Rejoice with the Rejoicing; Weep with the Weeping

 

Have you ever been so overwhelmed by God’s goodness and mercy that you were left speechless?

Surprising as it might seem, the excitement in the exam room a month ago, left Michael … and even me … speechless. 

Michael, as you know, is part of a vaccine trial at Duke University Brain Cancer Center. They only see people who are dealing with brain tumors.  We go monthly. The routine goes like this: a tech meets us at the door and escorts Michael to the scales and BP cuff and takes all his vitals, then a nurse escorts us to the exam room where she asks all the questions about how he’s been since last visit, then a nurse practitioner comes in and goes over the day’s lab work, does the neuro-checks (you know: touch your nose, walk heal-toe without falling over, subtract by 7s ...)  and shows us the MRI. She then goes and consults with the doctor, who comes back in with the nurse to reiterate what’s already been said by the NP and make sure we understand the next steps. This time, though, it really felt like the doctor just wanted to be in on the fun – yes, fun! 

The nurse practitioner said, “We rarely see MRI’s this good.” Then when the doctor came in, she said, “You know what all the excitement was out there just now? We were all talking about how your MRI is the best one we’re going to see all day, or longer! Look! What was a small spot last time, is hardly a shadow now! And there's no sign of any new growth anywhere else!" 

And Michael and I just sat there. Yes, it is all so very overwhelming. Exciting. And overwhelming.

 And then, later in the week, we received the news that a friend and supporter, whose wife has been to Gambella to talk with me about health work there, died ten months after being diagnosed with the same kind of cancer.

And so our excitement is tempered. We are humbled. 

In the midst of our joy, we mourn with our friend. We mourn with our other friend, whose wife “received her eternal healing” from cancer, (as her husband texted me) just a few months ago. We mourn with so many others who do not receive a miracle, who struggle with daily problems of life, who seek relief from endless burdens, whose loss seems overwhelming.

Long ago I stopped looking for reasons, reasons for miraculous healing, reasons for death too soon, reasons for trials, reasons for amazing blessings. Together, Michael and I persist in our assurance that God is good, that God hears our pains, that God weeps with us and comforts us and gives us strength. And that God smiles and dances and rejoices with us when we are joyful. We persist in our attempts to show our gratitude for all good things by, as faithfully as we know how, doing what God has for us to do. Sometimes our work is to cheer each other on in joy and sometimes it is to sit quietly and mourn together for what is lost.

We are thankful for scientific knowledge; we consider it a gift of God. We are thankful for the opportunity to benefit from some of the most advanced medical knowledge regarding the cancer that invaded Michael's brain. 

Michael will continue with monthly chemotherapy (tablets at home) and immunotherapy (injections at the brain cancer center) for the next year. He will be on the highest doses of chemo possible “because he tolerates it so well”. He tolerated one of those highest doses in January and will take the next series in a couple weeks. It is timed so that his worst days fall between Sundays so he is able to look strong in the pulpit every week!

Thank you for your support in the many ways you have shown it to us. All the notes, cards, calls, emails, visits, and prayers sustain us. We thank God for each of you.