Category Archives: God’s plans for us

Appreciating Differences

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I’ve recently met again with Nate’s cancer doctor, Dr. Ross Abrams. In the last two years he’s graciously agreed to meet every few months, 5 times in all since Nate died. Each time we’ve had an interesting and challenging conversation in his hospital office.

This time, as I approached the Rush University Medical Center where Nate and I first learned of his terminal cancer, it was hard not to let my feelings wander. I knew if they did, they’d head toward melancholy, since every hospital memory, including 14 radiation treatments and multiple scans, was tainted with the disease that ended in death.

But I found myself once again in the radiation department surrounded by cancer patients, grateful for the sensitive, expert treatment Nate received when we were there. Dr. Abrams had much to do with that.

Although he and I are about the same age, we have little in common. His strengths are in medicine, and I generally avoid doctor’s offices. He’s methodical and deep, while I’m slapdash and flighty. Most significantly, Dr. Abrams is an Orthodox Jew and I am a Christian. One of his sons is a rabbi, and several of mine have been on missions for Christ. Yet two years after we first met under the stressful conditions of stage 4 cancer, we’ve become friends, because we’ve found some common ground on which to meet.

In the beginning it was all about his patient, my husband. We had a shared concern for Nate’s best welfare and tried to get him through his vicious cancer without being overwhelmed by suffering, though we both knew his disease would eventually conquer. Dr. Abrams remembers Nate as a strong, courageous man who endured suffering bravely. This means a great deal to me, and I’ve appreciated him telling me that.

The doctor and I have also shared common ground in enjoying our big families, and I’ve become acquainted with his wife and children through the line-up of 8” x 10” photographs on his office shelves. He’s winning at the grandchildren game, though, his 10 to my almost-6. But as he says, “It’s not a competition.”

We’ve also shared common ground in our love of Scripture, and both of us relate to God the Father as his children, although in different ways. As we participate in our conversations, I often wonder what God is thinking about the two of us. Both of us trace our start to Adam and Eve, and because they were both made in God’s image, Dr. Abrams and I were, too. In this we are the same.

Both of us are also recipients of God’s love. The Father does, I believe, desire to forgive us both from personal sin and restore us to himself, when sin causes us to break fellowship with him.

I look forward to our future conversations, particularly as they relate to faith matters, and know God has specific things in mind to teach both of us through our friendship.

”Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love.” (Lamentations 3:32)

Deadly Words

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I wonder if I’ll ever again hear the word “September” and not link it with the word “cancer.” Today is the two year mark of that dreadful day when Nate and I sat in front of a somber medical team receiving a death sentence.

The evening before, September 21, we’d had a quiet dinner and talked about our 40th anniversary coming in 2 months. We agreed Nate’s sore back would feel much better by then and decided a 3 hour drive to Greenfield Village would be realistic and fun. We could stay at a bed and breakfast and wander through the museums without an agenda.

Before bed that night we got caught up on bills, and then Nate said, “Since my stomach’s been bothering me, maybe something else is wrong besides my back. At least with the pre-op physical, we’re catching it early.”

I wrote in my journal, “I’m really nervous about tomorrow. Strengthen us, Lord, for whatever’s coming.”

On the morning of the 22nd Nate woke with bad abdominal pain but left the house before 6:00 am as always, taking the South Shore Line to Chicago’s Loop. Fear crept into my journal words that morning: “I’m so glad all of this is under your control, Lord. I know you won’t leave us alone.”

I picked Nate up at 2:30 on the corner of Monroe and Wabash near his office, and we threaded our way across town to Rush Medical Center. When we stepped off the elevator, the stainless steel sign on the opposite wall said, “Oncology.” I looked at Nate who said, “It’s just because they have a nice conference room on this floor.” But my hands started shaking.

In the waiting room we talked, holding back the fear something very bad was about to happen. There were precious few facts: Nate needed surgery on his spine; the pre-op physical included red flags, prompting tests; a scan showed a mysterious mass; doctors stressed a meeting a.s.a.p. to discuss what they’d found; we braced for the words “bleeding ulcer.”

As we waited, Nate pulled out his Post-its and read his notes. “I hope this meeting doesn’t take long,” he said. “I’ve got a jam-packed afternoon at work.”

The news turned out to be a thousand times worse than we’d anticipated, and Nate didn’t live to see Greenfield Village on our anniversary. But God lavishly answered my prayer for strength, and as promised, never once left us alone.

My temptation now is to think, “We’re finally adjusting, and all of us are healing. Surely the road ahead will be smooth.” But of course no one has promised that, especially not God. What he has promised is continued strength to endure, along with his reassuring presence, no matter what comes.

Unlike the deadly words announcing cancer, God’s words are always full of life.

“May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” (2 Corinthians 13:14)

Skipping Through LIfe

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Jack and I had trouble leaving the beach on this summer-like day perfect for wading. Strolling Lake Michigan’s wave line, I found 9 pieces of beach glass and an abundance of “Indian beads.” The water was smooth with gentle inch-high mini-waves tickling the sand, sparkling with sunshine. I looked up at several jet-stream clouds in a blue sky and thanked God I wasn’t on an airplane moving away from where I stood, pretty stones in my pocket, feet in the water.

Searching for a reason to stay, I decided to skip a few stones, hoping to break my record (though I couldn’t remember what that was). Side-arming flat rocks close to the water, it was fun hunting for good skippers: flat on both sides, thin, not too lightweight, rounded edges. How many thousands of stones had I skipped into this lake? I remember the day Dad taught Mary and me to do it, captivating us with his successful demo (though we didn’t care much about his talk of trajectories and angles).

I also remember teaching our first two boys to skip stones. They took to it immediately as most kids do, flinging rocks into the water like baseball machines fling balls into a batting cage. They’d shout for our attention. “Mom! Papa! Watch this!”

When a stone didn’t skip as they’d hoped, they’d yell again. “That wasn’t a good one! Watch this one! Are you watching?”

Every parent hears this oft-repeated refrain from their kids. “Watch me! Watch me!” We hear it so often it can drive us loony, pulling us from other conversations or thoughts of our own. “Look at me!”

In a way, though, we adults do the same thing. We walk through life wanting to be noticed, and more specifically, appreciated. If we’re skipping along well, we want others to see. If we’re sinking, we want others to care. We don’t shout it to a crowd like children do, but we pray it out to God in private. “Lord, do you see the injustice coming at me here? Are you aware of this other trauma unfolding in my life? Have you looked at my stress level? Examined my pain? Observed my heartache? Are you watching?”

Thankfully his answer to all of the above is a resounding, “Yes!” Although parents become irritated with too many “watch me’s” from their children, God’s patience is bottomless, limitless, boundless. It’s watertight.

He sees us every minute of every day… and night. And unlike weary parents who sometimes look over at their kids just to stop the “watch me’s” from continuing, God watches with genuine interest and sincere compassion each minute that he’s looking at us.

In other words, always.

By the way, the best skipper I had today was only 6, but I know God was watching.

“The eyes of the Lord search the whole earth in order to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.” (2 Chronicles 16:9a)