Oops

During some of my years in the 1970’s as an undergraduate student at BJU, I worked as a lab assistant in the Chemistry Department (now the Department of Chemistry and Physics). I did a range of different things that ran the gamut from preparing chemicals for experimental use to helping students do procedures correctly. One day in the fall of 1978 I was floating between a general chemistry lab and an organic chemistry lab. Students in the latter were working on the synthesis of ethyl bromide. The apparatus consisted of a glass flask connected to a vertical water-cooled glass condenser, and it had a nice 1950’s science fiction movie sort of appearance to it. This particular synthesis is more than a little touchy, and Mr. Brown cautioned the class to avoid letting it get too warm too quickly. One pair of women set their apparatus up correctly and proceeded with the process, but they didn’t adequately control the temperature. The mixture got too hot, rapidly vaporized, and shot out of the top of the condenser like a projectile out of a cannon! The liquid splattered onto the ceiling, and you could still see the splatter before the ceiling tiles were added during the last major laboratory renovation in 1995. I haven’t checked for years, but it’s probably still there. Thankfully nobody was hurt, and that’s good, because I ended up marrying one of those women.

Occasionally on Sunday, right after church, we eat at Compadre’s Mex Mex Grill on North Pleasantburg Drive. They have a lovely dinner buffet with a good range of dishes, and they aren’t spicy unless you add one of their salsas. One of those is just right for me, but the other one is woweee hot! For dessert they have fresh pineapple and cantaloupe, and they’re usually quite good. They also have pieces of wheat tortilla that have been fried and dusted with sugar and cinnamon; mm mm, they’re always quite good. On one such Sunday, I was standing in the men’s room washing my hands when the door swung open. Our eyes met, and as she looked at me I suddenly realized that the plumbing fixtures in this bathroom did not exactly match what would normally be expected in a men’s room. I’m so glad that she didn’t walk in a minute earlier. I also finally recognized that the wallpaper was a little too pink for a typical restaurant men’s room. She began to smile, and so did I, in a rather mortified manner. I immediately apologized, finished up uncharacteristically quickly, and fled. I went back to the table, sat back down, and announced, “They have a very nice ladies’ room here.”

The summer of 1993 was one of the five summers that I worked in the U.S. Air Force’s summer faculty research program. This program was designed for faculty members of four-year colleges, and at Tyndall Air Force Base in Florida I did research that combined analytical chemistry and environmental engineering. This was very interesting work, and ultimately the USAF took out a patent on a fiber optic sensor that one of my colleagues and I invented. During this summer, we made good friends with a couple that at the time lived in Lynn Haven, which coincidentally is the town where the original Bob Jones College campus was located. I’d been looking to buy a pickup truck, and he was selling a 1986 Chevrolet that hadn’t run for around a year and a half or so. I bought it for a very good price with the understanding that if I couldn’t get it fixed I would leave it with him (with new parts installed) and he would give me my money back. I fixed a lot of stuff on it, and thankfully I was able to get it back up to snuff. It was bright red, and, based on the children’s book about a big red dog, I decided to name it Clifford the big red truck. Four years later, a few months after my mother died due to complications of a quadruple heart bypass operation, I decided to visit those same friends for some saltwater fishing. Dad went with me, and we had great fun. Before we left I did a rear brake job on Clifford. This seemed to go pretty well, and all seemed well until Dad and I were stuck in traffic on I-85 in Atlanta at about 4 pm on our way back. When we slowed down I noticed a peculiar odor, and I thought something might be overheating. At the next rest area, I pulled over and noticed that the right rear brake was extremely hot. I poured some cold water onto it and it immediately sizzled. Apparently one of the brake shoes was stuck in an odd position, and the friction was generating a lot of heat. I don’t know exactly how it happened, and I can only speculate on why we didn’t have problems with it on the way south. The high temperature also ruined a rubber seal at the end of the axle, and so gear oil from the differential was leaking out. It was leaking quickly—we were in trouble. I turned off at the next exit and found an auto parts store, where I purchased several bottles of gear oil. And then the drill began.

1.     Remove the fill plug on the differential. Thankfully I had brought some basic tools along.

2.     Pour in gear oil until it starts to leak out the top.

3.     Replace the fill plug.

4.     Pour cold water on the hot brake shoe.

5.     Drive slowly in the breakdown lane on the right at 15-20 mph for a while.

6.     Pull over and repeat starting with step 1.

I used a lot of oil, but this process did work. And then at about 9:30 pm a piece of metal in the breakdown lane got stuck in the right front tire and it went flat. I pulled off at the next exit and into an old service garage, and amazingly for a Saturday night they were still open. They repaired the tire and we continued on our way. Dad got home at about 12:30 am, and after getting him unpacked and settled in I got home at about 1 am. Normally I would have gotten him home by about 7 pm. I did a lot of praying during this trip, and I’m very thankful that we were OK. Clifford wasn’t OK: the thermal trauma had ruined his rear axle and possibly the differential, too. I replaced the entire axle and differential assembly with a used one from a junkyard—I had a professional do this work—and then I sold Clifford. Maybe all of this trouble and expense would have been avoided if I had let a professional take care of the brake job in the first place. Have you ever done something yourself and then later regretted it?

Some of us get a lot of satisfaction by doing things ourselves, but we don’t always have the experience or skills needed to be successful. This also applies to spiritually-challenging life circumstances.

It is good that a man should both

hope and quietly wait for

the salvation of the Lord.

 (Lamentations 3:26 KJV)

Sometimes it’s appropriate to sit back and trust God to do things His way. This isn’t easy for a take-the-bull-by-the-horns-and-do-something kind of guy like me. No, I’d much rather dive in and try to fix things.

The fact of the matter is that God is the only one that can change a human heart. At church, Pastor Cook often quotes Psalm 127:1, which says, “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it….” John 15:5 records that the Lord Himself said, “…Without me ye can do nothing.” Yes, we can do good things to help people, and we can do them with good motives. But unless the Creator of the universe makes our efforts fruitful, then all we do will be for naught.

It can be extremely uncomfortable to sit back and wait for the Lord to resolve things His way. Some time ago, I persistently asked God to correct any aspect of my thinking about a very difficult set of circumstances. He made it clear to me that I should back off and trust Him to do things His way. By His grace I have done so, and I’ve seen Him do things that only He can do. Yes, my faith has been stretched so tightly that I thought it might break, but He has not yet failed me.

And So Mother Built a Dam

As is typical of many places in New England, my sleepy little hometown of Andover, Massachusetts, is built on terrain that varies quite a bit. Take Walnut Avenue as an example. If you start out at the top of the hill, then you’ll go down rapidly for quite a way, then it levels out a bit, and then it drops down, down, until at the bottom you can see the nearby Shawsheen River. Walnut Avenue is a great venue for an exhilarating, albeit dangerous, bike ride. Believe me, I know. I do wonder, though, how much I’m exaggerating the size of the hill due to the perception of my youth.

Coming off Walnut Avenue at ninety degrees are various streets that make the hill seem like it’s terraced with asphalt. One of those streets is Carmel Road, next to which our 1950’s house is positioned. In my years of living there, Carmel Road was never paved properly. Consequently, every year they sprayed a layer of heavy, oily tar on it and then loaded it up with fine gravel. Mother warned me to not walk on it when it was fresh because the tar might get all over my shoes. Yes, of course, the little boy named Brian forgot about this and did it, anyway. My punishment was that I had to stop playing outside, sit in a chair facing our front door so that I could see where I might have played, and read a book. Read a book! Yes, folks, Brian loved reading and so he embraced this punishment with great zeal, being very careful not to express his delight too loudly.

Our back yard and the back yards of the houses on either side of ours were at the bottom of a hill. It was nice looking out the back and seeing trees and neighboring houses, at least until the neighbor built a swimming pool that was partially above ground. Dad was not particularly happy about the appearance, and because he liked the trees he didn’t agree to cut down the huge wild cherry tree (or the mountain ash). Both rained down copious quantities of organic matter on the pool, and even so the neighbor was still kind enough to let me swim in it. It was this same neighbor that jacked up his radio volume to max so that he could blare The Age of Aquarius when it first came out in 1969. It’s a little known fact that the dawning of the Age of Aquarius actually began in a dirty swimming pool in Andover.

One consequence of the hill was that when we had any significant amount of rain it would drain into our back yard and the back yard of one of our neighbors. Mother and Dad were convinced that most of the water was coming down into our neighbor’s yard and then draining over into ours, and this caused water problems in our basement. Our neighbor insisted that the problem wasn’t his, and he wouldn’t budge when Dad asked if he would share the cost of a French drain system to clear both yards of water.

We had a nice wood-burning fireplace in our living room, and we had quite a bit of firewood. On a day with a promising rain—oh, it was a very promising rain—Mother decided that it was time. She went out in the back yard and began stacking firewood along the property line, being very careful to not get any of it on our neighbor’s yard. She continued this until she had constructed a dam that sealed off our yard from theirs, and then she went back inside the house and waited. After the showers of blessing continued for some time, the water backed up on our neighbor’s yard behind the excellent dam she had constructed. Yes, the water infiltrated the neighbor’s house, and then the phone rang. I’m told that the conversation included “You’re going to hear from my lawyer!” and “You’ll have to talk with my husband when he gets home.” Shortly thereafter a new French drain system was constructed, and it spanned both yards.

You can see that our neighbor had a problem that he refused to acknowledge until the evidence of the problem was so great that he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Are we any different? Sometimes our problems create simple annoyances for other people, but others are so significant that, when left unattended, they damage relationships. For example, one spouse doggedly refuses to acknowledge that he has a bad habit and he insists on being left alone, but she recognizes that the habit is destructive and tries to be helpful, and then they disagree and then…. Or a spouse can stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that she overreacts to small things. This creates tension in the relationship, and that makes it easier for her to get hurt feelings, and then voices get loud, and then…. And on and on it goes. Some people just refuse to admit to their faults until the water in the basement seeps onto the first floor and gets their shoes wet. By then major damage has already been done.

God, of course, sees us with complete clarity, and He is perfectly just to all.

The heart is deceitful above all things,

and desperately sick;

who can understand it?

I the Lord search the heart and test the mind,

to give every man according to his ways,

according to the fruit of his deeds.

(Jeremiah 17:9-10 ESV)

Do not be deceived: God is not mocked,

for whatever one sows, that will he also reap.

(Galatians 6:7 ESV)

No, we cannot hide from God. No, without God we cannot escape the consequences of sin. Are you troubled? Go to Jesus Christ.

Come to me,

all who labor and are heavy laden,

and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me,

for I am gentle and lowly in heart,

and you will find rest for your souls.

(Matthew 11:28-29 ESV)

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)