Unexpected Challenges

This is another in a series of posts about my journey through prostate cancer. The series begins here if you would like to read more.

The lady who cuts my hair told me a story about having surgery several years ago. "Six weeks!" That's how long her doctor said she must wait before doing any heavy lifting or strenuous exercise. "I didn't feel like doing anything for the first three weeks," she told me, "but about the fourth week, I was feeling really good. I was taking a walk along the canal bank one morning when I felt so good that I decided to run. Big mistake! Something broke loose, I had to rush to the doctor, have some surgical repair and start the recuperation period over from scratch." "Will you believe me this time?" the doctor asked. She did and finally got well.

Her story and others like it convinced me that I was ready to be a good boy. I wanted this surgery and, if possible, this cancer...in my rear view mirror. The road turned out bumpier than I could have imagined.

I was released from the hospital on a Wednesday afternoon, two days after my prostatectomy. I could feel strength returning and my pain was so mild that Extra-Strength Tylenol took care of it. Cathy and I rented a privately-owned condominium about two miles from the hospital, preparing to stay a week post-surgery; our doctor suggested this. We received a few visitors who live in the Phoenix area. We were encouraged and our spirits were high. It looked like smooth sailing...until Friday.

Sometime Thursday night I started feeling like I was coming down with the Flu. I was aching and ping-ponging between chills and fever. I didn't have other Flu symptoms so I asked a follow-up nurse what to do. She gave me some simple advice and suggested I call the doctor on call in my physician's urology group. We watched my temperature for the next day or so and finally were told to go to the Emergency Room for some tests. Fever can be a sign of infection and we needed to know. That Saturday even in the ER, I was trembling with chills and feeling weak and yucky. The various tests, though, showed no infection. By the next day I was feeling much better and thought we were on the way to a speedy recovery. Another challenge was ahead.

On Wednesday the following week, my catheter was removed and we were given permission to come home to Yuma the next day, Thanksgiving. We awoke early, packed the car and headed down the Interstate toward home. About an hour later we made our first stop and I went to the bathroom. I experienced such significant pain that I couldn't stand up straight for several moments. Thinking it was something I had eaten, I told Cathy that we should drive on. The next stop, another hour along, and the same thing happened, but this time it was worse. By then, we were only an hour or so from home and were both anxious to get there. We were Thanksgiving guests at the home of some of our dearest friends and felt that surely Cathy could go even if I needed to stay home.

Our arrival at our house gave me the chance to go to the bathroom once again. This time the pain was so acute that I cried out in agony. We called the on-call doc back in Phoenix and he said I needed to get to the ER to find out what was wrong. Their original diagnosis was a urinary tract infection, but the lab results later ruled that out. We never found out the cause of that pain that someone said was like a kidney stone (which they also never found). For the next two days or so I was on heavy pain meds. Then, for a couple of weeks, I woke up every 1.5 hours or so and had to to potty.

Fast forward to this Spring when yet another problem cropped up. A prostatectomy is accompanied by two major risks: incontinence and sexual dysfunction. One prostate cancer survivor I know simply told me, "I was one for two." In my case, I sailed through both of these problems without severe challenge. However, I discovered that 1 in 10 prostatectomy patients have a different problem: scar tissue. You see, the prostatectomy involves disconnecting and reconnecting some of your plumbing. Your urethra must be disconnected from your bladder, then reconnected after the prostate is out of the way. Scar tissue can develop at that connection, closing off the opening through which the urine leaves the bladder. I discovered that it can become a painful situation.

My discovery took place as I was preparing for my 3-month checkup. My urine flow had been slowing down for the previous few weeks. Not understanding the problem, I chose to simply talk about it when I was at the checkup. Big mistake! My checkup showed no detectable cancer: "Yes!" However, my doc took a quick look at what I was dealing with and ordered me to surgery the next morning. The last 18 hours before that surgery were some of the most uncomfortable of my life. I constantly needed to "go", yet hardly anything came out. The doctor told us after surgery that I had but a pinhole of an opening left and he almost couldn't find it.

It turns out that stretching the urethra is relatively common in a case like mine, but it often has to be done more than once. I have had the procedure done a second time already and am scheduled for surgery number three. As a Christian, I believe that God can and does heal people physically. I have seen it. In fact, we are seeing it more and more where we live. Thus, we are praying that He does this stretching without another surgery, but we are at peace if the surgery is required. I have a few weeks to see what happens.

I sat in an examining room at my family physician's office yesterday. He and I are friends and I enjoyed a moment to reflect during my my twice-yearly checkup. I am in amazingly good health for this season in my life. Cathy and I enjoy significant energy and try to care for our bodies with proper diet, exercise and rest. We have so much for which to be thankful. These days, every time I see something in the press about cancer survivors, it hits me: "I'm one of those!" For years I thought of cancer as "the big C." It's actually pretty small in the grand scheme of things.

The Big "C" is Christ and He is massive!

 

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Why I LOVE The Morning

When Cathy and I started dating, we were POOR college students. I'm not saying that we were poor students...at least Cathy wasn't. I'm saying that we were financially challenged. That meant that our early dates consisted of things we could do for free; things like take walks or play ping pong at our college's student center. Finally, though, the day came when we decided to attend a movie. It was springtime, beautiful in Phoenix and perfect weather for a drive-in. We got there, picked up some snacks at the snack bar and watched the intense drama. At least I watched the intense drama; Cathy fell asleep. Forty years later and the one thing we can remember about our lone "date-that-costs-money" is that the girl I loved fell asleep!

I discovered early in our relationship that Cathy and I seemed to be wired differently. She was a "morning person" and I was...well, I WASN'T a morning person! The reason for her movie slumber was that she awoke that morning at 4 a.m. to study for a test. I discovered, in fact, that 4 a.m. was the most common time for her to study. In her own words, "It was quiet then because no one else in the dorm was awake." For me, 4 a.m. was near the beginning of my sleep cycle. Who in their right mind would want to wake up at that hour?! (Yes, Cathy is in her right mind. Some friends told her that the only insane decision she ever made was to marry me. "It will never work," they said.)

After all these years, I would like to think that I influenced at least one or two positive changes in my bride. One thing I haven't been able to do, though, is to train her to be a "night person." She still gets up early almost every day. In fact, sleep pattern is one of the biggest areas where I have changed. Somehow my entire view of sleep has changed over the years. Most mornings I am up quite early...which means that I now fall asleep during intense dramas.

And I learned to LOVE the morning!

I came to love the morning for at least two reasons. First, I cherish those early hours when the neighborhood is mostly quiet and I can enjoy the solitude of a walk or a jog. Second, and far more important is this: I love the morning because it's the end of the night!

I discovered following my recent surgery how long and uncomfortable the night can be. The darkness seemed to intensify the normal physical discomfort of recuperation. That hardship is small, though, compared to the disquiet of nighttime spiritual warfare. Those experiences of attack by an enemy who knows me far too well and who creatively utilizes my emotional fatigue actually intensify the darkness. After such nights, I doubly LOVE the morning!

A long time ago, a man named Joel lived in the Middle East. He heard God speak to his heart and he saw things that he had to write down. He saw the darkness of his own generation, but he also saw much greater darkness in the future. God not only showed him darkness, but seasons of light. At the end of it all, he saw a vision of a brightness that was coming which would never end. His heart leapt toward that vision and Joel exclaimed, "Alas for the day!" (Joel 1:15) Joel couldn't wait for the Morning!

We will study Joel's writings beginning this week at Stone Ridge. It's our Summer Sermon Series and you will get the blessing of hearing messages from God's word from a variety of voices. If you miss a week, catch the podcast!

 

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Kingly Treatment

(This is the fifth post on my cancer journey.)

"Barring a miracle, I don't think you will make it." I've had to say words like that, but I was talking about someone's marriage -- NOT their life. It must be one of the hardest things medical professionals are required to do. They devote their lives to help people get well. They fight with batteries of tests, treatment options, surgeries and medications. But sometimes they must say the hardest words a patient (and the patient's family) will ever hear.

I knew all those things, but this was my first time to encounter the healthcare system as one of people in the bullseye. I had cancer. Without treatment it could be devastating. Cathy and I had decided on a plan that included surgery. Now it was time to face the system. We couldn't have been more pleased.

It started with our doctor. The credentials on his office walls told us that he had been trained in a world-class teaching hospital. They also told us that he was highly rated in our region of the country. What the certificates couldn't say was that he is one of the docs with the incredible combination of well-honed skills and obviously extreme intelligence, mixed with an air of optimism and a dose of human compassion. When I met him, I immediately liked him. He had come at the recommendation of my family physician whom I consider a friend, but it was our first meeting that told me how glad I was that he would be in charge of this part of my health.

Obviously a doctor is but one part of the large, often intimidating, healthcare system. My surgery would be followed by a day or two in the hospital. My only other hospital stay (that I can remember) began the day I graduated from Basic Combat Training in the U.S. Army. That stay was for a pretty severe case of the flu and it was needed to restore me to health, but it wasn't particularly user friendly. In that stay, those of us on the bottom tier of military rank had to get out of bed each morning at 0600, make our own bed, then get back in it. Not exactly luxury! My hospital stay for cancer surgery, however, was a model of quality care accentuated by creature comforts fit for royalty.

The surgery wing of the hospital had recently been remodeled. Every room in the wing was private and fairly large. The staff was professional, but they were beyond that. They seemed to mirror the optimism I saw in my doctor. They managed my pain, cared for my personal needs and took time to answer my questions. One nurse on a night shift seemed a little "down" when she came to check on me. I mentioned it to her. "Is there some way I can pray for you?" I asked. She shared some needs within her family and I promised to pray. After that she came out of her shell and showed me great kindness. Another nurse had just finished her Nurse Practitioner training at the university where Cathy and I met many years ago. We had a great talk about the school and about her future plans.

One of the "perks" of being on the surgery floor was that we could order food from a large, diverse menu. Various parts of the menu were available 24 hours of the day. I guess they know from experience that surgery can throw your system...and your schedule...off. The food was good and I could order things that sounded good to me. It took me over a week to start getting my appetite back after the surgery.

I am sure that every hospital has its share of complaints from patients and families. My hospital stay, however, filled me with encouragement and hope. They treated me, not as a sick person, but as someone who would get well. I did!

 

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Passing Batons on Treacherous Trails

I wonder how many batons we have given away over the years...batons with the inscription: "I am not ashamed of the Gospel for it is the power of God unto salvation." (Romans 1:16) Whatever the number, I have this library of memories about families who have stood before our church and declared their intentions. What intentions? To do everything in their power to pass the baton of faith to their children. To be sure, not every family has stayed on the trail they planned to walk. That journey is filled with unforeseen pitfalls and slippery slopes.

A few years ago I was fishing on a small river in the Rocky Mountains. At one point, the best route to get to a certain point on the river was up the side of a mountain where we took a game trail high above the water. My brother and I were walking along nonchalantly when my feet almost slipped out from under me. The loose pebbles and the steep mountain slope almost took me down. Literally. When I got my footing, I looked where I would have fallen and realized I might not have survived. I tell that story, because raising a family is like that journey. It can be beautiful and exhilarating, but the trail is fraught with danger.

Should the fact that some faith batons get dropped before they are passed on to a new generation make us give up the practice? Not at all! The sadness we feel when we observe people fall from the trail is mixed with the joy of seeing those who somehow keep hiking. We all slip and stumble sometimes. None of us is without perilous moments, but God's love never ends. He is always there to help us back up if we cry out to Him.

My memory library contains hundreds of baton stories over the years. One of my favorite was just a couple years ago when four generations of a family gathered around, dedicating themselves to raise a precious little girl to grab that faith baton for herself. That's when the little one's grandmother reminded me that long ago we had dedicated her sons -- including the baby's dad. Here we were, starting over with a new generation.

Mother's Day Weekend is one of my favorite times of the year at Stone Ridge. We will do parent/child dedications in all services. Bring a friend and soak up the joy!

 

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Unmerited Criticism

I continue the story of my cancer journey. You can read more in earlier posts, including here.

"Just get this treatment and your cancer will be gone." Those encouraging(?) words were spoken to my dad right after he discovered that his cancer could be slowed down, but not stopped. The speaker was a friend, who was also a neighbor and a fellow church member. They weren't spoken with tenderness, but with force. The man truly believed that a miracle cure was out there, but wasn't recognized by the traditional medical community. He was willing to be rude and merciless in his drive to force someone away from knowledgeable medical advice. Sad reality is that the man who spoke so passionately to my dad was diagnosed with cancer after my dad and died a lot sooner than him.

It was my memory of dad's experience that gave me a "heads up" about the ways people want to get involved once they hear you have cancer. Most of them mean well, I think, but they often come across as arrogant and without compassion. One man left a note in my office that he wanted to speak with me. I ran into him one Sunday morning at church. With great enthusiasm, he told me about his treatment, which was a new type of radiation. When I explained to him that we had decided surgery was the most prudent route in my case, he tried to talk me out of it. As I attempted to help him understand the peace we had with our decision and that I was truly happy that his treatment seemed to be working, he became visibly angry. He was a guest at our church that day and I don't think I saw him again after that. His friends who brought him came to me later and apologized for his behavior.

Another man at church asked for an appointment with me. Though I know (and like) him, his request was unusual. "What do we need to talk about?" I asked, hoping to sound gentle. "You don't need surgery," he said. "I can tell you how to get rid of that cancer." Because of our friendship and my relationship with his family, I gave him the appointment. He came in with information about something that he said would change my drinking water and flush the cancer out of my system. He wasn't trying to sell me anything, but genuinely believed that this would fix my problem. He responded with kindness when I turned him down.

Many people have asked me about my cancer and most of them are praying for me. Occasionally one of them spoke with enthusiasm about our choice to do surgery. Several of my pastor friends are prostate cancer survivors who chose surgery; they have been a source of great encouragement and a wealth of information. The one conversation that sticks with me, though, happened after I returned from surgery. A woman I know approached me at church upon my return and said, "I'm so glad you had it removed!" "Me, too," I replied. She then went on to tell me about her husband who chose another treatment and the cancer kept coming back. With a broken heart, she concluded: "The long and invasive treatments have changed my husband's personality. The gentle, caring man I married has been replaced by someone I don't even know."

 

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Painful Night, Glorious Day

It was a message from a friend last weekend that nudged me; I had started telling the story of my prostate cancer journey and left it hanging there. The press of ministry in recent weeks focused my writing on more current events in the life of our church. That's good for those who are around me all the time, but many of my friends have been left to wonder where this has led. Questions like, "How are you doing?" are still frequent. One friend was visiting recently from out of state. She showed up in my office, sat down and said, "I had to stop by while I'm in town to see for myself that you're all right." Consequently, I will pick up the story where a left off a few weeks ago.

September 11 is a date indelibly printed on our brains. For me, September 11, 2012 became another significant day. I arrived for my biopsy in Phoenix that afternoon with a very positive attitude. "I think you have only a 10-15% chance of prostate cancer," the Dr. had told me, "and if you do have it, we have caught it very early. We will have options about how to attack it." Prostate biopsies are no fun, but they are a small price to pay for the critical information that will help save your life. The discomfort from mine lasted a day or two, but I had a greater concern on my mind: the pathology results I would receive about a week later.

The day I was told to call in about biopsy results happened to be the middle day of the annual offsite our church staff takes. Those offsites have become mission critical to us at Stone Ridge and I love them. We laugh, sometimes cry, rejoice, analyze and make plans for the following year. The entire trajectory of our church has become very focused because of these events. That meant I had to keep my head in the game, though I planned to call the urologist late in the afternoon.

We took a break about 4 p.m. and I stepped outside our meeting room. I punched in the number, praying for God to help me if the results came back positive. Heart pounding, I touched numbers on the keypad, working my way the urologist's phone tree. Finally able to speak to someone, I identified myself and asked for my doctor's assistant. "She isn't available," came the reply, "but I can give you the results if you would like."

"Please," I said, trying to remain calm.

A moment later she was back, saying with a clinical voice, "Your results came out positive for prostate cancer. Your Gleason score is... You can go on the internet to help you interpret what this means." I thanked her, hung up and called Cathy, who was at home.

"I have prostate cancer," I said as Cathy greeted me. "The tests came back positive." I must have sounded more calm than I felt (or, more likely, God's grace had kicked in) for Cathy initially thought I was teasing her in preparation for a, "Not really! I'm fine!" I assured Cathy that I wasn't joking and told her the Gleason score. We agreed that we didn't know what this all meant, then we prayed together. Cathy said that she would start contacting our kids. She would also get in touch with her family. I would contact my siblings. I didn't want to tell my mom yet because she was alone. I would wait a couple of days until my sister was in town.

I walked back in to the meeting room with our staff; it was time to reconvene. "I need to tell you guys something," I said calmly. "I have prostate cancer. I just got the lab results from last week's biopsy." Our team is very close; most of us have worked together for years. Therefore I wasn't surprised by some of the emotion they felt. We talked a bit, then they gathered around me and prayed. We all decided that planning was done for that day, but that we would have a time of worship together that night. We did. It was powerful. We were doing the best we knew to do; resting in the One who knit us together in the womb (Psalm 139). He was not surprised, nor overwhelmed by our circumstances. He had always been faithful. He still was!

The most acute pain of that first 24 hours was when I tossing and turning sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I don't know that I had slept well or at all up until then. What I remember was waking up and not being able to go back to sleep. My brain was running on overload. Finally I prayed, "Father I need a word from You. I need something to show me that You are there. I can face this if You are with me, but I can't handle it by myself." I waited quietly for only a few minutes, then the whisper of God came from deep within my spirit: "I already told you that I have this all under control; don't be afraid. I told you twice." Now sensing His presence in a very tangible way, I thanked Him and fell into a deep sleep.

Upon our return to Yuma the next morning, we met with the rest of our staff team to go over the plans God gave us for the coming year. We spoke little at that meeting about the cancer. By then I was scheduled to visit my Dr. the following afternoon. The much more immediate thing on my mind that day was a funeral I was to conduct shortly after lunch. It was for a young mom who had lost hope for repair of the brokenness in her life and committed suicide. During that service, God's presence was so real that no one left unmoved, including scores of people who don't believe in Jesus.

That funeral did someting very personal in me. It showed me that God still had a purpose for me and that prostate cancer would not define my life.

 

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Thank you!

Dear Stone Ridge,
Most of my letters to you are communicated via email, but I have intentionally "borrowed" my blog to do this one so that all of you might see some pictures and video you might not get through your email service.

Let me begin by telling you that I will conclude this letter with a report of our church giving and financial status through the first quarter of 2013. If you are like Joe Friday on Dragnet -- "Just the facts, ma'am; just the facts" -- you can always cut to the end of the letter and skip all the good stuff in between. In my opinion, that will be like cutting past the main course and the dessert to get to the toothpick, but that's your right.

We began 2013 with a challenge to take our "Accelerate 1 8" emphasis from 2012 to a new level. Many of you know that "Accelerate 1 8" is based on Acts 1:8 "But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you. And you will be my witnesses, telling people about me everywhere—in Jerusalem, throughout Judea, in Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” (New Living Translation) Last year we emphasized prayer, training in personal evangelism, text-message reminders and a sharp increase in sharing Christ during our service projects. 2012 was pivotal, because we began to live out our purpose of Declaring and Demonstrating the Gospel throughout the region.

We also discovered an "aha!" that gave us a laser-like focus as a church: adopting neighborhoods. When our Children's Ministry took VBS On The Road to a nearby neighborhood, the entire church seemed to "get it" and seek ways to serve the people living there. That reality led us to "Accelerate 1 8, Second Gear: Adopting Neighborhoods." We will continue our work in the Sierra Pacific neighborhood, but are praying for God to show us a second neighborhood to adopt this year.
As we talked about "Second Gear" in January, God surprised us with a level of "buy-in" that totally caught us off guard. Instead of simply settling for a second neighborhood as a focus for the whole church, Small Groups began to ask how they could adopt their own neighborhoods. Soon we were getting reports like this:

Here is the short version of our serving project, there were so many little miracles along the way, it's hard to make it this short but here goes!

This serving project was an ultimate success. Where to begin? One evening in small group prayer when this idea came to me, from then on, the plans flowed and the doors from God were opened with absolute ease. Contacting the field foreman, getting the permission, the date, organizing the menu. Getting the people together. And always always praying from start to finish. Stress and worry was shot down pretty darn quick no matter what came up. God had His hand in this and the plan was already made by Him. Everyone in small group came through with something, and helped and we made it to the field on Tuesday as planned. My last little stresser was finding a Spanish speaker who would accompany us. The Sunday before our date, I met a woman sitting behind me in church. Came to find out she was not new to Stone Ridge, and had been going about as long as I have, but we had never crossed paths. She even lives on the same street as I do, Yolanda M is her name. We talked, I told her about our neighborhood serving project, and found out she spoke fluent Spanish. She agreed to meet us at the field. I am so thankful to God for that, she translated for us and the workers knew we came to show God's love. I am so so humbled right now. The men and women who work the field to harvest the food we eat, they work so hard in the hot sun all day. They started at 5am (still dark out) and worked all day. Not to mention what time they must get on those buses to arrive by 5 am. They were very kind, hungry and thirsty and so grateful for the lunch we served them. So thankful to Clark and Kimberly W, Lisa T, Lauri D, Rita O, Yolanda M, Cheri W, Rubio from T&A, and all of the people who prayed for us. Mostly thankful to Our Great God, who "fed" us that day as we fed them. If there was something to be learned when serving God it is this, Just Trust Him and Go!!!

Here is the verse we passed out to all in Spanish
Deuteronomy 15:16
-- For the LORD your God will bless you in all your harvest and in all the work of your hands, and your joy will be complete.

Margie O

Other Small Groups were looking for ways to "adopt" their own neighborhoods. Most of these began by prayer-walking...

...some extended their reach by taking cookies to their neighbors. At least a few of our groups threw big neighborhood parties, with many of their neighbors getting acquainted for the first time. "Adopting Neighborhoods" is getting into our DNA! What would happen if every neighborhood in this region was adopted by a local church who prayed for them, demonstrating and declaring God's love to them? What would happen if every neighborhood had homes where the peace of God was so powerful that neighbors would just drop by to enjoy His presence?

Just this week, a girl's Small Group from our Student Ministry is giving away homemade lemonade (with Scripture verses on the cups) at Gateway Park. They, too, are our neighbors!

Meanwhile at Sierra Pacific, the doors keep opening wider. We have a weekly after school club there for kids and bring a number of the kids to our AWANA program on campus. We have also been seeking a way to begin an adult Small Group in the neighborhood and realized that a Financial Peace University might be a great approach to meet a significant need. Neighborhood management opened the door for us to start FPU on April 18 -- please pray! While our pastors were there to talk about FPU, the manager told how much they need an English class in their neighborhood. The successful class that had been there ended when funding was lost. We are working with them to establish a new class.

Sierra Pacific is full of kids, as you can see...

...and those kids ate burgers and hot dogs at our recent BBQ, in between playing basketball and soccer with many of our young adults and teens. Our Student ministry has invited the Middle School and High School students who live in the neighborhood to attend their upcoming Road Rally, transforming it from a fellowship event to a missions event.

You may not know that Stone Ridge learned missions from our partner church, Primera Iglesia Bautista in Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic. They have taught us much about how to have a presence in the neighborhood. We sent a team there again in March, where they worked on construction and evangelism projects. Many people received Christ and the team was overwhelmed by the presence of God. In addition, we continue our cross-cultural work in Hyder, AZ and Morelos, Mexico.

That's how we began our outreach emphasis for Easter this year, using social media along with our neighbor initiatives to invite people to a service. The campus was ready...

...and our hearts were expectant. God answered prayers and showed up to change lives. The results?

12 people were baptized
15 people gave their hearts to Christ
1479 in attendance

I told you at the beginning of this long letter that I would give you a report on our finances for the first quarter of 2013. I am overwhelmed by God's goodness and your generous gifts. Here are a few highlights:
January - March 2013 income is almost $50,000 above January - March 2012.
January - March income is over $63,000 above expenses.

As I give you those numbers, I can imagine two questions from you. 1. Why has giving increased so much? 2. What will we do with the surplus? On the first question, I can think of a few possibilities including the growing number of our people have completed Financial Peace University. One primary reason, though, is that our staff sensed God's leadership to reallocate some of our budget early this year because it was out of balance. It was a hard decision, but God immediately blessed our obedience.

What about that surplus? The short answer is, "I don't know, but our Elders will be praying over it to discern God's will." I think that God is getting us ready to take further steps of faith with a desire to reach more people. Please pray with us!

What a great joy to bring this report to you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for praying, giving, serving, telling, inviting and believing. By God's grace, we will see things happen this year we could never have imagined!

Sam

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