Sunday, May 17, 2015

Living Psalm 13

Is there a passage of scripture that you find yourself continually being drawn back to? I have been on this journey to beat lung cancer for almost five years now. There have been more ups and downs than I can count. I have been in another clinical trial since November and currently have "No Evidence of Disease" for the third time. But the longer this battle has gone on, the more wary and frayed I have become. During this time, there has emerged a passage of scripture that I find myself relating to more and more frequently, and I find myself reading it more often. The passage of scripture that is becoming more dear to me is Psalm 13.

Psalm 13 was written by David, and each time I read it, I find myself thinking, "Wow, this is my life right now." At the time David wrote this Psalm, he was the anointed future king of Israel. Yet, there he was running for his life from King Saul, who sought to take his life. David, a man after God's own heart, was seeking refuge wherever he could find it. He was spending days and nights in dark and damp caves, never knowing when King Saul and his men would come. David was tired, exhausted, and he was seeking some answers. I can imagine David sitting at the top of a hill, alone, and feeling isolated from God when he just began to poor out his heart to God with the questions he had been wrestling with.

Most of David's questions can be summed up with, "How long, O Lord, will this continue?" David already knew his future. He would one day be the King of Israel, but he was so tired of running, he just had to ask. David asks the questions that had been weighing heavy on his heart of God. The one thing that sticks out in this Psalm is what is missing. Nowhere do I find where God answered any of David's questions. He did not have to. And there, in the final verse, David realizes what God has already done for him. I can see David in a moment recalling the memory of his battle with Goliath and how with a single stone the giant was slain. He remembers how many times God has blessed him and rejoices.

The reason I can relate to this Psalm is that cancer has become my King Saul. It seeks to take my life. Even though I have now beaten cancer three times, I never know when it will show up again. At nights when I can't sleep, I find myself asking God, "How long will this go on?" "Why haven't you just healed me?" Sometimes I feel like I should not question God's plan or will, but I don't think He is surprised by these questions. After all, if a man after God's own heart can ask these questions, why can't I? I don't get any answers either, because He does not need to answer.

Each time that cancer has shown its hideous face, God has provided a stone to slay the giant. I have to remind myself that God has continually laid the rocks that have made the path I travel. I don't know how long this journey will last or where it will take me next; all I can do is pray that with each step I take, God has already placed the rock for me to step on.

Sunday, November 16, 2014


A few months ago, as I began to feel that lung cancer was beginning to return again, I started to sense that this time it would be a real fight. Now after having failed my third ALK inhibitor in just eight weeks, I can see that that feeling was well founded. Not only have I been experiencing more of a physical battle this time, but I have been experiencing a real challenge spiritually.

These past three weeks, I have had family and friends encouraging me to keep my faith and hope in Jesus. The thing is, that as I reflect on what I believe now versus four years ago, I still believe the same things. I still believe that God, at a time of His choosing, can heal me. I still believe that by the stripes on Jesus' back I have been healed. Rich Mullins recorded a song with this chorus: "I believe what I believe / It's what makes me who I am / I did not make it / no it is making me / it's the very truth of God / not the invention of any man." I still stand strong on those rocks, but, still, I have noticed that there is a struggle within me.

I have learned at times like these it is best to just be quiet and listen. As I sat and listened, I heard but one word: Unbelief. As I thought about that word, I remembered a story in the Bible of a father who also needed help with his unbelief. The story is found in Mark 9:14-29. A father has brought his son to the disciples to be healed of a demon spirit. The disciples were unable to heal the boy, and then Jesus showed up. Jesus questioned the father about how long the boy had been like this, and the father responded, "Since childhood. It has often thrown him into the fire or the water to kill him. But if You can do anything, take pity on us and help us!" Jesus then says in the next verse, "'If You can'? Everything is possible for him who believes." The boy's father then responds to Jesus, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"

What I believe has long since been settled. What I struggle with now are areas of my unbelief. The question is not, "Can God heal me?" or even "Will God heal me?" The question is, "Where will God heal me?" Up until the past few weeks, I have believed that God would heal me here on earth, but with the repeated diagnoses, there is now some doubt in that belief. My prayer is that Jesus shows up and takes pity on me and helps me overcome my unbelief.

Monday, November 3, 2014


Last week we learned that my treatment with X-396 was not working, and I was removed from the clinical trial. As we were driving home from Houston, my thoughts turned to...cups.

We have paper cups, plastic cups and Styrofoam cups. There are tea cups and coffee cups. You can have a cup of Joe or a cup of tea. Ever had a cup made of cake, or what about a chocolate peanut butter cup? Sometimes our cups are half-full or half-empty. Has your cup ever overflowed?

For most of my life, I have been blessed with an overflowing cup. I can't think of a time that my needs have never been met. My cup has overflowed with friends and loved ones. I have been blessed beyond measure so many times that I can't count them all.

Four years ago, I was handed a different cup. This cup is not of my choosing. There have been times that this cup has been filled with discomfort and pain. But then there are times it has been filled with laughter and joy. Recently my cup has been filled with frustration, doubt, and uncertainty. I pray every night for God to take this cup back, that I just can't drink anymore from it. Thus far, He has chosen not to take this cup from me, and He tells me to look at my cup again, and there I see it. It is a little battered and bruised, but I still see in my cup...hope.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

A Collection of Randomness

It has been a little over four weeks now since I started in the X-396 trial. I had a reaction to the medicine and had a bad rash that covered my whole face and was very painful. Due to the reaction, I was taken off of the drug for 10 days to clear up the rash. The last two weeks have been very trying for me as I just have not been able to make any sense of it all. I have wanted to write a new blog but just have not been able to put my thoughts together. So, today I offer you my thoughts on some seemingly random events over the past few weeks.

It had been another long day at MDA. There had been a mixup with my schedule and, once again, I was going to be delayed in taking the trial drug. I am not allowed to eat for two hours before taking the medicine. I had not eaten since 8:30 that morning, and the longer things stretched on, the hungrier I got and the more my frustration built. Finally around 2:00 that afternoon I was allowed to take the drug and leave the clinic. I had had enough for one day and practically ran back to the truck. I wanted out of MDA and out of Houston as quick as I could. Of course, I am also not allowed to eat for two hours after taking the medicine. As we headed north on I-45 in stop-and-go traffic, the minutes just ticked by. We hit Huntsville just as it was time to eat. I needed some food, and the snacks in the truck just would not do. I decided that I wanted pancakes, and we found the local IHOP. We were seated at a booth, and our waiter brought us some water and took our order. As I sat in that booth, I could feel the last bit of energy draining from my body. I put my head in the palms of my hands and closed my eyes for a few minutes. My momentary rest was interrupted by our waiter asking if I would like some orange juice for a little pick-me-up--at no charge. He had noticed the bandage on my arm and thought I had just given blood. I told him, "No thanks on the orange juice, but if you could find an orange, I would really appreciate it." I thought that I had just asked the impossible and told DeLayne, "No way he brings back an orange." Just a few minutes later, here he came with a bowl of canned oranges. He actually apologized for them being canned and said, "We just got these in for some reason." DeLayne and I actually started to tear up a little. It wasn't about the oranges. It was that someone saw we weren't having a good day and took a few moments to care. Sometimes you may see someone in need and think that what you have to offer won't make a difference and move on. That small gesture may not mean much to you, but it may just be the high point of that person's day.

When my face was engulfed with the rash and I seemed to be in never-ending pain, the thought occurred to me that this might be what Hell is like. Constant burning torment and no relief; add eternal separation from God and I think you would be there. Thankful that I know who my Savior is.

One Sunday morning I was watching a very well-known minister talking about encountering troubles in our lives. He was making the point that as Christians, nothing comes to us that has not passed through God's hands. I believe that to be true, as well. However, there are times that I wish God would hold His hands a little tighter together.

While I was dealing with the rash, I had a lot of sleepless nights. One of those nights I turned on the TV and started flipping channels. I happened across a minister that is very popular right now. I can only say that most of his teaching is based on the Name-it-claim-it theology. As I listened to him, I began to feel sympathy for the people in his congregation who are fighting long-term health issues like I am. If I were to believe what he is teaching, the reason I have not been healed from cancer is because I do not have enough faith. Hogwash! I would suggest this minister read Psalm 69:13-14. "But as for me, my prayer is to You, O Lord, at an acceptable time; O God in the greatness of Your lovingkindness, answer me with Your saving truth. Deliver me from the mire and do not let me sink; May I be delivered from my foes and from the deep waters." (NASB) God does not operate on man's clock. At an acceptable time to God, He will answer our prayers out of His lovingkindness. Sometimes He says, "Yes," sometimes, "No," and sometimes, "Wait." Faith is knowing that God will answer us out of His will.

I was reading a commentary on hope the other day. Hope has gotten a bad wrap lately. There are a lot of people who have placed their hope in a man. That man has now disappointed them in one way or another and they have lost their hope. The last few weeks, there have been days that hope is what has gotten me through the day. There have been days that hope is the only rope I have to hold on to. That rope has been frayed, and at times it feels like it is down to the last thread. The thing that has kept me going is knowing that the other end of that rope is held by the nail-pierced hand of Jesus.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Unknown Lands

The past 20 months have been pretty uneventful health wise. There have been no trips to the ER, no hospital stays, and once we figured out that my high fevers were caused by a reaction to the CT contrast, we have just been sailing along. The medical team in Fayetteville had become special friends to us. We had become comfortable with life on the smooth path. And then I began to cough.

Four weeks ago that familiar dry cough began to reappear. Instinctively, I knew that my medicine had started to fail. For the next three weeks I would lay in bed at night and pray that this was not happening again. I would lie there and talk to God telling Him that having to do this a third time could be more than I was prepared for and that if it was His will, to just not let it be so.

The CT scan conducted just a week ago confirmed that there is a new area of concern in my right lung. The time has come to get back in the fight. It is time to move from the land we have become comfortable with. Unlike the last two times where the treatment path was clearly laid out in front of us this, this time we are staring down a path to the unknown. There are no drugs with solid test results for me to change to. Trying to decide on a treatment based on the results of one or two patients is a scary position to be in, but that is what we will have to do.

The Sunday morning we were packing to for our last trip Fayetteville, the words God spoke to Abram popped into my head. God told Abram to pack all of his belongings and move to a "land that I will show you." Those words have been stuck in my head as we have been evaluating the different drug trials that are available. We have been seeking God's direction to find the best plan for me, and while we have narrowed down the choices to two or three drugs, there still does not appear to be a clear path. We are heading into unknown lands, but the one thing we do know is that God will show us the land that we are to go to, and He will be waiting for us when we arrive.

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Thirty Years

Thirty years ago I stood at the front of a church and looked down the center aisle to see the love of my life slowly walking toward me. We had stuck with tradition, and this was the first time I had seen her that day and the first time I had seen her in her wedding gown. On that day we promised that we would love, honor, and cherish each other for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health. In the last thirty years, we have pretty well covered those bases.

We had only been married two months when DeLayne was laid off from her job. There we were with my tuition bills to pay and half our income was gone. That did not last long, because DeLayne is very talented as a Certified Professional Secretary, and she was able to find another job quickly. At the time, I still had at least one more semester left in college and maybe more, depending on how many hours I would be able to take my last semester. Because of the money in our savings, I was able to quit my job and take all of my remaining classes in that last semester. I had an engineering job offer locked down before graduation, and we were on our way.

Just one month after graduation, we packed everything up and moved to Midland, Texas, for my first real job. We joke now about how that is one of the decisions that made our marriage stronger. Moving twelve hours from our families meant we had only ourselves to depend on. There was not going to be any "going home to our parents." Since we left all of our friends and family behind, it made us two introverts meet new people and make new friends. The friends that we made during those years are ones we still stay in touch with. Five years and one baby later, we packed up and moved again.

We made our second home in Sherman, Texas. Just seven months after moving, baby number two arrived. DeLayne delivered Shane just like she had Chad--no pain killers. It was at the hospital that I heard the best description ever of DeLayne. I came out of her room and bumped into the doctor who had just delivered Shane. As we walked to the nursery, he looked at me and said, "That DeLayne is as tough as an old worn boot." The years we spent in Sherman were good years with me being promoted, earning an MBA, and with that extra security, we decided that the time was right for DeLayne to leave her job and start her own secretarial business based out of our home. Having her own business allowed DeLayne to keep her own schedule and be there when the boys got out of school. My job was going well, and I was soon offered a job in Dallas. So, we packed everything up and moved to McKinney.

My new job required that I travel to Asia twice a year. DeLayne was busy starting her business in McKinney but was still able to take up the slack created when one parent was missing. A few years after moving, DeLayne began having a minor medical problem. After being sent from one specialist to another with no diagnosis, one doctor ordered a CT scan, and the report came back that there were spots in her liver. We were finally referred to a liver specialist at Baylor Dallas. I remember sitting in the waiting room looking at people who were obviously ill and wondering, "Is this what our future looks like? And if it was, how was I going to be able to handle it?" When we saw the doctor, he just looked at DeLayne and said, "You have cysts in your liver; no big deal, lots of people have them. Go enjoy your life." Relieved, we left the doctor's office, but little did we know, we had just seen a glimpse of our future.

From there life just went on. Both boys were busy in school and sports. DeLayne's business was going well, and my work and coaching the boys kept me busy. Before we knew it, Chad and Shane had graduated high school and were in college. Just like that, we had been married twenty-five years. Our lives were going just the way they were supposed to. We were looking forward to spending time together and to eventually retiring. And then, I started to cough. We started spending more time together, but not the way we had planned.

The first twenty-five years were preparation for what was to come. I knew life had just taken a drastic turn, and I was not sure how I was going to deal with it. Actually, I ended up with the easier part. DeLayne deserves better than the deal she has gotten. Being the caregiver to a cancer patient is much harder than being the cancer patient. All I have to do is lay there and be sick. DeLayne deals with keeping the schedule straight, keeping up with the never-ending insurance paperwork and my medical records, and then she has to watch this mess. One thing most people don't know is that it is very easy for a cancer patient to become overwhelmed. There are days when I just want to shut down. Situations that would have not been a big deal before I got sick now can just frustrate the bajeebers out of me. I can usually do a good job keeping it together around other people, but DeLayne has to live with me and see the ugly side of what cancer has done to me. She sees me when I have had enough and the lid blows off in frustration. And she'll just give me a hug. I am so thankful that she is keeping the vow that she made to me thirty years ago and that she is as tough as an old worn boot.

Monday, June 16, 2014

Not Letting Go

Four years ago is when my symptoms first began to appear. I did not know or understand much about the journey that I was beginning to take--where it would go or how long it would last. But as I sit here now, I am amazed at how my memories of events from years ago have been used to teach me lessons along this road.

These past few weeks a memory has kept popping into my head. The memory is from the days that Chad had his learner's permit and we were teaching him how to drive. At the time, I was driving the truck that was destined to be his when he turned 16. In fact, he even helped pick out the truck when we bought it. One Saturday morning, I awoke early and looked out the window to see the grass and streets covered with snow. I thought that this would be a great opportunity to teach Chad to drive on icy streets. In North Texas, snow does not last long, so I went out and cleaned off the truck and then went up to Chad's room and rousted him out of bed with, "Get up, we're going driving." At the time, there was a new neighborhood going in across the street from our neighborhood. All of the streets were in, but no houses were built yet. I drove across to that neighborhood, and we switched places. I had Chad drive around the streets, and every now and then I would tell him to give it a little extra gas around the corner so that the back end would slide out and he would have to correct the slide. Once I felt like he had a good grasp of how to drive in these conditions, I had him drive down to the end of the longest street in the neighborhood and turn around and get centered in the middle of the street. I then said, "I want you to speed up to 30 to 35 mph and then slam on the brakes." Chad looked at me with a look of concern. What I had just told him to do was a complete contradiction to what I had been telling him for almost 30 minutes. Not to mention, it sounded like I wanted him to turn his future truck into a sled. I repeated my instructions, "Speed up to 30 to 35 mph and slam on the brakes," but this time I added, "No matter what you feel, do not let go." I knew what was about to happen, but Chad had not experienced anti-lock brakes before. He did as I instructed, and things went just as I knew they would. Driving lesson complete, we headed for home.

Now, what does that story have to do with cancer? Of late, there have been several occasions when I start to lose my focus. There just does not seem to be anything positive, and all I see is impending chaos, and I feel like things are sliding out of control. At those times, I can hear God say, "I have brought you to this place and put you on this journey for a reason. All you need to do is keep going and no matter what you feel, do not let go of Me."