It has been a while since I have written a blog.  Life has been busier than normal.  Vacations are great but catching up from them sometimes isn’t easy.
 
     I began the day with the sun easing up over the horizon.  There were just a few clouds and the Lord painted a marvelous picture of His creation.  I don’t guess that you would believe that I like to experience the daybreak of a new day, would you? 
 
     I enjoy writing.  It is one of the things that calms my heart.  Putting things down in black and white also helps me to see things that I may miss when those things are just thoughts in my head.
 
     Many of you know that when we redid our driveway the small stone wall along about 90 feet of the driveway was pushed up on the grass.  It has been that way for almost two years.
 
     I have had several estimates to have the wall redone.  They have ranged from $3000 to $28,000.  I am not joking about the $28,000. 
 
     I had the $3000 guy scheduled last year, but he couldn’t get to it until last fall.  Between the time that he agreed to come and the fall he had a heart attack.  Building a stone wall doesn’t seem like the best way to recover from a heart attack!
 
     I made a feeble attempt when this all began to build the wall myself.  That’s when I got the estimates.
 
     I decided late Friday afternoon that I would put a focused effort to see if I could build the wall myself.
 
     Because of the difficulty I have had with plumbing, over the years I have said, “If I don’t make it to heaven, I will be a plumber in hell.”
 
     I was wrong.  If I don’t make it to heaven, I will be a stone mason in hell for eternity. 
 
     It may take me a long time and lots of frustration when it comes to plumbing, but eventually I usually get it fixed.  If not, I know a plumber.
 
     I am not sure that I will ever get the stone wall looking acceptable to me or to anyone else for that matter.
 
     I thought about the five worst jobs that I would have in hell, in this order. 

1. Stone mason
2. Plumber
3. Mechanic (I have said that the closest thing I have ever been to a mechanic was to know Teresa’s dad’s phone number.  Pappy was a great mechanic.)
4. Cook.  If something happens to Teresa I will need to move closer to Texas Roadhouse. 
5. Daycare worker.  Though there will be no daycares in hell.

 
     I would appropriately and quickly be fired as a worker in any of those five jobs.
 
     What are the most important three-word phrases in the English language?  “God is love” or “Jesus loves me” would be at the top of the list.  “I love you” would be near the top.  Those are easy to say, well at least most of the time.
 
     Not too far behind would be one of the most difficult things for us to say.  “I was wrong.”  The willingness to admit to yourself and to say to someone else “I was wrong” might save a lot of relationships.
 
     I preached a sermon sometime ago on the one we call the prodigal son.  The young man took his inheritance and squandered it in the far country.  When the money was gone he ended up slopping the hogs, the lowest you could get as a Jew.
      
     Jesus says in the story that the young man “came to himself.”  He realized his sin.  The concise three-point sermon I preached was this:
 
     Until we are willing to say “I was wrong” we will never be right with ourselves.
 
     Until we are willing to say “I was wrong” we will never be right with others.   He had to go to his dad and admit that he was wrong.
 
     Most importantly, until we are willing to say “I was wrong” we will never be right with God.
 
     It is one of the sermons that has stuck in my mind over the years.  I have had to apply it personally more times than I would like to admit.  The admission of “I was wrong” is never easy.  It cuts to the core of our fallen nature.
 
     But it is one of God’s ways of redemption. 
 
     Like the prodigal son, it is often to those closest to us whom we have the most difficulty saying, “I was wrong.” 
 
     Lord, help me be willing to humble myself, before You and with others and be willing to say, “I was wrong.”  It is part of Your redemptive plan through which You often bring miracles.
 
     It’s a beautiful day.  I may give that wall one more chance.

     I know that it has been several weeks since I have written a blog.  I have said all along that I would write only when the Spirit moved me and I felt that there was some value in writing.
 
     The Spirit moved me.  It has nothing to do with the weather, though that might be a good theme.  Somehow, we haven’t gotten one of the 10th worst snowfalls in the last 100 years as was predicted.
 
     I had my three-month myeloma check-up on Friday.  The blood work test results came back as hoped.  All the “counters” for my myeloma came back in the good range.  I am released for another three months.  That was very good news.
 
     As I walked out of the doctor's office and headed to the valet parking, I noticed a young couple waiting for the attendant to bring their transportation.
 
     I don’t know if the young man was her husband, her brother, or a friend.  By the way that he held her, I took him to be her husband.
 
     She couldn’t have been more than 30.  It was cold on Friday and she was wearing an overcoat and a hat.  If she had hair, it was stuffed under the hat.  I couldn’t tell and surely didn’t want to get close enough to tell.
 
     She was so weak that the young man had his arm around her to hold her up and to help her get to and into their pickup truck.
 
     My heart went out to her and I prayed for her then and have since. I ask you to pray for her, too.
 
     She is another in a long line of patients I have encountered over the last three years in the Cancer Center.  Like so many others, this young woman was in far worse shape than I am.  And so I wonder.
 
     Last Sunday’s sermon was on the 10 lepers who were healed by Jesus.  Only one of them returned to thank Jesus and he was a Samaritan.
 
     When the healed Samaritan came back to Jesus, the text says that he did three things: He praised God, fell at Jesus’ feet, and thanked Him.
 
     Last Sunday I considered asking everyone who was physically able to do so to do those three things as a closing invitation.  After some prayerful thought, embarrassment has never been my intention, so I asked people at some point last Sunday or during the week, to find some place and some time that they could do those three things.
 
     I did as I had asked others to do.  After getting the good news, I knelt on the floor in the basement with my face to the ground like the Samaritan had done.  I gave praise to God and I thanked Him.  It was the least that I could do.
 
     There is something that often happens when we respond to God by a special physical posture that doesn’t happen when we are sitting or standing. 
 
     When you fall face down, not just kneeling, but face down before Jesus, it moves your heart and soul.  It is an act of yielding to His authority in your life.
 
     The same thing is true when you lift your hands in praise to God.  Something happens in your heart when you unashamedly offer praise to Him.  Your heart is moved and your faith is strengthened.
 
     Try it.  You may be surprised.

      I realize that it has been many weeks since I have written a blog.  I said at the beginning of these posts that I wouldn’t write one unless I thought I had something of value to say.  I hadn’t felt that until the last couple of hours. 
 
      Most of you know that I am back at Mayo Clinic for a couple of days of testing and doctors’ appointments. 
 
      I entered the Clinic both days with the same answer I usually give when the security guard looked at my laptop case and asked, “Do you have any knives, guns, or weapons?”
 
      “Just these hands of steel.”  It brings a laugh every time.  It might not if I was 6’6” and 250 pounds. 
 
      So far things have gone as well as we could hope.  My thyroid is functioning rather normally. Dr. Brito said to me, “I will see you in 12 months.”  That is very welcome news.
 
      I had four hours between Dr. Brito and Dr. Leung so I stopped by Mayo 12th floor to see if by chance Dr. Tran 1.) might still be practicing and 2.) might be in the clinic today instead of surgery.  I didn’t have an appointment, but I told the lady at the check-in desk who I was and why I wanted to see Dr. Tran.
 
      Dr. Tran was the plastic surgeon who put my knee/leg back together after the surgeon, Dr. Shives, cut the “girls’ softball size” hole out of my leg to remove the sarcoma 25 years ago this year.  I hadn’t seen Dr. Tran in several years. 
 
       He was as thrilled to see me as I was to see him.  He greeted me, “Reverend Cooper,” which all the Mayo staff did 25 years ago.  Now it’s Chuck—the name my chart says that I prefer.
 
       Dr. Tran did exactly what I thought he might do.  Of course, he wanted to look at my leg.  He was more than pleased with how his work has held up for 25 years.  So am I.
 
      And he asked if some pictures could be taken of my leg.  I wasn’t surprised.
 
      Well, it was considerably different than 20 or 25 years ago.  Then they pulled out a nice camera and shot a few pictures.  Today was a first for me: I was in a photo op in a studio.  The photographer must have taken 15 or 20 pictures.

      Mayo is a bit ahead of their time in lots of ways, especially medically.  But here’s another one. 
 
      I don’t get out much past Gatti’s and Texas Roadhouse.  Maybe a stop at Chick Fil A now and then.
 
      When I walked in the cafeteria I saw some maybe three-foot-tall robots.  I finally figured out that they were delivering food to people.  You make your order and then you’re given a “token.”  When your food is ready, the robot brings it to your table.  There’s more than one way to reduce staff.
 
      The funniest thing to me was to see three of these robots return to the area where the food is prepared.  These three robots were in a line next to each other waiting patiently without saying a word until their next assignment.   They’d make a good husband.
 
      I have one more appointment at 4:15 EST.  It is the big one.  We will see what is transpiring with the multiple myeloma.  I’ve tried to not get overly hopeful.
 
      I do feel better than I have in quite some time.  I am in the best shape that I have been in since all this started almost three years ago.  I have been swimming every day possible, including both mornings here. 
 
      My skin smells like chlorine after two days in the pool here.  Not so at home.
 
      Exercise and diet do make a difference.  Maybe someday I might add rest to the triad.
 
      Thanks for your continued support, especially prayer support.  I know that it isn’t as fervent as it was two years ago when it looked like a stem cell transplant was in the making.
 
      I firmly believe that I am doing as well as I am because of great medical care—here and at home—and the power of God released through your prayers.
 
      As I have shared in these blogs, I am a very blessed man by God’s grace.  I am very underserving, but very much grateful.   There is rarely a day that goes by that I don’t express that gratitude.
 
      I will hit the road immediately after seeing Dr. Leung.  Teresa will have the information on how that appointment went.
 
      Thanks for loving me.

     I am sitting in the Cancer Center this morning awaiting chemotherapy.  I am recovering from the tick issue, though not back 100%, but well enough to resume chemo.  After today’s treatment I only have three more before going back to Mayo Clinic in the fall.
 
     Some of these blogs have been more than heavy, as they should have been.  This one not so much.
 
     Parts of the US have been inundated with cicadas this summer, including Central Kentucky and Beaver Trail in Lawrenceburg.  I will admit that not quite as bad as on Harrodsburg Road where Dave and Nancy Alger live.  Nancy sent Teresa pictures of trunks of trees covered with cicadas. 
 
     As many as 1.5 million cicadas can appear in any given acre.   I haven’t seen that many!
 
     My recollection is that it hasn’t been 17 years since the last time we dealt with them.  Maybe some of them can’t read a calendar.  Some of them may be on a 13-year cycle.
 
     I have learned some things about these pesky insects.
 
● They can’t swim.  I fished lots of dead ones out of our pool. 
 
● They can fly faster than my zero-turn mower. 
 
● Their favorite landing spot is an uncovered neck.
 
● They can get in your house without you knowing it.
 
● Their carcasses stink.
 
Hopefully they will die off by the end of June.
 
     I couldn’t help but think of what it must have been like for the Egyptians when God sent the Plague of Locusts on Egypt.  They covered the ground until it was black.  They must have filled the houses.  I am sure that they could fly faster than an Egyptian lawnmower.
 
     Had I been Pharaoh I would have thrown in the towel and let the Hebrew children grow after the locusts invaded the land.  A hard heart can make you do stupid things.   It can also lead to even greater judgment as the Egyptians found out.
 
     I will rejoice when the cicadas are gone.  I even more rejoice that life’s challenges haven’t hardened my heart.
 
     God looks up my heart and yours.  I hope what He sees is pleasing to Him.
 

       I am sorry that I haven’t written a blog in a while, but honestly I haven’t felt up to it.
 
       About six weeks ago I began to sense that something was going on beyond the norm.  I began to feel lethargic, most of my body ached, and my blood pressure was doing some crazy things on the low end which is rare for me.
 
        One afternoon I came home and laid on the couch for a short nap.  Six hours later I woke up and then went to bed and slept until morning.
 
       On a Saturday afternoon I had Teresa take me to the ER because I hadn’t gotten out of bed for a couple of days and my blood pressure was 88/48.
 
       After a few hours in the ER I came home and was told to take a Tylenol before I went to bed.  When the Tylenol “hit” my body was literally on fire.  I took my blood pressure and it was 90/36.
 
       I had been seeing my hematologist during this.  My blood counts were not where they should be and he discontinued chemotherapy, which is still the case.  He knew that I had had a tick bite and he tested me for Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever and Lyme Disease.  Both came back negative.  He put me on an antibiotic before we heard the results, just in case.
 
       On Thursday Dr. Hicks called me with a very much upbeat tone in his voice.  It appears that I have Ehrlichiosis which is bacteria from a tick bite.  Blood work points in that direction.
 
       I have never felt this way through chemotherapy.  The closest thing would be the harvesting of the stem cells, but that lasted only three days.
 
       Never once during two and a half years of dealing with three cancers have I thought that I might be leaving this world.  Over the past six weeks there have been a couple nights that I wasn’t sure I was staying in this world.
 
       Yes, “for to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”  I just prefer the gain to wait for a bit.
 
       I am far from back to normal.  This has been a very long week with some responsibilities that I had at work.  Thursday night I came home and was exhausted.
 
       I went to bed and slept for about 10 hours, but I didn’t feel all that refreshed when I got up.   I said I felt like my cell phone.   If I drain the power out of my cell phone completely, it takes it a long time to start to recharge and then longer to fully recharge.
 
       I do believe that I have turned the corner.  I fully intend to preach tomorrow if folks still remember who I am. 
 
       I have been reminded once again of just how fragile life is and how vulnerable we can be.  We take way too much for granted.
 
       I have also been reminded that even when we don’t feel His Presence, Jesus is always there.   If I was honest, which I have always tried to be in these blogs, I would tell you that the sweetness of His Presence has been almost non-existent through this. 
 
       I knew He was there because of His Promises.  Sometimes we stand on the promises and we walk by faith.  Illness is often one of those times.
 
       As I contemplated His Presence this morning, I clicked on a worship song that I’d love us to do.  It’s called, “If Not for Grace.”
 
Where would I be, You only know.
I’m glad You see through eyes of love.
A hopeless case, an empty place,
If not for grace.
 
Precious Lord, take my hand
Lead me on, let me stand
I’m a hopeless case, an empty place,
If not for grace.
 
       And as I sang, the floodgates of heaven opened and the sweet peace of Jesus filled my heart in a way that I haven’t felt in a while.  And maybe a tear or two in my eyes.
 
       I might have to muster up enough energy today to walk down to the dock and “have a little talk with Jesus.”
 
       Where would I be, if not for grace? 
 
       I think that I am on the way back.  For that I give Him praise.
 
       I appreciate your prayers.
 

     After a difficult night on Friday and a none better day on Saturday, I decided it was wise to head to the ER.  On the way there I called my sister, Jan, who is a nurse, and her husband, Grady, who is a doctor.  I thought maybe getting some confirmation that we were making a good decision was prudent.
 
     On Friday night and Saturday morning my blood pressure had tanked.  It was 88/48 on Friday night and 90/50 on Saturday morning.  When I shared those numbers with Grady, his response was, “That’s not good.”  Not really what you want to hear from a doctor, including your brother-in-law.
 
     I also vacillated both days from either being way too hot or way too cold.
 
     When we arrived at the ER they were exceptionally busy.  Because it was a heart issue, they took me back to take my blood pressure.  Like most every parent has experienced, a child can be healed between your home and the doctor’s office.   My blood pressure was a perfect 115/74.  From that moment I think they were going to jump through the hoops they should, but I think they didn’t think I had a blood pressure issue.

     About four hours later they sent me home with these instructions: get plenty of rest, drink a lot of fluids, and take Tylenol for the pain.
 
     Being that I am a man who follows directions, especially from Teresa, I went home and did just that.
 
     About 10 p.m. I took a Tylenol.  As soon as it started to take effect, I began sweating profusely.  I knew something wasn’t right.  My heart felt as weird as it did when I had A-fib some years ago.
 
     I took my blood pressure.  It was 90/36.  I laid really still for most of the night.
 
     By morning the sweats turned into “freezes” and I was pretty sure that the crisis had passed.  My blood pressure was back to its normal range, about 115/74.
 
     All I can figure is that I have developed an aversion to Tylenol.   I rarely take pain killers but the last couple of weeks I have taken a lot of Tylenol because of the pain in my legs from neuropathy caused by the chemotherapy. 
 
     Here are some takeaways.
 
     You know your body better than anyone else.  If you think that something isn’t quite right, get some help, even if they don’t believe you!
 
     The weekend crew at the ER may not be quite as compassionate as the staff at the cancer center.  They were terribly busy and I tried to take that in consideration.
 
     I have a lot more empathy now for folks dealing with lingering or long-term pain.  Most of the pain that I have had has been after surgery and the pain usually gets better the longer things go. 
 
     The past two plus years the neuropathy from Chemo has been more than manageable.  At least until the last three weeks.  One evening my feet got really cold.  It may have been the day I put in the Pontoon Boat at Beaver.  I really don’t remember.  But since then, the pain has been constant. 
 
     People who deal with lasting pain have a new place in my heart.  I can pray for them with much more insight.
 
     Lord, help me be patient when life doesn’t go smoothly.  Help me to listen to Your voice and pray for people who need Your help.

      I jumped in the car after meeting with Dr. Leung and drove six hours before I stopped for the night about 1:15 a.m. our time.  Dr. Leung was about an hour later than the appointment time or I likely would have headed on home.
 
      The wait was worth it to see Dr. Leung, as was the two-and-a-half-day trip to go to Rochester and back.  I wanted to see the expressions on his face, as well as to look into his eyes.  I couldn’t have gotten either of those on a video or Zoom call.
 
      The news was as expected.  I knew the results of the bone marrow biopsy before he did.  He confirmed that I now have had three straight MRD-negatives.
 
      The protocol is to have two years of treatment and two MRD-negatives a year a part, which I have had, before making a decision on continuing chemotherapy or not.  Dr. Leung’s desire is for me to have six more months of chemo and then return to Mayo Clinic for more testing.  If the tests are the same as the ones last month, then his advice will be to discontinue chemotherapy.
 
      With as well as I have done, if the tests come back negative in September, Dr. Leung believes that it could be 4-5 years before the myeloma would return.  His belief is that multiple myeloma will not reduce my longevity and that I will die of something else.
 
      By God’s grace, that is as good of news as we could have hoped.  It looks like you might have to put up with me a tad longer.
 
      It’s headed for 2:00 a.m., but there are two stories I have to share.
 
      I walked out of Mayo 10E at about 5:00 p.m.  I saw no one in the waiting room nor any of the staff behind the “check-in” desk.  I headed to the elevator and just as the doors were closing a woman slipped onto the elevator.
 
      I guessed her to be in her mid-40s.  She was wearing “the scarf” and it was obvious that she was being treated for cancer by chemotherapy.
 
      I am on the elevator with another cancer patient and my heart went out to her.  I asked, “How did your appointment go?”
 
      She paused for a moment, looked down at the floor, and said, “About as good as I could have expected.”
 
      She then looks up and asks me, “How about yours?” 
 
      All I could say was, “About the same.”
 
      We got off the elevator on the subway level and I headed toward the elevator for the parking garage.  I lost sight of her until I got to the line waiting to get on the parking garage elevators.  It was then that I realized that she was directly in front of me in line.
 
      She turned and realized that I was behind her.  As she turned back around I said to her, “I am going to be praying for you.”  “Thank you” was her response.
 
      My car was on the fourth floor of the parking garage.  I had walked the four flights down when I got to the Clinic.   The line was very long waiting for the elevator.  There are three elevators going to the eight levels of the garage.  They were on the sixth, seventh, and third floors, the latter one going up.
 
      I was in a hurry to get on the road so I decided to book up the stairs.  It’s been a while since I have walked up four flights of stairs.
 
      I got to the landing on the fourth floor.  As I passed by the elevators the middle door opened and out she walked. 
 
      She smiled and said, “You took the stairs?”  Yes was about all that I could say.
 
      We headed to the fourth-floor level of the garage and she went the same direction as I was going.  She got in her car.  It was parked next to mine.  What are the chances?
 
      At 5:00 in the afternoon Mayo Clinic shuts down and lots of folks headed to their cars.  Four levels above us were all wanting to get on their way and no one seemed to be willing to let either of us out.
 
      After what seemed like 10 minutes, though it was probably maybe five or so, I couldn’t stand it any longer.   This woman needed to get home.   I got out of my car and pecked on her driver’s side window.
 
      “Would you like me to help you get out?” I asked.  She had been talking to her husband, making sure that he had picked up their son.  She said, “Sure, that would be nice.”
 
      I walked out into the line of traffic and stopped it with a smile and a thank you wave.
 
      As she was leaving she asks me, “Would you like to get out, too?”
 
      That honestly wasn’t my intention.
 
      There are God moments when a 10 minute encounter with someone can help make someone’s day somewhat brighter. 
 
      And I will keep my word to pray for her.
 
      I finally got on the road and headed south.  Well, actually east and then south.
 
      I really didn’t plan to stop after just two hours but nature called and I stopped at a Burger King that was connected to a C-Store.
 
      I got fuel in the car and then went to the counter to order a Double Whopper.  I eat burgers with no cheese, mayo, or bread.  There’s far less sodium than on a deli sandwich.
 
      The lady who took my order had a sweet spirit about her.  I’d guess she was 50ish.  She smiled as she took my order and was very gracious.  I didn’t ask, but I’d not be surprised if she was a believer.
 
      I took a $20 bill out of my billfold and handed it to her for the $9.00 or so meal.
 
      There must be something about Burger King ladies that moves my heart.  I’d only given away part of the money I had set aside for the Lord to use to bless servers because of the one-toothed Burger King lady.
 
      The Spirit nudges me, “Give her the $10.00 change.
 
      I asked for a cup for some ice and when she handed it to me I slipped the $10 bill across the counter and said, “This is for you.”  The look on her face was priceless.  She gasped for a moment and said, “Thank you.”
 
      I got the impression that clerks at Burger King don’t get too many tips, especially not $10 ones.
 
      While I was getting a cup of ice she passed by me as she took someone else’s order to their table.  The smile was still on her face.
 
      I got in the car and literally started laughing somewhat uncontrollably as I started the car.
 
      The Apostle Paul wrote that God loves a cheerful giver.  The word in the original is “hilaros.”  God loves a hilarious giver.  I experienced the meaning of what Paul wrote. 
 
      I encourage you to try being a hilarious giver sometime, especially when someone isn’t expecting it.
 
      You might just make their day.  And yours.
 
      I  am off to bed.

      I began writing this while sitting in the waiting room on Mayo Building 10th floor, desk E.  Mayo 10E is where Dr. Leung, my main doctor here, has his office.  I have been here often.
 
      Almost a month ago I had tests and other doctor visits, but Dr. Leung was unavailable on that visit.  I made the choice to return to Rochester to see him in person, rather than by Zoom. 
 
      I also made the choice to come alone.  Oreo, our aging dog isn’t doing well, and we hated to leave her with someone else.  Sometimes alone isn’t a bad thing.  I spent the first part of the trip yesterday with the radio off and my “heart to pray” on.  I should do that more often.
 
      The trip here was different than most times that I have come to Mayo.   I usually leave after church on Sunday and end up getting here before midnight.   Yesterday I left about nine in the morning so I got to Rochester early in the evening.
 
      Instead of heading to the hotel, which is within eyesight and walking distance to Mayo, I headed to eat at Teresa’s favorite restaurant.  As I made my way to the hotel, still in the daylight, I didn’t get that usual feeling of apprehension mixed with hope when I drive into Rochester and see the Mayo buildings.
 
      I know the results of the tests and I believe that I know that what I will hear this afternoon should be good news.  It has been an almost stress-free trip to Mayo.
 
      Well, at least until I got on the Mayo elevator and punched the 10th floor button.  I can’t explain it, but I had this anxiety flow into my heart.  It’s not a fear.  It’s not a worry. It’s not crippling.
 
      I had intended to do some things while I was waiting.  I came two hours early just in case.  The “just in case” rarely works out, but it was worth a shot.  It didn’t today.  It looks like I will be happy if they call me close to my appointment time.
 
      The anxiousness remained when I sat down.  If you have read many of these blogs, you know that I write when things are on my mind and heart.   Putting them down helps me deal with some things. 
 
      Sometimes I pray.  Sometimes I speak with others.  And sometimes I write.  Some of the blogs I have never sent; they ended up being just for my benefit.  This may be one of those.  Honestly, my heart has quietened as I have written—though not completely! 
 
      Prayer at this point isn’t for results, it is for a calmness in my heart. 
 
      I am blessed beyond measure.  Last week I met with a guy who was giving me an estimate on some things at the house.  It didn’t take long to realize that he was a believer.  I shared with him a small part of my story.  He had one response: GRACE!
 
      He was right as I have shared.  It is only by God’s grace that I have come this far.  And whatever I hear this afternoon will be because of God’s grace.     
 
      Instead of doing some things that I intend to do, I spent about 30 or 40 minutes in the Word trying to better understand grace. 
 
      Grace is a “post Cross” concept.  Grace is mentioned only 13 times in the Old Testament; only three or four that wouldn’t be about a person’s character.
 
      Grace is mentioned only 3 times in the Gospels, all of them in John’s Prologue where he speaks of Jesus being full of grace and truth.
 
      Grace comes in a variety of ways.  There is saving grace as Paul says in Ephesians 2 that “we are saved by grace.”
 
      There is sufficient grace that comes when God chooses not to remove a thorn in the flesh and says, “My grace is sufficient for you.”
 
      There is dying grace when God calls us to His eternal glory.
 
      There is undeserved blessing by God’s grace.
 
      There is grace that enables us to overcome temptation.
 
      And there is simply “living” grace that enables us to live as His followers every day.
      
      In the vast majority of references to grace, grace is something that is given.  Grace is a gift from God, a gift we don’t deserve, but is given to us out of the Father’s great love.
 
      Writing, prayer, and study of the Word is a pretty good treatment for handling anxiety.
 
      I feel better, somewhat.  As the time for the appointment comes, not fully at peace.  The rest of my life somewhat hinges on what the doctor decides.  I guess maybe I ought to be a tad nervous.
 
      I will tell you the results of the visit tomorrow after I get back to Kentucky!  I will hit the road as soon as I can.

     I began writing this last Monday while waiting for my first appointment at Mayo Clinic.  I am finishing it while taking chemotherapy this morning at Baptist Health in Lexington.  I apologize for not sending blogs last week, but my computer decided that it didn’t want to connect.  I finally got it fixed today.  I also apologize for this blog’s length.
 
     I was a sportswriter in high school for the local newspaper, so I am writing this like I was covering a basketball game giving the most important information first and then filling in the details.  If you watched the Colorado State vs Maryland game yesterday, the story would lead with the buzzer beater that Maryland hit to win the game.
 
     The buzzer beater is that Dr. Hicks confirmed that the Bone Marrow Biopsy for the third time in a row is MRD-negative.  That means that the multiple myeloma cells are so few that they don’t register. 
 
     The results are three for three.  All three cancers are in check.  Feel free to stop here if you don’t want the details!
 
     Over the past two years I have had moments when God spoke to my heart.  He did through a great niece on Sunday as I faced what was lying ahead when we got to Mayo.
 
     Carly is a special child and very special to me.  Her mom sends us a video of Carly encouraging me and letting me know that she was praying for me. 
 
     It is pretty humbling to be prayed for by an 11-year-old.  It is also more than moving.  (I watched it again this evening.  It might be hard to sleep unless the lump in my throat goes away.)
 
     Teresa and I had an uneventful trip to Rochester a week ago Sunday, arriving about 10:30 their time. 
 
      As I drove down Broadway and could see the Mayo buildings that were silhouetted in the clear, dark sky, I sensed the same feelings that I have had almost every time I have come to Mayo Clinic—apprehension mixed with hope.
 
     2025 marks 25 years that I have been coming to Mayo.  I can’t say that it seems like yesterday since that first visit.  Lots of water under the bridge since then.
 
     What came to me Sunday night after seeing the Mayo buildings was that I am more than a blessed man.  As serious as the sarcoma was 25 years ago, I would have signed up then to live another 25 years.  The Lord willing, I might exceed that.
 
     My first appointment was to have blood drawn.  The young tech was very proficient, as well as personable.  When she finished wrapping my arm I said to her, “You can be my vampire anytime.”  She laughed as did I.  In the midst of lots of pain here, there is also lots of hope and joy.
 
     My next test was a PET Scan.  The nurse was a believer and we talked about where she went to church.  An hour and a half later I headed to the big one for the day—the bone marrow biopsy.
 
     Things went as expected and we got back to the hotel with just a sore hip. 
 
     As do some other medical facilities, Mayo posts the test results as soon as they are available, usually before I see the doctor.  I have found this to be true: I know just enough to know that I don’t know enough to be elated or worried.  But I read them anyway!
 
     I was smart enough to know my PSA was perfect.
 
     We ate at Teresa’s favorite restaurant thanks to one of you. 
 
     I was zonked after the day, so I headed to bed early.
 
     I got up early and ate some breakfast.  A teenager rolls in and stops to eat at the table next to mine.  Yes, he rolled in in his wheelchair.  He was a nice young man.  He maneuvered his chair himself.
 
     I chose to ride the shuttle this morning and saw the young man waiting for the driver to put his wheelchair on the lift on the shuttle.  I got on the shuttle and could hear the lift.  When the young man was secure I heard him say to the driver, “Thank you, sir.”
 
     When I went through security and the officer asked, “Do you have any guns, knives, or explosives?” I gave him my pat answer, “No, just these hands of steel.”  He cracked up.  I told him that I would try to keep my hands of steel in check.
 
     As I sit waiting for an ultrasound that is intended to give the doctor insight into my thyroid, I am sitting in the waiting room adjacent to another teenager, a young girl maybe 13 or 14.  Unlike most folks at Mayo, she is wearing a mask.
 
     The tendency to complain about a hurting hip goes out the window when I encounter two teenagers who are at Mayo needing treatment.  Lord, help me be grateful.  I prayed for both of them.  My health struggles started at 46, not at 16.
 
     I met with Dr. Brito, my endocrinologist.  He is one of my favorites.  He has a persona that enables you to trust him.  There was no indication that the thyroid cancer had returned.  From the blood work, it appears that the left side is overcompensating, which I guess is better than undercompensating.  He was concerned enough that he wants to see me in six months rather than a year.
 
     Dr. Brito did give me a compliment that I can’t remember hearing before.  He said, “You look really good—for your age.”  I think it was a compliment….
 
     We headed home.  The ride back was as uneventful as the ride up.  We hit two days of good weather in between significant storms.
 
     I am finishing this, as said at the start, while I am taking chemotherapy.  I usually come on Tuesdays, but I came today so I could see Dr. Hicks, who is in Frankfort on Tuesdays.
 
     My nurse today we will call nurse L.  It’s my first time having her because she goes with Dr. Hicks to Frankfort on Tuesdays.  I have had several nurses in these two plus years.  I would take nurse L every time.
 
     First stick on the IV.  She knows exactly what is to be done with myeloma patients.  She is extremely competent.  She has a winsome personality.   I feel as comfortable as possible in the Cancer Center.
 
     After Dr. Hicks gave me the details, I couldn’t help but ask him how often he sees patients with three straight MRD-negatives.  He smiled.  He looked at me and said, “You are a blessed man.  I have seen consecutive MRD-negatives.  I have seen patients with multiple cancers.  You are rare.”
 
     And so as I contemplate what I thought to be the case, with IV fluids dripping into my veins, I must admit that the guilt that I have felt is poignant this morning.
 
     People often ask, “Why me, Lord?” when they get bad news.  I am asking, as I have often in this, “Why me, Lord?” after getting the best news that I could receive.
 
     All I can say is that I am still trying to understand God’s grace.  That is the only answer to the question.  It has nothing to do with deserving; it has everything to do with God’s mercy.
 
     Someday when I stand on the other side, hopefully I will understand.  But for now, I see in a mirror dimly.
 
     What I do know is that I am a very blessed man.  Right behind is that I am a very grateful man.
 
     As I have tried to do for the past 25 years I intend to live each day to the fullest.  Each day is a gift from God.  Lord, help me to use each day wisely.
 
     And so I will hug my wife, my kids and grandkids, others in our family, and others I love when given the opportunity.  I will cherish the privilege to be a pastor.  I will work at our business.
 
     And maybe, just maybe, I might find a day or two to see if I am smarter than a fish at Beaver.