I am writing this on Thanksgiving Day, but not about Thanksgiving.  Maybe I should.  I do have lots for which I am thankful.  I am more than a blessed man.
     I took the advice of my oncologist and scheduled a colonoscopy.  He advised that after dealing with three cancers in the past two years, maybe it was time to do the normal “medical things” for a person my age.
     My last colonoscopy was in 2011.  It was past time.
     Two things happened in preparation for the scope.  One of them had happened maybe only once or twice before.  The second had never happened in the last two years during any of the numerous medical procedures that I have had.
     First, I had tears well up in my eyes during the preparation phase.
     It’s not as you think.  As unpleasant as the preparation is, drinking the magnesium citrate didn’t bring tears.  It brought what it was intended to do.  If someone could make that stuff taste better they could be a millionaire.
     Being up most of the night didn’t bring tears either.
      Having the IV inserted didn’t bring tears.  This one was one of the easiest that I have had, and I have had lots of them.  There have been a couple that brought enough pain that I would like to have cried.
     What made tears well up in my eyes was the nurse, actually a nurse practitioner, who handled the preparation.
     We will call her Milly.  I have met very few people like her in the medical field.  Tears didn’t come because she was gruff, mean, or uncaring. 
     Milly is a thirty-something, beautiful young woman in every sense of the word.  She is a believer.  She is married and has a three-year-old son.  She is highly intelligent and very skilled.
     Part of her responsibility was to look over my health records to see if I was at risk in having the colonoscopy.  Because the “colonoscopy center” is out of the Baptist Health network, she had no access to what had happened in the last two years.
     It took a while to recap the diagnosis and treatments for the three cancers.  She was more than knowledgeable, even on multiple myeloma.  I shared with her the plan was to have the stem cell transplant and then not having to have the transplant because of the great results from chemotherapy and prayer.
     She had been typing in the information on the laptop, but I could tell that she was more than simply recording data.
     I asked her if I had time to share a short story.  She backed away from the laptop.
     I shared with her that on Mayo Clinic’s “spreadsheet” there wasn’t a column for the effect of prayer.  God’s power and grace have brought His healing because of the prayers of God’s people, especially children.
     I shared with her that just a few days before we were to leave for the transplant that three of my granddaughters, ages two, four, and just turned seven came out wearing t-shirts that said, “PawPaw’s prayer warriors.”
     As I have shared in these blogs, I shared with her that I have never asked God to heal me.   I have, however, asked God not to destroy their faith.
     It was more than Milly could take and more than she had bargained for in screening a patient for a procedure.   Seeing the tears well up in her eyes was more than I could take.
     Neither of us could say anything.  We didn’t need to.  The tears spoke louder than any words ever could.   Tears often do that.
     And then the second thing happened that has not happened in the last two years during all the treatments, doctors’ appointments, and procedures.
     Without saying a word, Milly spontaneously reached over and gave me a hug. 
     There isn’t a great deal of joy in the colonoscopy surgery center, except, of course, when patients get good results.  I did and I am on the 10-year plan.
     But the greater joy was experiencing a light in the middle of what can be a dark place.  I will long remember Milly.
     Milly moved on to the next patient and it wasn’t long before I was taken into the room for the scope with a totally different staff.  I couldn’t get the redness out of my eyes quickly enough.  I wonder if they wondered what happened in the preparation that would have made tears well up in my eyes.
     I have a feeling that maybe Milly’s next patient may have thought the same.
     I thought about Milly lots of times the rest of the day on Monday, and several times since as is obvious by my writing about her.
     I have prayed for her and her family.
   On Sunday I preached on what seemed to be an unusual passage for Thanksgiving Sunday.  I preached from Deuteronomy 8, part of the sermon that Moses preached to the Israelites as they were standing on the edge of the Jordan River getting ready to enter the Promised Land.  If you haven’t heard the sermon, I would encourage you to take the time.  It’s a sermon in part that lays down God’s principles for handling wealth.
     There is a line in verse 7 that says “For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land.”
     That is God’s heart for His children—to bring us into a good land, a land of blessing.
     I prayed that prayer for Milly, that God will bring her into a “good land,” a land of blessing in her life, her marriage, with her son, and even her ministry at the colonoscopy center.
     We never know when or where God may show up.  Who would ever have thought it might be while waiting for a procedure that none of us enjoys.
      May God use you today, maybe even in an unlikely place.  We are called to be the salt and the light.  I experienced both through the loving heart of one of His own this week.

Saturday, November 2, 2024  Sent
       I wrote this earlier in the week, but didn’t have peace about sending it until this morning.
 
Wednesday, October 30, 2024  Peace Revisited
       The last couple of days have been two of the tougher ones in quite some time.  It had nothing to do with the illnesses I have battled.  It had nothing to do with a new decade in the sights.  Why, it didn’t even have a thing to do with Teresa!
       I had had two circumstances, one at church and one at work that have been weighing on my mind and heart.  I could relate with the Apostle Paul when he wrote, “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.”  Hum, I think we just sang that last Sunday.
       I’m not at liberty to share the details of either situation, but they both were heavy on me. 
       I have a not-so-crazy belief that stress was a major determinant for me to end up with cancer over 20 years ago and then again almost two years ago.
       Not the normal stresses of life, but what I call “stress of the heart.”  Something that cuts to the core of who you are.  It’s that pit in your stomach that doesn’t go away.
       It’s not depression.  Depression is a rarity for me, if ever.
       It’s more like despair over a circumstance that I can’t change.
       The biggest symptom is the churning in my heart.
      Honestly, the last two years I have worked really hard at trying not to be emotionally involved or emotionally at risk when situations have arisen.  I am sure at times some folks have thought that I have been aloof or uncaring when I haven’t reached out to them because of this concern about the destructive possibilities I’ve felt at times.
       I went to bed knowing that sleep would be a hope more than a reality.  The one time I did fall off to sleep for a few minutes, Oreo decided the old dog needed to go out.  Her, not me.
       I finally rolled out of bed and decided that what I was feeling was no way to live and the worst thing for me, in lots of ways, including my health.
       And I did something that I have never done in my five decades of preaching.  I decided to look at a sermon that I had preached before. 
       Oh, I have looked at past sermons.  There was a time that I had 25 years of preaching at Daybreak in two filing cabinets.  One Saturday the Lord said, “Throw them all in the dumpster.”   Like the grapevine, fruit comes on the new growth.  And I did, without one regret.
       But this time looking at a sermon that I had previously preached was totally different.  I went back and looked at a sermon that I preached for my own benefit.  I had never done that before.
       Last year I preached a series of sermons on peace.  The first one was on peace WITH God.  The second was on the peace OF God.   It was the latter sermon I wanted to see.   I still had it on my computer.
       As I read through that sermon, God did an amazing work in my heart—not because of the sermon, but because of the principles from God’s Word that were in the sermon.
       And by the time that I had read through the sermon, the gift of peace that passes our understanding had flooded my heart.  Gone was the turmoil.  Gone was that pit that I had struggled with for two days.  They had been replaced by the sweet peace of Jesus.
       Being a pastor can be a very tough calling.  I think that Daybreak is more difficult than most because of our unashamed stance for life.   It is the enemy’s greatest area of warfare as we can see in our country.  His attack on our church is more than obvious, just by looking at the heartaches that have come to several people in our church who have been involved at Assurance.
       By the time that I met with someone who was in a far greater crucible than I perceived myself to be, God had brought me to a place where my concern was on their need.  It is where I always want to be as a pastor, though I fall far short of that.
       One of the things that we all know, but at times fail to realize in the moment, is that if our focus is on us and our problems, then it is doubtful that we will ever be able to help someone else.
       The second thing that we know is that the only way that we can come alongside of others is to know the comfort that Jesus brings alongside of us in our times of struggle. 
       It happened to me this morning.  It can happen to you.
     The sermon resonated so much with me this morning that I considered including it at the end of this blog.  I thought that maybe a better plan would be to ask Megan to post it on the church’s website and leave it there for a while.  You never know when you might get one of those pits in your stomach, and it will be there for you to read.
       Daybreak-lex.com
       After finishing the blog, I am wondering if I will get a bill from Mike Courtney for counseling!

I predict that this will be a colder than normal winter. I haven’t heard that from the weather folks on TV. I haven’t checked the Farmers Almanac. I base my prediction on one thing:
The Beaver squirrels. For the last two months they have been going crazy.
We have at least six hickory trees in our yard. In the previous four years that we have lived here I have fretted each fall because of the number of hickory nuts and shells that have fallen from those trees. The grass hardly grows under one of the trees because of the nuts. I have scooped up wheelbarrow loads of them.
But not this year. I have seen only two hickory nuts this fall on the ground.
In the past two months we have seen the residue of the cracked-opened shells of the nuts so thick on the driveway that it looked like it was a different color.
So, I am predicting a cold winter. I guess that we will see.
One evening recently I drove home after dark. The full moon was stunning.
A couple of days ago Teresa and I took a short boat ride on Beaver Lake. The water was like a piece of glass and a few of the trees were beginning to turn.
God’s creation is an amazing thing.
It never ceases to amaze me that the people who are considered to be the smartest are actually foolish.
Paul writes in Romans 1:20 For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.
How can anyone be so foolish to think that all this just happened or evolved from an amoeba?
As I was glancing at the full moon, while trying to keep my eyes on the road, I couldn’t help but think of what heaven must be like. If this world has amazing splendor, I can’t imagine what splendor awaits us in heaven.
Until then, I will enjoy a moonlit night, the beauty of fall, and wait to see if the squirrels actually do know what is coming.

I wrote most of this Saturday evening, thinking I might include it in today’s sermon.   But as you will see, it ended up being longer than a sermon could bear.  

I have shared in recent weeks that some of our vendors are from India and are zealous about their faith.  Zealousness doesn’t equal truth in religion, in politics, nor a high school student’s response on a Scott Emmon’s math exam.  

On Thursday I entered a distributor’s warehouse and I could sense that something was amiss.  The owner and his immediate family were back in India seeing his extended family.  While there his wife, who is about 40 years old, had a stroke and then a second stroke.  She is in a coma in the ICU unit.  Their family doesn’t know if she will live or die.  

I texted the owner and told him that I was told the news and that I was praying for his wife and for him.  

I got an almost immediate response from him: “Thank you, brother.  Please pray.”  

That was from a Hindu.

I headed to the next vendor who is a competitor of the first vendor.   

Two brothers own this business.  One is a zealous Hindu.  I rarely see him without the bindi (dot) on his forehead.  The second brother I have never seen with any sign of the Hindu faith.

The “non-practicing” brother comes out and I asked if they knew the other vendor and his wife’s situation.  He tells me that his wife and her family are close and they know the situation.  I told him that I was praying for her.

A few weeks ago I shared in a blog that we had received some items from this second vendor for which we had not been charged because of a new software that they were using.  Up to that point, I was the only customer who had told them of the software problem.

I then explained that once again we had received items for which we had not been charged and had been charged for items which we had not received.  I had in a grocery cart about $350 of items that we had received for which we had not been charged.

At this point he becomes extremely agitated, not with me, but with his employees.  
He turns to me and says, “July, August, September, and now October that we have had this new system and you are the only customer who has shared this with us.”

He then looks at one of his employees and says, “Look at what he received that he wasn’t charged for.”  He asks me, “Was it last week?”

I said, “No, last week I was at the Mayo Clinic.”

He turns to me and asks, “Mayo Clinic?”  I said, “Yes, Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN.”

At this point he knows it could be serious.   “Why did you go to Mayo Clinic?”  

“I have been going there the last 18 months.  I have had three cancers.”

The tone of the conversation shifts dramatically.  

He says to me, “So the chemotherapy is working.”  I said, “The chemotherapy and the hand of God.”

This man then says to me, “I believe there is a God, but I don’t believe that He is involved in this world.”

And then he paused and said, “Until I meet a man like you.”  The implication was that if you’ve had three cancers and you are doing as well as you are, then there must be something to it.

Kind of like Peter and John before the Sanhedrin.  Luke writes in Acts 4: 14 But since they could see the man who had been healed standing there with them, there was nothing they could say.

He then said to me, “I believe death will be better.”

At this point I said to him, “You know I am a pastor and you know what I believe.”  And I pulled out that verse that you are probably tired of hearing from me.   You may have memorized it without intending to do so.

I said, “There is a verse in the Bible that I live by.  Yes, death will be better.   The verse is: For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”

I came back to the whole issue where we started.  I said, “Heaven will be gain for me, but until then I must live a life that does the right thing.  That’s why I tell you when mistakes are made in your favor.”

I left their business that day with a different relationship with the man than I previously had.  I invite you to pray with me for him.

I have this crazy belief that has no Biblical proof text.  I don’t think it happens in every believer’s life, but I believe it does for some of God’s saints.

I believe that some folks God calls home when their death will bring more people to Jesus than the rest of their life will.  

Years ago those of us old enough to remember, remember how John Lindgren died.   As a TV anchor we literally watched him fight cancer until Jesus called him home.  And I believe his death brought more people to Jesus than if had he stayed in this world.

I preached on Stephen this morning.  It sure looks to me that Stephen would be an example of that possibility.  The old saying that “the blood of the martyr is the seed of the church” isn’t just a trite saying.

Because of Stephen’s death the Christians in Jerusalem were scattered to Judea and Samaria and eventually the uttermost parts of the earth.

In some sense we are recipients of the impact of Stephen’s death.

Teresa and I met with a dear saint yesterday afternoon with whom we have become close because she started reading the blogs.  She encouraged me during a difficult time in my life.  Recently, she has been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness.  She knew that I understood when I took her hand and prayed for her.

Through God’s grace, I believe that one of the reasons that God has thus far allowed me to stay in this world is because of the impact that the blogs have had on some others.  

Maybe I’d better get back to writing more frequently.  I’d still prefer that the gain doesn’t come anytime soon.

     I have been mulling over this theme in my mind for 5-6 days, but for some reason I felt the nudge of the Holy Spirit to write it today.  It may be time sensitive for some reason or some person.
     Last week I met with my local oncologist who oversees the treatment plan from Mayo.  This doctor is a believer and has seen the blessings that I have experienced from the hand of God in the past 18 months.
     Like I do, he attributes my healing to the combination of thermotherapy and the power of God.
     I shared with him that I have somehow become a source of hope for other multiple myeloma patients, as well as other cancer patients.  I think that is one of the reasons the Lord encouraged me to write these blogs, though I had no thought of that happening.
     It wasn’t long before our conversation shifted to our “blessed hope” that is found in Christ Jesus.  My doc said something that has stuck in my mind since our conversation.   He said, “In 50 years all the patients who have myeloma right now will have died.  Healing in this life won’t really matter then.”
     He is right.  Though I may be a source of hope for people who are dealing with myeloma or some other illness now, I ought to be a source of a greater hope for what ultimately matters—spending eternity with Jesus through resurrection healing.
     Every follower of Jesus ought to be a source of that hope for others.
     More than once in these blogs I have shared Paul’s great words of hope, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
     That is our hope.   Physical healing is a marvelous blessing.  I enjoy living in this world.  But our time in this world is not even a blink of an eye in the next life. 

     I am sitting in the lobby of a Comfort Inn in Columbia, TN, as I write this blog.  It might be one of the last places where you might expect to find me.  I’ll give you the reason in a bit.
     It’s been a couple of weeks or so since I have written a blog.  Speechless seems to be the operative word since then.
     It started more than two weeks ago on Sunday morning when at the close of worship our Elders’ Chair, Mike Carter, came forward with an announcement.   This time of year is Pastor Appreciation, which usually goes by without much notice, except for a card or two.
     Mike said that there was something the church had wanted to do for us for some time.  The double doors of the Worship Center that open to the parking lot were opened and in drove Rich Overmyer on a golf cart. 
     When things looked far grimmer last year than they do now I had looked for a golf cart to make the “trip” to the lake easier for me and for Teresa.  With what we paid for the repairs on our house, I hadn’t given a golf cart a second thought this year.
     I was speechless, then and now.  Somehow a thank you that morning, a card of thanks, expressing thanks in the Newsbreak, and now in a blog just do not seem to be enough. 
     The love of folks moved my heart.  It’s a marvelous thing to be loved as a pastor.
 
     Speechless #2 came early this week when we went back to Mayo Clinic for our six-month check-up.  The initial blood work in Lexington looked positive, which made us hopeful.
     Dr. Leung, who has overseen my care, is a man we have gotten to know and love in the past almost two years.  He sat down with us and looked over the blood work.  One test wasn’t back yet, but he was elated with where I am.
     He talked about the good results brought on by the chemotherapy treatments.  I concurred and added along with the touch of God.
     I am an anomaly to him.  The science says one thing, but not what he usually sees.  Sometimes people with unusual intelligence have difficulty seeing anything beyond the science.  But he knows that I am an unusual case so far when it comes to multiple myeloma.
     Teresa then hands me her phone and I play for him a video of me water skiing last month.  He was the doctor who told me that I would never and should never water ski again.  He was speechless.  The look on his face was priceless.
     He did tell us that the protocol for myeloma patients continues to evolve.  We had two consecutive “MRD” negatives from the bone marrow biopsies, but both of those were within six months of each other.   The new protocol is that the space between them needs to be a full year.  That means that when I return to Mayo in the spring of 2025 the results of the bone marrow biopsy will be extremely vital.
     Until then I will live as we have.  We will take each day as it comes and rejoice and be glad in it.
 
     Speechless #3 comes as a part of the reason that we are where we are this morning.  Several weeks ago our good friends, Dave and Missy Cheeks, agreed to go to a concert with us.  Going to a concert is enough of a stretch for us, but going to a concert over four hours a way should make anyone who knows me speechless.
     It was a Crystal Gayle concert.  The four of us love her music, which includes songs that we have sung in worship like “Thank You Jesus for the Blood Applied” and “I Speak Jesus.”
     The trip was more than going to a concert.  Missy’s mom had passed into the arms of Jesus earlier this year and the four of us simply wanted some time together.
     The church where the concert was held is a Pentecostal Church and Charity has that leaning in her background.  I have told Teresa for 40 years that the Lord was going to give her “the gift” someday.  I told her that this might just be the venue.
To add to that, the night before we left, Missy had a dream that the four of us got “the gift” at the concert.
     Well, let’s just say that we are “the gift speechless” after the concert, just in case some of you were wondering or worried.   Maybe it will happen on the ride home.
 
     Speechless #4 has been brought on mostly by my actions.  If you were in worship last Sunday, you know that I was fighting a cold.  I had worked way too much to get ready to go to Rochester and I was feeling the results on Sunday.
     The quick trip to Mayo on Sunday didn’t help, and the late-night drive on Monday until we stopped must have pushed me over the edge.
     By the time we got home on Tuesday I was considerably worse.  I headed to the clinic.  It isn’t Covid.  Just a terrible cold.
     The concert was outdoors and I tried not to sing very much, but if I had to preach this morning, you might be thrilled, because I’d pretty much be speechless.       I guess we will see between now and Sunday!
     I must admit, as I stood last evening singing, there were moments when I felt something of what it will be to stand around the throne of God singing, “Holy, Holy, Holy worthy is the Lamb.”  I look forward to that day coming.
     I pretty sure that will be Speechless #5.

(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.
 

      I was faced with a decision early this morning.  We are faced with choices multiple times each day.
      I got up early to do some things in preparation for a counseling that I had at our house later in the morning.  Teresa has been watching Megan and Bryan’s three little angels for the last three days, so I wanted to make sure I had the house in order before the couple came.  There are some things you learn as a husband after 40 years of marriage.
      Knowing that my days in the pool are limited because fall is just around the corner, I headed to the pool.  It was on the way to the pool that I was confronted with the decision.
      I could see the lake.  It was like a piece of glass, kind of what I think the crystal lake will look like in heaven.  Not a leaf was rustling in the trees.  It was overcast with the forecast of a front moving through today.  All of it promised that the fishing could be good.  And fishing is something that I have done far too little this summer.
      I took a deep breath, opened the small door, and slipped into the pool.  Fishing may have to wait until the weather cools.
      This decision wasn’t life changing or earth shattering.  Life wasn’t going to change a great deal either way.  One less day in the pool wouldn’t likely affect my blood pressure or heart rate.
      Part of the underlying issue was that I had made the commitment to swim every day possible.  The early morning weather reports were that storms could come later in the afternoon. I also don’t swim when the sun is overhead. 
      As I was swimming I wrote part of this blog in my head.  I was faced with a decision with two possibilities.  Both were good things.  Swimming is a good thing, as is fishing—at least for some of us!
      In this case, I made a better decision to swim, realizing the circumstances.
      Those are often the decisions that confront us every day.  Do I choose a good thing, or do I choose the better thing?  Neither choice would have been a sin, which is often the case with some of the choices before us.
      The writer to the Hebrews says to lay aside two things as we seek to run the race—weights and sins.  Often there are some really good things that end up being weights because they are in the wrong priority in our lives.
      Having the willingness to choose the better, rather than the good, can impact our lives.
I tend to be an “all in” kind of guy.  Moderation has never been in my psyche, nor is it Biblical.  “Moderation in all things” is a lie of the enemy. 
      When it comes to being on a diet, I am all in or all out.  After last Saturday’s blog, I walked into the worship center last Sunday morning and a loving Daybreaker had placed a pack of “Nutter Butters” on the pulpit, the king or share size, of course. 
      I appreciated the loving gesture and that at least one person had read the blog.   I sat the cookies on a shelf. I plan to take them to Mayo to eat on the way home—after I weigh in there.
      Lord, help me not settle for the good thing, when You may have a better way for me.  Going the easier way or the more pleasurable route isn’t always Your plan for me.  Help me to discern Your will, even in the small decisions that I face each day.