Creator's Rights

I was typing a long email recently when I needed to leave the mail app I use in my iPad and go to something else. When I returned, I somehow lost the email I was working on. It wasn't in a "drafts" folder or the trash. I hadn't inadvertently sent it. I was just...gone! I had to start over from the beginning. I wasn't happy that I had carefully worded several lengthy paragraphs only to have my tablet computer snuff them out. They were MY words and the iPad had no right to treat them that way! (I learned from the experience; I'm typing this in a different app that isn't prone to deleting my work.)

I have a completely different attitude about it when I delete my own words, sentences or paragraphs. I will frequently read back over something I wrote and decide to wipe it out and restate it. The very fact that I do this is something that you would expect. I write the words so I get to choose whether I keep them or not.

All of this leads to a question I have for you and it's this: "Since God created us, does He have the right to do with us whatever He pleases?" That's a question we must ask and answer to fully grasp the words of the prophet Joel. Find out more this weekend at Stone Ridge. If you miss it live, be sure to catch us via podcast either at our website on on iTunes under Stone Ridge Sermons.

 

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Recalling what was; facing what is.

I love driving along Arizona Highway 260 between Payson and Show Low. For years, it was the easiest route from our home in Phoenix to my hometown in New Mexico. That highway, which climbs from 5,000 feet elevation in Payson, tops out at about 7,500 feet. The drive to the top of the rim is one of the most scenic in the state. Right after you hit the top, you are greeted by a marshy area that is teeming with wildlife and greenery, but which freezes to a huge block of ice in the winter. It's hard to believe that you were in the desert only an hour or so before.

For the past several years, one part of that drive has been marred by the destruction of a massive forest fire which went through there. Young saplings are growing everywhere, but they are still obscured by the surrounding charred remains of once great trees. I would think that people who live in that region felt as if their world was was blowing away in the heat and smoke. Now they must live year after year among the rubble. Every day some of them recall what was as they face what is.

The prophet Joel spoke of a time like that. He saw it coming upon God's land and God's people in their near future. They would no longer see beauty, but ashes. They would no longer have food, but be hungry. Their joy would be replaced by sorrow and hardship. Is there any hope in such a prediction? Can new saplings grow when everything seems dead? Those are the questions we will take up this weekend at Stone Ridge Church. If you can't be here, catch the podcast on iTunes under "Stone Ridge Sermons."

 

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Crying For Relief

Last Thanksgiving I discovered something much more powerful than a huge turkey dinner. Cathy and I returned to Yuma from Phoenix that morning. It was ten days after my surgery for prostate cancer. We had looked forward to this homecoming and to Thanksgiving dinner with some of our closest friends. My appetite was just returning following surgery and I couldn't wait to awaken my taste buds with succulent turkey...dressing...potatoes...and pumpkin pie. (You get the picture!)

​On the road home I was struck with intense pain as I went to the bathroom. Thinking it was something that would pass, we got back on the highway to Yuma. Instead of diminishing, the pain kept getting worse. By the time we got home, I was crying out in agony. We ended up spending Thanksgiving afternoon and evening in the ER and I DIDN'T CARE! Finding some way to deal with that pain meant far more to me than a mouth-watering dinner.

​We never found out the exact source of my agony. One friend suggested that it might have been a kidney stone. I have never had one of those, but I have watched friends walk through the experience and it makes sense. Regardless of the source, I will never forget that the idea of a great meal (and I LOVE good food!) pales when the body is screaming for relief.

When things get dark enough, we will be willing to do just about anything for a little light. But, is there anything we CAN do? Join us this weekend to find out. If you can't be there, find the podcast here or at iTunes under "Stone Ridge Sermons."

 

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Unexpected Challenges

This is another in a series of posts about my journey through prostate cancer. The series begins here if you would like to read more.

The lady who cuts my hair told me a story about having surgery several years ago. "Six weeks!" That's how long her doctor said she must wait before doing any heavy lifting or strenuous exercise. "I didn't feel like doing anything for the first three weeks," she told me, "but about the fourth week, I was feeling really good. I was taking a walk along the canal bank one morning when I felt so good that I decided to run. Big mistake! Something broke loose, I had to rush to the doctor, have some surgical repair and start the recuperation period over from scratch." "Will you believe me this time?" the doctor asked. She did and finally got well.

Her story and others like it convinced me that I was ready to be a good boy. I wanted this surgery and, if possible, this cancer...in my rear view mirror. The road turned out bumpier than I could have imagined.

I was released from the hospital on a Wednesday afternoon, two days after my prostatectomy. I could feel strength returning and my pain was so mild that Extra-Strength Tylenol took care of it. Cathy and I rented a privately-owned condominium about two miles from the hospital, preparing to stay a week post-surgery; our doctor suggested this. We received a few visitors who live in the Phoenix area. We were encouraged and our spirits were high. It looked like smooth sailing...until Friday.

Sometime Thursday night I started feeling like I was coming down with the Flu. I was aching and ping-ponging between chills and fever. I didn't have other Flu symptoms so I asked a follow-up nurse what to do. She gave me some simple advice and suggested I call the doctor on call in my physician's urology group. We watched my temperature for the next day or so and finally were told to go to the Emergency Room for some tests. Fever can be a sign of infection and we needed to know. That Saturday even in the ER, I was trembling with chills and feeling weak and yucky. The various tests, though, showed no infection. By the next day I was feeling much better and thought we were on the way to a speedy recovery. Another challenge was ahead.

On Wednesday the following week, my catheter was removed and we were given permission to come home to Yuma the next day, Thanksgiving. We awoke early, packed the car and headed down the Interstate toward home. About an hour later we made our first stop and I went to the bathroom. I experienced such significant pain that I couldn't stand up straight for several moments. Thinking it was something I had eaten, I told Cathy that we should drive on. The next stop, another hour along, and the same thing happened, but this time it was worse. By then, we were only an hour or so from home and were both anxious to get there. We were Thanksgiving guests at the home of some of our dearest friends and felt that surely Cathy could go even if I needed to stay home.

Our arrival at our house gave me the chance to go to the bathroom once again. This time the pain was so acute that I cried out in agony. We called the on-call doc back in Phoenix and he said I needed to get to the ER to find out what was wrong. Their original diagnosis was a urinary tract infection, but the lab results later ruled that out. We never found out the cause of that pain that someone said was like a kidney stone (which they also never found). For the next two days or so I was on heavy pain meds. Then, for a couple of weeks, I woke up every 1.5 hours or so and had to to potty.

Fast forward to this Spring when yet another problem cropped up. A prostatectomy is accompanied by two major risks: incontinence and sexual dysfunction. One prostate cancer survivor I know simply told me, "I was one for two." In my case, I sailed through both of these problems without severe challenge. However, I discovered that 1 in 10 prostatectomy patients have a different problem: scar tissue. You see, the prostatectomy involves disconnecting and reconnecting some of your plumbing. Your urethra must be disconnected from your bladder, then reconnected after the prostate is out of the way. Scar tissue can develop at that connection, closing off the opening through which the urine leaves the bladder. I discovered that it can become a painful situation.

My discovery took place as I was preparing for my 3-month checkup. My urine flow had been slowing down for the previous few weeks. Not understanding the problem, I chose to simply talk about it when I was at the checkup. Big mistake! My checkup showed no detectable cancer: "Yes!" However, my doc took a quick look at what I was dealing with and ordered me to surgery the next morning. The last 18 hours before that surgery were some of the most uncomfortable of my life. I constantly needed to "go", yet hardly anything came out. The doctor told us after surgery that I had but a pinhole of an opening left and he almost couldn't find it.

It turns out that stretching the urethra is relatively common in a case like mine, but it often has to be done more than once. I have had the procedure done a second time already and am scheduled for surgery number three. As a Christian, I believe that God can and does heal people physically. I have seen it. In fact, we are seeing it more and more where we live. Thus, we are praying that He does this stretching without another surgery, but we are at peace if the surgery is required. I have a few weeks to see what happens.

I sat in an examining room at my family physician's office yesterday. He and I are friends and I enjoyed a moment to reflect during my my twice-yearly checkup. I am in amazingly good health for this season in my life. Cathy and I enjoy significant energy and try to care for our bodies with proper diet, exercise and rest. We have so much for which to be thankful. These days, every time I see something in the press about cancer survivors, it hits me: "I'm one of those!" For years I thought of cancer as "the big C." It's actually pretty small in the grand scheme of things.

The Big "C" is Christ and He is massive!

 

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Why I LOVE The Morning

When Cathy and I started dating, we were POOR college students. I'm not saying that we were poor students...at least Cathy wasn't. I'm saying that we were financially challenged. That meant that our early dates consisted of things we could do for free; things like take walks or play ping pong at our college's student center. Finally, though, the day came when we decided to attend a movie. It was springtime, beautiful in Phoenix and perfect weather for a drive-in. We got there, picked up some snacks at the snack bar and watched the intense drama. At least I watched the intense drama; Cathy fell asleep. Forty years later and the one thing we can remember about our lone "date-that-costs-money" is that the girl I loved fell asleep!

I discovered early in our relationship that Cathy and I seemed to be wired differently. She was a "morning person" and I was...well, I WASN'T a morning person! The reason for her movie slumber was that she awoke that morning at 4 a.m. to study for a test. I discovered, in fact, that 4 a.m. was the most common time for her to study. In her own words, "It was quiet then because no one else in the dorm was awake." For me, 4 a.m. was near the beginning of my sleep cycle. Who in their right mind would want to wake up at that hour?! (Yes, Cathy is in her right mind. Some friends told her that the only insane decision she ever made was to marry me. "It will never work," they said.)

After all these years, I would like to think that I influenced at least one or two positive changes in my bride. One thing I haven't been able to do, though, is to train her to be a "night person." She still gets up early almost every day. In fact, sleep pattern is one of the biggest areas where I have changed. Somehow my entire view of sleep has changed over the years. Most mornings I am up quite early...which means that I now fall asleep during intense dramas.

And I learned to LOVE the morning!

I came to love the morning for at least two reasons. First, I cherish those early hours when the neighborhood is mostly quiet and I can enjoy the solitude of a walk or a jog. Second, and far more important is this: I love the morning because it's the end of the night!

I discovered following my recent surgery how long and uncomfortable the night can be. The darkness seemed to intensify the normal physical discomfort of recuperation. That hardship is small, though, compared to the disquiet of nighttime spiritual warfare. Those experiences of attack by an enemy who knows me far too well and who creatively utilizes my emotional fatigue actually intensify the darkness. After such nights, I doubly LOVE the morning!

A long time ago, a man named Joel lived in the Middle East. He heard God speak to his heart and he saw things that he had to write down. He saw the darkness of his own generation, but he also saw much greater darkness in the future. God not only showed him darkness, but seasons of light. At the end of it all, he saw a vision of a brightness that was coming which would never end. His heart leapt toward that vision and Joel exclaimed, "Alas for the day!" (Joel 1:15) Joel couldn't wait for the Morning!

We will study Joel's writings beginning this week at Stone Ridge. It's our Summer Sermon Series and you will get the blessing of hearing messages from God's word from a variety of voices. If you miss a week, catch the podcast!

 

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Kingly Treatment

(This is the fifth post on my cancer journey.)

"Barring a miracle, I don't think you will make it." I've had to say words like that, but I was talking about someone's marriage -- NOT their life. It must be one of the hardest things medical professionals are required to do. They devote their lives to help people get well. They fight with batteries of tests, treatment options, surgeries and medications. But sometimes they must say the hardest words a patient (and the patient's family) will ever hear.

I knew all those things, but this was my first time to encounter the healthcare system as one of people in the bullseye. I had cancer. Without treatment it could be devastating. Cathy and I had decided on a plan that included surgery. Now it was time to face the system. We couldn't have been more pleased.

It started with our doctor. The credentials on his office walls told us that he had been trained in a world-class teaching hospital. They also told us that he was highly rated in our region of the country. What the certificates couldn't say was that he is one of the docs with the incredible combination of well-honed skills and obviously extreme intelligence, mixed with an air of optimism and a dose of human compassion. When I met him, I immediately liked him. He had come at the recommendation of my family physician whom I consider a friend, but it was our first meeting that told me how glad I was that he would be in charge of this part of my health.

Obviously a doctor is but one part of the large, often intimidating, healthcare system. My surgery would be followed by a day or two in the hospital. My only other hospital stay (that I can remember) began the day I graduated from Basic Combat Training in the U.S. Army. That stay was for a pretty severe case of the flu and it was needed to restore me to health, but it wasn't particularly user friendly. In that stay, those of us on the bottom tier of military rank had to get out of bed each morning at 0600, make our own bed, then get back in it. Not exactly luxury! My hospital stay for cancer surgery, however, was a model of quality care accentuated by creature comforts fit for royalty.

The surgery wing of the hospital had recently been remodeled. Every room in the wing was private and fairly large. The staff was professional, but they were beyond that. They seemed to mirror the optimism I saw in my doctor. They managed my pain, cared for my personal needs and took time to answer my questions. One nurse on a night shift seemed a little "down" when she came to check on me. I mentioned it to her. "Is there some way I can pray for you?" I asked. She shared some needs within her family and I promised to pray. After that she came out of her shell and showed me great kindness. Another nurse had just finished her Nurse Practitioner training at the university where Cathy and I met many years ago. We had a great talk about the school and about her future plans.

One of the "perks" of being on the surgery floor was that we could order food from a large, diverse menu. Various parts of the menu were available 24 hours of the day. I guess they know from experience that surgery can throw your system...and your schedule...off. The food was good and I could order things that sounded good to me. It took me over a week to start getting my appetite back after the surgery.

I am sure that every hospital has its share of complaints from patients and families. My hospital stay, however, filled me with encouragement and hope. They treated me, not as a sick person, but as someone who would get well. I did!

 

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Passing Batons on Treacherous Trails

I wonder how many batons we have given away over the years...batons with the inscription: "I am not ashamed of the Gospel for it is the power of God unto salvation." (Romans 1:16) Whatever the number, I have this library of memories about families who have stood before our church and declared their intentions. What intentions? To do everything in their power to pass the baton of faith to their children. To be sure, not every family has stayed on the trail they planned to walk. That journey is filled with unforeseen pitfalls and slippery slopes.

A few years ago I was fishing on a small river in the Rocky Mountains. At one point, the best route to get to a certain point on the river was up the side of a mountain where we took a game trail high above the water. My brother and I were walking along nonchalantly when my feet almost slipped out from under me. The loose pebbles and the steep mountain slope almost took me down. Literally. When I got my footing, I looked where I would have fallen and realized I might not have survived. I tell that story, because raising a family is like that journey. It can be beautiful and exhilarating, but the trail is fraught with danger.

Should the fact that some faith batons get dropped before they are passed on to a new generation make us give up the practice? Not at all! The sadness we feel when we observe people fall from the trail is mixed with the joy of seeing those who somehow keep hiking. We all slip and stumble sometimes. None of us is without perilous moments, but God's love never ends. He is always there to help us back up if we cry out to Him.

My memory library contains hundreds of baton stories over the years. One of my favorite was just a couple years ago when four generations of a family gathered around, dedicating themselves to raise a precious little girl to grab that faith baton for herself. That's when the little one's grandmother reminded me that long ago we had dedicated her sons -- including the baby's dad. Here we were, starting over with a new generation.

Mother's Day Weekend is one of my favorite times of the year at Stone Ridge. We will do parent/child dedications in all services. Bring a friend and soak up the joy!

 

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