The Stethoscope and Pen

I am such a liar.

Each day, friends, colleagues and patients casually ask the question we all routinely ask, “How are you?” “Fine,” I reply, “I’m good.”

But I’m not.

A couple months ago my wife noticed some swollen lymph nodes in my neck. I talked to my family doctor and a surgeon. An ultrasound was inconclusive and when the nodes did not go away with a course of antibiotics, we elected to proceed with a biopsy. The odd thing is I felt and still feel absolutely fine. The surgeon removed both enlarged lymph nodes and in the first week of June I received the pathology report. Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Cancer.

I’m not used to this. I’m the doctor, not the patient.  I’m supposed to be the healer, the comforter, the encourager. Except that’s never been the case. Oh, I can diagnose things, recommend some medication, even bind up a wound. But I’ve never healed anything in my life. Any comfort or encouragement I can give is limited by my own human failings and frailties. I know all this. It’s really no surprise but it’s still easier standing beside the examination table instead of laying down on it.

Cancer is a scary word. We’ve all been affected by it and we can’t help but fear it. The diagnosis is tough to receive. And I’m not sure if having a lot of medical knowledge is good or bad. You can wind up reading reports, summaries and statistics until your brain spins and your heart aches. It’s easy to turn inward. To withdraw. To isolate.

I’ve felt that. Sometimes it feels like I’ve never been less alone and yet felt so lonely.

My family and friends have surrounded me with their love and their prayers. My children stand beside me, sometimes confused, sometimes angry, sometimes at peace. But always loving. My wife and I have cried in each other’s arms. We have taken turns reassuring and encouraging each other. And we have recommitted ourselves to each other and to our God.

We have figured a few things out. There are some things we know beyond any doubt. God is real. God is all good. God is all powerful. God is sovereign. And most of all, God is love.

He loves us. He loved us before I had cancer, before I knew Him, before I was born, even before the world was made. He loved me, He loved us, even then.

He is the Great Physician, the Healer, the Comforter. I will trust in Him. I will trust in Jesus.

I don’t know how this journey with cancer will end. We don’t know all the details yet. The grade. The stage. The recommended treatment. But I do know that Jesus will be with me every step of the way. I feel His presence and sense His peace. I will never be alone.

If you’d like you can come along. That way it won’t be at all lonely.

It often seems that nothing can upset a church congregation more than how the worship service is run. Is the music too loud? Are there too many instruments? Too few? Are there too many choruses, or too many hymns? No one seems to know what the right balance is but everyone knows what they don’t like.

I recently found a couple quotes from some church leaders regarding the styles of worship. One leader “called for a return both to the traditional hymns and to the traditional forms of those hymns”, while another complained that “fleshly church music is neither pleasing to God nor does it edify the congregation, but only tickles the ears of the world, robs the time set aside for true worship, grieves the simple, and thus brings great harm.”

Of course, when Philip Jacob Spener and Johan Mucovius made these statements in the 1690’s church music was a bit different, but it seems attitudes towards it were not. It is fascinating to learn that through the ages, the positions and opinions of the conservatives and radicals toward the style of worship music has repeatedly flip-flopped. At one time or another conservatives were opposed to signing hymns, (they wanted only to use the Psalms), against the singing of written songs as opposed to free expression led by the Holy Spirit, and against including the organ in church music. It was the young and the radicals that proposed all of these things.

If I can conclude one thing, it is that it is not the style of worship that matters as much as its heart. If I am focused on God and on worshiping Him, it really doesn’t matter if my neighbour is raising their hands or even dancing in the aisle. It does not matter if the music is fast or slow, loud or soft, familiar or new. All that matters is does it point toward God, focus on Him, and bring praise and worship to Him. That should be the only question.

My latest ski trip was quite an adventure. We travelled to Banff, Alberta for a few days of skiing before Christmas and decided to go to Sunshine Village for our first day. The morning went well. One wrong turn did lead me to a double black diamond run called the Waterfall. After careful consideration, I walked down the last half. But even that wasn’t too bad as no eight year old schussed up to me to ask, “You okay, Mister?”

After lunch we headed back up the mountain. Two of my sons were with me along with my nephew. They wanted to use the terrain park and practice some jumps, so off we went. To get to the terrain park we had to go down a wide open green run, through a small valley and up a hill on the other side. No problem. Just pick up a bit of speed on the downhill portion. The boys would cut off into the park while I skied down beside it to meet them at the bottom. Everything was going fine. At least for the first two times.

On the third run I was doing a slow left turn and just starting to pick up speed when there was a sudden flash of green and orange and that was it. My nephew was uphill from me at the time and said the snowboarder was going straight and fast when he hit me. I never saw him coming and it sounds like he never looked. When I stopped tumbling I was bleeding from a cut on the bridge of my nose and my right shoulder was dislocated. The worst thing? The guy who ran me over didn’t even stop. He took off as fast as he could while I lay there waiting for the ski patrol.

The ski patrol arrived within minutes. I couldn’t lower my arm from ninety degrees so they put me in an airplane splint and loaded me on their toboggan. I couldn’t lie back as the raised sides of the toboggan pressed into my injured shoulder so one of the patrol team got in behind me and I leaned against her back while they got me down the mountain. Once we reached the infirmary the next phase of my adventure began.

The resort had a physician working with the ski patrol and he took over. My oldest son, in his third year of residency for ENT surgery, assisted while my youngest and my nephew watched and informed the world through texts and posts. First the resort physician tried to reduce my shoulder by giving me nitrous oxide, (laughing gas), and slowly pulling and pressing on my shoulder. If I remember correctly this involved a lot of groaning and a bit of screaming on my part. It didn’t work as the pain just got too severe. The doctor proceeded to start an IV and give me some meds.

This particular medication started life as a horse tranquilizer and is now used as a fast acting, short lasting anaesthetic. It is good as it does not suppress respirations but causes a dissociative state in which the patient does not recognise pain or discomfort. Great for reducing dislocations and fractures.  I now know that it is just plain weird.

The good thing was that I did not feel any more pain. The bad thing was that I was confused, disorientated and having a few minor hallucinations. I was unable to remember where I was and at one point who I was. I started to feel nervous when I felt like I was losing myself. Fortunately, that was when I came out of it. My shoulder was back in place and I was staring at my hand trying to figure out why my fingers wouldn’t move when I told them to. They did eventually listen but there seemed about a three to four second gap between my thought and the resultant action. Like I said, weird.

I’m now in recover mode, getting physiotherapy and doing exercises and stretches two or three times a day. Some of those things hurt. But it could have been worse. I’m glad that my wife talked me into wearing a helmet a couple years ago or I might have had a concussion. I’m glad I spent more money than I intended on a high quality pair of goggles or the face plant I did might have lead to something besides the lenses being cracked. And I am glad that the ski patrol and resort physician were as capable and professional as they turned out to be. But the thing I am most happy about, is that through it all I have felt the presence and protection of Jesus, His love, and His healing power.

Thanks everyone.

(And snowboard guy—slow down! Next time it could be worse.)

In early July, my wife and I took a holiday with her parents and did a tour through north central Alberta. We had fun seeing a variety of sights from the Columbia Ice Fields to the Ukrainian Heritage Museum, from the West Edmonton Mall to the Rosebud Theatre. It was a great time of fun and fellowship and we all enjoyed it thoroughly.

Lisa’s parents drove their RV and stayed at different camp sites while we were booked into a variety of Bed and Breakfasts. These were consistently good with fun people to visit with and fantastic food. The very best food was at Rocky Mountain House where I feasted on the lightest, most amazing fresh baked blueberry scones that have ever been created. I could have eaten a dozen but had to settle for three when Lisa reminded me we had to be on the road.

Easily the most fun we had visiting was in the little town of Rosebud. This small town of a few hundred is home to a fine arts academy that trains young people in theatre and music. We watched an amazing performance of musical theatre, “The Cottonpatch Gospel”, and then the next morning were served breakfast at our B&B by the two lead performers. These two exceptionally talented young ladies were friendly and warm and a pleasure to talk to. They were both completing their studies at the academy and their enthusiasm and joy was infectious.

The whole trip was filled with wonderful moments. However, for me the most exciting was when Lisa and I spent an afternoon in Jasper going white water rafting. This is something I have always wanted to do and finally had the opportunity. We booked a trip on the Sunwapta River.

This is a glacier fed river that runs from the Colombia Ice Fields, through Jasper National Park until it joins the Athabasca and turns north to eventually reach the Arctic. The river was running very high from recent rains upriver and has some great Class III rapids. The water temperature was only 4 degrees Celsius so no one wanted to go swimming. We all managed to stay in the boat and had a fantastic time. I would definitely do it again and next time would try a Class IV.

The white water of the Sunwapta was one of the highlights of our trip. Unfortunately, when we got home we encountered a different kind of water adventure. The last weekend we were away, Moose Jaw had a downpour of 2-3 inches of rain in about an hour. The ground had already been saturated by previous rains. The storm sewers in our area drain into a little park behind our house. Some beavers had been busy there and had blocked off the culverts draining the ponds and as a result the park was soon flooded and the water backed up.

The storm sewers are set up in such a way that if they are unable to handle a heavy flow of water it is diverted into the regular sewers. These are typically able to handle any flow but not this day. Two lift or pump stations failed and then the sewers backed up. Fifty to sixty homes in our area were flooded. Including ours.

We went from white water to black water. Fortunately we only had a couple inches in the basement but it was enough. Our daughter was home at the time and she and her older brother did all they could but it was too much. Still we were blessed. The house south of us had 8 to 10 inches and the house to our north had over a foot. Our son had talked to our neighbour and by the time we got home had arranged for a disaster restoration company to come by. Over the next couple weeks we emptied the basement of all its contents, and had the carpet and the bottom two feet of gyproc ripped out. We had minimal damage to furniture and best of all did not lose any photos, memorabilia, or important papers. When we thought of what might have happened and especially what had happened in High River and Calgary we felt truly blessed.

It is always good to remember what is important. Things are just things. People matter. God matters. Our relationship with Him is what matters most of all. We need to be careful not to grasp too tightly the things of this world. They do not last. We must be prepared to let them go. The things we need to hold on tightly are not of this world. They are not things. They are Hope, and Faith, and Love. They are the Grace of God, His Holiness, His Righteousness, His Unfailing Love. This is what matters. This is what is important.

We recently had a unique visitor at our house. In the corner between our garage and our house, just six feet from our front door, we have a small cedar tree in a curved flower bed. Hidden behind the tree was our guest, a Northern Pintail duck. She had made her nest there and settled in quite unperturbed by our attention.

Over the next week or so we watched as she sat on her nest. She ate the bread we tossed down beside her and peered at us from behind the cedar branches. My wife and daughter became quite fond of her and my wife would talk to her as she tended the flowers and shrubbery. I thought that was fine as long as the duck did not start to answer back. They even gave the duck a name—Francine. I have no idea how they came up with it but the duck didn’t seem to mind.

We noticed that each day around four to five in the afternoon the duck would disappear for an hour or so. We assumed she was of looking for food or water or perhaps just socialization with other members of her species. Then one day she didn’t come back. There was no sign of violence, no indication that she had been hit by a car or attacked by a dog or a cat, she just went off one afternoon and didn’t return.

After waiting a couple days to make sure that I wouldn’t disturb things and prevent the duck from coming back, I checked the nest. There were no eggs. No egg shells. Nothing to indicate that there had ever been eggs. The nest was empty. It was a little sad. The duck had been doing her best to have a family but somehow was not successful. Who knows why? We wonder about out little duck neighbour and if we`ll see her again. Someone told us ducks often return to the same nest year after year. So maybe next year she`ll reappear.

We`re on the verge of becoming empty nesters ourselves. Three of our four children have already left home and the last one starts his final year of high school in the fall. By next summer we may suddenly have the house to ourselves. Now for many couples this can be a real crisis. Some may experience problems with loneliness, despair, a loss of purpose, and even a loss of identity. The departure of the children can put a huge strain on a marriage and even threaten the stability of the relationship.

Not in this house.

Sorry kids, but once the old homestead is devoid of offspring, Ma and Pa won’t be moping around. We might not be dancing for joy but we won’t be crying in our teacups either. Not that we won`t miss you. And not that we won`t be thrilled when you come home. For a visit that is. It`s just that we are looking forward to refocusing our attentions back onto our best friends—each other.

We were friends before we ever dated and we still are. We have been careful over the years to maintain enough common interests that we thoroughly enjoy each other’s presence and enough separate interests that we don`t overtax each other`s patience. We`re at a wonderful stage in our marriage that allows us to spend just as much time gazing intently into each other`s eyes as sitting together in the same room without even talking.

It is wonderful. And the reason it is truly wonderful is that we are never really alone. God is with us always. He has blessed our marriage and our family beyond measure. I have come to fully understand Proverbs when it says “He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favour from the Lord” (Proverbs 18:12), as well as the instruction to “rejoice in the wife of your youth” (Proverbs 5:18).

Because of this truth, our nest will never feel empty.

Many years ago I was in New Zealand and visited a beach on the west coast. The beach was covered by smooth rounded stones about the size, (appropriately enough), of a kiwi fruit. I had walked a fair way out when I looked down at an interesting stone. My glasses slipped of my face and fell at my feet. Before I could reach down and get them, a wave came out of the Tasman Sea and up the gentle slope of the beach.

The first wave was up to my calves. Before it fully receded another came. Up to my knees. I knew if I moved my chances of finding my glasses would be slim to none. I ground my feet into the rocky surface and held on. The next wave was up to my waist. When the fourth wave came up to my mid chest, I got a little nervous. If the next one was up to my neck, (or higher), I would have to move. Fortunately the waves had reached their peak and the water level dropped back down.

In a few moments the beach was exposed again and there, a few feet from where I was still standing, were my glasses. If I had moved or yielded to the actions of the waves, I probably would never have found them.

Sometimes life is like that. Problems and troubles come our way. We get buffeted by tests and trials. The waves threaten to overwhelm us or to wash away our foundation. Unless we are firmly fixed we can lose our way and lose contact with what is important. Jesus said that one “who comes to me and hears my words and puts them into practice . . . is like a man building a house, who dug deep and laid the foundation on rock. When a flood came, the torrent struck the house but could not shake it.” Luke 6: 47-48 (NIV)

Build your life upon the rock.

Sadly troubles and problems are not the only thing that can shake us and pull us away from the things that are so vital. Faith, truth and love are what God offers and what we so desperately need. Just as troubles can divert us from these good gifts so can the other end of the spectrum, that is, the pleasures of this world.

I recently attended a graduation ceremony and the main speaker Rev. Robert Parkman shared a story. Native Americans developed an effective, (if gory), way of ridding their winter encampments of wolves. They would take an extremely sharp knife, dip the blade in blood and then allow the blood to freeze. This would be repeated many times until the blade was covered by a thick layer of frozen blood. A blood popsicle.

The knife would then be firmly fastened to the ground and left with the blade pointing upward. Soon enough a wolf would approach, drawn by the scent of blood. It would begin to lick the blood from the blade. As the frozen blood wore away the blade would be exposed, but the wolf would continue to lick and feast. The pleasure it received from the blood was too great for it to stop. As the sharp edge was uncovered the wolf would unwittingly lacerate its tongue on it. The blood it was now tasting was its own.

But it still would not stop. The wolf would continue to lick the knife blade. Overwhelmed by pleasure, it continued until at last, it died.

God warns us against this trap. Proverbs 14:12 tells us “There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to death.” (NIV) Pleasure and pain. Either one can pull our focus away from God and lead us away from the path He has called us to. Guard yourselves against either danger but above all remember that He never ceases to call us back, or to stop waiting for us with open arms.