Making things happen

... with integrity

Monday December 15, 2003 Volume V Number 50

hen Bob went home sick, he figured he had the flu like just about everyone else making headlines this flu season.  He decided to take a day, or maybe two, home in bed, cancel business appointments, make a doctor visit and do whatever it takes to get the unwelcome bugs out of his system in time to make a scheduled trip back East to spend Thanksgiving with his recently married daughter and new son-in-law.  They just bought a new house.  He hadn’t seen it yet. 

It wasn’t the flu.

It took some time to unravel the mystery.  The symptoms just wouldn’t go away.  The Thanksgiving trip was cancelled.  One of Bob’s closest friends is also his family physician, and together they navigated through a series of possibilities.  Dr. Ken made Bob’s diagnosis his first priority.  A general practitioner, Ken became a quarterback, coach and strategist as they developed a game plan through the maze of tests and specialties in today’s convoluted playing field we now refer to as health care delivery.  It wasn’t until a technician holding a manila file containing test results failed to disguise a grim demeanor, avoided eye contact with Bob while standing at the foot of his bed and stated flatly, “Your doctor will discuss the results with you,” and then he quickly left the room.

That’s when Bob’s world turned upside down.

He’s been a career accountant and attorney.  He’s married to a registered nurse.  He knows about these things. 

Up until now, the idea that cancer may have found it’s way into Bob’s six-foot seven inch frame was unthinkable.  But after exhausting every other possibility, Bob, in his early fifties, successful businessman, husband for over thirty years, dad to two high achieving children, both fiercely competitive collegiate athletes and upwardly mobile in their careers, a deeply spiritual man networked as a leader and trusted advisor in the world of para-church ministry, faced his own mortality alone in a hospital bed, feverish, coughing, sick.

When the physician arrived ready to discuss the particulars, Bob was prepared, too.

“You may realize by now that the results are not good,” the doctor began.

Bob raised his arm off the sheets, signaling to the physician that he picked up the hints.  He nodded.  “Doctor, I appreciate your concern, and the difficulty of this assignment for you.  Please understand that I have already come to some measure of peace over my circumstance.  I trust my Lord.  He knows the outcome already.  We will do battle together, you and me.  I will do my best to follow your advice.  But wherever this thing takes me, my faith in my God will sustain me.” 

It came from the heart.

Bob said that the doctor appeared relieved.  Not necessarily because he shared Bob’s faith.  This is not a fatalistic resignation to doom.  It isn’t a total reliance on the success or failure of medicine.  It’s a faith that appreciates but transcends science, a faith that will energetically fight the good fight, and then humbly accept the outcome.  Wouldn’t you prefer such a patient?

The cancer is apparent in both lungs and Bob’s liver.

So said the report.  It’s very serious.

The file will be transferred to oncology.

* * * * * *

The first Sunday Bob was well enough to venture off to church with Sue, their son and new daughter-in-law (Nicole) came along. 

As they settled into their regular place in the sanctuary, Bob felt at home.  Involuntarily, his emotions intensified.  He looked around that familiar space, meditated on the purpose of the place, thought about the milestones he’d past while sitting in this very room; the friends, the weddings, the children brought into the church for dedication, the messages that hit home, the music that tuned him into a spiritual vitality that drew him in - beyond the cares of any particular week, the memorials, even the ecclesiastical debates, battles waged in this room which at the time seemed so momentous, but now, so laughably petty.  He chuckled at the thought, shaking his head ever-so-slightly.  He looked down the row, past the easy smile of the woman who had accompanied him with such grace this far, head still held high; she looked up at him as though she knew his thoughts, and after all these years, she did.  And then past her he saw his son, so tall, so poised, so full of promise, and all the years of maturing from the little gangly boy, so unsure, so dependent on his dad; to the man he is as he sits straight and his arm around his lovely young wife and they are there for worship too, in honor of their dad, and his God; the God who is becoming theirs as well.

And after a week or two, measuring the consequences of this swift biological invasion, this unscheduled interruption to what should have been that week, he is tired.  He is spent.  But something fills him that morning as he sits among his friends on the row with his family that was mysterious and profound and good.  Something wholesome.  Something that feels integrated.  Complete.  Purposeful.  Something wondrous.

He barely can sing the hymns.  The lyrics, so familiar, so melodic, strike him for their simple wisdom.  Their clarity.  There is a depth and a richness he had not noticed before.  His throat catches on a phrase; and then another; he is hearing familiar voices raised in harmony, but not like before. 

In this age of high technology, the lights dim and the video screen flickers.  It is a short spot – a video gospel lesson.

A father awakens early, he stretches and yawns on a wide wooden porch beside a quiet lake, still in the early morning sun.  Light comes over the horizon; illuminating the scene, wonderfully photographed, a steamy mist hovering on the glassy surface of the lake.

He disappears for a moment into the cabin.  When he re-appears at the door, he is holding a little boy, his son, who is yawning and rubbing his eyes.  The father wants the boy to see the morning, and to feel something the dad feels.  “Wanna go for a hike around the lake?” he asks his son. 

“Uh huh,” is the reply.

So he straps a pack over his shoulders and loads the youngster aboard, and off they go down a trail beside the still water.

They take in the scenes of the morning.  The birds in flight.  The long grass on the banks.  The peaks in the distance.  The bright morning flowers.  About half way round, the sky darkens.  The clear blue morning sky disappears under darkening clouds.  The wind picks up.  Dad’s pace quickens.  The boy senses something amiss.

Dad has reached the half way point around the lake.  He pauses for a moment – should I turn around, or keep going?  He chooses the later.

The wind turns harsh and cold.  Soon raindrops fill the air, and strike the two sojourners like little stings on their cheeks.  The boy whines, “Daddy, I’m cold.”

“We’ll be alright,” the dad says, raising his voice above the wind and rain.

A flash of lightening strikes a nearby tree.  The dad jumps away, alert to the danger, jerking his cargo unintentionally.  And a moment later, a clap of thunder, deep, sharp, and fierce.

It’s too much for the little boy.  He’s been fighting the fears, but now he starts to cry.

Hearing first the whimper, and then the fear, the dad drops to a knee.  He pulls the pack off his shoulders and lifts the boy to the ground.

Gently, he raises the boy from the canvass and into his arms.  First he hugs his son, firmly, tenderly, and says, “It’s gunna  be OK.”

Then he unzips his coat, slips the boy inside his jacket, zipping up with him inside against the warmth of his father.

Dad laughs confidently, at one with his son.  “You are with your father now; and your father knows the way home.”

And the two proceed down the trail, homeward bound as the picture and the music fade.

Bob told me about the video in church that morning.  “You are with your father now; and your father knows the way home.”

“I can’t imagine a more fitting picture of what I’ve been through these past two weeks,” Bob told me.

Pastor Todd stood from his place in the front row and stepped to the microphone.  “It’s not a question of if it’s going to rain in your life,” he began, “but when.”

“As a pastor, I’m new to this church.”  He continued.  “I don’t know if you are accustomed to open sharing.  No matter.  We’re going to take the risk.  This morning, I’m going to invite anyone who would like to come to the front and share their story – a story of getting caught in the rain, caught in the storm, and finding the strength of your Father to carry you through.”

The pastor took his place in the front row, sat down and left the microphone standing at the center of the room.

The church remained quiet for a moment, until Bob’s daughter-in-law stood to her feet, looked over and smiled at Bob, and then her husband Josh, and then proceeded to the front and the mike stand.

She cleared her throat.  Then took a deep, nervous breath.  “I don’t ordinarily do this sort of thing,” she began.  “But this morning, well, this is just too real for me and my family.”

“I’ve married one of your own – Josh,” she pointed his way.  Everyone laughed approvingly.  Josh smiled shyly.  “He grew up in this church and his parents, who have accepted me as though I was their own daughter, well, they’ve been attending here a good many years, and they love all of you.”  She paused thoughtfully.  “You need to know what my father-in-law has been through these past two weeks…” and her voice dropped off as emotion welled up.

That’s when Josh, just about as tall as his father, a veteran of college basketball, stood to his feet slipping into the aisle and down to the front to stand by Nicole.  He hugged her appreciatively before the whole congregation.  This seemed to give Nicole what she needed to carry on.  He nodded.  She nodded back.

“We have just learned that Bob is very sick.”  She intelligently and delicately described the cancer the doctors found.  A hush fell over the room, stunned listeners found tears forming in their own eyes.  “And like that little boy in the video,” Nicole pointed to the screen, “Bob is teaching us so much.  He knows his Father.  He’s not afraid.  Please pray for all of us, but especially him.”

Josh and Nicole returned to their seats and as they did on their wedding day, they stopped to embrace their Dad and Mom, their public show of support turning very personal.

* * * * *

It’s Monday morning.  You are a leader.

Maybe it’s raining today.  Maybe a chilly wind has picked up.  The lightening hit.  The thunder clapped.  A beautiful scene has become a frightening storm.

Maybe you are terrified. 

I got news of my friend Bob on Friday morning this week.  Fifteen minutes later, we were on the phone.  We wept together that morning as he told me the story of his beautiful daughter-in-law taking a stand and her public display of such pure love in the face of terrifying news.

I watch as people who have given themselves away in kingdom service in a surprise turn of events become the vulnerable ones; those who for years found and met needs in others, and then become needy.  The support and love that comes in return is extraordinary.  As the service ended that morning, Bob felt a hand on his shoulder.  He turned to see who it was, and there he saw the good Dr. Ken, the family physician, just behind him, now joining with fifty or sixty people who stood around Bob right there in the sanctuary to pray.

“I have never in my life felt so loved,” Bob recounted through his tears.

I wish I could tell you the outcome for my friend Bob.  I can’t.  And I can’t tell you how or when your storm will end, either.  I don’t know.

But we have a Father who does.

And He knows the way home.

Send FEEDBACK

Click here to SUBSCRIBE

Click here to UNSUBSCRIBE