Troubled Waters

Awhile back I received a very inspiring e-mail from a long-time friend of mine in Portland Oregon, herself a cancer survivor, which said in part:

“In my experience, cancer is many things. It is a nuisance, a wake-up call, a spiritual initiation (if you learn to embrace it), a gift and an opportunity for very deep healing on all levels.

You can heal yourself, Tim, and you will be a better, more compassionate, happier person at the end of it. Every cancer patient has to ask a very real question of themselves: "Do I want to live"? If the answer is yes, the next question is "Am I willing to do everything it takes to survive?!" A lot of times there is deep inner emotional healing that needs to take place. Each person is different. You need to access your own inner knowing about what this cancer is about for you.

My most important words of advice to you (for what it is worth): Let the love into your being, Tim. It is all about love. I wish you much learning on your healing journey.”

I’ve been pondering over this e-mail ever since, looking for my own “inner knowing” about my disease and also whatever “deep inner emotional healing” needs to take place in my own life right now. And much of this introspection is also trying to make sense of another strange thing that happened to me just the day before, when I picked up my Greek Testament -- just to move it off my nightstand, really -- and tossed it on the bed, and it fell open to John 5. Not exactly a portion of the Gospel I’ve spent a lot of time with myself, but apparently a favorite passage of the previous owner of this particular volume...and suddenly there I was at the sheep pool at Bethesda among the blind, the halt, and the withered...and there was this same question all over again: theleis (h)ugies genesthai -- “Wilt Thou be Made Whole?”

Then, of course, comes all that business about the troubled waters and no one to help and the legitimacy of working/healing on the Sabbath. But the command is simply “pick up your bed and walk” -- and apparently not down into the healing waters, but to walk away -- back home -- wherever that might be after 38 years. And I’ve never really understood the relationship between the question and the command: “Will you allow yourself to be made whole?” “Then pick up your bed and WALK!” What is the connection between the Wish and the Will? How much of our healing is a product of our own effort, and how much is simply an openness to being and seeing ourselves as whole?

And then there’s that root again: genesthai/be made = Genesis, Generate, Generosity. Seems like that word pops up a lot in my life these days. Anyway, enough of all this. I have other things to muse about this Sunday.

Thank God It's Friday -- I think

Whew... I just don't know where all my energy has gone, but this has been kind of a busy week, with a fair amount of church work (our DRE's exit interview, a meeting with the Worship Committee, and with a wedding couple), plus a few lunches out (including the Greek Festival at the Orthodox Church just a block up the street from where I'm living) and a whole new medical situation to deal with. Probably ought to talk about the last first, since it is also the most important. I'd been experiencing some pretty serious edema in my left leg, which sure enough turns out to be the result of a deep vein thrombosis blood clot. So now I'm being treated with Coumadin and daily Heparin injections, and trying not to worry too much about a pulmonary embolism. But between that and my regular chemo, I've pretty much been to the doctor's office every day this week, which really cuts into my reading and blogging time. Plus I really am feeling pretty tired, and finding it harder and harder just to get through a lot of my normal "Activities of Daily Living." But enough! Enough. Hopefully this weekend I'll have a chance to get caught up a little and unpacked in my new place, maybe visit a little with Parker, and generally take things a little easier than I have these past few weekends. I may even find the time to blog a little more regularly Little steps, little steps.

Team Isle

OK, maybe this is all blogworthy, and maybe it's not -- but both my brothers Kurt and Erik and my sister-in-law Lynne have been here visiting me this past weekend, helping me unpack some things at my new garden apartment that until now have been at my other apartment on Carleton. And in the meantime, they've been ferrying me around to some of my favorite haunts from the old neighborhood. Tonight was the climax -- Monday Night Stump Trivia at Binga's Wingas, where I still haven't lost my touch. In fact, with the support of my siblings we shattered my old record with a contest-winning 124 points, blowing away our closest competition ("My Couch Pulls Out But I Don't") by 21. Our prize: five free tickets to see the Sea Dogs play next month -- which of course is the one thing we all really wanted to do together as a family while everyone was HERE, only to discover that the Pups themselves were scheduled to be on the road this entire time.

In any event, I know it's goofy, but I can't tell you how good it makes me feel to go out on a Monday night with my family and win this silly little trivia game. Can't tell you how good it felt to see my friends sitting at the bar in their usual spots, and to be greeted by the wait-staff, and simply to enjoy being in the company of a lot of other people who are all having a similarly good time. And I can see why people sometimes compare their favorite hangouts to "going to church," because a lot of those same elements are present, right down to the little rituals around where one sits and how often one goes and what one does when one gets there. It truly does "bind us again" to simple touchstones of community which extend beyond ourselves alone. Of course, there are differences too -- big differences. But that doesn't mean there isn't room in our lives for both.

Lot's of other things to blog about too, but I'm tired and think I probably ought to go to bed. That is, if the "thrill of victory" doesn't keep me up with excitement all night long! I'm very proud of "Team Isle." Our opposition didn't stand a chance. And just think: from their perspective, if we hadn't just randomly wandered into Binga's tonight, they might have been the ones staying up late dreaming of Minor League baseball....

June 21st, 1985

Shortly after midnight at the Peachtree Plaza Hotel in Atlanta, Georgia. Good Lord -- where did I find that jacket, and how could Margie have possibly agreed to let me wear it it public? And on my wedding day no less? Bonus Points to anyone who can identify the two gentlemen seated on either side of the aisle in the front row (answer will be provided in a subsequent post). And thanks again to my good friend and seminary classmate Judy Meyer, who officiated at this late-night ceremony on the longest day of the year, and reminded me that there was indeed photographic evidence to prove it!

Moving Day (yet once again)

And I suppose just because I'm having a little trouble finding anything profound to say, doesn't mean I shouldn't blog about the mundane.

Yesterday was yet once again Moving Day: this time into what I'm thinking of as the "garden apartment" -- gave up my 4th floor view for a 1st floor balcony, which in the long run will also make it much easier for me to have Parker back with me full-time. She was up here for a few hours on Wednesday afternoon, just hanging out at the Membership Committee meeting and enjoying the last few bites of a roast beef sandwich.. and I got the funniest look from her as she was being hooked back up to her leash by her caregiver: a puzzled little look over her left shoulder as if to say "Well, why aren't YOU coming?" before she trotted out the door. Wish I could have photographed it, because the expression was unmistakable. Yet another illustration of the deep and profound symbiotic relationship between Homo sapiens and Canis familiaris. Miss having the critter here with me, but like so many other things in my life right now, I'm just not capable of doing that 24/7 -- and so I'm very lucky and fortunate to have people in my life who are will to step up and step in and take her (and all the accompanying responsibilities of caring for a 13 year old dog) into their own homes. And Parker herself really seems to be thriving: she's lost about 5 lbs I would guess (about 20% of her body weight) and is looking like a puppy again. But she also still suffers from her own hip and back problems, and (like Daddy) sure seems to appreciate plenty of opportunity to nap in the middle of the afternoon.

The other thing that has really been slowing me down this week has been a pronounced edema in my left leg, which has been accompanied by the return of often acute pain all up and down that same leg and in my lower back, which in turn (as you might imagine) has slowed me down considerably in my routine "Activities of Daily Living." Combine that with quite a few outside medical appointments (well, a CT scan plus a hearing test Wednesday -- they like to jam them in on my "off" treatment weeks)) and my regular PT and hectic social schedule...and I've been struggling a little to keep up. It's going to take me a little while longer before I really feel like I've settled in here as well. But I do think I'm going to like it. And unlike the other room, here on the First floor I do enjoy AORTA - 24/7 Always On Real Time Access to the internet. Which will make it an awful lot easier to sit up in bed and blog at 4 in the morning...which yes, people, is EXACTLY what I am doing right now.

Today is the Summer Solstice: the beginning of summer, the longest day of the year, what would have been (and I suppose still is) my 23rd Wedding Anniversary. Both brother Erik from Connecticut and brother Kurt and his wife Lynne from Seattle are here for the long weekend to hang out and enjoy it with me, as well as to help out with the transition from my old accommodations to my new ones. I'm afraid I haven't really been the best of company so far, but I'm hoping that will all change soon. It the meantime, I'm trying to keep that left leg elevated as much as I can, and looking forward to the dawn. Which (because this IS the longest day of the year) will no doubt be here a lot more quickly than we imagine.

A hand-made pop-up card

From my Aunt. The text reads "May the rough waters of today diminish and return you to good health and smooth sailing soon."

Father's Day

And just enough time here for a little light ramble before supper. Been thinking a lot about Fatherhood this Father's Day -- my own father and grandfathers, and what they taught me "by precept and example," and how that has shaped me for good or ill; my own role as a step-father to two pretty remarkable children now turned young adults; the many mentors I have enjoyed, both men and women, who have helped guide me in my life both personally and professionally; and my own gradual adjustment to that role in the lives of others, and how rewarding that has been in its own right. And I don't know that I have anything especially profound to add to the public discussion of these issues; my thoughts and experiences are pretty mundane and run-of-the-mill I should think. I have once again been truly blessed by the generosity of others, for which my ONLY appropriate response is one of gratitude.

But the main thing I've been thinking of is how the fundamental asymmetrical nature of the mentoring relationship is both a blessing and potentially a curse, depending on how well healthy boundaries are respected. The potential for abuse is staggering. But when we recognize that boundaries are both the place where we meet as well as the border which allows us each to maintain our own integrity...well, it costs so little to be a mentor (take a genuine interest, be generous and available, but never meddle or -- God forbid! -- manipulate...especially in the decision-making process), and yet it means so much to the protégé. And likewise, mentors get so much back from the relationship as well, while all the protégés have to do is be honest to themselves!

And in many ways it's the same for Parenthood, although much more intense. One of the strange fringe-benefits of my illness is that I've been spending a lot more time together with my Dad, whom I have rarely seen for longer than a day or two at a time since leaving the Pacific Northwest for Graduate School in 1978. In that same period I spent LOTS of time with my Mom: lived with her on several occasions, traveled with her in Europe and around the US -- that sort of thing. So spending this time with my Dad has been a real gift, which I hope we will both be able to enjoy the benefits of for a long, long time.

So two cheers for Patriarchy...and let's just try to work out that last little bit among us so that everyone feels OK and harmony in the family can be restored. And Happy Father's Day everyone!!

Big Tim's Bait & Tackle Shop

I actually met Tim Russert once. On Nantucket, in the vestibule of the Unitarian Church on Orange Street, on a warm summer evening in 2003. We were hosting a Caribbean Gospel Concert -- a sort of open-ended, open microphone with dozens of acts that lasted for hours and pretty much flowed out into the street and back into the church again until well after midnight.

I was the minister, but that night I was serving as the sexton and keeping an eye on things from the back of the church...so of course when he wandered in I recognized him right away, and greeted him with that knowing nod I'm sure he saw hundreds of times a day. Then he noticed my T-shirt -- "Big Tim's Bait & Tackle Shop" -- and asked me where I'd gotten it. And I told him it had been a gift from my daughter, who lived off-Island, which I think disappointed him. I think I was hoping for an actual bait shop. Or at least a local T-shirt store (of which there are certainly no shortage on Nantucket).

He hung around for awhile listen to the music, and then eventually drifted away to whatever else he had to do that evening. I feel such sympathy right now for his family, for his friends and colleagues, for everyone who felt like they could trust him to tell the truth about what was happening in Washington DC. He's one member of the press I'm certainly very grateful I had a chance to meet. I'm just relieved he didn't ask me for the shirt off my back. 'Cause I probably would have given it to him....

False Starts

So, three false starts already to this blog this week, and who's to say this won't be a fourth? But it's been kind of a hard week for mel, with my emotions all very close to the surface...all wrapped up in a tight little parcel around the ending of the church year, and all of the transitions and leave-taking and emotional closure that happens around this time.

One of the most difficult things about my job is that no matter how well I think we are doing in the area of "retention," about 10% (or more!) of a congregation's membership turns over every year -- perhaps 5% to death, and the other 5% to various other factors, many of which are positive -- new jobs, new opportunities, that sort of thing. But this year those transitions have seemed particularly profound, especially since they've involved so many staff and leadership transitions as well, and the challenge of filling the institutional needs brought about by my illness.

And then there's my own growing realization that I'm going to have to give up my apartment. Or starting the process of filing a long-term disability claim...which is psychologically VERY difficult even though it is obvious to everyone that I am physically incapable even of getting to and from my "job," much less performing it at 100%. But this too just reinforces my own feelings of helplessness, and isolation, and dependency, and frustration....

And yes, I keep trying to come to grips with the difference between "adversity" and "catastrophe" -- and to keep reminding others not to stray over to the dark side of that line, but to remain confident that these present challenges will only make us stronger. Still, it's hard not to look out my window on a beautiful day like today and remember what my life was like just six, or twelve, or even three months ago. And what I NEED to be thinking about is what I want my life to be like three, or six, or twelve months from NOW. I WILL feel better at the end of this ChemoRx. Need to look forward to THAT day, rather than back at days that will never come again.

And just when you think there's no hope left in the world, the Celtics come back from a 35-14 First Quarter deficit to beat the Lakers handily on their own floor in Game Four. And even though I was hoping to see a seven-game series, and thought that the Lakers First Quarter run was a work of art (especially since Kobe Bryant didn't score a single basket), I would have loved to have seen what the Celtics did in the Third Quarter to match it...but instead I'd gone upstairs to bed, since I was feeling a little tired and didn't want to "push it," And was that the right decision or not? Well, who knows? I need to remind myself of this though: there is always a second half to be played, and I've got plenty of firepower on the bench. Defend, Rebound, Run the Floor, Share the Ball, Attack the Basket, Make the Extra (but not the EXCESS) Pass to Earn an Easy Score. It really is a very simple game. But so elegant and graceful in its balance and athleticism....

The View from My Window

I'm so sick and tired...

of feeling sick and tired. And that's the bottom line, not to put too fine a point on it. Not that I'm whining or anything. Except, of course, that's exactly what I'm doing. Mostly because I can't really think of anything better to do.

Here are a couple of other things I've noticed too. It always hurts a little less with the lights on. And it always feels a little cooler in the dark. And as for this business about misery loving company, I'm still not really sure what to make of that. It's always nice to have someone to commiserate with, provided they are reasonably congenial themselves. But I would certainly hate for anyone else to have to go through the kind of "puniness" I've been going though just so that I could have a little company. And sometimes, frankly, it's also nice just to sit in the dark and suffer in silence. You know, sulk...but in a spiritually-superior fashion, in some kinda "Dark Knight of the Soul" via negativa midnight vigil sort of way....

I also wonder whether anyone has really done a scientific study about the therapeutic efficacy of kvetching? I know they've studied faith and prayer and religious "connection," marriage and optimism and sense of humor...but what about good old fashion flat-out plain complaining? Onryness. Whatever. Why does it always have to be about light and hope and positive thinking? Off the record, I'm pretty certain I know of at least one or two people who are simply too mean-spirited EVER to give up the ghost....

It's happiness that loves company. And what I miss most now that I'm not my "normal" self is being able simply to take myself out on a night like this to some public place (like Bingas or Bonobo) and have something to drink and a bite to eat and just hang out in the presence of other people who know who I am and who are there for the same reasons I am...and to laugh and play a little Trivia and then to walk back home to a good night's sleep in my own bed again. And what makes me sad is not just knowing that I'm not going to be doing that tonight, but understanding that even if I were to TRY to do it tonight, it would be an ordeal rather than a pleasure...because I'm physically just not up to it. And it's that little piece of knowledge that makes me feel sad, and leaves me feeling isolated and alone, in the dark and not the pink....

Six. Seven. Eighty-One....

Which just so happens to be the 27th anniversary of my ordination to the ministry at the First & Second Church in Boston, as well as (when you toss in the three years I spent at Harvard as a Divinity Student) the culmination of my third decade of service "in the pastoral office." And it's hard not to associate this same season of the year with the relatively recent deaths of two of my earliest mentors in Ministry: Rhys Williams and Peter Raible; as well as the death of my mother just this past year. 27 years ago my mom and I spent those next few days down on Martha's Vineyard with her father's cousins Al and Maggie Glotzer, before attending General Assembly together in Philadelphia and flying back home to the Pacific Northwest, where I officiated at my brother Kurt's wedding in Seattle. That marriage is still going strong, so I must have done SOMETHING right. Or maybe we all just got lucky.


Here's another interesting little tidbit inspired by that era of my life: "The Heart of a Champion" Enjoy!

Too Sick for the Celtics

Well no, not quite. But I did lie down in my overstuffed reclining chair to rest my eyes for a few hours, and ended up sleeping through the whole first half. But I thought the half of basketball I was awake for was quite exciting, and ended up with the Celtics defending their home court in a forceful way. So, I'm looking forward to another few weeks of this.

The Chemo is the Chemo. I just keep reminding myself that no matter how bad I feel, the cancer feels worse.

June So Soon?

And it looks like I am lapsing into a Monday, Wednesday, Friday posting cycle...which may or may not be sustainable...or enough. It's not as if I don't have plenty to write about. But the more I have to write about, the less time I have to write about it...and so it spirals down and down and down into the dungeon...or maybe up and up and up to the steeple instead. I guess I kinda like the second image a little better. Right now all I really know is that my legs are really sore.

Day surgery at Maine Med this morning/afternoon to have a Medi-Port installed for my chemotherapy. I THINK that's how it's spelled. No worries, no hassles, no complications...and everyone assures me that life will be much easier from here on out, tough stick that I am. Yesterday's Religious Education Service was also really a delight; "YADRE" (Young Adult Director of Religious Education) Rebecca Hinds preached an excellent homily first time out of the gate, and it really made me feel proud...both for her, and for having had the...well, let's call it wisdom...to hire her in the first place. And her invented acronym really cracked me up, since around my family we are already Madre (Margaret), Padre (moi) and Daughdre (Stephenie -- also sometimes spelled Dadre). So now another nickname for the list!

This has been a tough year on our entire staff, both because of my illness and because we are all basically brand new here, myself obviously included. I haven't been around the past six months to mentor Rebecca like I assured her I would when we hired her, and yet she has done an excellent job of finding the resources she needs in the congregation and among her local colleagues. And the same could also be said of our new administrator, Barbara Simons, whose job this year quite frankly has been simply overwhelming, especially since my first "supervisory" instruction to her was basically "go figure out what this job is all about and come back and tell me what it is." Charlie Grindle -- our interim Music Director -- is at least an experienced hand, but has been away at his own seminary program and well out of the loop at First Parish until last December. So it is really only our sexton, Moe Blanchard, who has any significant contiguous time in the job. So yes, lots of miscues and dropped balls. But you know, we made it anyway. And now it's almost time to start putting things to bed, and planning what we want to do both the same and differently next year.

Anyway, heavy chemo Wednesday, Flower Communion (and the Annual Meeting and Annual Picnic) Sunday, and then we are technically into the Summer Services: Fathers Day on the 15th, Pride Sunday on the 22nd; depending on how I'm feeling, I may actually attempt a "rehab" sermon on July 6th, when we would otherwise probably just not open the doors. That's still aways away though. And if I've learned ANYTHING from this illness, it's that I shouldn't try to plan these things TOO far ahead....