With all that has happened in the last week or so, I have failed to share a real-life illustration.
       On the second Sunday that Matt Rose preached, he shared the second of three parables about something that was lost from Luke 15.  It is the parable of the woman who lost a coin and then diligently searched her house for the lost coin. 
Jesus doesn’t tell us why this coin was so dear to the woman.  Some scholars believe that it was part of a headdress that she may have received when she was married.
       Last week Teresa and I traveled to Butler, PA, to attend the visitation and funeral for Les Karenbauer’s mother. 
       On Tuesday morning before the funeral I was sitting at a small desk in the hotel room working on my laptop.  It was then that I realized that my wedding ring was not on my finger.
       The only times that I have not had that ring on my finger I could count on one hand.  A couple of times when I was having surgery and maybe a time or two when we were at the lake and I took it off when we were swimming.
       Like the woman in Jesus’ parable we diligently searched the room.  We took the sheets off the bed, took the couch apart, looked in the shower, and took everything out of our suitcase.  But we were not as fortunate as the woman in Jesus’ story. 
       We checked out of the hotel and headed to our car to go to the funeral.  As I opened the back hatch on the Edge I noticed something on the ground behind our car.
       It was my wedding ring.  I reached down and picked it up and placed it back on my finger where it has been the last 42 years.  Teresa and I rejoiced like the woman in the parable. 
       If we are going to make it a real-life parable that is close to the story that Jesus told, then this blog is calling others to rejoice with us.
       Over the last couple of years I have lost some weight and my ring doesn’t fit as snugly as it once did.  All we can figure is that when I unloaded the suitcases the night before, I caught the ring on something, but I didn’t realize the ring was missing from my finger.
       The ring dropped straight down and patiently waited until the next morning, just like a good husband!  Had it hit on its side and rolled a bit, we would never have found it.  It wasn’t like we were even looking for it in the parking garage.
       Life doesn’t hinge on finding a lost wedding ring.  I can’t say whether God had a thing to do with us finding it.  The childlike part of my faith sure wouldn’t say that He didn’t.
       What I do know is that like the woman in the parable we rejoiced when something we had lost that was dear to us was found. 
       The parable is an illustration of how God responds when one of His children is lost and is found.
       What a great God we serve.

     I am sorry for the stretch between blogs.  I will try to catch up on some things.
     We got word on Friday afternoon that the surgery for the thyroid cancer will be October 17th.  The Lord willing, I hope to preach a couple of weeks before the surgery because I will be out for several weeks after the surgery.
     Saturday was such a heavy day for Sammy and the Filmalter family, as well as for many of us who attended Brandon’s funeral.  Please continue to pray for Sammy and her family.
     I need something light to start the week.  Let’s see if we can accomplish that.
     Because I knew that Daybreak was in good hands with Matt Rose preaching on Sunday, Teresa and I headed to Tennessee to hear Mike Courtney preach.  It was such a blessing to spend time with him and Doris.   They have been such an encouragement to us.
     Here is one thing that I haven’t shared.  After the deep line catheter was put in, I didn’t know what to call it.  I thought it was called a port, but that’s not what the staff called it when it was installed.
     When I went to have blood drawn, I told them I had a line in.  The lady said, “Oh, you have a port.”
     When the nurse practitioner came to remove it, she walks in and says, “I have come to remove your port.”
     I should have called it a port.
     It took the surgical team 84 minutes with sedation to install the port.  It took the nurse practitioner less than 30 seconds to remove it.  And that was without any sedation.  Ouch.
     When I got the short haircut I looked at myself in the mirror and said, “Lord, I will be happy when my hair gets even this long again.” 
I gave very little thought to shaving my head at that haircut.   There would have been no poetic justice had I done that and five hours later made the decision not to have the transplant!
        Even after two weeks my hair is so short that it takes me as long to dry the hair on my arms and legs as it does to dry the hair on my head.
        On Friday evening we had supper with our neighbors.  It took us four years to have a sit-down meal with them.  There has been a lot going on in both of our families in those four years.
        All four of us shared our struggles.  In spite of the struggles we laughed a lot.  There hasn’t been a lot of laughter in the last few months.  It was a welcome change.
        I will end with two ironies.  I was scheduled last May to have a follow up visit with my endocrinologist in Lexington.   The date and time for that visit was October 17th at 11:00 a.m.  If things go as planned, that is likely to be the day and the time when I will be having surgery on my thyroid.
        When we left for Rochester last month, we were expecting to be gone for six weeks.  On that Saturday I hurriedly wrote three tithe checks to Daybreak that I left in my desk at church.  I am not sure why I wrote checks for just three weeks.  As things turned out, we were away from Daybreak only three weeks.  
        Sometimes things are difficult to understand or to explain.  Yes, we do see in a mirror dimly, but some day we will see face to face. 
We stand on faith when sight and understanding cannot explain things.

     I am writing this as I sit in the Cancer Center once again.  I am resuming the same regimen of chemotherapy that worked so well in fighting the myeloma this spring and summer. 
     I will have four treatments each month, two on the first day of the cycle.  Then just one injection a week for two weeks and then a week with no treatments.
     As I look around the Cancer Center I have the same feeling that I had for five months: I still contend that I am the healthiest looking cancer patient here.  Though maybe not the best-looking patient!
     We have not heard from Mayo Clinic on the scheduling of the surgery on my thyroid.  They may choose to wait until the “free” week that I have when there is no chemotherapy treatment.
     It has been a very unusual last week or so.  It seems that death has a way of coming in waves.
     I returned from Mayo Clinic last week and on Friday I had a part in the funeral of a friend.
     Later that evening we received the news of the tragic death of the husband of a young mother in our church.  Please divert some prayers intended for me to Sammy and her young son, Ace.  They need all the prayer support that we can give them right now.  Brandon’s funeral is on Saturday.
     Earlier this week I received the news of the passing of Ted Martin, a longtime “Barnabas” in my life.   Ted was like a second dad to me. 
     On Tuesday Teresa and I attended the funeral of Les Karenbauer’s mother.  Her suffering is over and she is free in the arms of Jesus.
     On Wednesday we received the news of the death of a longtime friend from Cynthiana, a man in his early 50s.  Dustin fished with my dad more than I did 20 years ago. 
     Death comes to all of us unless we are Enoch or Elijah.  Or unless Jesus returns.
How nonbelievers can face death is beyond my comprehension.  I have faced death four times now.  Cancer in my leg, a tumor in my abdomen, a head-on car accident, and now cancer once again.
     Through it all the same sweet peace of Jesus has been a consistent reality.
     I wrote to the mother of a lady in our church this week.  Like me, she had cancer over 20 years ago and now is facing it once again.  I prayed for the peace of Jesus to be in her heart in this new battle.
     Experientially what I have found is that the peace of Jesus is a consistent reality, though not always a constant reality.  When the troubles of life come our way, we often are “smacked” by the trouble.  The troubled heart often replaces the peaceful heart.
     But I have found that it isn’t too long before His peace returns, enabling me to trust Him in the trouble and helping me to overcome the trouble.
     How could any of these families face the death of their loved one without the grace and power of God?  I can’t imagine.
     I am grateful for the promise of eternity because of my faith in Jesus and the price that He paid for each of us.  That hope enables me to face each day.

     Often when difficult things come our way we may ask, “Why me?  Why me, Lord?”  More than once the psalmist asked that question.
     I probably have a different take on that question than some folks.
    In the 22 years that I have dealt with cancer I have never once asked that question.  I did not ask that question on Wednesday when we received the news that we would be returning to Rochester sometime in the near future.
     More than once I have thought, “Why not me?” 
     I live in a fallen world and there are no guarantees.
     As I have looked back over the last 22 years there have been several people who have crossed my path with cancer. 
     The first person to visit me at home after cancer surgery on my leg was a friend from Cynthiana.  Gary worked in Frankfort and came through Versailles on his way home.
     A few years later I returned the favor and went to see Gary after he was diagnosed with cancer.  His was resurrection healing.
     Wesley was a vibrant young woman in her 30s whom I had known since she was a child.  Hers may be the most valiant fight I have seen as she battled breast cancer.  Her healing, too, was resurrection healing.
     Ryan was the son of a couple in our church who had the strongest faith of anyone I have known as he battled colon cancer.  His memorial service was maybe the most uplifting funeral I have ever attended.
     Brooke was a young mother of two young children who by the providence of God came to Daybreak earlier this year on the first Sunday that I began a series on “The Peace of God While Dealing with Cancer.”  Her cancer was terminal and her healing was also not healing in this world.
     Just a couple of months ago I took part in Pam Smith’s funeral.  Some Daybreak elders had gone to her home with me not too long after she was diagnosed with cancer.  We anointed her and prayed for her.  God heard our prayers and healed her with the ultimate healing but not the healing for which we had hoped.
     I said the last words for a friend from Cynthiana on Friday.  His battle with this dreaded disease lasted a couple of years.  I had walked with him through the most of his battle.
     I could share about others who have been diagnosed with cancer who are no longer in this world.  If I didn’t mention your loved one, please forgive me.
     I have pondered more than I could tell you about why me?  Why am I still in this world?  It is far beyond “survivor’s guilt.”
     The truth is that I have no clue why.  No one does.  It has nothing to do with goodness or worth or merit or even faith. 
     There is only one word I can consider.  Grace.  It is only by God’s grace that I am still in this world.
     Paul writes in the marvelous chapter on love that now we see in a mirror dimly, then face to face.  Now we know in part, then we will understand fully.
     What I do know is that I will take no day for granted.  No hug with a loved one, no opportunity to preach, no privilege to stand on the dock and look at God’s creation, no chance to see a daughter or a grandchild.  The list is endless.
     It is really the way I have tried to live and love the last 20 years.  Maybe now I am ramping it up a bit.
     Every day is a gift from God.  Lord, help me cherish your gift each day.

       Please forgive me for not sending a blog the last couple of days.  We took an evening and a day to drive home from Rochester.  Today I have been trying to catch up on some things.
       We were about 45 minutes from home when we received a call from the endocrinologist at Mayo.   The ultrasound on my thyroid at Mayo showed a larger nodule than the ultrasound in Lexington had indicated. 
       With the stem cell transplant off the table at the present time, his recommendation is to remove the cancer in the thyroid as soon as it can be scheduled.   He is awaiting the slide from the biopsy that was done in Lexington in August.  He will determine when the surgery can be scheduled at Mayo.
       We were on a major high until we were 45 minutes from home.  Obviously, we were disappointed in the news.
       After some thought we concurred with his assessment of the situation.   We will return to Rochester as soon as the surgery can be scheduled.
       We have seen God’s providential wisdom each step of the way in this fight.  Had the myeloma not been found, I would have had a much more difficult treatment for the prostate cancer.
       Had the stem cell transplant gone as scheduled, the endocrinologist said it would likely have been 4-5 months before they would have considered surgery on the thyroid.
       As an added piece to the puzzle, on Friday I will be having a part in the funeral of a longtime friend from Cynthiana.  He had battled cancer the last couple of years.  He asked me late last year, before I was diagnosed with cancer, if I would have a part in his funeral. 
       Because we were able to return home when we did, I will be able to make good on my word that I had given him.
       We have given God the credit and the glory for the marvelous news that we have received the last week.  And even in this latest news, that may seem to be a setback, we trust His wisdom and timing.
       From the beginning of cancer 22 years ago I have believed as the psalmist said, “My times are in His hand.”   That is still my trust in Him. 
       God is at work.  I had contemplated the future of these blogs.  Apparently, He is not finished yet.  There must be something I still need to learn and/or to share in this.
       One of my favorite “healing by Jesus” stories in the Gospels is the one where Jesus touched the blind man and asked him what he saw.   He said, “I see men as trees walking.”  
       Jesus touched the man a second time before his sight was fully restored.
       God heals in lots of ways.  I have no doubt that Jesus has played a major role in me still being in this world.  Your prayers have mattered.
       I’d appreciate it if you’d continue them!

      We have lots of news to share.  9-11 is going take on a completely different meaning than it has, at least for our family.
      The day began with us getting some great news on Caryn.  Three doctors’ appointments confirmed that the treatments have been successful!  She has been released for 3-6 months.  Hallelujah!
      I had an MRI on my head this morning to see what is going on in the sinuses.  Results pretty much verified what was thought.  I have had a of number MRIs on my leg.  This one was the first one that I have had that my head went into the tube first.
      I got a haircut after the MRI.  Without question, it is the shortest cut I have had since childhood. 
      This afternoon I had a consultation with an endocrinologist to get some idea of the plan to deal with the thyroid cancer.   The meeting with him was the best half an hour to that point that I have spent since getting to Mayo two weeks ago.
      As is often the case, the Mayo medical team wants an ultrasound done on their ultrasound machines to verify the ultrasound in the doctor’s office in Lexington.
      If their ultrasound confirms what the doctor sees in the blood work and the results of the thyroid biopsy, his plan will be to watch my thyroid and have another ultrasound at Mayo in six months.  That is marvelous news.
      Last Friday after I met with the transplant doctor I had lots of questions.  Over the weekend I sent a blog to my daughters and my sisters.  In many ways I have borne my soul in these blogs, but the blog I sent to them was beyond what I was willing to publish.
      I will now share with you some of the questions that I raised with them:
      Was the myeloma’s response to chemotherapy a typical response? 
    If not, how many patients have they seen whose myeloma cells were undetectable after chemotherapy?
      If not, was proceeding with the transplant the only option, or would consistent chemotherapy that has been more than tolerable be an option?
      I wrestled with those and some other questions all weekend.  This morning I went to Dr. Leung’s office immediately after the MRI, asking if there was any way to see him today.   They scheduled me at the end of his day.
      Here are the factors.   As we shared, I responded well to the chemotherapy under Dr. Leung’s direction.  1600 myeloma cells were needed per million cells for the myeloma to register.  Mine were less than that.  He said that all of us have some myeloma cells in our bone marrow.
      Was it rare after the chemotherapy for the myeloma cells not to be enough to register?  Not rare but not common either.
      I asked him what the benefits would be for me to go ahead with the stem cell transplant.  He said that I would likely live longer. I asked him how much longer does the data show.
      His answer was one year.   I told him that I would much prefer to live the life that I can live now rather than a life in a weakened body after the transplant.   When He said one year, I was pretty sure that the decision had been made.
      He even said at one point, if quality of life is important to you, then it’s really nine months, because there will not be much of a quality of life for the next three months.
      Should the myeloma come back with vengeance in six months we could rethink the transplant then.
       Some other good news on the myeloma.  In his words a stem cell transplant is one tool in the toolbox.  Mayo is developing new tools right now.  At some point stem cell transplant may not even be one of the tools that they will keep in the toolbox.
      More good news.   The stem cells don’t have to be used only for a stem cell transplant; they can be used and infused should I get to a weakened state at some point.
      So believe it or not, we are on the way home after a couple more tests and the removal of the port. 
      The variable in all this that is not on the Mayo charting of myeloma patients is the power of God through prayer.  Has God healed me completely of myeloma?  I can’t answer that.  What I do know is that God has heard the prayers of many, many prayer warriors.  God has brought His healing to me enough that we are coming home!
      I will resume the same chemotherapy next week that we have had the last five months.  I will return to Mayo in six months for another bone marrow biopsy and an ultrasound of my thyroid.
      I have complained about this common cold that is still lingering.  Without it I would have had the chemotherapy tomorrow morning.   I may never again complain about getting a cold.

     I have only known two people who have had dialysis for an extended period: Pappy, Teresa’s dad, and Mike Lavens.  They were both on my mind when I had the harvest of the stem cells earlier in the week.
     Though I was hooked up to a machine that processed my blood, I quickly understood that it was nothing like dialysis.  It was not hard on my heart.  The worst part was being confined to a bed for five hours.
     I sat with Pappy on more than one occasion when he was having dialysis.  I don’t remember if I ever sat with Mike.  I watched what the dialysis did to their bodies.
     One evening still sticks in my mind.  At some point in the dialysis Pappy zoned out.   I thought that he was gone and I alerted the nurse.  A doctor came and literally smacked Pappy to wake him.  And he came back to life.
     I have wavered between guilt and blessing over that decision.  Blessing in that some things happened in some relationships that wouldn’t have happened had he died that night.  Guilt over the pain that Pappy endured that he would not have had to experience.
     As I was waiting for Teresa to pick me up one afternoon after the harvest, I noticed an appearance in the glass window at the patient pick up.  It was more like a mirror than a window.
     I had seen that same look lots of times.  A grey-haired man with his shoulders slumped over because of what he was going through.  I saw Pappy in the reflection.
     I have told Teresa many times over the years that she married her dad.  About the same height.  We wore the same size button down dress shirts.
      Pappy and I were vastly different on some things.  He could ride in your car and listen to the motor and tell you what was going on with your car.   The closest thing I have ever been to a mechanic was to know Pappy’s phone number.
     On some other things, beyond our physical size, I hope I am like Pappy.  He had a deep love for Jesus and his local church.   He was as faithful and honest as anyone you will ever meet, a man whose word was his bond.
     I guess we shared a unique relationship between a son-in-law and a father-in-law.  In no way was he a replacement for my dad.  I had a marvelous dad.
     Maybe we could say that Pappy was an added blessing to my dad.
     When life got hard and his physical health was declining, Pappy was asked to sign a living will at the hospital.  He’d never told us what he wanted. 
     The counselor who had gone into his room and asked him to sign the living will came out with the living will in hand.  Pappy signed it.  No directives listed at all.  Just one thing that he had written with his own handwriting, “Whatever Chuck thinks is best.”
     I  hope that I have the fight in me that I saw in Pappy.  Honestly, I doubt that I do.  I heard him moan when he was slightly moved in the bed those last weeks of his life.   His hands from working on cars and arthritis often had sores on them that the yuck could be squeezed from them.
     Pappy is now a part of the great cloud of witnesses who lived out his faith as well as anyone I have ever known.  I will be proud to stand someday between two veterans of our faith, both dads who impacted my life.
     I have two sons-in-law whom I love dearly.  I hope there can be a trust level deep enough that someday I could say, “Whatever they think is best.”

      I have had a little time to process some things since getting the expected and somewhat welcome news that the transplant cannot happen until there is no sign of infection in my body.
      Looking back I made a mistake on the first day we arrived.  I met with many health care folks.  I should have been adamant that something needed to be done to help me kick a cold.
      In normal circumstances two weeks would likely be enough.  These almost two weeks have been far from normal.  Hindsight is 20-20.
      I had very mixed emotions when we met with the doctor.  Disappointed that the transplant may not be as scheduled.  Relieved because whatever is in my chest I thought could cause serious ramifications after chemotherapy destroys my immune system.
      We got some great news about the myeloma’s response to the chemotherapy. The initial blood work indicated that the chemotherapy treatments had been successful. 
      We hadn’t heard until yesterday about the results of the bone marrow biopsy.  There are so few myeloma cells that they were considered undetectable.  It didn’t mean that they weren’t there; it meant that there were so few of them that “parts per million” didn’t register.
      I asked the doctor the question that you’d expect.  “Then why the transplant?”
He gave us two answers.  The myeloma I have is aggressive and might not continue to respond to chemotherapy.  If that was the case in five years, my age could exclude me from being a transplant candidate.
       The stem cell transplant team has been marvelous.  They have been upbeat and positive in every appointment, education, and treatment about the transplant.  Their sense of being upbeat kind of makes you feel that this is just another medical procedure.
       But I have known for some time the seriousness of a stem cell transplant.  I have chosen not to read statistics. 
       When we met with the doctor’s assistant prior to seeing him, the seriousness came home.   She asked me if I had a living will.  Then she asked me if my heart quit beating or I quit breathing, would I want extraordinary measures taken to keep me alive.
       I will say that those questions were far easier to answer some months ago sitting in a lawyer’s office than when you are looking at the possibility, even if it isn’t a great likelihood.
       I obviously have a desire to live or I wouldn’t have gone through what I have or what is in the not-so-distant future. 
       From the beginning of dealing with cancer over 20 years ago I have never asked the Lord to heal me.  Why me?  Why would I have the audacity to ask the Lord to choose to heal me?
       There are lots of reasons that I would like to live.  I enjoy the life I have.  I am blessed beyond measure.  I hope that I am still impacting the lives of others for Jesus.  I’d love to see my grandkids grow up.  I’d be open for Teresa and me to do some things that we’ve never done together.  I’d like to make some more memories with my daughters and their families.
       The Lord and I had a “little talk with Jesus” last night.  It was one of those that I did most of the talking.  Prayer sometimes is like that.  We pour out our hearts to Him and He listens.  In His time He will do the talking.
There is one main reason that I hope the Lord heals me.  It really has nothing to do with me at all.  It has everything to do with the faith of children.  So many children are praying for me.
       Last evening Teresa and I were true to form.  She verbalized on her phone.  I internalized as I pondered.
       Thanks for letting me verbalize.  It helps me deal with things when I write.
 

     Please excuse the late blog.  By the time we got out of the hospital it was after six.  We hadn’t had much lunch so we went to an unnamed restaurant for supper.
     My concern for several days has been that the upper respiratory infection could affect the timing of the transplant.  It has and the transplant is on hold for the time being.
     I was given another round of antibiotics to take over the weekend.  On Monday I have an MRI scheduled to see what is going on in the sinuses.  The transplant doctor will not proceed until he gets an okay from the ENT team that there is no infection.
     There is still a possibility that the chemotherapy and transplant can go as scheduled.  I will have to make a major turnaround for that to be the case.
     That’s enough for now.
     Thanks for the continued prayers.

       Our visit with the doctor who is charge of the transplant isn’t until 5:30 EDT.  The Lord willing, I will write a second blog this evening to share where we are headed.
       I would classify myself as a sexist mainly when it comes to nursing care.  At least from my experience, most of the female nurses have a gentler spirit and touch.  And heart.  There have been a few exceptions.
       Case in point this morning.  I had blood work and then headed to the same floor where the stem cell harvest had been.  I drew the guy nurse who isn’t far from my age. 
       From the moment that he closed the curtains he talked non-stop.  He began telling me about his childhood growing up with seven siblings, five of them boys. 
       The six boys stayed in one large bedroom with three regular beds.  His dad said that it was training for when they got married.  They would learn to make up or sleep on the floor.   I did get a word in at this point and said, “I have a feeling that you slept on the floor more than once as a husband.”
       My Mayo chart has me listed as “Rev. Chuck Cooper” so maybe he thought he would either teach a pastor a thing or two or show how knowledgeable he was on the Bible.  Most of you know that I prefer to be called pastor instead of reverend, but it’s not a hill to climb at Mayo.
       He started with Jesus walking on the water and how he wouldn’t have been afraid like the disciples were.  He moved from there to Jesus meeting the disciples by the Sea of Galilee after Jesus’ resurrection, only connecting the three times Jesus asked Peter, “Do you love me?” with the three denials of Peter.
       Somehow he went back to the trial of Jesus before Caiphas making a somewhat snide comment about the rooster crowing and how that couldn’t have happened.
       At this point I couldn’t stand it any longer.  I said, “Well, you don’t understand the Scripture.  When some of the translations say that a rooster crowed in the middle of the night, that is a very poor translation.”
       I went on to share with him that the original says that Jesus said to Peter, “Before the cock crows twice, you will deny me three times.”
       I explained to him what Daybreakers hear every spring during Lent that the cock crow was the signal for the changing of the guard of the soldiers.  What Peter heard wasn’t the crowing of a rooster.  What he heard in the wee hours of the night was a piercing blast of a trumpet, the cock crow.
       It was then that Luke tells us that Jesus turned and looked at Peter.  Peter went out and wept bitterly.
       I told the nurse that Jesus asking Peter three times if he loved Him led to the recalling of Peter as a disciple to follow Jesus.
       Most of us have those moments in our past when we failed to love as we should.  Peter’s denials were because of his failure to love Jesus as he had claimed earlier that evening.
       As I look back at my life, the vast majority of my spiritual failures have been because of my failure to love deeply enough.
       I am thankful that after every one of those, like Peter, I have heard the Lord say once again, “Come and follow me.”
       I don’t guess that you’d believe that the nurse didn’t say a thing about the Bible after that, would you?