Exactly two years ago this morning, I got a phone call from my doctor.
In a calm, but clearly concerned voice, she told me I needed to come in to the office. When we were face-to-face, she explained that the abdominal CAT scan showed that I had a pancreatic tumor about the size of a grapefruit. Although her demeanor was calm, the worry in her eyes was unmistakable. Six months before, the abdominal CAT scan showed the same tumor -- but it had been misread as a pancreatic cyst. I had a pancreatic mucinous tumor -- the type of tumor that becomes pancreatic cancer. She had already made me an appointment with a gastroenterologist for that afternoon and they had a surgery consultation set.
My daughters came and my sister, knowing the seriousness of what I was facing, drove down from Kentucky. By the time we got to the surgeon's office, we were a delegation.
This was a completely new experience for me. Other than having two babies, I was a stranger to the hospital as a patient. All of a sudden, I was scheduled for one of the most extensive surgies that anyone can have. It was a blur to me. Dr. Iannitti would say something and Ruthie would repeat it to me in understandable terms. Finally, he looked at her and said, "You're a doctor, aren't you?" Taking in that kind of drastic, life-affecting news is overwhelming.
Years of pastoral experience didn't really help me at this point. I had held the hands of members who had died of pancreatic cancer. I had seen how quickly people --like me with no symptoms--could be gone. And we wouldn't know until the pathology reports came back after the surgery whether this was a malignancy or not. If it was a malignancy, it was--literally--a death sentence. If not, a life-saving experience.
I had three weeks to get my life in order.
I went through a whirlwind of labs and tests and pre-op work. I finished my DISCIPLE class, finished up training for Stephen Ministers and ordered the life of the church through the recovery period. I wrote my funeral. I updated my living will and health care power of attorney. We made plans and more plans for the post-op time. No detail was left untended. Since I had never been in that particular place in life, did the only thing I knew to do: I followed the advice I had been giving to people as a pastor through the years. Turns out, it was good advice.
And I went into the surgery with a deep, deep peace in my heart.
I got through the hospital days because my sister was my guardian angel, ever-present physician walking me through it step by step. I got through the recovery because I was surrounded with an astounding outpouring of love from people in my congregation. I will never forget their tender care, their love and their help. And my family stood by me through it all. That's how I made it.
But I had the peace in my heart because of Jesus. Of course I was relieved that the pathology was benign. But the peace in my heart didn't depend on a pathology report outcome. With every fiber of my being, I believed that God was healing me. Whatever form that took, a healing was taking place.
Every day, life is a gift. That's not just a motto for me or a general life truth. It's a precious personal reality. It's a gift every day of my life. And today, as I remember the anniversary of the shocking news, I thank God for the gift of life. I thank God for his medical delivery system -- for Dr. Lackey and Dr. Iannitti and my sister doctor. For medications and procedures and support equipment that made recovery bearable. And I thank God all over again for the outpouring of love from the congregation I served...the scores of people who brought flowers and food, who called me every day, who got groceries, who did yard work and errands of every kind. I got a real shock two years ago today. But I also had the chance to experience a great outpouring of healing love and appreciate life as never before.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Heaven on earth...
My beautiful back yard...
Yes, it has been a grueling appointment season.
But, once I get home, I am living in a heaven on earth.
My home is such a blessing. But God has brought my yard to stunning, bountiful, beautiful life this spring...right in the middle of the relentless, difficult appointment round.
The pictures hardly do it justice -- but it gives an idea.
No way to describe how much blessing, peace and grounding I have gotten from this beautiful place each day.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
My first drug court....
Today was my first experience with drug court.
And it was an experience I have been looking forward to.
I was there as a guest. An observer. A proud sister.
Drug court is part of the new responsibility of my brother, Phillip, as Circuit Court Judge in Franklin County. This isn't the first time I have been home since Phillip was elected to the bench. But my visits are usually during the holidays and those are not high drama times on the court docket. I have read headlines about the decisions he has given but never been able to be in the courtroom. This time, I was determined to see him in action. So I settled for the less dramatic -- but very moving--session of drug court.
In Kentucky, drug court is a special track for drug offenders who have the potential of rehabilitation. It is a structured program that gives offenders a constructive alternative to incarceration. Drug court, for those who qualify and stick to the program, becomes an alternative path to the criminal prosecution route. The program requires a concerted effort of a drug court team -- including the judge, social services, mental health, probation officers, court officials and vocational counselors. The team meets for updates on the regular drug tests, community service, status of educational work (many working on GEDs), status of employment (or seeking of employment). I couldn't help but wonder if the drug offenders had any idea how many people were interested, helping and pulling for them.
In court, Phillip was impressive. Now, I will grant you that, as Mary Allen said, I would have been impressed with anything he did. She is right. He is a true hero of my life. But, as much as bias can be set aside, he was everything you could want for a judge. He was respectful of those who stood before him; well aware of the details of their status and history; encouraging but firm. He was sensitive to unusual hardships but didn't hesitate to mandate requirements that would be in the longterm benefit to the person before him. And it was clear by his rulings and his demeanor that he intended for the participants to live up to the orders of the court.
These are the kind of people that others often give up on. Each person represents a sad situation --usually a combination of adversity, dysfunction, abuse, difficulty, disability, and educational deficiency. I know that, even in a structured program designed to help/support/guide, all this effort Phillip and his team give will not save everyone. But there will be some who get a new lease on life. They will remember drug court as a turning point in their life. And, even those who don't make it will look back and remember that, in my brother's court, they got a fair chance.
I had my first experience at drug court today and it was very moving. I don't think my heart could take it every week. But today reminded me of all the public servants who do this work all the time--judges, social workers, mental health workers, public defenders, probation officers, guidance counselors. God bless them.
And it was an experience I have been looking forward to.
I was there as a guest. An observer. A proud sister.
Drug court is part of the new responsibility of my brother, Phillip, as Circuit Court Judge in Franklin County. This isn't the first time I have been home since Phillip was elected to the bench. But my visits are usually during the holidays and those are not high drama times on the court docket. I have read headlines about the decisions he has given but never been able to be in the courtroom. This time, I was determined to see him in action. So I settled for the less dramatic -- but very moving--session of drug court.
In Kentucky, drug court is a special track for drug offenders who have the potential of rehabilitation. It is a structured program that gives offenders a constructive alternative to incarceration. Drug court, for those who qualify and stick to the program, becomes an alternative path to the criminal prosecution route. The program requires a concerted effort of a drug court team -- including the judge, social services, mental health, probation officers, court officials and vocational counselors. The team meets for updates on the regular drug tests, community service, status of educational work (many working on GEDs), status of employment (or seeking of employment). I couldn't help but wonder if the drug offenders had any idea how many people were interested, helping and pulling for them.
In court, Phillip was impressive. Now, I will grant you that, as Mary Allen said, I would have been impressed with anything he did. She is right. He is a true hero of my life. But, as much as bias can be set aside, he was everything you could want for a judge. He was respectful of those who stood before him; well aware of the details of their status and history; encouraging but firm. He was sensitive to unusual hardships but didn't hesitate to mandate requirements that would be in the longterm benefit to the person before him. And it was clear by his rulings and his demeanor that he intended for the participants to live up to the orders of the court.
These are the kind of people that others often give up on. Each person represents a sad situation --usually a combination of adversity, dysfunction, abuse, difficulty, disability, and educational deficiency. I know that, even in a structured program designed to help/support/guide, all this effort Phillip and his team give will not save everyone. But there will be some who get a new lease on life. They will remember drug court as a turning point in their life. And, even those who don't make it will look back and remember that, in my brother's court, they got a fair chance.
I had my first experience at drug court today and it was very moving. I don't think my heart could take it every week. But today reminded me of all the public servants who do this work all the time--judges, social workers, mental health workers, public defenders, probation officers, guidance counselors. God bless them.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Amazing Boys, Amazing Days
What an intense spring this first appointment season has been! Knowing that I needed a change of pace, I welcomed my first adventure of having both the boys spend the night with me. Mark and Mary Allen went to Washington, D.C. to visit "Daddy's new school" (Wesley Seminary where Mark will begin his Doctor of Ministry Degree next month). I don't think that keeping both boys gave me less intensity... but it was certainly more fun! Everything 4 year old Connor (left) does, 19 month old Tyler (right) is going to do too! They are hilarious.
When I count my blessings, they are at the top of my list!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Some days are so discouraging
Some days are thrilling. I see God at work in marvelous ways and feel a new wind of the Holy Spirit blowing though the church.
And some days are too discouraging for words.
Today was one of those days when I just wanted to come home and cry.
In one situation after another, people were upset around the same issue: their personal feelings and preferences. They apparently believe that a pastor is a failure if he doesn't make people happy and do what they want. This blatant self-absorption is especially disheartening in the season of Lent. How could church-going people miss the reality that following Jesus is a way of self sacrifice?
Instead, people have it completely backwards.
The church and the pastor are supposed to do things their way -- even if their way is contrary to the United Methodist way or even good common sense. It's my way or they'll pay. So the letters come in. Ugly letters. Hateful letters. You just wouldn't believe what people will write. All kinds of personal attacks invariably signed at the end: "Love in Christ". That's what I call taking the Lord's name in vain.
People who say they "are not being fed". (If they go to worship with the critical mindset of the letter, there's no room for God's loving Spirit to move.) People who say their preacher is all over town but not in the office. (Which, of course, is a compliment to the preacher in my opinion. Preachers who spend all their time in the office are not out doing God's work in the world). Then, of course, there are complaints about the preacher preaching too long (although, God bless 'em, the people hang around and visit after church for another 30 minutes) and the preacher who told people they needed to change and hurt their feelings. (Did it ever occur to them that the preacher who DOESN'T call people to change is the failure?)
And people aren't only mad at the preacher. They are also mad at each other. Fighting about money. Arguing about expenses. Mad because decisions get made by a handful of people in the parking lot instead of at the official meetings. Constant carping.
Tonight, I heard the inspiring story of Bethanie Hamilton. Five years ago, she was attacked by a shark and lost her left arm. She nearly died. But now, she is surfing again. When asked how she could go back to surfing after surviving such a vicious attack, she said, "Well, it all comes down to this: my love for surfing overcame my fear of sharks."
That descibes perfectly an essential ministry skill -- being grounded and guided by love instead of ruled by fear. Some days, it's tough.
And some days are too discouraging for words.
Today was one of those days when I just wanted to come home and cry.
In one situation after another, people were upset around the same issue: their personal feelings and preferences. They apparently believe that a pastor is a failure if he doesn't make people happy and do what they want. This blatant self-absorption is especially disheartening in the season of Lent. How could church-going people miss the reality that following Jesus is a way of self sacrifice?
Instead, people have it completely backwards.
The church and the pastor are supposed to do things their way -- even if their way is contrary to the United Methodist way or even good common sense. It's my way or they'll pay. So the letters come in. Ugly letters. Hateful letters. You just wouldn't believe what people will write. All kinds of personal attacks invariably signed at the end: "Love in Christ". That's what I call taking the Lord's name in vain.
People who say they "are not being fed". (If they go to worship with the critical mindset of the letter, there's no room for God's loving Spirit to move.) People who say their preacher is all over town but not in the office. (Which, of course, is a compliment to the preacher in my opinion. Preachers who spend all their time in the office are not out doing God's work in the world). Then, of course, there are complaints about the preacher preaching too long (although, God bless 'em, the people hang around and visit after church for another 30 minutes) and the preacher who told people they needed to change and hurt their feelings. (Did it ever occur to them that the preacher who DOESN'T call people to change is the failure?)
And people aren't only mad at the preacher. They are also mad at each other. Fighting about money. Arguing about expenses. Mad because decisions get made by a handful of people in the parking lot instead of at the official meetings. Constant carping.
Tonight, I heard the inspiring story of Bethanie Hamilton. Five years ago, she was attacked by a shark and lost her left arm. She nearly died. But now, she is surfing again. When asked how she could go back to surfing after surviving such a vicious attack, she said, "Well, it all comes down to this: my love for surfing overcame my fear of sharks."
That descibes perfectly an essential ministry skill -- being grounded and guided by love instead of ruled by fear. Some days, it's tough.
Friday, March 27, 2009
I should be a better person...
I know I should be a better person.
But basketball brings out the worst in me.
I grew up in Kentucky during the Adolph Rupp glory years. I didn't even know there was a major college sport until December. But once we kicked into basketball season, we did so with a vengeance. (Kentucky fans are the only fans on the planet who can be more impossible than Carolina fans. In my humble opinion.)
So, when we moved to North Carolina in 1984 -- a state known for its love of basketball, I knew I would fit right in. From the beginning, North Carolinians made it clear -- to really be part of the culture, you had to choose one team and stick with that team all the way. Since Duke was having great success (I prefer winning to losing) and since Duke was a Methodist school, my choice was easy. As the years went by, with two daughters and 3 Duke degrees later, my allegiance only intensified.
No, I didn't wear black today after Duke's disappointing loss last night. But I didn't have a very Christian attitude when a colleague of mine came to our cabinet meeting wearing a pale blue tie today. If I were a good Christian, I would have said, "Good luck" for the Carolina game (and meant it). But there I was, stuck between knowing I should be gracious and a burning desire for Carolina to lose tonight. And not just lose. Lose by 20 points. Or more. Actually, the more the better.
Now I know that doesn't make sense.
Carolina is now the only ACC team left in the tournament. It is our neighbor school. What is wrong with me? Just because my team is out, why should I wish the same misery on others?
Maybe it doesn't make sense, but it is reality. This is one of those choice points where we have to learn that the CULTURE way is not the CHRISTIAN way. At least I recognize that this profound bias is an unredeemed part of my life that has some distance to go in the moving-on-to-perfection department.
In terms of Christian faith, we are one family. All on the same team. Our basketball rivalries are fun (at least they are fun when my team is winning. Not so fun this year). But basketball rivalries are pretty much the opposite of the message of God's love for all and, since our season is over anyway, maybe this is the time to get some perspective. Maybe, through God's help, I could eventually get above the rivalry enough to say a genuine blessing for the Tarheels. Maybe I can get there. Probably not tonight.
But basketball brings out the worst in me.
I grew up in Kentucky during the Adolph Rupp glory years. I didn't even know there was a major college sport until December. But once we kicked into basketball season, we did so with a vengeance. (Kentucky fans are the only fans on the planet who can be more impossible than Carolina fans. In my humble opinion.)
So, when we moved to North Carolina in 1984 -- a state known for its love of basketball, I knew I would fit right in. From the beginning, North Carolinians made it clear -- to really be part of the culture, you had to choose one team and stick with that team all the way. Since Duke was having great success (I prefer winning to losing) and since Duke was a Methodist school, my choice was easy. As the years went by, with two daughters and 3 Duke degrees later, my allegiance only intensified.
No, I didn't wear black today after Duke's disappointing loss last night. But I didn't have a very Christian attitude when a colleague of mine came to our cabinet meeting wearing a pale blue tie today. If I were a good Christian, I would have said, "Good luck" for the Carolina game (and meant it). But there I was, stuck between knowing I should be gracious and a burning desire for Carolina to lose tonight. And not just lose. Lose by 20 points. Or more. Actually, the more the better.
Now I know that doesn't make sense.
Carolina is now the only ACC team left in the tournament. It is our neighbor school. What is wrong with me? Just because my team is out, why should I wish the same misery on others?
Maybe it doesn't make sense, but it is reality. This is one of those choice points where we have to learn that the CULTURE way is not the CHRISTIAN way. At least I recognize that this profound bias is an unredeemed part of my life that has some distance to go in the moving-on-to-perfection department.
In terms of Christian faith, we are one family. All on the same team. Our basketball rivalries are fun (at least they are fun when my team is winning. Not so fun this year). But basketball rivalries are pretty much the opposite of the message of God's love for all and, since our season is over anyway, maybe this is the time to get some perspective. Maybe, through God's help, I could eventually get above the rivalry enough to say a genuine blessing for the Tarheels. Maybe I can get there. Probably not tonight.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Never lose sight.....
For the last ten years, this yard rock has been one of the first things placed wherever I lived. This is something I hand-carry in the car and carefully place where I will see it most frequently. For me, one of the saddest verses in the Bible is Jacob's realization, "Surely the Lord was in this place and I wasn't even aware of it!" (Genesis 28:16) How easy it is to rush through life without appreciating what is most important! So, when I am home, I see this reminder every day: Surely the Lord is in this place.A couple of days ago, I realized that I was missing my sign.
With the blossoming of spring flowers, my yard rock was overwhelmed.
Spring always brings me joy -- but, especially this year, it has been a special thrill in my new home to see where bulbs have been planted. So I have loved the daffodils. But, sure enough, they covered up the yard rock that speaks to me of God's presence. And I think life is like that.
The overwhelm of heartache and adversity can keep us from recognizing God's presence. But it's not just the negative things that can obscure our ready recognition of God in our midst. The good things can grow like my daffodils and take away our clear view that God is with us.
The presence of the Lord is not the issue. Our recognition of that precious presence...that's the question. Surely the Lord is in this place...spring, summer, fall and winter 24/7 no matter how overwhelming life can be.
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