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School just isn’t the same this year. My favorite colleague retired and I can no longer retreat to his eclectic room during break to listen to jazz and sip coffee. I don’t have anyone to debrief after staff meetings or anyone who will shamelessly glom on to my contribution to the faculty potluck. I don’t have a favorite monthly chapel speaker who, though his speeches contained stories peppered with the names and personalities of seniors and a recurring character, seemed to be talking directly to me.

Yesterday, when I trained some students as peer listeners, I asked them if they could think of someone who was genuinely accepting of all students. I realized as I asked that previous students had always said his name.

Sure, I still get to see my favorite colleague. In fact, I like being able to see him even more as we “collaborate” on projects outside of school. He’s darn good at the extracurricular projects as well (photos and explanation will be in a forthcoming post). However, today, after a staff meeting with no relatives in the room, I really miss working with my dad.

It’s a little long for a blog post, but I’ve returned to it so often that I thought you might want to read it as well. Dad’s graduation address to the class of 2008. Here it is…

SCHS GRADUATION 2008

TEXT:

“…but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” (Isaiah 40:31)

MESSAGE:

The text our graduating seniors have chosen for this occasion is the concluding verse to the powerfully eloquent 40th chapter of Isaiah which begins with these familiar words: “Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.” Let’s read together out loud the text the graduates have chosen. It is printed in your program: “…BUT THOSE WHO HOPE IN THE LORD WILL RENEW THEIR STRENGTH. THEY WILL SOAR ON WINGS LIKE EAGLES; THEY WILL RUN AND NOT GROW WEARY, THEY WILL WALK AND NOT FAINT.”

To catch the full impact of this verse for the occasion we celebrate tonight, we must first recall the occasion for which the prophet Isaiah originally wrote these words from God. Isaiah began his ministry around 700 B.C. He spoke forcefully about the events in his day: Israel’s sin and God’s coming judgment at the hands of the Assyrians. The Holy Spirit also gave Isaiah a sharp, telescopic view of the future as well, when God would use Babylon to punish the tribes of Judah for their sin. It happened, of course, about a hundred years later in 586 B.C. when the forces of Babylon leveled Jerusalem and hauled off the brightest and best of Judah’s youth—including Daniel and his three friends.

But Isaiah’s vision into the future did not end with his prediction of judgment. The Spirit also gave him the light to see that Cyrus, rising leader of the Persians, would defeat Babylon some 50 years later and release all captives who wished to go back home to Judah—and this, friends, is the first occasion to which Isaiah addressed the words of our text.

The Judean captives were on the very threshold of freedom. They would be able to leave Babylon and go back to their homeland. But the trip was long and treacherous. Besides, they had no money to sustain them along the way and no military force to protect them. And even if they reached the homeland of their dreams, they would find only ruin and enemies who had already laid claim to what was once theirs. Many became despondent, convinced they did not have the strength to cross the threshold and step out on the long journey.

Enlightened by the Spirit, Isaiah saw their situation from afar, and so he wrote to them, “…those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

I can’t say for certain, but maybe you graduates picked these words of Isaiah as your class text because the occasion for which they were first written bears some similarity to the occasion of your graduation from South Christian. Tell me, do you feel a little bit like captives on the threshold of freedom? No longer will your days be defined by the sound of a tardy bell. No longer will you have to get a signed permission slip just to walk down the hallway or go to the restroom during class time or use the computers in the library. No longer will a dress code prescribe what you can wear and how you can or cannot wear it.

And maybe, too, you find all this new freedom from school and home to be somewhat frightening. You don’t face the same things that the Judean captives in Babylon faced when Cyrus set them free. But the fact is, you face formidable obstacles and challenges. The economy is not good. Jobs are getting scarce and energy costs keep getting higher. You may worry if there is work for you with a living wage. Perhaps you have chosen to go to college, but you’re not sure what you should choose for a major. Meanwhile, college is expensive, and you wonder how in the world you will ever be able to repay a college debt—and perhaps start a home of your own at the same time. Besides all this, we are a nation at war which is always a special burden of the young.

But these are not even the most serious challenges you face. You will find that the most serious are always within your selves: struggling with the sin that is bent on destroying you, managing the weaknesses that threaten to unravel your lives.

Life is difficult. Life is hard—even for young people. To think otherwise is to live in fantasy land. We live East of Eden in a fallen creation and will continue to do so until Jesus Christ comes again and all things are made new.

But the good news in the meantime is that God is for you. There is no greater power imaginable—and he has promised to be your strength. Listen again to some of the things Isaiah says about this great God of ours before he even gets to the text you have chosen for your class text.

“See, the sovereign Lord comes with power….”

“He tends his flock like a shepherd: he gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart….”

“Who (other than God) has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens?”

“He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth.”

“Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.”

Isaiah then goes on to tell the Judean captives in Babylon as well as you, class of 2008, that those who hope in this Lord will renew their strength. Note well: Isaiah does not say that problems, obstacles, and anxieties will evaporate when you put your hope in the Lord, but he does promise that the Lord God will renew your strength, literally exchange your strength with his own so that you can make it through even the most challenging problems, obstacles, and anxieties.

But what does it mean to “hope in the Lord?” Let’s deal with that.

It means to put our trust completely in the Lord. It means to stake our lives here and now as well as our eternal destiny on God—and not something less than God such as our money, our talents, or health. All these things will disappear. Sometimes they disappear overnight. Only God is eternal. Only God, therefore, is worthy of our trust. Only God is the proper anchor of our hope.

What does it mean to “hope in the Lord?” It means to weave, with every deliberate choice we make, whether small or big, the fragile thread of our own will into the steel cable of his will—so that what we want is what he wants for us. And then to rest in this certainty: that what he wants for us is good and right because he is good and right.

What does it mean to “hope in the Lord?” Most of all, it means to believe the good news of the Gospel that God made us right with himself through Jesus Christ and that he implanted the Holy Spirit in us to make us over completely in the likeness of his Son. We are his children and, what’s more, his heirs who look forward to the new creation. To hope in the Lord is to rest secure in the strong arms of his grace, assured that nothing can ever separate us from his love for us.

All of us, whether young or old, are a bit like the Judean captives way back when. You young graduates cross the threshold of freedom tonight and will soon set out on a long journey, ultimately for the homeland of our dreams—nothing less than the new creation. This is your time to stretch your wings, leave the nest, and soar all over God’s creation, fallen and broken as it is now, listening for his call and searching for the role he wants you to play in his redemption of it. This can be exhilarating, but it is also tough work and it may take you on a few fruitless flights. That’s why the text just preceding the one you have chosen says, “Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall.” But God’s Word is sure. You can count on it: young people who put their hope in the Lord will renew their strength—and they will soar on wings like eagles.

Your parents generation has crossed the threshold of freedom a bit before you. They are at a run on this journey to the homeland of our dreams—this redeemed creation that is our inheritance in Christ. Their lives are often one harried race against time. If they are not dashing here to see after you, their kids, they are running somewhere else to attend an important meeting for the church or school, to take a meal to a needy family, to lead a youth group or some other mission in the church, to look after their aging parents—all while working full time. If they don’t fall asleep at night exhausted, they lie awake worrying about you. God’s promise in the text you have chosen is for them too. They may become weary, but their weariness will not bring them down and cause them to give up: “those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength…they will run and not grow weary.”

And then there is my generation. We crossed the threshold of freedom way back in the Middle Ages. We are long past those days of soaring or even running. We are on a walk, a slow and steady walk, to the homeland of our dreams—that new earth beneath a new sky. You may find it incomprehensible that anyone merely walking should grow faint—but then, you are still young. Doubts, fears, and temptations plague us too—and we have found from experience, many times along the way in this journey of ours, that it is only our hope in the Lord that renews our strength and keeps us from fainting. We have known God’s promise to be true: “those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength…they will walk and not be faint.”

As you graduates leave South Christian, test your wings, and soar—you may some day notice an old guy plodding along. It might just be me. Drop on down for a visit, and we will talk about our hope in the Lord, the hope that renews our strength and keeps us going, all the way to the homeland of our dreams.

and hardly time to think.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. I’m guessing you’ve noticed. Each October it seems the gorgeous colors of fall get a huge dose of pepto-bismol from on high and everywhere I go from the grocery store to the movie theatre to the library–pink is everywhere.

I’m of two minds about this.

The first mind is annoyed. Everywhere I turn I am reminded of a disease that is actively trying to take my life. It ticks me off. Since my default defense mechanism is denial, this pink pink everywhere makes it pretty hard to keep the blinders up. And pink. The most innocuous color for a disease that is hell-bent on death. Perhaps it makes the reality of it more palatable, but it hides the gloom beneath a pretty shell. Perhaps to add insult to injury, there are the “save the ta-ta’s”-type slogans that cheapen the fight for life we are after, not just saving the breasts we can actually live without.

The second mind is far kinder. I wonder if, before all of this awareness began, I would have to whisper about my cancer journey–the word “breast” being somehow too salacious to say. Would we talk so openly about the mothers, sisters, daughters, wives who struggle against this disease? Would we race to cure it? Probably not. There is a sense, when I get past my gut reaction, that this pink signifies a unity in fighting the disease that has somehow inserted itself into all of our lives. A visible sign that we are in this together. And we are.

My second mind usually wins this pink debate. Especially a few weeks ago when Zoe was riding in the back of the van with her friend, Lucy. They were eating yogurt. Lucy licked the pink top of her yogurt perfectly clean, handed it to Zoe and said, “Here, Zoe, you can have this, maybe it will help your Mommy.”

Yep, we’re all in this together. All the time.

It has been eight weeks since the latest Meyer cousin burst on the scene. Henry Christian Meyer.

Here he is…

looking concerned (and a little fuzzy)

looking silly (and still a little fuzzy)

doing his amused Dick Cheney impression

thinking about the economy

deciding if he could pose as his father to cast a ballot on Nov. 4

He could.

YAY! Good news at the doctor today. The Gemzar seems to be effective and the nodules in my lungs are slowly shrinking. Mark and I didn’t quite know what to do with good news, it’s been a while!

I’ll have a week off from chemo next week, then start again on the 21st. We’ll add in the second drug this time: Avastin. I’ll have chemo every other week until it’s time to check again.

I’m feeling so relieved about this. It came at just the right time in my chemo cycle too since my bad day(s) are right now. Helps me know that all this body-achy pain and other random side effects are well worth it. And I’m grateful that I can do it every other week rather than muscling through eight in a row like we just did.

Praise God for this lovely news!

(Now, back to bed for me–with bright hope for a good day tomorrow!)

Last spring, when we were visiting the Veals in Atlanta, Mark stumbled upon a book about card tricks. It was then, he contends with a straight face and his usual unflappable demeanor, that his hobby found him. Sure, he shrugs, he could have taken up the plaster patching his wife was hinting at. He could have taken up running electrical outlets (another hobby cheered by his wife.). But, hey, those hobbies didn’t find him first. Slight of hand did and there is simply nothing he can do about it. His wife either, if you want to know.

As usual, my piece of humble pie comes shortly after holding forth on some concept or other. This time having hobbies actually benefit the family some way. And humble pie this week is served up in my own hobby finding me.

I had thought that my hobbies were decorating ad nauseum, taking walks, ignoring grocery shopping, etc. I was wrong. The hobby that has come to supplant all of these is… napping.

I am getting quite good at it. I can fall asleep within seconds. I can time them just for when I’m ready to come unhinged. OK, sometimes the unhinging does happen, but at least then I know enough to get myself into bed. The use of ativan in napping is a new perfection of the art that I am working on.

And how does my sweet spouse handle this? Does he roll his eyes at me? Does he ask exactly how this hobby benefits the chore list? Does he harangue? Does he even know how to harangue?

Perhaps you have guessed that the answer to all of this is no. He’s perfect. Nothing like showing me up yet again. Oh, and he does really cool card tricks while he’s being all understanding and empty the dishwasher-y.

Sigh. Makes me want to go take a nap.

When I was working at Calvin, my wonderful boss sent around a powerful article about time management. Perhaps if you read the article at the end of this post, you’ll realize why I loved working for him.

Today, I had to take that article to heart yet again. I had to “empty my jar” and put the big rocks back in. This meant resigning from committees I actually like, canceling plans with people I’d really like to see. Slowing myself down.

This was really hard. But really necessary. And the casualty in all this down-sizing, I’m afraid, is none other than my pride.

I have always liked being busy. I over-schedule with a certain wicked glee at all I am “accomplishing.” Last night and this morning, though, my accomplishments got the best of me and I found that I was by no means a victor over the laws of nature.

So. Gulp. Back to the big rocks. I believe Mark and Zoe won’t mind.

Here’s the article:

In the middle of a seminar on time management, recalls Covey in his book First Things First, the lecturer said, “Okay, it’s time for a quiz.” Reaching under the table, he pulled out a wide-mouthed gallon jar and set it on the table next to a platter covered with fist-sized rocks. “How many of these rocks do you think we can get in the jar?” he asked the audience.

After the students made their guesses, the seminar leader said, “Okay, let’s find out.” He put one rock in the jar, then another, then another–until no more rocks would fit. Then he asked, “Is the jar full?”

Everybody could see that not one more of the rocks would fit, so they said, “Yes.”

“Not so fast,” he cautioned. From under the table he lifted out a bucket of gravel, dumped it in the jar, and shook it. The gravel slid into all the little spaces left by the big rocks. Grinning, the seminar leader asked once more, “Is the jar full?”

A little wiser by now, the students responded, “Probably not.”

“Good,” the teacher said. Then he reached under the table to bring up a bucket of sand. He started dumping the sand in the jar. While the students watched, the sand filled in the little spaces left by the rocks and gravel. Once more he looked at the class and said, “Now, is the jar full?”

“No,” everyone shouted back.

“Good!” said the seminar leader, who then grabbed a pitcher of water and began to pour it into the jar. He got something like a quart of water into that jar before he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the jar is now full. Can anybody tell me the lesson you can learn from this? What’s my point?”

An eager participant spoke up: “Well, there are gaps in your schedule. And if you really work at it, you can always fit more into your life.”

“No,” the leader said. “That’s not the point. The point is this: if I hadn’t put those big rocks in first, I would never have gotten them in.”

When I did chemotherapy five years ago, I discovered a fair bit about myself. Chief among those revelations? I have control issues.

I also discovered a fair bit about what happens when one person in the family is really sick. Things snowball, fall apart, fray at the edges. In other words, all the control issues in the world couldn’t stop Zoe from getting ear infection after ear infection. Couldn’t keep me from getting every side effect listed on the handouts. Couldn’t keep the “just one more freakin’ thing” from happening every time we turned around.

So perhaps that lack-of-control experience, which culminated in the swan dive I took off our garage steps (cringe if you remember), has made me a bit over-zealous in the control department with the chemo I’m doing now.

But only perhaps.

On Wednesday night, Daisy came in from the back yard and I noticed a small perfectly round circle of missing fur on her back. I went to bed.

As I lay there, that circle of missing fur started to bug me. So what did I do? Consult the internet. Not a wise thing to do since the Voice of Reason I married was out at a movie.

Looked like the old dog had gotten ringworm. Which is NOT A PARASITE (whew) but a fungus (yuck) and not contagious much unless you have a compromised immune system. Well, I’ve got one of those, I told myself, so I better kick this potential fungus out.

This meant calling the vet, the carpet cleaners, and alerting my cleaning lady (who is the bomb), and brainstorming potential people I could ask to take Daisy if she needed to be away from my during her fight against the fungus. After school I went the oncologist, picked up Zoe from her friend’s house, sped off to the vet–all while the calm Voice of Reason was in Kalamazoo having a much needed visit with his best friend.

By the time Mark got home, the house was ready for full attack the potential fungus mode. Including this icing on the cake: Daisy must wear a t-shirt so that I don’t accidentally touch the small spot (boarding not needed-whew). Though we won’t know what it actually is until Monday, this little fungi has no chance of survival.

The house is spotless down to every linen. The carpet is clean. Daisy is clothed.

And, oh that control, it does feel darn good sometimes. Daisy might not agree.

On this Labor Day, let me send my cyber-greetings to the members of the LofAHW (Lovers of All Hard Work) Labor Union. Uncle Verne, his name besmirched by his brothers (one of whom is my father), began this labor union back on the farm after repeated accusations that he made himself scarce when there were chores to be done.

Founder and president, Uncle Verne graciously welcomed me into the LofAHW when, at the tender age of 17, I was required to paint the attic floor on my hands and knees in the heat of summer all on the grounds of “we’re all part of this family and we all pull our weight around here.” The LofAHW sprang to my aid, though their heartfelt negotiations fell on the deaf ears of the Management. The attic floor was painted well, but workers rights were trampled and I became a labor union member.

Though my sister has since joined the ranks of the LofAHW, our meetings are far too infrequent. Perhaps our labor union president is too busy toiling at his lake house or participating in “strunt” with his siblings. I can only imagine that he is using his time with the efficiency and honor that has come to exemplify the LofAHW.

Today, in honor of the LofAHW, I will leave my attic floor unpainted. What, Uncle Verne, will you be doing?

Two photos that I just received from my friend, Jamie. He took them over the weekend while we were visiting at their family cottage. They have already become favorites, reminding me that even while I struggle against this disease, any day that I am a mother to my daughter and a wife to my husband is a great day. God is good. All the time.

Oh, and I met a THIRTEEN year survivor of metastatic breast cancer yesterday. Woo-hoo!

As I was getting my IV put in today, I was reading the Domino magazine that came in the mail yesterday. Since it took them 9 tries to get the IV in, I finished the magazine before the chemo even got started.

I noticed a poster in the magazine which was posted around Great Britain during WWII. It is a classic. I immediately ordered it after leaving my appointment. It is my new mantra for chemo and beyond. And I have the perfect freshly painted wall in my study to hang it on.

Check it out…

So now you don’t even have to ask me “how are you?”, merely, “Right, then. Carrying on, are you? Brilliant, brilliant, luv.”