God's foolish weakness and why we're not scared

The cross is a prominent image for Christians. Like the Star of David for Jews and the crescent moon for Muslims, it’s the symbol that identifies the faith. But during Holy Week, the cross looms larger, as it should. It still lingers in mind for me the week after Easter. The crosses we commonly see are ornamental, works of art or fine jewelry, so it’s hard to imagine what seeing a cross meant to a person in the Roman Empire during the 1st Century. Like the guillotine or the hangman’s noose, the cross was a tool of death by execution. If you were an ancient Roman who emerged from a wormhole into our world, wouldn’t it be a bit odd to see a cross adorning the reverent space of a church? Wouldn’t it be like seeing an altar with an electric chair or a bloody machete? It just seems a little weird.

How Jesus died is incredible – by crucifixion, easily the cruelest form of torture and death ever devised. Being nailed to a cross was a more painful and agonizing death than the tied-on method, but that’s just the physical suffering. Jesus’ spiritual suffering was more heartbreaking than we could know. There’s a glimpse of both in David’s prophetic Psalm 22, written generations earlier. You should read it.

Why Jesus died means everything. God’s holiness means there had to be a penalty paid for our sin, but his love means he would visit the sentence on his son instead of on us. Heaven’s bargain was conceived while we knew nothing about it: Jesus would take God’s wrath and pay with his life, while we would be spared that wrath and receive eternal life. Paul summarizes it perfectly, “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” 2 Cor 5:21.

Each time I acknowledge my sin and realize I ought to die for my offense, the cross is there to declare, “No, it’s okay, you’re forgiven. The price has been paid.” Done deal – I can move on again. The cross makes sense. It was God’s tool to restore to his children the righteousness we forfeited in the garden. The cross deserves to be above the altar.

I am struck by Paul’s comments that “the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” (1 Cor 1:18)  As in his day, a cross can be a horrifying symbol of execution, an absurd religious object, or worse – an irrelevant logo. Paul continues on the message of the cross:

It's written, “I'll turn conventional wisdom on its head, I'll expose so-called experts as crackpots.”

So where can you find someone truly wise, truly educated, truly intelligent in this day and age? Hasn't God exposed it all as pretentious nonsense? Since the world in all its fancy wisdom never had a clue when it came to knowing God, God in his wisdom took delight in using what the world considered dumb – preaching, of all things! – to bring those who trust him into the way of salvation.

While Jews clamor for miraculous demonstrations and Greeks go in for philosophical wisdom, we go right on proclaiming Christ, the Crucified. Jews treat this like an anti-miracle – and Greeks pass it off as absurd. But to us who are personally called by God himself – both Jews and Greeks – Christ is God's ultimate miracle and wisdom all wrapped up in one. Human wisdom is so tinny, so impotent, next to the seeming absurdity of God. Human strength can't begin to compete with God's "weakness." 1 Cor 1:19-25 The Message

Nearly four years after Susan was found to have terminal brain cancer, we still “pray all the time, hope for the best, and are ready for anything.” Why? It’s the cross. We know that we’re saved, why we’re saved, and who saved us. Not only that, we’re brimming with anticipation about what he saved us for.

Think about the span of time between when Jesus was laid in the tomb and when he walked out of it. Pretend you don’t know about the resurrection. In that moment, Jesus is a failure and God is a joke. The people who believe in him are fools. But we have the gift of knowing that tomb is empty. If God can work his ultimate miracle out of the failure, tragedy, and death brought by the cross, I’d say we’re right where we need to be. Hope is marvelous.

Power Port

Yesterday’s surgery went really well for Susan. Three years after becoming the proud owner of a BardPort® Plastic Single Lumen Percutaneous Introducer System, she is now the proud owner of an Xcela® Power Injectable Port. Woo-hoo! The only thing she wanted more than the BardPort was the Xcela. And all this time I thought she liked diamonds.

Actually, the port catheter has been a godsend because it provides a ready vein for drawing blood samples and administering IV meds or fluids. Located under her collar bone and tapping a vein close to the heart, there’s more immediate access to the bloodstream than with a peripheral vein in the arm. Unlike a similar catheter called a PICC line, the port catheter is enclosed under the skin so there’s no site maintenance and less infection risk. But with the power port instead of the regular port, she won’t need a separate IV to inject contrast solution for MRI and CT scans. After 45 minutes trying to find a vein in her arm to start an IV, the pre-op nurses easily agreed the power port is a good idea for her.

A lovely post-op smile.

Being with Susan for another procedure yesterday, I’m more proud of my wife than ever for how well she handles pain and inconvenience. She woke up early, couldn’t eat or drink anything, waited in traffic to Westwood, got admitted to the hospital, waited some more, got stuck with needles, waited again, and was wheeled into surgery. Afterward, she had to lay flat for two hours while enjoying an afternoon breakfast of water and graham crackers. Susan gets stuck and injected more times in a year than most people will in a lifetime. She has blood drawn twice daily to check blood sugar. She swallows foul-tasting pills several times each day. Hospital gowns have become her stand-by wardrobe. Sometimes she gets weary of it all, but she doesn’t break down. Sometimes she cries out when she’s tired or in pain, but she’s not a complainer. To her, today is better than yesterday and tomorrow will be better yet. Susan is beautiful. Her strength inspires me.

Here are a couple of one-liners from yesterday. 

• A compassionate nurse was feeling bad for Susan during her ordeal to find a vein for the IV. She wished she could take the pain for her, and assured her that I would too if I could. I said, “I’d be glad to take some of it. I made through childbirth three times without anesthesia.” 
• We heard an obviously distressed child screaming loudly from a room nearby while the nurses worked on Susan. It went on for several minutes until she wondered with concern what was wrong with him. I said, “They just handed him his hospital bill.”

We thank God for the new power port and for answering prayer in bringing Susan through surgery without complications. We’re glad she’s doing well.

A Message from Cris Zavaleta

Dear Family and Friends,
Thank you so much for your emails, cards, flowers and hugs. We are truly a blessed family to have all of you here for us. Our journey together has been long and Hank fought hard to stay as long as he could with us all. I truly miss him so very much. The girls and I are doing OK. We are keeping busy with all the fundraiser stuff.
I hope that you can all come and support this great cause of Brain Cancer Research just like you always have. Legends night is Thursday the 28th 5-9pm, the 5K is May 7th at 9am. Hope to see you all there. Check our web site for info: www.craniumcrusaders.org
Also, Hank's memorial service is scheduled for May 14th at 11am at Seacoast Grace Church - 5100 Cerritos Ave - Cypress, Ca. There will be a reception following the service at the church.
 
Again, Thanks for all your love,
Cris, Noelle and Jessica

Stable MRI, a Brain Tumor Conference, and a Power Port

We’re thankful Susan’s scheduled MRI last week once again showed no evidence of tumor growth. With about 18 months since her last tumor progression, she’s had a long respite that’s allowed us to tackle the lesser issues as they come along, like another recent urinary tract infection. I would have been surprised to have bad news on this MRI since Susan has been feeling better lately and doesn’t have the symptoms that would signal something’s wrong. She’ll return for her next MRI and oncology visit in June.

The weekend before Easter, we enjoyed spending time with the UCLA neuro-oncology team once again at their annual brain tumor conference. On Friday I went on my own to the lectures that have more of an academic flavor and offer tons of great info from every specialty area relating to brain tumors – oncology, pathology, radiology, surgery, radiation oncology, chemotherapy, and so on. Since a new patient or caregiver has so much to learn when entering brain tumor world, an event like this can really fill in the knowledge gaps and provide a better foundation for fighting the disease. With my third time attending, I found my knowledge base pretty well intact and didn’t need to hang on every word like before. My big take-away once again is that there are unique differences among patients with brain tumors even of the same type, researchers are learning more about them, and this knowledge will surely translate into better treatment options. Researchers like those at UCLA are gifted and relentless, so I'm confident the “cure” for cancer will be found in these individualized treatments.

On day two, Susan, Lexie and I attended some of the interactive workshops and had an opportunity to participate in a panel called “Understanding the Family Experience.” When it was our turn to share, I summarized Susan’s story and treatment history and shared that it was important for us to accept the situation early on and trust the Lord with the outcome, while praying and pursuing every avenue of healing – in fact, our hope in God is the very strength that has gotten us through. I also thanked fellow panelists Steve and Shawna (she’s also a 3-4 year survivor) for their suggestion at the 2008 conference that prompted me to start our kids with some trauma counseling. In our case it was more prevention than remedy, but it put me at ease that our kids were doing well.

Susan and I were proud of Lexie, who shared bravely on the panel about her experience and showed her maturity in handling what still is a hard situation. She spoke about the difficulty and loneliness she felt when Susan was first diagnosed and told of some of the adjustments she had to make as a college freshman immersed in a life-threatening family crisis. It was a privilege for us to share our story and comfort other brain buddies with the comfort we’ve received. Also it was good to see Lexie become reassured from being with other brain tumor patients and their families and meet some of the UCLA team who cares so well for her mom. The conference displays the best of the human spirit as patients courageously navigate their brain tumor journeys, caregivers offer aid and support alongside them, and doctors offer care and wisdom as they do their best to get everyone through it.

Tomorrow, Susan will have outpatient surgery to have her port-catheter replaced. It’s served her well for three years and otherwise could stay put for blood draws and most IVs, but it can’t handle the thick contrast solution she needs with every MRI without risk of getting clogged. She’s endured countless (because I haven’t counted them) needle sticks on her left arm that’s now loaded with scar tissue. As great as the radiology nurses are at finding veins, Susan is running out of targets. She’ll be getting a power port that can handle not just the thick contrast solution for MRIs, but also the thicker stuff for CT scans if need be. There’s some risk with any surgery, but we’ve decided since she’s feeling stronger now and will need more MRIs, this is the time to do it. As always, we thank God for keeping us and thank all who pray for and support us.

Hank Zavaleta

We learned with great sadness that Hank passed away this afternoon. We thank God for the special man he was and how he made a difference in this life as a follower of Christ, a family man, a firefighter, and a courageous brain cancer survivor for eight years. As we celebrate that he’s at home with the Lord now, we offer our sympathy and prayers for Cris and their daughters Noelle and Jessica.

Hank Zavaleta update

Here's an update from Hank's wife, Cris. Thanks for continuing to keep them in prayer.

Hi,
So sorry I haven't written sooner, the days just seem to go by and then its a new day. Hank is doing OK, he is mostly sleeping but he can hear you and sometimes he opens his eyes. He seems to remember people and sometimes you'll get a little crooked smile out of him. He's not eating much any more and we try to keep him comfortable with medication. Visiting is still OK between the hours of 11am-6pm, no need to call. Thanks again for all your continued support,
Love
Team Zavaleta

Praying for Hank & Cris Zavaleta and family

Thanks for continuing to pray for Hank Zavaleta and family as he’s on hospice care. Cris posted on CarePages recently to say thanks “for all the kind emails, cards, flowers and food. We are truly blessed to have such wonderful family and friends.” She suggests friends who want to see Hank should do so at this time, and said he’s doing okay and sleeps a lot.

I visited the Zavaletas on Tuesday. It was good to see Hank as he slept quietly, good to visit with Cris, and good to sense the peace in their home. We still have so much in common on our respective brain tumor journeys, best of all our faith in the Lord Jesus – yet they’ve moved to a place we haven’t had to. I’m accepting that there’s a time when the fight is done, this earthly life is over, and it’s just the end. I'm accepting that there's a point when our prayers turn from pleading with God for healing to lifting up blessings of peace and mercy. I thank God for Hank, pray for a peaceful transition, and ask for God’s mercy in all of it, especially for Cris and the girls. It’s just a hard time.

I'm also accepting that just as being born is a process, so is dying. Before our kids were born, I thought a mother going into labor was like turning on a light switch. I thought one moment she was normal and the next she was racing to the maternity ward. But I observed with each of our children that labor started slowly, progressed gradually in small ways, and took weeks to build until baby day. That last part did move pretty fast each time, but it was just mother and child’s final effort before making an introduction.

Sometimes dying happens suddenly, but many times it progresses over days or weeks as one physically and spiritually begins to separate from life on earth. The act of dying is the final leg of the greatest journey a person has ever known, and while it has recognizable stages hospice workers can identify, it is necessarily a singular act made by the one passing away. It’s theirs alone. In this way, I've accepted that dying is as natural as being born. Psalm 116:15 takes it to another level, "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints." We are eternal beings made by a loving Creator for a temporary span on the earth, made from its own dust. I've said before that death is not a problem for God. It sure is hard on us though.

There’s a link below to a video interview Hank’s friend did with him last June. If you watch it, you’ll gain some appreciation of who Hank is and catch a glimpse of his faith and courage. It’s beautiful. He talks about the choice to get busy living or get busy dying. Hank chose to live, and has lived with purpose in life. Remarkably, he also found purpose in brain cancer – to help others, to share his story, and to offer hope.

As I prayed with Cris and her friend this week, I remembered from Psalm 23 that in the valley of the shadow of death, the shadow is created by the greater light of God shining behind it. This valley may be an unpleasant place; but we don't stay there – we walk through it. And the reason we do not fear is we’re not alone. God is with us. He offers comfort and strength. In fact, Jesus defeated death and broke its hold on us. Death, our ultimate foe, truly is just a shadow. Hank and Cris have approached this time with the faith, trust, and lack of fear that comes from God. As in Psalm 23, their display of it honors him.

The fact we’re eternal beings is wired in us at the deepest level, though not everyone admits it. Fearing death is natural if you’re not sure whether you’ll spend eternity with God or apart from him. But confidence comes when you’ve placed your hope in the One you know has reserved a home for you in heaven and has the power to put you there. To the redeemed, death and dying become smaller things. It’s important to praise him who’s paid so dearly to secure our lives: 

“But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me.” Psalm 13:5-6

Feeling better again

And she told me she was blue-blooded.

We’re midstream toward getting some answers about whether Susan is steroid dependent and if so, which drug and how much is best for her. We met on Friday with another top-drawer specialist at UCLA, endocrinologist Sheila Ahmadi. Her first step with Susan was to get up to speed on her history and order some specific tests to complete the picture. With that, we added the endocrinology stuff to an already scheduled set of fasting blood work this week. I think it was the most complex lab order Susan's had yet – at least ten vials for over 25 separate tests. We’re so thankful for her port catheter so she doesn’t need to be stuck in search of a vein – usually in vain. (That was appalling. I’m nearly sorry.) We’ll go back to UCLA next week for a bone density scan, follow up with her GP, attend the UCLA brain tumor conference next weekend, and then do another round of neuro-oncology and endocrinology visits. Remind me not to lose my Daytimer.

Meanwhile, Susan's gotten stronger again over the past couple of weeks and has been free from vomiting. It seems returning to her original steroid, Decadron, has normalized her system. In spite of chronic complications we thank God Susan's had no tumor progression for nearly 18 months, especially since two of our brain tumor friends are now on hospice, Robert Wearn and Hank Zavaleta. We pray for them and their families daily. Truly, the Lord is wrapping us in his care – and we continually praise him for the gift of life, his peace that keeps us, and the hope that sustains us.