.  “Just these hands of steel.”
      He laughed from his belly, which he had ample quantity for the laugh.  I thought he might lose it.  I didn’t think it was that funny.  He did.
      Surgery for the port will likely be before noon on Friday.  We will know the specific time when we call after 8:15 this evening.
      I still have the cold but the Mayo folks think I will kick it on my own before the two weeks go by. 
      Unlike yesterday I left the Clinic still punching.  I chose to use the stairs instead of the elevator—at least for two flights or less.  I walked the long corridor that leads to the parking garage by punching the air.  I did look around to make sure no one else was in the corridor.   They wouldn’t have understood the fight.   Then again, maybe most of the would have.
      Swimming was over when I had the bone marrow biopsy.  It’s more than over until the port is removed.  It is a beautiful day here so I walked down the street for a bit.  It is one of the ways I can fight.
      Along the way I walked by the Kwik Mart.  I felt compelled to stop in and get some ice cream.  Ice cream is required eating for the next six weeks.  Actually lots of dairy products are because of the protein.  Let’s see.  Yogurt or ice cream?  You know my choice.
      Teresa, Caryn, and Oreo should be here sometime this evening.  It will be a blessing to have their company.  
      Thanks for reading.  You help me by reading, even if I have no idea of some the people who are reading the blogs.  You are having a hand in my overall treatment.

     The day started with no sticks.  That was a welcome change.  The tests this morning were nothing terrible, except one of them was a pulmonary evaluation.   It’s tough to breathe when you have a cold. 
     I did have a short moment of heartbreak.  According to the tech this morning I have shrunk an inch and a half from what I thought I was.   I didn’t realize that she was checking my height or I would have stood up taller.
    The same tech did something else that I hadn’t ever had measured.  She measured my wingspan.  Let’s just say that it was considerably less than former UK star Anothony Davis.   With my age, height, weight, and wingspan, I am not expecting a call anytime soon from an NBA team.
      I headed back to the motel for a couple of hours.
     The first appointment in the afternoon was a nutritional education training.  I brushed my teeth before I left.  I didn’t think Diane’s brownies between my teeth would bode too well.
     The final appointment was a leach.  It sucked most of the life out of me.  The day may have begun with no sticks.  It ended with an IV.
     It was a test to take a picture of my heart.  Apparently as some folks have surmised, there must have been a question about whether I have a heart or not.        The 15-minute photo session morphed into about an hour of lying as still as possible.
     I crawled off the machine and shuffled my way to the parking garage.  After three days of physical and mental testing, I was spent.
     I drove to Texas Roadhouse, scarfed down my meal and came back to the room.  I can tell the future.  It won’t be long after I finish this that I will be in bed.
     The hematologist overseeing my care, Dr. Leung, wants me to see an endocrinologist to determine when surgery on my thyroid would be possible.  Here’s a specific matter of prayer.   The next available consultation is September 13th, which is the possible date of the chemotherapy.   I may go and sit one day until they get tired of looking at me.
     Tomorrow is a significant day.  I should be informed if I am a candidate for the transplant.  If not, I guess we cross that bridge then.
     I see THE doc tomorrow morning who will make that decision.  I also hope he gives me something to kick this cold.
     Day three I felt pummeled.  There’s a reason I never wanted to be a boxer.

      Until yesterday I considered the stem cell transplant the fourth round in this fight against cancer.  After sending yesterday’s blog I realized that the stem cell transplant will be a 15 rounder all its own.  Yesterday was the first round in this bout.
      Though I was knocked to the canvas yesterday, today I have stayed upright and I am fighting back.  Today’s second round has been rather textbook.  It started with blood work—19 vials to be exact.   I am not sure if I have been light-headed today because they took that much blood or because I thought I ought to be light-headed!
      I slept great during the bone marrow biopsy.   I usually sleep well when sedated.  Other than a bit of discomfort at the sight, it isn’t the worst procedure.  I might as well get used to them.  I will have them the rest of my life.
      I went back to the motel for a couple of hours before a CT scan in the afternoon.   If all medical procedures were like CT scans I wouldn’t complain.
      It looks like Teresa is planning to come at the end of the week because of the surgery to insert the port.   Caryn is bringing her and then flying back on the weekend.
      Yesterday afternoon I ate at the restaurant that I often frequent, thanks to many of you.  Because I had sedation this morning, I am not supposed to drive until tomorrow.   The motel shuttle can travel only 1.5 miles from the motel plaza.   Outback is in that radius and I was planning to eat there this evening even though I felt a little like I was being unfaithful to Texas Roadhouse!
      I met a man who is scheduled for a transplant on the same day as I am scheduled.   It didn’t take long to feel connected to him.
      I had no major moments, easy or tough today.   Maybe the Lord knew a relatively smooth day might give me some rest.
      Some extra rest I found when I returned to the motel following the last appointment.  A two-hour nap.   That’s highly unusual for me.  Then again, the last few days have been just a bit unusual.
      I think I will eat in the motel restaurant and go to bed early. 

     Words could never express what I felt on Sunday when we were showered with so much love.  Folks came from as far away as South Carolina.  I was more than stunned.  It is a marvelous thing to be loved.
     There is lots going on.  Sorry for the long chapter.
     It was a rather non-eventful trip for Karl Smith and me to Rochester.  I didn’t know until we were on the way here that yesterday was two months to the day of Pam’s passing.   I guess now I know why the Lord nudged me to ask Karl.  It’s a very open wound for him and will be for some time.
     I can’t describe the feeling that I had as we turned off the Interstate and headed into Rochester.  It was very much déjà vu.  I felt the same as I felt 22 years ago when I came here for the sarcoma in my leg.  It was the same feeling in 2012 when I came for the abdominal tumor that was removed.
       It was a similar feeling when I came in February for the radiation.
    It’s a tri-fold feeling.  There is much trepidation.  There is a feeling of uncertainty.  And at the same time there is a feeling of hope.
      I don’t know if hope can exist with fear and uncertainty.  My mind says, “No, they can’t.”  But my heart says that is what I am feeling.  Amid struggling over the pain that I know is coming and the uncertainty of how all this will turn out, there is a sense of hope.
      I am not talking about the sweet peace of our Lord.   Hope and peace are two different feelings.  The peace of Jesus is a constant in my heart.  Hope, however, is different.  I have hope that God is working in my body and in my heart.  And in the hearts of others.
      Let’s start with some good news.  I met with the radiation oncologist this morning.  The prostate cancer seems to be under control.  My PSA is well within the range for which he was hoping.  I will be tested every six months.  If the PSA stays within its present range, I will not see him again for three years.
      The next appointment was with a nurse whom I am calling “the vein nurse.”  She shared some information about the stem cell transplant.  But her main job today was to determine if my veins could tolerate as many as five days of an IV in both arms at the same time.  
      It didn’t take her but a few minutes to be able to feel the scar tissue.  I have had lots of IVs over the years.  If the doctor agrees, it looks like I will have a port inserted on Friday.   Once the port is in place there will be no more sticks to draw blood, etc.  It will remain in place until the day they release me.
      The blessing of the day came when I met with a lady whose job was to convince me to be a part of two research studies.  I had previously agreed to being part of one myeloma study.  I consented to being included in two additional research studies.   Willing folks in the past had done that and I am reaping the benefits.  With all that is going on in my body, hopefully someone in the future will benefit.
      She then asked me, “How are you doing?”   It was more than the “How are you today?”
      I said to her, “Really, I am just fine.  I have no choice but to deal with it.  I pastor a church, as well.”
      She then said, “Then you have lots of prayer warriors praying for you.”   I had no doubt at that point that she was a believer.
      With a lump in my throat I shared with her about the prayer support that I have received, especially from children.  The goose bumps popped out on her arm as I was sharing with her.
      She then shares with me about a man in her church who is facing a stem cell transplant in the not-so-distant future.  The staff at Mayo is scheduling his treatments later in the day because he is such a lift to others.  They say that he is a great way to end the day.  For what it is worth, most of my appointments are at the beginning or middle of the day!
      The kicker.  He is only 38.   I am 68.   I have lived a blessed life.   This young believer is not even to the prime of his life.  My request would be that the extended Daybreak prayer warriors would pray for him.
      The worst part of today was the final appointment, a kidney function test.  To test the kidneys a significant amount of fluid must pass through them.  At my age a significant amount is more than my body can handle.
      For two and a half grueling hours I endured one of the worst things any man wants to experience.  And to boot, there was an injection and blood was drawn twice.  Though the test is over, it appears that the discomfort is going to last well into the evening.
      I then headed back to the parking garage which was on the far end of the main Mayo campus.
      In the opening moments of this fourth round, I had mostly felt body blows.  They hurt but didn’t stagger me.
      As I trekked back to the car, I must admit that I was feeling a bit sorry for myself.  I was focused on me instead of the One who is strong in my weakness.  An unexpected punch came from nowhere.  I was knocked to the canvas.
      As I am feeling sorry for myself this young girl bounces in front of me.  She couldn’t have been much older than 30.  She is full of life as she greets others.  I had been walking with my head down, looking at the marble tiles until I saw her.
      She was bouncing because she was on crutches.  She was on crutches because she has only one leg.  Her head was a slick as I expect mine to be in a couple of weeks.   It was obvious that she is in a much more significant battle than I am in.
      She was a picture of life and hope.  I don’t think anyone who saw me would have said that about me.
      All that I could pray was, “Oh my, Lord.  Please forgive me.”
      I got up from the proverbial canvas and stagged the rest of the way to the parking garage, trying to greet others with some sense of life and hope. 
      One of the blessings of Mayo Clinic is that people like me come here because we believe the medical staff here is better equipped to handle unusual medical conditions, like three simultaneous cancers.
      But one of the by-products of coming here is that you see so many people who are in far worse shape than you are.
      Lord, even when life is very difficult, help me to keep my eyes on You and not on my circumstances.  Those circumstances could be much worse.
      Folks, don’t be sorry for me.  Please don’t send me an email or a text about my grueling day.   Rather, pray for a young girl who has a much more difficult row to hoe than I have.  She will be dealing with that difficulty for the rest of her life.

     I succumbed this week.  No, not to the cancer.  That’s the first thing that comes to our mind.  Someone else will have to write the blog if that happens.
     I thought I was at the end of the third round of this fight, but the bell apparently hadn’t rung.  I was knocked down by the news of the thyroid cancer.  The referee didn’t even have time to start counting because the end of the round was so close and I hobbled to the corner.
     Now we are in the corner getting ready to come out fighting for the fourth round.  I got some good news about the thyroid cancer.  It is the least serious of the three types and it has been diagnosed early.
     There are two basic meanings to the word succumbed.  The most obvious one is the one that has come to your mind.
     The second meaning is this: to fail to resist pressure, temptation, or some other force.  All three are applicable.
     I succumbed to resisting a cold.  For five months I have been as healthy as I could hope, despite the treatments and the diseases.  Four days before I am to leave for Mayo, I came down with a cold.  Yesterday I had a previously scheduled phone visit with a Mayo nurse.  She didn’t think a cold would have any bearing on the schedule that begins on Monday.
     I succumbed to temptation on Wednesday.  Temptation can come in lots of ways.  There is the spur of the moment temptation that presents itself.   There is a reason that grocery stores put candy racks at the checkout lanes.
     However, this succumbing was not one of those impromptu temptations.   This one was very much premeditated for a couple of days.  In the Lord’s Prayer we ask the Lord to “lead us not into temptation.”  I must admit that I didn’t pray that prayer.
     James says resist the devil and he will flee from you.  I must admit that I didn’t do that either.
     We have a customer who has been very faithful to us.  They text to me their orders, so I hadn’t seen them in a while.  For a couple of days I had planned to be in Frankfort and intended to stop by to see them.  That’s why this temptation was premeditated.
     They own Poppy’s Bakery.  I hadn’t had a doughnut in over a year.  I had decided it was time to succumb to the temptation.  All their doughnuts are tempting.  I chose the cinnamon roll. 
     I succumbed this week to one more thing.  The pressure was more than I could bear.  I succumbed to emotion.  You’ll understand why.
     Yesterday was Kaylee’s seventh birthday.  We went out to eat at a restaurant she enjoys, mainly because of the soft-serve swirl ice cream.
     We went back to Megan and Bryan’s to have cake and swirl ice cream.  She opened a few gifts that she hadn’t opened at the party last week.
     I was told that something else was planned.  The three granddaughters slipped into Kaylee’s room and came back all dressed alike in T-shirts with this printed on them: “Paw Paw’s Prayer Warrior.”  It would be easy to say the cold was the culprit for making my eyes sweat.
     For maybe 15 minutes the three of them sang worship songs.  They sang about Jesus being the healer.  They sang about how beautiful and powerful that Jesus is.  They sang Jesus loves me, which even two-year-old Emma knew lots of the words.  They sang Jesus, I need you.  I need you now.
     And they sang what has become one of my favorite songs.  “The Goodness of God.”   Mike and Dottie Carter had a banner made and they hung it behind the Praise Team in our Worship Center with the words from the chorus printed on it.  That meant a lot to me.
     These three precious children sang, “All my life You have been faithful, all my life you have been so, so good.  With every breath that I am able, I will sing of the goodness of God.”
     And this grandpa had more than a lump in his throat.
     Kaylee, Becca, and Emma may very well be three of my strongest prayer warriors.  I am sure that Cooper and Caroline would be in that praying army of children.  Jesus said that we must become like a child in our faith.  The faith of a child to believe and trust.
     If God chooses to use expert medical care along with divine intervention for my healing, it may very well be because of the prayers of children, my grandkids, children in our extended family, the children from Daybreak, and other children who know of the circumstances.
     And maybe some prayers of God’s faithful, who might be just a year or two beyond childhood.  Then again, we are children of God.
     Thanks for your prayers.  You, too, are a part of Paw Paw’s Prayer Warriors.

     I wrote this blog in my head while I was swimming last evening.
     I do two things while I am swimming.  I count the lengths.  You mean the laps?  No, I count the lengths.  88 sounds much better than 44.  Our above ground pool is 30’ long.  30 X 88 is 2640, a half a mile.
     I also do some thinking.
     As I was swimming, I thought a lot about the different ways that people handle life’s difficulties.  Each of us has our own way. 
     Some people isolate themselves, which I think is the worst way.  The enemy loves it when we are alone.
     I tend to internalize, which may be the second worst.  I have a feeling that part of my susceptibility to cancer is because I try to appear like I have things together, when at times I might be a mess.
     Teresa verbalizes.  Not necessarily only with me.  I think when she verbalizes it helps her deal with the reality.  She has a husband who has three different cancers.  And that’s not the only difficulty in her life.
     She verbalizes by texting and by talking on her phone.  She also verbalizes by being with others.
     I have told her that she has become a socialite the last few weeks.  Many of the days that she hasn’t been watching the grandkids, she has had lunch with someone.
     I’ve tried to analyze why she has chosen those with whom she has spent some time of late.
     I don’t think it is a conscious choice and I am not sure that it is even a subconscious thing.  But some of the people she has verbalized with are people who at some point in their lives have endured great heartaches.  They are people who understand pain.  And they would understand her pain.
     Yesterday she had lunch with a longtime friend.  I grew up with Kim in Cynthiana and Teresa got to know Kim and Will in Ashland when I was a youth pastor in the church where Will’s dad was the senior pastor.
     We moved to a church in Winchester, but we kept in touch.  While we were in Winchester we received the terrible news that their son, David, was diagnosed with a brain tumor on his first birthday.
     Not long after that we moved to Lexington to a third church.  Kim and Will moved to Lexington to get the best medical care for David.
     They attended the church I pastored.  We became close as we walked with them through the pain of dealing with a parent’s worst nightmare.
     Megan and David were only a month apart.  They had a relationship that is hard to explain, especially for three-year-olds.  David was way beyond his age in his faith.
     I have shared this story several times at funerals and likely will in the future, the Lord willing.   It’s a story that some of you have heard because I shared it when some parents were dealing with the loss of a child.
     It’s a story that is worth hearing more than once.  It’s also a story that I can’t tell, or even write, without the lump in my throat.
     The day that David was healed as we had prayed more times than we could ever count, we sat down with Caryn and Megan to tell them that David was now in heaven.
     Heaven is a difficult concept for adults, much less for an almost four-year-old.
     “Then where is David?” Megan asked.
     “Is he at home?”  “No, he isn’t at home.”
     “Is he at the hospital?"  “No, he isn’t at the hospital.”
     Thinking that heaven must have some relationship to the church, she asked, “Is he at church?”  “No, he isn’t at church.”
      Megan then said one of the most profound things I have ever heard from anyone, much less from a child her age.
     “But he is still in my heart.”
     That was over 30 years ago and David is still in Megan’s heart, in Teresa’s heart, and in my heart.
     And of course, in the heart of a mother and a father.  The pain is even now an open wound as Teresa could see yesterday. 
     What Teresa recognized as she and Kim poured out their hearts to each other was that Kim knew and understood.   Even more than just David, Kim had her own serious bouts with cancer several years ago.
      We have shared in these blogs the calling to bear one another’s burdens.  The ones who can best bear others’ burdens are the ones who have had someone help bear their burdens at some point when they walked through one of life’s heartaches.
     When the day that Jesus calls me home and a few folks gather to remember, if someone who is asked to speak has any insight at all, I would hope that someone might share Megan and David’s story.
     I guess that would only be appropriate if I am still in someone’s heart!
     Thanks for reading the blogs.  Writing them helps me move from internalizing the struggle to my own verbalization.  Believing that someone is reading them helps me cope.

     Just a short blog to let you know that I received word from Mayo Clinic that the stem cell arrangements have not changed.  If all goes well with the transplant, I will have thyroid surgery about a month after recovery from the transplant.  I am guessing sometime in November, but that is a guess.
     Some good news is a relief. 

     I have had the themes for Thursday’s blog and today’s blog on my heart for several weeks.  I waited until close to me leaving for Mayo Clinic before I have tried to develop these two themes.
     If you haven’t read yesterday’s blog on the troubled heart of Jesus, I would encourage you to read it before you proceed any further with today’s blog.
     The connection between yesterday’s blog and today’s blog is Gethsemane, which means oil press.  Gethsemane is a garden located at the foot of the Mount of Olives, indicating that it was a place where the oil was pressed out of the olives that were grown in the groves that are still there.
Jesus had such a troubled heart as He prayed to His Father. Because of the pressing of His own soul His sweat became mixed with drops of blood.
     His prayer is familiar: “Abba, Father,” he said, “everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.”  Mark 14:36
     What is the cup that Jesus so desperately wanted the Father to take from Him?  I have contended for a long time that it wasn’t only the physical suffering that Isaiah describes in Isaiah 53.   There is no record that the two malefactors who would be crucified on each side of Jesus were in such agony of their impending crucifixions that their sweat was mingled with blood.
     I don’t believe it was even the coming separation from the Father that the Son knew would happen because of the sin that Jesus would take on Himself for the whole world.
     I believe included in the cup that Jesus didn’t want to drink was the cup of the wrath of God, the wrath that you and I should have received for our punishment.   Jesus took our punishment and paid our debt of sin.
     Jesus had seen the Father’s just response to sin, that is what the wrath of God is.  Jesus had seen the Father’s wrath when He destroyed cities because of the sins of the people.  He had seen God’s wrath when only eight people were saved in the Flood. 
     Jesus knew what the cup would entail for Himself.  Father, is there any other way?   But not my will but your will be done.
     Not too long after Jesus prayed the same request a third time, Judas showed up with the soldiers.  Peter drew his small sword from its sheath and whacked off the ear of Malchus, one of the High Priest’s servants.
     The cup was still on Jesus’ mind.  John tells us Jesus commanded Peter, “Put your sword away! Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?”  John 18:11
     There’s now an obvious difference in the perspective of Jesus after praying through in Gethsemane.  There is a resolve and a willingness to drink the cup of Calvary.  We see that in every event of His Passion until the final cry of victory, “It is Finished.”
     One of the things that I have pondered has been how long Jesus knew that this would be the Passover when He would give His life as a ransom. 
     How long had He thought about the cup?  At least before the raising of Lazarus.  Salome came and asked if her sons, James and John, could sit at His right and left when He came into His kingdom.  He turned to them and asked them if they could drink the cup that He was going to drink.
     For several months I have thought about the cup that I am going to drink.  It would have been easier if when the doctors first diagnosed the myeloma, that they could have said, “Next week you are going for tests followed by chemotherapy and then a stem cell transplant.  It will all happen in the next couple of weeks.” 
Waiting for five months has been a weight that I have carried.
     Yet, God’s timing never ceases to amaze me.  I wait for two or three months before writing a blog on anxiety and the troubling of Jesus’ heart.
     I intended to follow that blog with today’s blog on “the cup.”
     In between the writing of the two blogs, a troubled heart and the cup that I am facing took on an added perspective.
     In May I had a biopsy of my thyroid.  The results were inconclusive and the doctors at Mayo Clinic wanted the biopsy repeated before the testing for the stem cell transplant.
     The second biopsy was done last week here in Lexington.  I didn’t mention it in the blogs.  I have tried hard to not come across looking for sympathy. 
     My endocrinologist called late yesterday afternoon with the results of the biopsy. 
     Yes, it came back malignant.  Three seemingly unrelated cancers, a negative trifecta.  What are the chances of that happening?
I said to our Elders and Deacons during a quickly called Zoom meeting last evening that I should have purchased a lottery ticket when it was over a billion dollars.  I have won the reverse lottery.
     I am waiting for a return call from the doctor at Mayo to see if this news will have a bearing on the stem cell transplant.  I will let you know when I hear from him.
     Jesus taught us a lot in how He faced something that He truly would have preferred not to have done.  He taught me that regardless of what it may mean, that submitting to His will, rather than my will, is ultimately the best thing for me.  It was for Him and it is for me.
     I have learned that truth over the years in less significant circumstances.  They have prepared me for this one.
     The cup that I am facing looks a bit different now.  It took some time yesterday afternoon, yesterday evening, and in the wee hours of this morning to come to grips with some realities and to be willing to trust God in the possibilities, both positive and negative possibilities. 
Let’s just say that the sweet peace of Jesus is returning. 
     I topped off one of the tougher days with a small scoop of ice cream.  If only I had saved one of Diane’s brownies.
     I will keep you posted.  Your prayers are most appreciated. 

     If you have been reading these blogs you know that the stem cell transplant is not something that I am looking forward to having.  Who would?
     I am not sure what my biggest concern might be.  Is it the side effects of the chemotherapy?  Is it the “cancer look” that will be obvious after the chemo?  Is it the long-term effect of what it will do to my body?
     There are some Scriptures when taken at face value that have the potential to cause me to feel guilty.  For instance, what Paul writes in Philippians 4:6 “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”
     That’s a pretty tall task to not be anxious about anything.  That admonition comes from a man whose letters in the New Testament are filled with many anxieties he faced.
     An even greater example comes from the lips of Jesus on the last night of His life when He met with the disciples for the last time.  As He looked at their forlorn faces He said, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”
     In the last two weeks of Jesus’ life the Gospel writers give us great insight into the heart of Jesus:
 
John 11:33 When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.
 
John 12:27 “Now my soul is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour.”
 
John 13:21 After he had said this, Jesus was troubled in spirit and testified, “Very truly I tell you, one of you is going to betray me.”
 
     Matthew and Mark tell us about Gethsemane.  Mark 14:33 He took Peter, James, and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled.
     Luke tells us that Jesus was in so much anguish in Gethsemane that His sweat was mixed with blood.
     How do we reconcile not being anxious nor having a troubled heart with what we see in the life of Paul or in the last days and hours in the life of Jesus?
     I have thought a lot about the troubled heart of Jesus.  The Bible clearly wants us to know that as the writer to the Hebrews says our Lord was made like us in every way, except He was sinless.
     Seeing two sisters grieve over the loss of their brother was troubling to Jesus.  Being betrayed by a friend was troubling to Jesus. Facing the Cross was troubling to the heart of Jesus.  Taking on the wrath of God to atone for our sins was even more troubling.
     Being troubled over what lies ahead for me doesn’t even register on the scale.
     What we see in the last hours of Jesus’ life was not a troubled, “woe is me” Jesus.  What we see is One who had trusted His Father and was willing “for the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame.”
     When the Bible calls us to not be anxious or when Jesus says, “Let not your heart be troubled” I do not think that means there aren’t times when we are anxious or troubled.   None of us could live in this Fallen World and not be anxious or troubled.
     The calling for the believer is not to focus on the anxiety or wallow in what troubles us.
     Am I anxious about what lies ahead in the next month?  Is there a troubling in my heart and are there questions in my mind?  I don’t think I need to answer those questions.
     As hard as it may be to believe, in the anxiousness there is still the sweet peace of Jesus in my heart.  He was with the three Hebrews in the fiery furnace.  He was with Daniel in the lions’ den.  He is with me in my crucible and He is with you in yours.
     What is the thought that brings me the most comfort?  I know that He understands the troubling of my own heart. 
     It is why He can say to me, “Do not let your heart be troubled.  Peace I give to you, my peace.”
     Jesus understands.  Because He does, He knows exactly what we need to make it through.
     Somehow verbalizing the struggle helps me deal with the guilt.  It’s a false guilt unless I refuse to trust Him.
     The Lord willing, there may be an addendum to these thoughts in tomorrow’s post.

     In the last couple of weeks I have been reading through the Psalms as the focus on my devotions.  I figured that whatever I might be feeling, sooner or later David or one of the psalmists would have written about that feeling.
     The 22nd Psalm is called a Messianic Psalm and may be the most moving of all the Psalms.  Coupled with Isaiah 53 we get the greatest insight into what Jesus experienced on the Cross—far more than the Gospels tell us.
     The mocking of Jesus was prophesied, even to the exact words that were used.
His physical suffering was prophesied.
     That the soldiers would cast lots for His clothing was prophesied.
     But the phrase “My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?” is what we remember, from the Psalm and from the lips of Jesus in the last few moments of His suffering on the Cross.
     There has been much said over the years about this cry of Jesus in the darkness of Calvary near three o’clock that fateful afternoon.
     I have never claimed to be a theologian and I have never been accused of being one either!  But I believe what you may have heard over the years about why Jesus uttered this cry is not correct.
     What I have heard consistently is that Jesus felt forsaken and alone on the Cross because when He became sin who knew no sin God could no longer look upon Jesus.  The implication is that God turned away from Jesus because God could not look upon sin; God forsook His Son because of sin.
     As I was reading through this 22nd Psalm I came to the 24th verse:
     “For he has not despised or scorned the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help.”
     That’s more than plain, isn’t it?  God did not forsake His Son.  God heard every cry of Jesus, those from His lips and those from His soul.
     Sin alienates us from God.  For the first time in eternity the Son felt alienated from the Father.  Their perfect union was severed because of our sin.
     But God did not forsake His Son, no more than He forsakes you or me when we sin.  We may feel alienated and we may even feel forsaken because of that alienation.  But God never forsakes us, nor does He turn His face away from us.
     Beyond our sin, cancer, other illnesses, and the tragedies of this life can, at times, make us feel like God has forsaken us.   I haven’t felt that, but I know many others who have gone through the fire have.
     God says that He will never leave us or forsake us.  He didn’t forsake His Son and He will not forsake you or me.  That is a promise on which we can stand.