Keep The Faith

Much to our amazement, the radiologists report on the PET scan done at noon today arrived in my Inbox about ten minutes before we arrived home this afternoon! It is detailed and requires a closer look with dictionary in hand, but there is one sentence we really understand: Overall dramatic improvement from previous study [November '23 PET scan] presumed from response to therapy. "Overall dramatic improvement..." We are so #thankful for that result and for your prayerful support. Brian and Kathy

Kathy and I have been forced to do a lot  of thinking over the past 6 years about what it means to trust God. We are thankful for the role so many of you have had in helping us process that journey! Once again, however, I find myself unable to avoid doubt. Kathy sees it written in the wrinkles on my forehead. This week those doubts are the background noise arising from an upcoming scan. Everything about the course of treatment I started in January has been positive. The treatments each week are quick and easy--just a needle in my belly.  The side effects are mild, save for the fact that it leaves me very open to infection. Summer activities are constrained only by the reality that I must get the injection every week. For a fourth line of treatment, this one is not at all harsh. And if that were not enough, my bloodwork has been excellent, to the point that my doctor cautiously uses the word remission. I haven't heard that word since my stem cell transplant! So many prayers have bee

A bone marrow biopsy will confirm it, but we are 95% sure that you have a blood cancer called Multiple Myeloma. This past week we remembered that it has now been six years since we first heard those words from a very compassionate doctor at the Lethbridge hospital. Six years! The months that followed those were, I think, the most difficult of my life.  Heavy grief. Debilitating pain from cancer-crumbled vertebrae and fractured ribs. Long hospitalizations.  Future plans dashed. In those first days, everything we read about aggressive myeloma told us that the chance of survival beyond three years was around 65%, beyond five years less than 35%. If someone had guaranteed us 6 years, we definitely would have considered ourselves blessed. And blessed we are. Research into treatments and possibly a cure have burgeoned in those years. I, by God's grace, seem to be riding the front edge of the advancements of that research. After a disappointingly short 30 month remission from my stem cell

Recently, I had the privilege of bringing the message to our former church (Fellowship CRC) in Edmonton. The message, titled Trust the Catcher , was built around Namaan's story in 2 Kings 5 and the parable of the lost son in Luke 15. I also made use of a Henri Nouwen account of his friendship with a group of trapeze acrobats called the Flying Rodleighs. Nouwen asked the leader of the troupe how it all works. These were some answers given: “As a flyer, I must have complete trust in my catcher…” “… the flyer must trust, with outstretched arms, that his catcher will be there for him/[her].” “…Just stretch out yo u r arms and hands and trust, trust, trust.“ Excerpt(s) from April 14 message to Fellowship CRC, Edmonton : …While Namaan’s story reminds us that there is nothing we can do to manipulate God into loving us more, the portion of the lost son parable that we read reminds Kathy and I why we can trust our Catcher-God. There is a line in the younger son’s story that is gripping. V

Let me be honest. I am not yet the person that you may think I am. Many of you, after reading something I have written here, have messaged me with words of support. I can't tell you how encouraging that is for me. Thank you! Often, though, you will say things like, "Your faith is so strong" or "You are an example to us all." Spoiler alert:  it isn't and I'm not. Honestly. Writing this blog is one of the ways that I can emotionally untangle the threads of the story that I am in. It is an avenue on which I stand tiptoed, straining to catch glimpses that can help me understand all the terrible and beautiful of this tapestry that is daily life. It is in that glimpsing and untangling that God gifts me with aspirations, with hopes. Those graciously given aspirations and hopes along with the unwavering love of the Gift Giver, form the writing that is here. I aspire to trust and have faith. I hope to be thankful for each day. I want to be strong even when I a

Teach us O Lord to number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom. Ps 90:12 I've mentioned the idea of numbering our days, several times on this blog. Last week, I found myself numbering my days during a six day hospital stay in Calgary. I mean literally numbering my hospital days. This hospitalization was to get me started on a new course of treatment with a drug that had potentially life-threatening side effects on the first doses*. During that hospital stay you could certainly find me counting down the days I had left in that fifth floor room.  4 more days if all goes well. 3 more days.... 2 more....   Counting down one's days, when it comes to a hospital stay, might work, but for me it is a dangerous strategy for life. This very well could be the last treatment they can find for me. Whether I want to or not, that leads me to speculate how many days I might have left. One night in the hospital I actually found myself thinking, " Well, that's one less day of re