I would like to ask everyone to pray for Dr. Peter Stafford, the missionary physician who has been evacuated from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) after testing positive for the Ebola virus. Please also pray for his wife, Dr. Rebekah Stafford, and their four children. The Staffords now serve with Serge, but were part of our Samaritan’s Purse Post-Residency Program several years ago. I spoke with Rebekah by phone today and told her we would be praying for Peter and their family. https://t.co/8tc68XsvB2
Friends-
This is a tough note to write, but since a bunch of you have started to suspect something, I’ll cut to the chase: Last week I was diagnosed with metastasized, stage-four pancreatic cancer, and am gonna die.
Advanced pancreatic is nasty stuff; it’s a death sentence. But I already had a death sentence before last week too — we all do.
I’m blessed with amazing siblings and half-a-dozen buddies that are genuinely brothers. As one of them put it, “Sure, you’re on the clock, but we’re all on the clock.” Death is a wicked thief, and the bastard pursues us all.
Still, I’ve got less time than I’d prefer. This is hard for someone wired to work and build, but harder still as a husband and a dad. I can’t begin to describe how great my people are. During the past year, as we’d temporarily stepped back from public life and built new family rhythms, Melissa and I have grown even closer — and that on top of three decades of the best friend a man could ever have. Seven months ago, Corrie was commissioned into the Air Force and she’s off at instrument and multi-engine rounds of flight school. Last week, Alex kicked butt graduating from college a semester early even while teaching gen chem, organic, and physics (she’s a freak). This summer, 14-year-old Breck started learning to drive. (Okay, we’ve been driving off-book for six years — but now we’ve got paper to make it street-legal.) I couldn’t be more grateful to constantly get to bear-hug this motley crew of sinners and saints.
There’s not a good time to tell your peeps you’re now marching to the beat of a faster drummer — but the season of advent isn’t the worst. As a Christian, the weeks running up to Christmas are a time to orient our hearts toward the hope of what’s to come.
Not an abstract hope in fanciful human goodness; not hope in vague hallmark-sappy spirituality; not a bootstrapped hope in our own strength (what foolishness is the evaporating-muscle I once prided myself in). Nope — often we lazily say “hope” when what we mean is “optimism.” To be clear, optimism is great, and it’s absolutely necessary, but it’s insufficient. It’s not the kinda thing that holds up when you tell your daughters you’re not going to walk them down the aisle. Nor telling your mom and pops they’re gonna bury their son.
A well-lived life demands more reality — stiffer stuff. That’s why, during advent, even while still walking in darkness, we shout our hope — often properly with a gravelly voice soldiering through tears.
Such is the calling of the pilgrim. Those who know ourselves to need a Physician should dang well look forward to enduring beauty and eventual fulfillment. That is, we hope in a real Deliverer — a rescuing God, born at a real time, in a real place. But the eternal city — with foundations and without cancer — is not yet.
Remembering Isaiah’s prophecies of what’s to come doesn’t dull the pain of current sufferings. But it does put it in eternity’s perspective:
“When we've been there 10,000 years…We've no less days to sing God's praise.”
I’ll have more to say. I’m not going down without a fight. One sub-part of God’s grace is found in the jawdropping advances science has made the past few years in immunotherapy and more. Death and dying aren’t the same — the process of dying is still something to be lived. We’re zealously embracing a lot of gallows humor in our house, and I’ve pledged to do my part to run through the irreverent tape.
But for now, as our family faces the reality of treatments, but more importantly as we celebrate Christmas, we wish you peace: “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned….For to us a son is given” (Isaiah 9).
With great gratitude, and with gravelly-but-hopeful voices,
Ben — and the Sasses
IF I GET DEMENTIA…..
I’d like my family to hang this wish list up on the wall where I live. I want them to remember these things.
1a. Every time you enter the room announce yourself. “Hi Dad - it’s Amanda.”
NEVER ask- Do you know who I am??? That causes anxiety.
• If I get dementia, I want my friends and family to embrace my reality.
• If I think my spouse is still alive, or if I think we’re visiting my parents for dinner, let me believe those things. I’ll be much happier for it.
• If I get dementia, don’t argue with me about what is true for me versus what is true for you.
• If I get dementia, and I am not sure who you are, do not take it personally. My timeline is confusing to me.
• If I get dementia, and can no longer use utensils, do not start feeding me. Instead, switch me to a finger-food diet, and see if I can still feed myself.
• If I get dementia, and I am sad or anxious, hold my hand and listen. Do not tell me that my feelings are unfounded.
• If I get dementia, I don’t want to be treated like a child. Talk to me like the adult that I am.
• If I get dementia, I still want to enjoy the things that I’ve always enjoyed. Help me find a way to exercise, read, and visit with friends.
• If I get dementia, ask me to tell you a story from my past.
• If I get dementia, and I become agitated, take the time to figure out what is bothering me.
• If I get dementia, treat me the way that you would want to be treated.
• If I get dementia, make sure that there are plenty of snacks for me in the house. Even now if I don’t eat I get angry, and if I have dementia, I may have trouble explaining what I need.
• If I get dementia, don’t talk about me as if I’m not in the room.
• If I get dementia, don’t feel guilty if you cannot care for me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It’s not your fault, and you’ve done your best. Find someone who can help you, or choose a great new place for me to live. With a bus and activities!!
• If I get dementia, and I live in a dementia care community, please visit me often.
• If I get dementia, don’t act frustrated if I mix up names, events, or places.
Take a deep breath. It’s not my fault.
• If I get dementia, make sure I always have my favorite music playing within earshot.
• If I get dementia, and I like to pick up items and carry them around, help me return those items to their original place.
• If I get dementia, don’t exclude me from parties and family gatherings.
• If I get dementia, know that I still like receiving hugs or handshakes.
• If I get dementia, remember that I am still the person you know and love.”
ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀsᴛᴇ in Honor of someone you know or knew who has dementia. In Honor of all those I know and love and lost who are fighting Dementia/Alzheimer’s.
I had the privilege of doing a number of interviews with Dr. James Dobson over the years. In one conversation a few years back, I asked him, “If you could give one last talk on one final topic, what would it be?” Here was his reply…
@chipgaines Another aspect of this display that troubles me is that neither the parents involved nor the Gaines team thought about the terrible situation they were creating for the young boys. Adults are responsible before God to protect children, not place them in the middle of a mess.
@greglaurie@museumofBible She served our Lord well and inspired so many others to do the same. Her books, inductive Bible study materials, and recorded lectures will continue to teach God’s truths, though she has gone ahead of us and now sees Him face to face.
@BillOReilly Thank you for sharing Holly with us over the years. Your mutual affection brought us many sweet moments. Praying God’s comfort over you and your family during this sad time of “goodbyes.” ❤️