(I wrote this on Thursday evening but didn’t have peace about it until today after a made a couple of tweaks.
 
      I was riding back from Cynthiana this evening in a van that has a radio that is locked.  Apparently it is a factory thing and none of us are smart enough to be able to unlock it, including our mechanic.
      Without a radio, I did a lot of thinking.  Maybe I ought to turn off the radio from time to time.
      Many of the events of the last 20 months ran through my mind.  I began thinking about some significant days.  There are many.  Some on the positive side; some not so positive.
      It was a significant day when we were told that I had a second cancer, unrelated to the prostate cancer.   I had no idea what multiple myeloma meant.
      It was a significant day when we met with the doctors at Mayo Clinic and we were told that they were confident that both cancers were treatable though not curable.
      It was a significant day when I was injected with the hormone suppressant and received the first of only five radiation treatments.
      It was a significant day when it was confirmed that I had a third cancer, unrelated to the other two.
      It was a significant day when three little granddaughters came out wearing PawPaw’s Prayer Warrior t-shirts just a couple of days before we left for Rochester anticipating a stem cell transplant.
      It was a significant day when so many people showed up the last Sunday before we headed to Mayo. 
      It was a significant day when the stem cell harvest was over.
      It was a significant day when just two days before the stem cell transplant that we received the marvelous news that chemotherapy and the prayers of God’s people had reduced the number of myeloma cells so that they didn’t register on the results of the bone marrow biopsy.
      It was a significant day when we decided not to have the transplant and we came home.
      It was a significant day when after surgery for the thyroid cancer that the surgeon told us that the cancerous nodule had attached itself to the nerve that goes to my vocal cord.  Only the Lord knows what would have happened had we waited for six months as was planned had I had the transplant.
      It was a significant day when I resumed preaching fulltime.  It has been 10 months since then.
      It was a significant day when we received the good news that Caryn’s scans were clear.
      It was a significant day when we received a second MRD negative report that the myeloma cells were still so few that four chemo treatments a month would be reduced to just one a month.
      It was a significant day when I got in the SUV with two teenagers and headed to eastern Kentucky on a mission trip.
      That’s not all the significant days, but lots of them.
      I write all that to say that today was a significant day.  We went to the lake today.  The wind was gusty and the water was cold enough that the grandkids went from the boat to the tube and back to the boat without getting in the water very much.
      And I did something that I was told 17 months ago that I would never do again and should never do again because of the location of the lesions from the myeloma.
      That’s right.  I water skied.  I had resisted trying all summer because of the results of too many nutter butters and cinnamon sticks.  I didn’t think it was wise to push the envelope too far.
      Since the mission trip I have worked hard to shed some unneeded pounds.   I had a goal in mind and I hit the goal in the last few days.
      I was also concerned that going three years without skiing might spell the end of my skiing days.
      There have been moments when I was “back.”  Push mowing the side of the bank near our driveway.  Being willing to share the children’s sermon.  Going on the mission trip.
      And finally today, water skiing.
      Obviously, I never be fully “back” to what I once was.  But I am a lot closer than I was this time last year.
      Where’s the spiritually redeeming value in this blog?  Two things, maybe.
     I spent lots of moments on the way home giving thanks that I am a very blessed man.  I was blessed last year in so many ways in spite of what I was going through.  And I am blessed now in almost every area of my life.
      Often I tell the Lord how grateful that I am for His blessings in my life.  They are all from His hand by His grace.
      Today was one of them.  And I even got up on the first attempt.
      I thought of the old hymn “Count Your Blessings.”   Name them one by one and see what the Lord has done.  I’d be up all night if I named them one by one.
      I am blessed with a loving family and countless friends, a great church that has encouraged us and prayed for us, a business that pays the bills, many “toys of this world,” and so many other blessings.
      Secondly, I enjoy living in this world.  
      I would struggle with only the face value of John writing “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.”
      Love in this verse is agape, an all encompassing love.  If we love this world or the things in this world so that the things fully encompass us, then truly the love of God is not in us.
      John doesn’t mean that we can’t enjoy the things of this world.  God created this world for our enjoyment.   When Paul writes, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” gives me some thought that there is something very good about living and living with Christ Jesus in this world.  And then to die is gain.
      Here is where the Lord spoke to me and brought it home, about time that I got home.    1 Corinthians 2:9 But as it is written: “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him.”
      There is another significant day coming for me.  And one for you, too.  I’m just not quite ready to punch my ticket for the next load.
      If I enjoy living in this world as much as I do, then what lies in store for all of us on the other side?
      I really have no clue.  I know that it is far beyond our hopes and dreams.  I’m just hoping that maybe there might be some water skiing on the crystal lake.

     I am on a roll, depending on how you look at it.  Four blogs in a week after none for four months.
     If it’s a good roll, it could be like Reed Sheppard who hit 7 of 10 three pointers against Tennessee last spring.  I never could understand why that kid didn’t start for the Cats.
     Or it could be a bad roll, like the huge log from the oak tree that we had taken down a couple of years ago.  I was cutting it up into more manageable sections, thinking that I had chocked it enough to keep it from rolling down the hill.  I hadn’t and the 42” diameter log started rolling down the hill.  All I could do was watch and hope that it didn’t make it to our neighbor’s dock.  It didn’t, but it made the lake.  It may be there until my grandkids are my age.
     I guess that you can decide if it’s a “Reed” roll or a “log” roll.  How far you choose to read answers that.  This was one that I couldn’t let slide.
     My faith was put into the crucible this morning.  It had nothing to do with doubt; it had everything to do with a choice I had to make.   That’s usually the crucible for us.  What will I choose to do in a given situation?
     We purchase from a vendor and this vendor purchases from us.  Like another vendor that I shared about last spring, this vendor and everyone who works for them are from India.  They are far more committed to their Hindu faith than lots of Christians that I know.  Many of them have the “dot” on their forehead—most all the time I see them.
     There’s a man who works there who is a member of the family who owns business.  It took me awhile to realize that he was one of the “chiefs” because he has a tendency to stay in the background.  There’s a good reason why.
     This man has some type of skin disorder.  I honestly don’t know if it was a genetic cause or whether it was something that he contracted.   A few weeks back Dr. Taylor shared about a young boy in Liberia with a skin disorder.  She likened his skin to being rough like cauliflower.  Using that illustration, he looks like cauliflower on steroids.
     I have encountered him maybe 7-8 times and I have felt sorry for him.  It would be a terrible condition to endure.  You couldn’t go anywhere without feeling like people were looking at you.
     When I entered their warehouse this morning I greeted the guy who is usually in charge and I shook his hand.  The man with the skin condition was walking toward the counter.  I have no doubt that he saw me shake the hand of the other man.
     As he neared me I had a decision to make.  What would you have done?  I have assumed that the condition isn’t communicable, but I have no way of knowing that.
     When he got within a few feet I greeted him and then I stuck out my hand to shake his hand.  It was a poignant moment.  It seemed like it was longer than it was, but there was a pause on his part.  It was like he looked at me and was silently asking, “Are you sure you want to shake my hand?”
     Finally he reached out his hand and we shook hands.  But I sensed that there was something deeper.  I have no knowledge of how long it had been since someone out of his normal circle had treated him with grace and love.
     The people in this business know who I am.  I was even wearing a blue “Daybreak” t-shirt this morning.  How I treated this man spoke volumes.
     Don’t get the wrong idea here.   I don’t write this for anyone to think that I am a such a good Christian.  I’d be a fool to write these blogs if that was the case.
     I was put into a situation where I had a choice to do as I believe Jesus would have done in the same situation.  We face circumstances lots of days that call us to put our faith into action.
     The Gospels tell about a leper who came to Jesus.  Mark’s account puts it this way:
 
1:40 Now a leper came to Him, imploring Him, kneeling down to Him and saying to Him, “If You are willing, You can make me clean.”
41 Then Jesus, moved with compassion, stretched out His hand and touched him, and said to him, “I am willing; be cleansed.”
 
     Jesus touched the leper as a part of this miracle. 
 
     As I have pondered this circumstance most of the day, I initially thought, “I feel like I was like Jesus today.”   Upon much reflection I came to think more on the lines of “I did what Jesus would have done.”
     One difference was in how I initially felt about it, that Jesus would not have felt.  There was some concern as you might expect.  But something deeper.
 
     Mark says that Jesus was moved with compassion.  Then He touched the man, and lastly healed him.
 
     The word for compassion is a strong word.  The NIV says that Jesus “had pity” on him.   I don’t think that is strong enough.  It literally means “to be moved as to one's bowels.”  It is something that you feel in your gut.
 
     It’s a word that is used almost exclusively about Jesus in the New Testament.
 
     What happened in my heart as I thought about this man was that the pity that I have had for him since I met him some months ago, began to be something deeper.  I am not sure that I have become like Jesus enough to say that I have compassion for someone.  I can at least say that it is something that I feel for this man in my gut or in my heart.
 
     “What would Jesus do?” is one thing.  Asking, “What Jesus would feel?” is another.  Somehow by the transforming power and grace of Jesus, maybe there is hope for me.
 
Lord, I want to do what You would do in circumstances that You allow and may even initiate.  Lord, take me deeper.  Help me to grow enough into Your character that I may even begin to feel what You would feel for someone else. 
 

     I know this is a third blog after not writing for quite some time.  Obviously, you don’t have to read them.  I appreciate it when you do.
     I try to live about 28 days a month trying not to think too much about being a cancer patient.  Today brings home the reality that I am still fighting cancer because today was a chemotherapy day, my last one until I go back to Mayo Clinic the end of this month.  For that I am grateful.
     I had the nurse today that I had the very first day that I walked into the infusion center with very much the “deer in the headlights” look.  I will forever be grateful for the loving way she handled me then.  Today was no different.
     I’ve gotten to know several of the nurses.  I had joked with Nurse A (we will call her) several times about her blacklisting me because in 16 months I hadn’t had her again, until today.
     I have become a difficult stick.  Not as tough as Scott Matin, but much harder after having an IV so many times.   Nurse A took more time than most nurses to try to find the right vein.  She did—on the first stick.
     She is loving, skilled, knowledgeable, appropriately communicative, and patient.  What more could a patient expect?
     As most times in the cancer center, I can’t help but notice the other patients.   Two women today were in much worse shape than I am.  There was a young woman in her late 30s or early 40s in the waiting room.  I was hoping that maybe she was there with a parent.  She wasn’t.   They called her name.  And I prayed for her.
     The chemo days tend to wear me out.  I have tried to deduce why.  It takes a while for the chemo to get in my blood stream, so I know it isn’t the only culprit.   Maybe it is the stress of having the IV, sitting for 3-4 hours, and the steroids.   Maybe it is that reality does set in for a day or so.
     When I got home I worked on some stuff on the computer and decided that I’d check to see the temperature of the pool.
     After “de-leafing” the pool, I slipped in.  It was tolerable.  It never ceases to amaze me how much better I feel after swimming.  More tired than before I got in, but a different kind of tired.   Maybe I will be tired enough that the steroids won’t win when I go to bed.
 
Some thoughts to ponder while I was swimming:
 
● Four or five degrees don’t matter if you are cooking something on the grill.  But four or five degrees matter in the pool.  And if you have a child that is ill, tenths of a degree might matter.
 
     Lukewarm is my preference for swimming.  Not cold, not even cool, and not hot—like a hot tub.  Lukewarm.
 
But lukewarm is a bad thing for a believer.  Jesus says in the third chapter of the book of Revelation that He would prefer us to be hot or cold—not lukewarm.  The illustration to the church at Laodicea was that there were pools outside the city from underground springs.  A person could drink from the hot springs or the cold springs, but not from the lukewarm pools.  The bacteria would make a person sick.
 
     The world has a way of beating us down.  We don’t intend for it to happen, but sometimes we get to the place where we are lukewarm.  It’s not the spot to stay very long before our spiritual lives suffer.
 
● It is interesting to swim when you’d prefer to stay in the water that is warmer than the air, especially when the wind is blowing.
 
● Should a loving husband tell his wife that there is a frog in the pool or just let her get the joy of surprise when she looks at one of Kermit’s kin eyeball to eyeball?
 
Lord, I don’t really need a spiritual thermometer to know the temperature of my heart and soul.  It is something that I can feel.  I am glad for the “hot” times and thankful for the difficult times.  But Lord, the lukewarm times make me sick, just like they do You.  Use what You will to increase my spiritual fervor.  On fire for You might be the hope.