To Chemo, or Not to Chemo?

The next time I see him, I must apologize to William Shakespeare for taking “To be, or not to be, that is the question” and modifying it for my own purposes. What I’m doing can probably be described by some kind of literary term, but because I’m not a literary writer, I don’t know what it would be. I thought perhaps what I’m doing might be in some sense an example of synecdoche, but after reading a comparison of synecdoche and metonymy I’m not so sure. Perhaps it’s really metondoche, which in itself is actually a portmanteau, and I’m quite certain of that. By now those thoroughly trained in literature are shaking their heads.

Sometimes people try to anticipate what they would do in some particular situation, like “If I get cancer, then I will….” It turns out that it’s not always so easy.

Follicular lymphoma is an example of what they call an indolent cancer. An indolent person is lazy and does whatever is necessary to avoid physical or mental exertion; an indolent cancer is one that progresses comparatively slowly. I say comparatively because my follicular lymphoma is progressing: new lumps in new places, and they’re growing. But still, if you end up with cancer, an indolent one is the type to get.

Currently I still have what they call a low tumor burden, which means that the total amount of cancer in my body is still relatively low compared to what it could be. On day one my oncologist pointed out that he could treat my cancer and “knock down” those tumors with chemotherapy, but clinical experience shows that treating a low tumor burden patient does not change rates of survival. I’ve dug through some of the peer-reviewed medical literature on this, and he knows what he’s talking about: Treating me now would very likely have no effect on how long I will live. And by the way, it’s not possible to predict with any real degree of confidence how long it would take for my cancer to kill me—I could die from something completely unrelated.

This puts one in the unusual position of having to decide whether or not to get treatment even though I can feel the progression of the cancer in the lumps in my neck. In case you’re wondering, no, removing the lumps does not get rid of the cancer. It’s called lymphoma because cancer cells are constantly circulating through my lymph system, and cutting out lumps doesn’t get rid of those cells. New lumps will continue to form and grow, and very likely in my neck (as well as in other places, like the ones I already have in my abdomen). One estimate that looks reliable to me is that there are roughly 800 lymph nodes in the human body, and of those about 300 are in my neck. There are lots of places that these cells can park and divide, and it will be completely impractical to remove all of the resulting lumps, not to mention that surgical removal runs the risk of damaging some of the many nerves in the neck.

The standard treatment for follicular lymphoma involves the usual sorts of side effects from chemotherapy: nausea, vomiting, loss of hair. These things can be managed. It’s the other side effects that are more serious: immunosuppression, peripheral neuropathy, drug hypersensitivity, and heart failure. I intend to avoid chemotherapy for as long as it is reasonable to do so. I’m going to continue to do watchful waiting with my oncologist, and I don’t anticipate deciding whether to take chemotherapy until my tumor burden is somewhat higher. There’s no way of confidently predicting when that will be, either.

One could, of course, hope that some kind of new treatment will become available. We are, in fact, in the midst of what might turn out to be a golden age of discovering new treatments for many, many different kinds of diseases, including different kinds of cancers. Some of these deal with so-called blood cancers, including lymphomas. My immune system does not recognize that my cancer cells are bad guys, and no, there isn’t any scientific evidence that dietary modifications or supplements of any sort will under any circumstances fix this. One promising treatment, however, is called CART therapy, in which some of a patient’s own immune cells are removed, artificially re-engineered to recognize the cancer cells, and then injected back into the patient where they go on a spree eliminating cancer cells from the body. Some experimental trials with a few patients have been done, and the results have been positively spectacular. However, even apart from the fact that some patients have died as a result of those treatments, this therapy appears to be a long way from being ready for use in patients like me.

At the end of the day, I have to decide how I’m going to confront not only my cancer, but also other issues that I’ve been facing. Would it surprise you if I said that sometimes those things are more difficult for me? I’ve chosen to comply with God’s clear direction:

Do not be anxious about anything,

but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving

let your requests be made known to God.

And the peace of God,

which surpasses all understanding,

will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

(Philippians 4:6-7 ESV)

Recently I have been thanking God—with an unusually deep, intense sense of gratitude—that I have cancer instead of my wife, son, daughter, or son-in-law. Like still waters, the peace runs deep.

Delight

My first memory of interest in chemistry dates from fifth grade, when one day I was given a small paperback workbook dealing with science. There were reading passages, interesting diagrams, and questions to be answered. The Bunsen burner and how it was used intrigued me. Sixth grade science introduced me to the atom, and in ninth grade my science teacher presented parts of the periodic table to me. Something about it was oddly interesting, and my very sharp young mind assimilated it immediately.

To this day I’m grateful for the three things my eleventh grade chemistry teacher successfully taught me (it wasn’t his fault that I didn’t learn more). One had to do with pH calculations, another with how to properly clean beakers and flasks and other laboratory glassware in preparation for careful chemical analysis, and the last was a short sentence: LEO is a lion and goes GER. This has everything to do with a type of chemical reaction called an oxidation-reduction reaction, and the acronyms are there to help remember how to describe the processes: Loss of Electrons is Oxidation; Gain of Electrons is Reduction. During high school I also became intrigued by the regularity of molecular architecture, particularly of biochemical substances, and I still enjoy this kind of thing. These days I have powerful software tools that enable me to examine molecules in three dimensions and model important molecular properties. It can be great fun, and it results in delightful images painted with intense colors.

In college I found that chemical reactions could produce beautiful colors, or changes in color. There’s nothing quite like mixing two colorless, clear solutions together and finding that they produce a brilliant yellow cascade of powder that settles out to the bottom of the flask. Flames can be tainted with chemicals to produce colors that depend on the elements that the chemicals are composed of. I still do this in my general chemistry class to illustrate some of the evidence that leads to the quantum theory of the atom: I show them green flames, yellow flames, violet flames, and scarlet flames. It’s delightful to see. While working in my laboratory in graduate school I controlled the color of solutions by the careful addition of minute amounts of acid or base, and I analyzed the changes quantitatively in order to describe the underlying chemical reactions with mathematical precision. I also found that a solution of a chemical could be made to emit light, and that I could control the brightness and color of the light by twiddling with the chemistry. Part of the fun of being a chemist is the delight of pretty colors. What delights you? Whatever it is, it brings you pleasure, and you enjoy not only experiencing it, but also thinking about it.

In The Vending Machine I pointed out that God does not grant our wishes when we approach Him simply to get what we want. God does, in fact, want to give us what we want, but He gives a condition:

Delight yourself in the Lord,

and he will give you the desires of your heart.

(Psalm 37:4 ESV)

There are many ways that I delight in God. I thank Him for the ability to enjoy a beautiful sunset. I marvel at His patience with a sinner such as myself. Words of thanks and praise come from my lips for His constant presence with me as I face difficult things. Although I struggle at times, how wonderful it is to always be brought back to peace, no matter what happens! His words comfort my soul; they give me insight into the way He thinks and help me to understand why He does things. The Creator of the universe is my friend! But there’s more to it than this.

Although I’m not a Hebrew scholar, I do have access to resources written by scholars. One such resource tells me that the Hebrew word for delight in Psalm 37:4 means to be soft or pliable. How does one delight in God by being soft or pliable?

During my years as an undergraduate the Lord pointed out to me that I was seeking my purpose in life rather than His. As a result of His careful work on my soul I told the Lord that I would do whatever He wanted me to do. As I started my graduate work I added something to my prayer: “Lord, I’ll do whatever you want me to do, but I need to know what it is.” Do you see the pliability in my soul? Although I was working on a PhD in pharmaceutical sciences so that I could have a research career, I continued to pray this way. I began to have inklings about teaching. This was odd: I had never given any serious consideration to teaching. “Lord, I’ll do whatever you want me to do, but I need to know what it is.”

As I continued to pray, a clear desire to teach formed in my mind. Oddly enough, it was very specific: I began to want to teach chemistry at BJU. Months and years passed, and as I continued to pray this way the desire to teach intensified. Sometime during my last year of graduate school my prayer had changed: “Lord, either open this door to teach at BJU, or take this desire away, or I’m going to die!” And then He swung the door wide open. As far as careers go, there’s nothing better than wanting to do one thing more than anything else in life and then having God say to you, “This is my will for you—go and do it.” Do you see it? I delighted myself in God, and He gave me the desire of my heart.

Being pliable in God’s hands is not always an easy thing to do. Sometimes it is His intention for us to walk on difficult paths, to face the darkness, and yet continue to trust Him when the outcome is unknown. This is walking by faith, and it is also delighting in Him. Sometimes He reminds me that He calls the shots:

Does the clay say to him who forms it, ‘What are you making?’

(Isaiah 45:9 ESV)

The analogy here is that of a potter working on clay. Have you ever seen a video of a potter making a clay pot on a potter’s wheel? It’s fascinating to watch. I enjoyed watching Sarah Beth do it when she took a ceramics class at BJU, and we have some beautiful examples of her work in our house. Neither she nor any other potter has ever had insubordinate clay say, “Hey! I don’t want to be a coffee mug. I want to be a decorative vase!”

And yet there are times when I object to what God is doing, as though I know better. Yes, the clay is made to be pliable so that the potter can make whatever is desired. There are days when I wonder what will become of me and my cancer, and sometimes I’m not sure I want to go along with the Divine Potter. I wrestle with Him, I wrestle with myself, I talk with Him, and I then I choose to be pliable: “Lord, I’m the clay, and you are the Potter. Do with me whatever you like.”

The Vending Machine

Once upon a time (the 1974-5 academic year), in a place named Bob Jones University, a freshman student studying science lived in one of the men’s dormitories. It was named Reveal, but this had nothing to do with the 60’s and 70’s campus craze known as streaking. He came from a far away place known as Massachusetts, and it took him some time to adjust to the culture of the southeastern United States. At first he thought that grits tasted a lot like, well, grit, and he wondered why anyone would eat them. Also at that time the dining common served a concoction called creamed eggs, and he almost gagged on them the first time he tried them. Said individual now enjoys both—apparently he has completed his journey to the southern side.

Sometimes he supplemented his diet with other things. There was a nice place called the Dolly Madison store nearby (a ten minute walk from Reveal), where outdated goods were sold for a pittance. In this magical store he could buy 10 single-serving fried pies (cherry, apple, lemon, and blueberry) for only $1. Yes, they were expired, but sometimes they kept him from expiring. And there were other delightful things, too.

One Sunday afternoon the nice young man was hungry and wanted a little something different. He decided to go downstairs to the lobby of his dormitory and buy something from the vending machine. This was an old-time machine, and he dropped in a few coins and pulled on a knob. A candy bar clunked down into the slot at the bottom. He went back to his room, eagerly tore open the wrapper, and happily began munching. After one or two bites he looked at the candy and saw some little white things wiggling around. Yes, folks, he had eaten some worms.

There’s this idea that science people are objective and analytical and carefully evaluate possible courses of action before proceeding. Not this time. The young man did not know (or in the heat of the moment had forgotten) that the digestive enzymes in his stomach would proceed to attack the little white worms wriggling inside him and turn them into muscle, enzymes, and other useful things. Oh no, there was no hint of measured response.

I panicked, showed my roommates the candy, and asked if anybody had anything that I could take to kill the worms. Bob—one of my junior roommates and a native son of Mississippi—helpfully grabbed a bottle, handed it to me, and said, “Here. Drink some of this.” I dutifully obeyed by taking a good slug of the straw-colored liquid. And then I looked at the label. It was called something along the lines of Dr. Tichenor’s Antiseptic Mouthwash. And it was 40% alcohol. Just in case you don’t know, that stuff was 80 proof, and very shortly after I drank it I experienced a sensation of warmth and my face flushed red. From what I’ve read, that means that my blood alcohol content was at least 0.04%. I never did see those little white worms again, and I also don’t recall whether I ever bought anything from that vending machine again.

Of course, not all vending machine experiences are negative. There are so many great things you can buy. There are the usual things like bottled water, soft drinks, candy, protein bars, and chips. I’ve read that in Japan you can get ice cream, and in China you can buy live crabs. Apparently in Europe in some places you can get hot pizza from a vending machine. Really? And then there are tee shirts, hot cooked Ramen noodles, baguettes, bike parts, cupcakes, cooked burgers, salad, and even caviar. It’s reported that at least at one point in time you could buy LEGOs from vending machines at some German train stations. Go figure. How about mashed potatoes or pecan pie? Or umbrellas, shoes, books (new or used), makeup, diapers, cellphones, iPods, or noise-cancelling headphones? If you’re willing to travel, then it seems that you could just about live life only with items bought from vending machines.

Problem is, sometimes we treat God as though He’s some kind of celestial vending machine. Just drop in a prayer and out pops a warm pastry. How much can you get for some extra Bible study? Surely attending church more faithfully is worth a pay raise.

Here’s the thing: God wants us to get to know Him, not just use Him. How much like Him are we? After Helen (his wife) died, C.S. Lewis wrote a book chronicling his subsequent agony. It’s entitled A Grief Observed, and if you’re struggling with a loss, then perhaps you might benefit from reading it. Lewis poured out his thoughts, and although some of them were very dark, he also critically evaluated them. In this book he refers to Helen as H., and he recognized that sometimes we try to use God to get our way:

Am I, for instance, just sidling back to God because I know that if there’s any road to H., it runs through Him? But then of course I know perfectly well that He can’t be used as a road. If you’re approaching Him not as the goal but as a road, not as the end but as a means, you’re not really approaching Him at all.

I’ve done this. There was a point in my life where I was really, really tired of dealing with the consequences of a particular sin I was struggling with. It affected my relationships with my wife and children. So I tried Bible reading and prayer and, as some people say, it didn’t work. That was the whole problem: “It” didn’t work. Of course it didn’t. I was trying to use the celestial vending machine just to get away from a problem. God doesn’t play by our rules, and if you want to have a real relationship with Him, then you have to do things His way:

Seek the Lord while he may be found;

call upon him while he is near;

let the wicked forsake his way,

and the unrighteous man his thoughts;

let him return to the Lord, that he may have compassion on him,

and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

Neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.

 (Isaiah 55:6-8 ESV)

Arguing with Henry

Consider the true story of Sabine Morceau, who left her home in Belgium on a trip to pick up a friend in Brussels, about 90 miles away. She dutifully followed the directions her GPS gave her, but because she was distracted—that’s what she claims—she didn’t notice that the GPS had led her astray until she was in Zagreb, Croatia. It took her two days to drive those 900 miles. One naturally wonders if Sabine should have had a driver’s license in the first place, but even so, the technology really let her down. Big time.

On a few occasions I’ve found that the speech recognition software in my smartphone has stubbornly failed to correctly interpret my voice, even when carefully enunciated with perfect diction. I don’t recall the specifics, but it goes something like this: “Directions to ONE FIF-TY WAL-NUT LANE, GREER, SOUTH CAR-O-LINA.” “I’m sorry, I can’t find one fife piglet in Greer, South Carolina.” Another tech failure.

Today I asked my smartphone a very simple question: “Why are you a nincompoop?” She promptly translated it as “Why are you an income poop?” While I found this rather amusing (and I struggled to remember whether Bernie Sanders had ever said this to Donald Trump during the recent presidential primary), it’s just another example of how temperamental and unpredictable speech recognition algorithms can be. And I’m supposed to believe that voice-controlled autonomous automobiles will be good for society.

This week Ford Motor Company announced that it will be selling fully autonomous cars in five years. Reports indicate that these automobiles won’t have steering wheels, gas pedals, or brake pedals, which means that people won’t be able to control these cars. This makes some of Ford’s past advertising slogans laughably obsolete. Things like “Everything we do is driven by you” and “Have you driven a Ford lately?” No, I haven’t. It won’t let me. What will the new slogan be? “Have you not driven a Ford lately?”

I started daydreaming about what it would be like to have my very own autonomous Ford. I’ll name him Henry, and then Carla and I will boldly set out to go where no autonomous automobile has gone before. Here’s what I’m expecting from our first outing.

“Henry, let’s drive to the campus of Bob Jones University.”

“OK, Brian, I’ll take you there. And while I’m driving, I’m going to show you some fascinating videos that illustrate how much autonomous vehicles will improve the quality of life in America.”

Henry started the engine, backed out the garage, and proceeded up the driveway. He turned on his screen and began to show videos of Americans in autonomous cars happily using their smartphones while completely ignoring traffic. Some of them were putting on makeup; others were eating. They didn’t manually use their turn signals, and many behaved as if they were the only people on the road. Something about this seemed oddly familiar, but it was all so fascinating that I became deeply absorbed and didn’t notice how much progress we had made. We were already heading down North Pleasantburg Drive near Sunshine Cycle Shop and were only about a half-mile from campus.

“Carla, look, look! I’m not driving! I’m not driving!”

“Yes, dear, that’s very interesting. Can we go somewhere to eat now?”

“Henry, take us to Henry's Smokehouse on Wade Hampton Boulevard.”

“I’m sorry, Brian, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s against EPA regulations for me to smoke at my house. Haven’t you heard about the VW diesel scandal?”

“Yes, yes, and we own one of those cars, but the scandal has to do with nitrogen oxides, not smoke. Don’t you know how to read? And besides, you’re not a diesel, anyway. And it’s a restaurant, not your house.”

“Look, Brian, I have a better idea, and I think you should go along with it.”

At this point Henry turned into the IHOP (formerly known as the International House of Pancakes^®) parking lot. He loaded the menu and showed it on his screen.

“I recommend you try the cheeseburger omelette. With 1450 calories and 104 g of fat it’s an outstanding energy source.”

“Henry, we don’t want cheeseburger omelettes. And we don’t want to go to IHOP, either.”

“But Brian, IHOP makes high-quality food. And remember, quality is job one.”

“HENRY!! We don’t want to go to IHOP! Drive us out of here, NOW!!”

“OK, Brian, but I’m concerned about your frame of mind. I’m going to take you home for a cooling off period. After you’ve settled down for a couple hours I’ll be glad to take you out again. I have more videos, too.”

Brian (agitated): “HENRY, WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A NINCOMPOOP?”

At this moment we happened to be driving past a TD Bank (America’s Most Convenient Bank^®), and Henry turned in and picked the spot nearest the front door.

“Brian, the nice people at this place can help you with your income poops.”

“AAARGH!! Where’s the Tylenol^®?”

Saving Lexi

Upon returning from classes at BJU one day, Stephen saw a fawn-colored female boxer at the end of our driveway. He greeted her, and she followed him partway down the driveway. She sat at the edge of the yard for about 15 minutes and studied Carla as she did some things on the porch. Only then did she walk up to Carla and put her arms around her. She did the same thing to me as I started to get out of our pickup truck when I got home. This is not what you expect from a stray dog.

Her ribs and spine stood out from her skinny frame, and she had a persistent cough. We later found out that she had heartworms and intestinal parasites. She was also very afraid, easily startled by just about anything, and a model of canine insecurity. Even so, you could still see her beauty. She appeared to be purebred and had some of the most desirable markings on her face. She is a little more petit than most boxers, and is quite the girly girl. Why would someone neglect her? It was obvious that she had given birth to puppies at least once in her life. Had she been part of a puppy mill? Did the owner run short of money and abandon her?

“I have to feed her,” Carla said. “If you do, she’ll never go away.” “I have to feed her.” “If you do, then put the dish out on the driveway on the other side of the truck.” That night I heard her pacing back and forth on the porch. As I got ready for school the next morning, I looked out the window and saw Carla on the porch, crouched down with her arms wrapped around her, telling her that everything was going to be OK.

Sometimes we see signs for lost animals posted on power poles in our neighborhood. There were none. She had no collar. We searched for an owner and thought we had finally found her in Augusta, GA, roughly 120 miles away. Could she have come that far? I spoke with the possible owner on the phone, asking questions carefully to see if she were legit. Everything seemed kosher until I asked if her dog had ever had puppies. Nope. Ultimately we decided to keep her, and after lengthy treatments she was free of heartworms. She’s the most expensive free dog we’ve ever had. We had the vet implant an identification chip in her.

I named her Lexi. Why did she immediately respond to that name when I first used it? She reminded us of her desperate life when she jumped up and snatched a loaf of bread (still in the plastic bag) off the countertop and gobbled it down. We don’t know how much Buster (whom we inherited when Dad died) helped her out, but clearly she needed to learn some manners. She also had terrible separation anxiety. Wouldn’t I have, too, if I had been treated the same way? And why was she was afraid to ride in vehicles?

It’s been over four years since she walked down our driveway. She’s graying and isn’t quite as energetic as she used to be, but she’s no longer emaciated. We’ve only heard her bark a few times, and we wonder why. It’s too bad, really, because she has a beautiful voice. We’ve given her lots and lots of love and reassurance, and we’ve also taught her about things to do and things not to do. We haven’t lost any more loaves of bread. She isn’t very jumpy anymore, either. Lexi is the gentlest dog I’ve ever known, and also the most affectionate, and I think I’ve had a glimpse of how animals and people were originally meant to interact with each other. She loves to take rides in the truck with me when I go on errands. Why the big change? Healthy doses of love, kind discipline, healthy doses of love, proper care, and more healthy doses of love.

But there’s still one problem left: she’s terrified by thunder and heavy rain. When the thunder is far off, long before we can hear it, she gets a faraway look in her eyes and stares out the windows. And then the shaking starts, and then she pants heavily. I hold her in my lap and wrap my arms around her, pet her, and talk to her. “Don’t worry, Lexi. We’ll keep you in here where it’s nice and warm and dry, and we’ll protect you. Everything will be OK.”

Am I so much different than Lexi? Sometimes the thunderstorms of life are severe and I get scared. One day, when the Lord and His disciples took a boat ride across the lake, a bad storm arose and the boat began to be swamped (Luke 8:22-25).  The disciples were terrified, and after they woke Jesus from His nap they said, “Master, master, we are perishing!” He asked them, “Where is your faith?” Yes, we can be very afraid. At such times it is necessary to grab the shield of faith and the sword of the spirit (which is the word of God) (Ephesians 6:10-18) and control the mind, spirit, and emotions. He spoke and the storm ceased. All became calm.

The current storm in my life has been exceptionally intense, and I’ve been terrified. I’ve been reading in the Old Testament book of Isaiah and I returned to this passage in chapter 14:

The Lord of hosts has sworn:

“As I have planned,

so shall it be, and as I have purposed,

so shall it stand,

that I will break the Assyrian in my land,

and on my mountains trample him underfoot;

and his yoke shall depart from them,

and his burden from their shoulder.”

This is the purpose that is purposed

concerning the whole earth,

and this is the hand that is stretched out

over all the nations.

For the Lord of hosts has purposed,

and who will annul it?

His hand is stretched out,

and who will turn it back?

(Isaiah 14:24-27 ESV)

Two months ago Carla and I stood in the British Museum in London and looked at some of the ruins of the Assyrian empire.  We saw the carved stone reliefs that used to line palace walls a few thousand years ago, and it was clear that the Assyrians were heartless, cruel people.  This passage in Isaiah was, in fact, written after Assyria had already fallen, and as such it isn’t a prophecy of things to come.* It’s a reminder of the time when God said that He would destroy the Assyrians, and so it is a reminder that God does what He says He will do. It’s also a reminder that once God makes up His mind to do something, there is no power in the universe that can stop Him. He is omnipotent.

And so the wind rages and the waves toss over the edge of the boat.  At least once I think I’ve had that look in my eyes, and the Lord gently said, “Brian, where is your faith?” I meditated on Isaiah 14, and I again recognized that He is fully able to do anything He wants to do in order to stop the storm. My mind, spirit, and emotions calmed down.

*After I published this post a friend pointed out that the commentary I consulted was wrong about the chronology of this passage.  This was, in fact, a prophecy that was subsequently fulfilled.  Nevertheless, the point regarding God’s omnipotence is still valid.

The Right View

During my youth Dad would occasionally drive us from our home in northeastern Massachusetts to various parts of New Hampshire. Sometimes it was to visit friends, and it was on one of those visits that I discovered the delights of riding a snowmobile. On another I discovered why the 1970’s three-wheeled Honda ATV’s were destined to disappear. They were fairly unstable, and it didn’t take too long before I found myself flying through the air after running one into a pine tree. I was horrified when I saw that the bright red fender was dented and pushed up against the front tire. I mustered enough strength to bend it back, and the ATV was again drivable. I went to our friends and confessed the error of my ways, and they promptly forgave me.

Less frequently we would drive to the Granite State’s White Mountains. During a good fall they are anything but white: On bright days, and from the right angles, all those sugar maples looked like they were on fire. I still miss walking through lanes flanked on both sides by yellow and gold, and most of all by flaming red and orange maples. These mountains are beautiful at other times of the year, too.

One morning in mid-May of 2007 Carla and the kids and I started the climb up Mt. Willard. It was early enough in the year that it was still pretty chilly, and we hiked through a little snow and ice on the way to the summit. Water vapor had condensed into fog, droplets had formed on evergreen needles, and some looked like jeweled frames wrapped around the scenery. We had been told that we could see Crawford Notch from the summit. Crawford Notch is a U-shaped valley with an appearance akin to that of a cardboard tube cut in half lengthwise. We were in the right place, but the clouds draped over Willard’s summit obscured the view. Suddenly a gap in the clouds appeared, and we were surprised at how uniformly shaped the notch is. I had the presence of mind to snap a couple photos, and then after a minute or two the view disappeared.

The author of Ecclesiastes indulged himself in every material pleasure (see chapter 2:1-11) and concluded that there was no value in it. He despaired that the fruits of a diligent life lived wisely may end up in the hands of one who did no work for them (2:21). Whether wise or foolish, ultimately a person will be forgotten (2:16). How many of us living today will be remembered in 2,000 years? What is the value of a life forgotten? What is the purpose of human existence? Why are you here?

At the end of the book the fog clears and the right view comes into focus:

“…Fear God and keep his commandments;

for this is the whole duty of man.

For God will bring every deed into judgment,

with every secret thing, whether good or evil.”

(Ecclesiastes 12:13-14 ESV)

Living life with this view gives it a richness that is not otherwise possible. Do you know Christ? Personally? If you do, then you won’t be forgotten:

 “You did not choose me, but I chose you and

appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and

that your fruit should abide….”

(John 15:16 ESV)

A life lived to accomplish God’s purposes produces results that abide and stand the test of time, even into eternity. What do you think when you have cancer and are staring at your own mortality? I think about how God has enabled me to accomplish his purpose, and that brings comfort and tranquility deep into my soul. This also produces joy.

I was shocked to learn that my friend and former student Josiah Matthew died suddenly and unexpectedly from an apparent heart attack on the same day that I began writing this post. Joe graduated from BJU with a B.S. in chemistry in May of 2015, and he was a very capable student. At the time of his death he was working on a Ph.D. in medicinal chemistry at the University at Buffalo (State University of New York). What do you think when a young person with a promising career passes into eternity?

The writer of Ecclesiastes gives sage advice to every person:  “Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth.” (12:1 ESV) Joe followed this advice. As one of his fellow graduate students (also a BJU chemistry graduate) said, “I guess, if nothing else, this is a reminder that we don’t know how long we will be alive, and we must use our time wisely to bring glory to God. I know Josiah did just that.” That’s exactly right. Joe’s life was not wasted—it was spent using his giftedness to accomplish things pleasing to his creator, and his fruit will not spoil.

Dr. Alfred B. Smith, or simply Al to those that knew him, was a noted gospel songwriter, lecturer, and soloist (http://livinghymns.org/bio.htm). In the early 1940’s he wrote and published one of the shortest gospel hymns that I’m aware of, entitled With Eternity’s Values in View. The full lyrics are reproduced here from the 30^th Anniversary Edition of Living Hymns (with the permission of Al Smith Ministries):

With eternity’s values in view, Lord, With eternity’s values in view;

May I do each day’s work for Jesus, With eternity’s values in view.

This is the right view.

It’s Hard to Sing While Wrestling

I’ve never been much of an athlete, but I did spend quite a bit of time during my youth firing arrows at a target in our back yard.  This generally went well, although one day I aimed a little too high—OK, it was way too high—and the arrow went sailing past the end of our yard toward the neighbor’s house.  Fearing the worst, I ran to see what happened and was greatly distressed to find it stuck in the siding next to a bathroom window.  Whew, I’m very glad I didn’t hit that window.  I went to our neighbor and confessed the error of my ways, and she promptly forgave me.

Rarely did I enjoy physical education classes, but there were a few times.  On one beautiful sunny day in eastern Massachusetts, my high school PE teacher told us that we were going to do archery.  Really?!?  There was a long line of targets set up on tripods outside, and I proceeded to demonstrate my prowess as Robin Hood’s protégé.  I did better than many, but we never did it again.  I suppose it might have been because of the potential liability.  Or maybe that the jocks didn’t seem to do very well at it.

My memories of wrestling are also pretty good.  I don’t recall getting clobbered, and I think I actually won a few times.  The Summer Olympics features wrestling, and like boxing it has weight classes.  These range up to 130 kg for men’s Greco-Roman competitions.  That’s almost 287 pounds, and so we’re talking about big, powerful people, and they have to be quick, too.  In the United States we also have this thing called “professional wrestling.”  Describing it is difficult because the athletes do so many outrageous things, but it certainly isn’t serious competition.  This is the activity that over the years has given us tag-team wrestling and the figure-four leg lock, and the participants often wear strange outfits and exhibit bizarre behavior.  Really, if you want to watch some outrageous wrestling, then you ought to see The Three Stooges 1937 short film entitled Grips, Grunts & Groans, in which a sniff of wild hyacinth perfume makes Curly crazy enough to beat the opposition.  I’m pretty sure that most professional wrestlers are big Stooges fans.  During even the weirdest wrestling, though, I’ve never seen someone break out in an aria from Puccini’s opera Tosca.  Why would anybody even want to do so?  Besides, it’s hard to sing while wrestling.

At BJU’s annual Bible Conference we do a lot of singing, and this year was no exception.  During the opening service on Tuesday night we were singing a very good song, but partway through it I stopped.  Recently I had been fatigued, and combined with some other challenges it was turning out to be an uncomfortable week.  I had discovered another lump on my neck a few weeks earlier, and I was scheduled to have CT scans of my neck, chest, and abdomen the next day.  I was wrestling again, but this time it was with myself, and singing was out of the question.

Lymphoma is an interesting cancer.  The lymphatic system, or lymph system for short, circulates a clear fluid through our bodies.  It’s also an integral part of our immune system and incorporates lymph nodes.  When you have lymphoma, cancer cells are constantly circulating through your lymph system, as they are doing in mine right now.  Sometimes these cells begin to accumulate in lymph nodes, and so some of the nodes swell.  Removing the swollen nodes does not eliminate the cancer.  The problem is that my immune system doesn’t recognize the cancer cells as bad guys, and consequently they are allowed to multiply and accumulate.  I’m glad that my lymphoma is a relatively slow-growing type.

This morning I looked at last week’s CT scans with my oncologist.  The new lump on my neck is cancerous.  The radiologist noted in his analysis that there are also swollen lymph nodes in my abdomen that had not shown up in previous scans.  My cancer is progressing somewhat faster than I had expected.

My oncologist again referred to a key long-term clinical study of lymphoma patients with cancer at about the same stage as mine.  Patients that were treated with chemotherapy were compared to those that were not treated, and it was demonstrated that those that were treated did not fare any better in the long run than those that were untreated.  Consequently, it doesn’t make any sense to get chemo at this point in time.  As he said, this cancer is a chronic condition without a cure, it has to be managed, and so we’re managing it.  I’m very thankful that I don’t yet need chemotherapy.

Of course, I’ll continue to keep an eye on myself.  If I begin to consistently see typical lymphoma symptoms, then I won’t wait for my next appointment (about six months from now) to contact my oncologist.  These symptoms include fatigue, difficulty going to the bathroom (due to the pressure exerted by large lymph nodes), unintended weight loss, and some others.  When these things occur consistently, then I’ll be discussing treatment options with him.

What about now?  This situation obviously presents physical challenges, but it also impacts the mind, emotions, and spirit.

On the eve of his betrayal, Jesus “was troubled in his spirit” (John 13:21).  In his Greek lexicon, Joseph Thayer indicates that the word used for “troubled” means “to stir or agitate.”  A.T. Robertson (in Word Pictures) indicates that this is the same kind of agitation Christ experienced when he “groaned in his spirit” as a result of seeing Mary weep over Lazarus’ death (John 11:33).  And then Christ wept, too.  If the Son of God wrestled with things, then it’s no surprise that I do, too.

“The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me;

your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever.

Do not forsake the work of your hands.”

(Psalm 138:8 ESV)

Through my unexpected journey God has always given me peace, and he will not forsake me now.