I’ve never met Ben, likely never will this side of the resurrection of all flesh. But there will be a day when we both will see Christ’s face with His name on our foreheads. No more darkness, only His Light.
Until that day, I will endeavor to pray.
We all have a list of people who have greatly impacted our lives that we’ve never met, and many we will never get a chance to meet. Many of those names we will never truly know. You can’t know all of your mentors’ mentors.
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#NotDeadYet
We aren’t going to do many medical updates on here, but a bunch of friends have requested a status report and kindly asked what to pray for, so a few quick observations…
* Some folks are very helpful — such as our tireless team at MD Anderson. We were accepted into a clinical trial at Houston’s amazing cancer hospital around New Year’s. We’ve just completed our first week of experimental chemo.
* Some folks are less helpful — such as whatever jackwagons signed me up for tickets to loads of upcoming Nickelback events. (Although I do tip my cap to the cheery optimism of the dudes who bought me concert tickets for April “2027.”)
* Some folks have a heavenly bedside manner — such as the MD Anderson research nurses who’ve helped dial in my anti-nausea mix of drugs, radically reducing my daily puke count (“DPC”) over the past 72 hours.
* Some folks have a less heavenly bedside manner – such as my tender(?) bride who in the wee hours last night exclaimed: “Can you imagine if we make big progress on both the nausau and the spinal tumor pain?! All we’d have left is your increasingly ugly mug.”
(She’s a keeper…)
More fundamentally, please hear Melissa’s and my gratitude for the outpouring of love and kindness over the three weeks since my diagnosis. We are blessed in so many ways, so I’m not surprised at how moved we’ve been by these prayers, but do know that we’ve been very moved.
I’m #NotDeadYet (hat tip: Monty Python), so let me close with three prayer requests:
1. That our kids will trust in the Lord‘s Fatherly kindness and sovereign timing.
2. That the spinal tumor and the nausea can be managed enough to make me a moderately-chipper patient, finding energy to soldier well with my neighbors at the blood draws and drudgery.
3. That I will be able – to borrow the old Puritan phrase – to “redeem the time.” That is, to try to serve and love our neighbors with little bits of work — or writing and speaking projects here and there. Time is the great equalizer, but not all time is equal — you can play a lot of basketball in the last 60 seconds (especially if you’re as newly dominant in basketball as Nebraska). We’re going to give cancer a run for its money and see what can be learned in the process. As we figure out the rhythms of chemo, I’m going to endeavor to do whatever work I’ve been given to do…and try to love and serve (and not puke).
More to come….
Whatever God has for him, let him love his neighbor. With whatever time he has left, let all that is to be done only be done out of the joy that Christ has for the world.
It is about Jesus, the true Light, finding you. And now, having been touched by this Light, you are driven by Christ’s love. God be praised.
https://t.co/F6y6eUlbIi
The Light finds you
This morning, I drove past a place I have written about before. There are always interesting sayings on the sign outside their main building. Today’s saying was no different:
Find your own light.
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You were dead, now you are alive. You were that man on the side of the road, and Jesus, the Light of the world (John 8:12, Revelation 22:5), came and found you, bound up your wounds, and made you alive again. You see, it isn’t about you finding your own light.