Difficult Seasons

Life is Fragile

Prentice Meador died at 6:08 Tuesday morning.  What started out on Thursday night as a sore throat and fever turned to a raging infection and complete organ failure within 24 hours.  Despite valiant efforts throughout the weekend and Monday, his body and modern medicine couldn’t defeat a tiny bug.

I didn’t know Meador except by reputation.  He was an exceptional preacher and church leader, and highly respected.  My only interaction with him came a few years back when I was trying to promote an idea and wrote to a couple of dozen prominate ministers.  Meador was the one who actually wrote me back, and for that I was grateful.

Our grandson Ben caught a similar nasty bug about 18 months ago.  After 11 days in ICU, the valiant efforts of medical personnel, and several things I can only credit as God things, Ben left the hospital completely recovered, and with no after-effects.

Like you, I know that life is fragile.  Like you, I know that sometimes good people get nasty illnesses and die.  Like you, I know that sometimes good people get nasty illnesses and survive.  I don’t understand why.  I just know things work this way.

As Thanksgiving comes this year, I am thankful beyond any words I’ll ever be able to find that Ben survived his bout with the nasty bug.  His presence in our lives is a radiance I can’t imagine being without.

Yet I’m also mindful of the huge hole in so many lives this Thanksgiving that Meador’s passing leaves, because they can’t imagine their lives without his radiance.

I’m mindful that as you’re reading this, that you’re likely in the same boat as I am as Thanksgiving rolls around.  There have been some wins in your life, and there have been some losses.

May God accept my thanksgiving I can’t put words to for the wins.  And may He accept my grieving for those who have gone on before as thanksgiving also, for my grieving is my expression of how important these folks were/are in my life.

Five Things

My buddy Virgil Fry, Executive Director of Lifeline Chaplaincy, has been collecting statements hospital patients would rather not hear over his 25 years of chaplaincy.  Here are a few of my favorites from his list:

1.  “Wow!  Look at all the flowers in here.  Looks like you’re getting ready for a funeral!”

2.  “Did you know that massive doses of vitamins could have prevented that?”

3.  “I’d have come sooner, but I didn’t know that you were this bad.”

4.  “At least you’re getting a break from the kids.”

5.  “I can’t believe I had to pay to park just to see you.”

I bet you’ve heard some other statements that should be added to the list.  Fire away in the comments.

Buttons to Match Your Outfit

As I drove home from visiting folks at M. D. Anderson this evening, the phrase that rang in my ears was one I heard a patient say this afternoon: “Cancer sucks.”  He had every right to say it.  And part of the reason it stuck in my mind was that some of the folks that I saw today had been ravaged by their particular brand of cancer.

This is not a word normally in my spoken vocabulary.  I shocked my whole family one day when I said it.  That’s because of the ambiguous meanings associated with the word.  So I want to make clear which definition this man meant, and the one that is used in the headline of this post.

Definition:  (colloquial) Term of general disparagement, to indicate that the subject or situation is unfortunately or unreasonably objectionable, and has no redeeming qualities.

That pretty much sums it up where cancer is concerned, at least physically.  But it’s also often true emotionally.  I do often get to see healthy spirituality alive in cancer victims, and I’m thankful for that.

There are no pretty words that describe cancer.  Saying cancer is unfortunate or even unreasonably objectionable doesn’t seem to communicate cancer’s effects very well either.  To say that cancer has no redeeming qualities seems like an unreasonably objectionable understatement.

Sorry, but I think we’re stuck with a colloquial word that is found objectionable in some circles.  But at least it honestly communicates some of the physical and emotional toll cancer exacts.  So yes, cancer sucks.

And if you want to wear a button or tee shirt proclaiming it, it’s fine with me.

Hospital

Okay, I got “tagged” by Jon Swanson, and my assigned task in the game is to write this post.  Like Jon, I’m not much for playing these internet games, but since he picked an easy list for me to make, and a good list for folks to know, I’ll play along this time.

1.  Wash your hands before you go into the room.  And when you come back out of the room.  It’s for your protection and the protection of the people you’re visiting as well.  Don’t help bugs move around.

2.  Knock gently on the door before you go in.  You’re entering what small bit of privacy the patient has left, and announcing your arrival is the least you can do.

3.  Introduce yourself and tell why you are coming in their room, “Just coming by to check on you.”

4.  Ask if this is a good time to visit.  You may be able to tell from looking around the room that medical personnel are busy doing a procedure, but even if no one else is there, it may not be a good time from the patient’s stand point.

5.  Tell them you care, listen to what they have to say, don’t tell your stories about hospitals, and keep your visit short (unless they want to talk and have you listen).

Okay, time to pass along the tag:  Steve Tucker, 5 things we don’t know about farming; John Dobbs, 5 things we don’t know about Louisiana; John Little, 5 surprising things about mountain climbing; Joyce Davis, 5 reasons mommies need cruises; and Jeremy Barrett, 5 characteristics of good coffee.