A Critical Sense of Urgency

For those of you who have been missing One Day Isle, and are desperate for a little cheap entertainment, you might try looking here or maybe even here.

Yesterday was pretty much consumed by Medical appointments, punctuated by the information that I needed to be careful when relieving myself, because I know had "hot urine" (What! As in Radioactive piss?") thanks to the contrast agent I was injected with for the PET scan. Still won't know any answers for awhile either, unless the information is really bad (in which case they will tell me right away), so this really is a situation of "no news" being "good news."

Even so, I can't help but feel anxious. Times like these are just a very invasive and persistent reminder that I really am sick, that I'm never going to really be "well," and that while I may very well be able to look forward to many, many years of a reasonably healthy, energetic, fun, loving, and even productive lifestyle, the long-range trend is down. And that thought can sometimes be very depressing indeed.

Of course, it helps to have something to look forward to. And yet ironically what I find myself feeling most right now is nostalgic for the ministry. I keep catching myself wanting to go "back to church" shopping, and thinking about where we were programatically in my last church, and what we needed to be doing next in order to grow into the kind of dynamic, challenging, ground-breaking, life-changing, world-shaking faith community I envisioned, and knew we were capable of becoming. The cancer changed all that too, not just for me, but for them as well. Bummer.

And at the same time I'm feeling frustrated because I still have so much to do on my plate right now, and can't seem to push through it all. Just a little at a time I tell myself. But the pile seems to be getting bigger faster than I can get it done. And I'm still feeling very much like I'm living out of a suitcase here, knowing how much more there is to unpack, how LONG that is going to take (months) before it is complete, and also watching and waiting while Debra and my Dad slowly pack up their stuff to go over to the new house a mere seven minutes (three miles) away.

But for now it's mostly just chaos and clutter. And a little progress, every day. Sometimes so little it almost appears invisible. But it's happening, and I'm grateful for it.

Even if it does glow in the dark when I pee....