The Glacier Cowboy

We passed each other high on Mt. Brown in Glacier National Park just after I left the snow, with me descending and him ascending. He had dark brown hair with eyes to match, and a very thin, perfectly manicured handlebar moustache, clearly held in place with moustache wax. His white cowboy hat was woven, and he wore a carefully pressed blue/yellow/white plaid long-sleeve cowboy shirt. It looked like fairly thin material to me. I didn’t think to look, but I bet it had pearly white buttons. His blue jeans were neat, and he wore brown leather Oxford dress shoes. It was the shoes that got me. No coat, no backpack, no bottles of water, no hiking poles, no umbrella, although he was carrying a small book or pad of some sort in his right hand. I greeted him; he smiled and nodded his head to acknowledge me as he walked by. I say that he walked by, but glided would be more accurate: he moved past me smoothly in his clean brown leather Oxford dress shoes.

It had been a brutal climb for me, and tough for Carla, too, even though she’s the better athlete. AllTrails says that it “is not a hike for the faint of heart” and “is only recommended for very experienced adventurers.” We certainly aren’t faint of heart, but we are equally not experienced adventurers. The maximum altitude of about 7,500 feet was affecting us. My phone app told me that we hiked 9.9 miles (total round trip) and ascended a total of 4,358 feet, and that I burned an estimated 5,175 Calories. We headed for the historic Mt. Brown Lookout tower, but we stopped a little short when the snow got so deep that it became apparent that we might hurt ourselves. It was slippery, too: I found a place where a mountain goat had slipped on the snow and slid before anchoring itself, leaving a clear hoof print behind. When the mountain goats are slipping, it’s time to turn around.

Speaking of mountain goats, it was on this hike that we met Greta, which was the name Carla gave to her. Greta took quite a liking to us. She followed me up the trail and then stopped when I did. When I started hiking, so did she. I let her pass me (she came within eight feet of me), and after passing Carla she started leading us up the trail. When we stopped, so did she. When we started, so did she. It was delightful.

A pressing need to go to the bathroom motivated Carla to descend faster than I did. While still fairly high on the mountain, I could see and hear a storm moving in, with the dark clouds moving over the Rockies toward me from the north. I encountered an optimistic young couple, both wearing shorts, no hiking gear, no backpacks, and they had no water. As I approached them he asked, “How far is it to the top?” “I’ve been descending an hour and twenty minutes,” I replied. “Oh,” he said, “that’s not so bad!” Ah, the optimism born of inexperience. She was clearly much less enamored with the climb than he, and she asked me, “Was it worth the climb?” “Absolutely, it’s beautiful up there, and there are mountain goats. But the storm is blowing in.” He cheerfully continued the climb, and she followed him. 10-15 minutes later I felt the first drop of rain.

I paused, took off my gear, got my green poncho out of my backpack, and got rigged back up. My concern was that I not get my camera or cell phone all wet and that I wouldn’t get cold from the rain. After all, it’s called Glacier National Park for a reason. I looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame with my backpack and hat on my back under my poncho. With the hood on my head, I lumbered down the mountain, leaning on my hiking poles as it rained at a moderate pace. About 10 minutes later I came around a corner and surprised a mountain goat. His eyes opened wide when he saw me in my weird garb, and he decided to clear out at a brisk pace.

My left knee began to ache, and my feet started to hurt. I only had about two more miles to go. I was wearing very good hiking shoes, and leaning on the poles saved my bacon, but I was in trouble. I just couldn’t move quickly anymore. I got down to the last 1.6 miles of trail where it flattened out, and I was going extremely slowly. I was shuffling along at an agonizingly slow pace: It’s safe to say that I was baby stepping.  Apparently my bug spray had worn off, because I was being swarmed by mosquitoes. I kept my poncho on with the hood wrapped around my head, and on one of many short breaks I saw a mosquito trying to drill through the plastic to get to me. He failed. I chuckled.

With about a mile to go, I again encountered the Glacier cowboy. He looked relaxed and wasn’t even sweating. He smoothly moved by me in his brown leather Oxford dress shoes. We didn’t speak, but as he passed me, he gave me a very careful look, as if he were evaluating my condition, and then he moved on.

I can’t help but think about what the Psalmist said:

“For He will give His angels charge concerning you,”

To guard you in all your ways.”

Psalm 91:11

I’m also reminded of Hebrews 13:2:

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,”

for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

So, some people encounter angels without knowing it.

Carla saw him exit the trail, still crisply dressed, still not breaking a sweat, but still gliding along. He simply scuffed a little dirt off the bottom of his brown leather Oxford dress shoes as he crossed the road toward the parking lot, before walking out of her view. I never saw that young couple again, nor did we hear any bad news about them. Maybe he was their guardian angel, too.

 

Ruins and Easter

When you think of Petra, you most likely think about Al-Khazneh, which is the most famous part of the ancient city of Petra in southern Jordan. Al-Khazneh makes an appearance in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade as the temple containing the holy grail. I’m fascinated by the grand structures and artwork found at many archaeological sites. Major Roman ruins, which are scattered over many areas of Europe, the Middle East, and northern Africa, are particularly appealing to me. Ruins left from Greek, Etruscan, Egyptian, Inca, Mayan, and other civilizations demonstrate the amazing ability of humans to create intricate structures that are glorious because of their beauty and the engineering prowess they portray. Persepolis makes me want to visit Iran. Pergamon and others draw me to Turkey. There are so many that I can’t list them all. Recently I’ve been enjoying watching a series named Secrets of Archaeology, and I highly recommend it. Of course, some things can be seen in museums, like the Ishtar Gate of Babylon and the reconstructed Pergamon Altar, both of which can be seen at the Pergamon Museum in Berlin. The British Museum houses wonderful things like the Rosetta Stone, the Elgin Marbles (some of the original sculptures of the Parthenon), and artifacts from Egypt and Assyria. Carla and I were unusually blessed to have been able to visit the British Museum and see these things when we were unexpectedly able to take a trip to London and Scotland in 2016. It was amazing.

It saddens me when I see the destruction of archaeological sites. The remains are mere shadows, and I long to have seen them in their glory. I was deeply grieved when a terrorist organization destroyed significant parts of Palmyra in Syria. Digging deeper, however, shows that one of the things that they destroyed was the Temple of Bel. The title Bel was given to various pagan gods to signify that they were masters, or lords.

God has a very dim view of pagan gods. So much so, in fact, that He told His people Israel to destroy their temples and warned them against worshipping them. Here’s an example:

“You shall tear down their altars and”

smash their sacred pillars and”

burn their Asherim with fire, and you shall”

cut down the engraved images of their gods and”

obliterate their name from that place.”

Deuteronomy 12:3 (NASB)

Asherim refers to either a Phoenician goddess, images of that goddess, or a grove that was considered to be holy by those that set aside the place for worship of the goddess. In the NASB, there are places in Exodus, Deuteronomy, II Kings, II Chronicles, Hosea, and Micah that specifically identify pillars as things that should be destroyed or that were destroyed. The terrorists used explosives to partially destroy the Temple of Bel, and a resident of Palmyra reported, "It is total destruction. The bricks and columns are on the ground.'' What did God think of this? Clearly, from the verses referred to above, He was pleased that remnants of the worship of fakes fabricated by people to be deities were destroyed. Well now, if I want to think like God—and I do—then I’d better be careful about what in archaeological sites I let sadden me. There’s a bigger issue at stake than my personal comfort.

We’re much too sophisticated in our Christianity to be taken in by such pagan trickery, but don’t we fall prey to the more mundane sins? Things like envy, covetousness, jealousy, anger, impatience, lust, narcissism, theft, lying, and so forth are condemned throughout scripture. God tells us, just as He did the nation of Israel, to be different from those that do not know Him:

“As obedient children, do not be conformed to”

the former lusts which were yours in your ignorance,”

but like the Holy One who called you,”

be holy yourselves in all of your behavior;”

because it is written,”

‘YOU SHALL BE HOLY, FOR I AM HOLY.’”

I Peter 1:14-16 (NASB)

In my almost 64 years of life, I have proven to myself empirically that I cannot simply make up my mind to be holy and have it be so. God has proven to me that I cannot do that. The thing about holiness is that it is a pre-requisite to seeing God:

“Follow peace with all men, and holiness,”

without which no man shall see the Lord.”

Hebrews 12:14 (KJV)

We are left with one way, and only one way:

“Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life,”

No one comes to the Father except through me.’”

John 14:6 (ESV)

He is risen! Hallelujah!

A Brief Lesson in Bubbles

Copious quantities of rain had fallen rapidly, creating a small mound of foam that slowly traveled down our back yard. Dutifully protecting his people from the dangerous threat, Max stood bravely outside in the rain, barking at the foam with all his might. It was an inspiring sight.

Max is still a puppy, albeit a big one at 63 pounds, and he has yet to experience many things. He didn’t understand the foam and reacted instinctively to what he perceived as a threat. Sometimes we are not so different.

Immediately after I was first diagnosed with cancer, I reacted in fear (see Facing the Unknown). I spent considerable time talking to the Lord about this, and He gave me peace.

 “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight.”

In all thy ways acknowledge him, and He shall direct thy paths.”

Proverbs 3:5 (RSV), 6 (KJV)

Tonight I took a bath in our whirlpool tub. Guessing that Max might want to see what was going on, I left the door cracked open a little. As soon as the water started pouring, he rushed to the bathroom and examined the tub. He cocked his head back and forth, his ears up and his brow furrowed in a kind of cuteness that only dogs exhibit. He was interested by the growing pool of water and the faucet handles. He was startled when I turned the jets on, and he moved back a few feet. As I reassured him that everything was OK, he came a little closer, right until I put a couple drops of body wash in and the bubbles started forming. As the foam grew, he stood back. Max didn’t bark though, because I was in the midst and reassured him that everything was OK. I held some bubbles in my hand, he eyed them, and then approached warily. He touched them with his nose, and then licked them off. He backed off, but then came over and touched them again. He relaxed some, and toward the end of my bath I held some bubbles out to him and he licked them. Sometimes we are not so different.

The Hug

It was a cold, damp, gloomy day. She sat in a pew in the funeral home with some of her friends and one of her professors. Her mother had died unexpectedly, and now she was in a position where she had to carry a lot more of the load at home. I walked down the aisle on the right, and when she saw me, she stood up, walked over, and we embraced. It was a long, tight hug, one you wish you never have to give to one of your students. We talked for a while, still locked in our hug, and then we went and sat down. What do you say to someone at a time like this? Sometimes nothing.

 “…Weep with them that weep.”

Romans 12:15 (ASV)

A hug is a means of communicating love to and unity with another person. They say that it boosts the level of the hormone oxytocin, and they say that helps us connect emotionally with someone else. It’s also claimed that hugging increases the level of the neurotransmitter dopamine in our brain, and as a result hugging helps relieve stress and tension. This is all good and well, but it’s rather technical. When you really, really need a hug and you get a genuine one, you know it’s helpful.

Our ability to encourage a struggling person grows when we struggle. God trains us with comfort in our affliction so that we can transfer our comfort to others.

 “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,

the Father of mercies and God of all comfort,

who comforts us in all our affliction,

so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction,

with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

II Corinthians 1:3-4 (ESV)

Do you want to be able to comfort others? Ask God to teach you to do so. And then fasten your seatbelt.

It was a much nicer day. I walked into the first floor of the Howell Memorial Science Building in the morning, heading toward my office. As I passed the stairs that lead to the second floor, I heard the rapid pitter-patter of feet coming down. There she was again. “Dr. Vogt! Dr. Vogt! Dr. Vogt! I just found out–I got into medical school! You’re the first person I’ve told!” We met on the first floor, and again we hugged, this time out of joy.

“Rejoice with them that rejoice; weep with them that weep.”

Romans 12:15 (ASV)

Sometimes the other side of the coin is glorious.

And Then She Stopped Breathing

During the summer in the Science Building there are a few students working on research projects and some faculty members working on various things. Overall, it’s pretty relaxed, and it’s great to be able to slow down and focus on different activities. On a very rare occasion I even bring our dog, Lexi, as I did on Wednesday this week.

When we arrived, Lexi was greeted by Jersey, who is Jess’s helper dog. After the usual canine preliminaries, we walked elsewhere in the building. Amy, one of my colleagues, came to my office to ask some questions about academic program assessment. As we looked at the screen on my laptop, Amy suddenly pointed out that Lexi had done both number one and number two on the carpet. I immediately went into embarrassed dog-owner mode, stooped down, and started cleaning it up. When I wanted Lexi to move a little, I found that she was completely flaccid and unresponsive. Her face was squished up against the door, and so I swiveled her toward the hall a little. At some point I saw her doing some shallow breathing, and then she became completely still. Amy felt a very faint pulse, but that was it. As I realized that Lexi was leaving us, I also realized that I that I had only one option left: CPR. I leaned down and started doing a few chest compressions and, shortly after I gave up, she started breathing again. I was pretty shaken up by this, and Amy pointed out that Lexi needed to go to the vet immediately.

She weighs roughly 62 pounds, and I picked her up and walked rapidly but carefully out of the building. Derrick went with me to make sure that I could get her into the truck. Lexi was still fairly flaccid, and I was concerned that I might hurt her by carrying her, but I had no choice. I placed her into the passenger seat and pulled out of the parking garage, telling myself to be careful as I drove. Thankfully the light at the front of campus was green when I got there, and I pulled onto Wade Hampton Boulevard, heading toward Ambassador Animal Hospital. The big V8 in the pickup growled as I pushed the accelerator as hard as I thought I should. I pulled into the parking lot, carried Lexi in, and told the receptionist, “I think she’s having a medical emergency.”

Nineteen years earlier, in a different pickup, the big V8 roared as I drove the roughly five miles from our house to Dad’s house in Taylors. He had called me complaining about his heart racing, and also told me that he was hot and red. I told him to call 911 immediately and to then lie down and rest until I arrived. As I did with Lexi, I went as fast as I thought I could. The EMTs didn’t arrive until about 15 minutes after I did. Several days later, at the age of 82, Dad had both a heart valve replacement and a triple bypass (at the same time). As I looked down into his face on the gurney, I told him that I loved him. My mother had died of complications due to bypass surgery five years earlier. As they wheeled Dad down the hall and I stood there alone, I fought back tears, convinced that I would never see him again. Thankfully, with a great deal of help, he did recover. He never did drive again, but the Lord gave him nine more years of life. He died in his bed in our house.

“We’re going to the second room on the left,” she said. They then opened the door to the treatment room across the hall, and we placed Lexi in there so that the vet could attend to her. The door closed, and I sat alone across the hall, still shaken up by the prospect that we might lose her.

A few minutes later, a very large, nicely groomed black poodle walked down the hall, completely unattended. She looked at me, then at the door to the treatment room, and then back at me. She came over and gave me a greeting (a brief closer look), and then turned around and disappeared. I wonder what she was thinking. A little while later the door to the treatment room cracked open, and I could see Lexi standing there. I felt some sense of relief but was still concerned.

We just don’t know when our time will come. When we’re young, we feel like we have a very long life in front of us, but time seems to go faster when we get older. With increasing clarity, we recognize the truth:

“Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow.

You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.”

James 4:14 (NASB)

When we exhale on a cold day, we see the water vapor in our breath condense in the air. And then it’s gone. So, too, our lives.

A while later the vet came into the room. The x-rays on the tablet computer very clearly showed that Lexi had pulmonary edema (fluid collected in her lungs) and an enlarged and somewhat misshapen heart. Lexi has heart failure (aka congestive heart failure). We don’t know her exact age because we rescued her. Based on her very gray face, she’s now an elderly boxer, and she’s probably somewhere around 10. She’s getting a diuretic (furosemide) to remove fluid from her lungs – this is the same diuretic that people often take when they have heart failure. When it arrives, she’ll also be getting a pet-specific drug to help her heart. Today is Saturday, and this morning her energy level was up. With some help, we hope that she’ll live for at least a couple more years. Like people, though, her days are numbered.

It's Not Supposed to be Easy

I failed the exam. It was my first academic quarter in graduate school at the University of Florida, and I was sitting in Dr. King’s graduate organic spectroscopy course looking at my graded test paper. It wasn’t a C or a D, but a good, solid F. Very sad face. Deep breath. Call Carla back at BJU and pour out my heart. Deep breath. OK, let’s work harder. And so I did. I returned to class after the next test was graded, hoping for a good grade, and I had improved. To a D.

What was going on? First, I had done pretty well at BJU and I was simply studying as I had done before. It wasn’t working, and I needed to change my ways. This isn’t surprising—I’ve seen this many times in my students over the years. Apparently my approach was inadequate. Second, I was treating my studies mechanically, with an attitude of “I know how to do this, and so I’ll just execute my strategy.” In of itself, there’s nothing wrong with doing things that we think will work. The problem was that I had factored the Lord out of the picture. One of the Psalms says,

“Unless the LORD builds the house, They labor in vain who build it;

Unless the LORD guards the city, The watchman keeps awake in vain.”

Psalm 127:1 (NASB)

The author was Solomon, and he surely knew what he was talking about. No, you can’t even build a house without God’s blessing upon the process. A simple flood or fire takes care of it, regardless of how much those hard-working construction workers try. No, you can’t even pass your graduate organic spectroscopy course without God’s blessing upon the process. God was tapping me on the shoulder and saying, “Remember Me, Brian?” I sought Him in prayer. I prayed as if it were all up to Him and worked as if it were all up to me.

Third, although I had no knowledge at that time that the Lord would direct me to teach at BJU, He was preparing me to have input into the chemistry curriculum at BJU. My undergraduate chemistry training had some deficiencies in it, and God intended me to help address them. Some dealt with organic spectroscopy, and we have remedied those.

I think it was after my D that I approached Dr. King after class one day and reminded him that I wasn’t doing well. I also pointed out that I had become aware that my fellow graduate students had access to files of his old tests, and that they were relying on them when preparing. I had a conscience problem with this, and so I asked him point blank, “Is it OK for me to use those files when studying for tests?” Dr. King was a colorful old professor. Short, balding, with long, flowing white hair on the sides of his head and a long, white beard. He walked with a pronounced limp, and he spoke with a stereotypical English accent. Apparently, nobody had ever asked him a question like this. “Ahem, aaaah, of course, I know such things happen, but, aah, AHEM, that doesn’t necessarily mean that I APPROVE of them.” And there it was. I just couldn’t do it because my conscience wouldn’t allow me to. I didn’t use those files. I think I got a D+ on the next test. Things were going well.

Dr. King decided to use a final exam consisting of all new questions. He was probably thinking something like, “I’m going to find out what they REALLY know.” I got the highest grade in the class. My determination to do what was right, my reliance on the Lord, my hard work, and let us not forget a major and essential part of this—God’s blessing on my efforts—led to a really good grade. Dr. King gave me a B+ in that course, and I’ve never been so happy for a B+ in my life. I think he was generous, and, given my earlier performance, there was no way to justify my getting an A. And then the Lord used another course the next quarter to work on me some more. He’s still working on me, and it’s not easy.

We have a natural tendency to think that things should go smoothly. We think that if we’re thankful, and we rejoice, and we spend enough time in prayer and reading God’s word, and we let the peace of God rule in our hearts, and we praise Him enough, then life will be idyllic. It doesn’t work like that.

“…That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death; in order that I may attain to the resurrection from the dead.”

Philippians 3:10-11 (NASB)

We love the idea of experiencing the power of His resurrection and, in keeping with His promises, being raised from death to life eternal. What we are told of that life suggests that it will be idyllic. The problem is the part stuck in the middle: getting a taste of His suffering, giving up our will daily, and accepting affliction when He knows that it will accomplish His purpose. Lots of people suffer in one way or another, but only His children gain eternal benefit from it.

The Lord Jesus Christ, the creator of the universe, is fully God, but He became fully human. In His humanity, He set aside the full expression of His divinity. As a young person, he learned. He submitted to His parents. He grew, He matured, and He had a public ministry. He had anguish in His soul, grieved, and wept. He was a man of sorrows. They reviled Him, they spit upon Him. They crucified Him. It doesn’t sound idyllic to me. And we’re supposed to follow His example.

I’m currently reading a book on the humanity of Christ, and I’m going to quote a short passage from it:

“The life of faith, of growing faith and strengthened character, is one that involves a fight for faith and enduring through difficulties. This life of faith is never lived on auto-pilot; it is never a life of passivity and ease; it isn’t something done to us without our full and active participation. These glimpses we’ve seen of Jesus—who offered prayers and supplications through loud crying and tears, who prayed three times in the Garden of Gethsemane for the cup to be removed—give evidence to the active, war-like nature of the life of faith. If anyone might be thought to have lived on auto-pilot, it would be Jesus. After all, along with his true and full humanity, he was fully God; and although he had the nature of a man, his human nature was totally sinless. You would think such a person (unlike any of us!) could coast. To have a divine nature and a sinless human nature would seem to make obedience easy. Well, look again at Jesus. What you see is a man who labored to obey, who agonized in the testings the Father designed for him, who fought through the trials of life to maintain his integrity and obedience before his Father.”

Why should it be any different for those that follow Him?

I Don’t Know If I Can Do This

Months of extreme fatigue, cloudy-mindedness, and feeling lousy take a toll on a person. Feeling sick when you wake up even after a good night’s sleep is miserable. Teaching a new course is always demanding because of the unending need to constantly create. You might be surprised how much work it takes to write quiz questions on reading assignments, especially if you try to avoid writing trivial questions. Creating thought-provoking classroom presentations that incorporate engaging questions, discussion, and graphics that give insight into cause and effect take a lot of time. Test questions that require critical thinking and reasoning to get to the correct answers don’t magically appear out of thin air. Assignments need to be graded. Some are easy, some are tedious. Oh yeah, and then there are other courses to teach and numerous things pertaining to coordinating and championing academic programs. Being the head of the Department of Chemistry and Physics as well as having other responsibilities requires a lot of time, too. Lest we forget, God called me to BJU to help these people called students. They drop in needing to talk about many different kinds of things, some academic and some non-academic. I love these people. Did I mention that I have a family and responsibilities at church? And things in the house and vehicles that need to be attended to? The pressure is unrelenting. These are all valuable and important things, but oh my, it’s so hard to keep up when you have little energy and can’t focus well. You go home, collapse on the sofa or easy chair, and just feel lousy. And you don’t keep up.

In the midst of this perfect storm of events, I’ve thought about retirement a surprising number of times. I’m only 62, and my goal has been to teach until I’m 70. This semester, though, I’ve often asked myself, “How much longer can I keep doing this?” People say that you’ll know when it’s time to retire. Is it now? No, but when feeling really crummy, the only reason to say no is that I don’t think I can yet afford to do so. When talking with the Lord I’ve said, “I can’t do this unless you help me.” Of course, this has been true for the last 35 years, but this semester it has been much more obvious to me. “Lord, are you sure this is what you want me to do?” “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Then there’s the cancer. The statistics about follicular lymphoma show that people can live a few years or a few decades after being diagnosed with it. I’m pretty sure I had it for some time before I was diagnosed with it about four and one-half years ago, during the summer of 2014. Is it the cancer causing these symptoms? Am I at a point where I’ll have to consider treatment? Should I call my oncologist’s office, or should I wait awhile longer?

In a weird way, struggling with the extreme fatigue and other stuff became a new normal for me. This is not unique to me—people are remarkably resilient and can adapt. It’s like the proverbial story of the frog. If you put the frog in hot water it jumps out, but if you put it in lukewarm water and slowly raise the temperature, then it slowly cooks without jumping out. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it does illustrate the idea of becoming accustomed to bad circumstances.

Three weeks ago, I decided it was time to make that call. I described my symptoms to the nurse, she talked with my oncologist, and she called me back. The oncologist had said that I should get worked up by my regular doctor. Surprisingly, he was available late that afternoon and I went in. He spent some time discussing things with me and then ordered a bunch of tests: CBC with differential, creatine kinase, comprehensive metabolic panel, ferritin, iron +TIBC, vitamin B12, TSH reflex with FRT4, vitamin D, sedimentation rate, and lactate dehydrogenase. I came back the next day and I think I gave five or six vials of blood.

Due to the rapidity with which such tests can now be performed and the convenience of electronic access, I got the results with an app on my phone late the next day. Everything was normal except for two things. First, my ferritin level was just a little high, and that was nothing to be concerned about. Second, my vitamin D level was low. On the way to campus the next morning I stopped in at my local Walmart Neighborhood Market and bought some vitamin D₃ caplets (they were cheaper than Amazon with Prime, and much faster to get, to boot). I took some immediately when I got to campus.

I was surprised that I started feeling somewhat better later in the day. I continued taking it at a lower dose both morning and evening and—this shocked me—the extreme fatigue disappeared. A few days later I could feel the fatigue coming back. I immediately bumped the dose back up, and the fatigue disappeared again. My mind cleared, and I wasn’t feeling lousy. Oh, what a joy to wake up in the morning feeling good before getting out of bed! It’s been not quite three weeks yet, but I’m still feeling good. It’s almost too good to be true, but those symptoms are gone. I’m no longer thinking about retirement.

I only partly understand the interplay between God’s sovereignty, my responsibility, God’s providential care, and the exercise of my will. Entire books have been written on this subject. The one that I’ve read discussed the subject deeply, and one part centered on this verse:

“In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will….”

Ephesians 1:11 (ESV)

Pay careful attention here: “…According to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will….” People that know Greek have studied this, and the word all means all. I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that even the distasteful things in life are worked out within the scope of His will. But they are.