tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23788005821907818142024-03-05T23:08:56.357-08:00Susan's Brain Tumor JourneyI will lift up my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. Psalm 121:1-2Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.comBlogger290125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-83227337737310248802014-07-28T20:19:00.000-07:002014-07-29T07:22:01.334-07:00One Year<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It’s
been a year since Susan died. I was honored to share our story in church
yesterday about how God has spoken to us through the Psalms and to tell in part
what he’s done during our journey:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The
events still seem surreal to me. Breast cancer in 2006, a brain tumor in 2007,
surgeries, complications, chemo and radiation, hospital stays, hospice, and
then finally Susan passing away at home one year and one week ago. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxOguQg47BmucPcTmQKyQv-qucIGPo6SMNvEmI31KJfCyi7UeUFeIwLYdmXvmhlvGIY0tGl_nchOyFltx18-yG-G8Fdp-f5P1-HTZtXaoFmrp2O7zVuURL0tmkcEDZhU8-xEvGDFBZ_E/s1600/P7180140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxOguQg47BmucPcTmQKyQv-qucIGPo6SMNvEmI31KJfCyi7UeUFeIwLYdmXvmhlvGIY0tGl_nchOyFltx18-yG-G8Fdp-f5P1-HTZtXaoFmrp2O7zVuURL0tmkcEDZhU8-xEvGDFBZ_E/s1600/P7180140.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">What’s
more remarkable though, is that as things began to unfold, Susan and I had a
sense that God had prepared us for what was happening. We had peace. We knew
that God had good plans for us no matter what. He was enabling us to trust him,
and we did. In spite of the worst kind of crisis, the life and death kind, we
knew the Lord was with us and everything was okay.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">There
were a number of things in our lives that led us to that particular sense of
God’s provision, like when in early 2007 Susan had a spiritual breakthrough –
the latest among others. She told Joyce Wybenga that she truly knew God loved
her, personally, fully. It was a rich experience for her.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">More
preparation came around April 2007 when I spent that month seeking God in Psalm
23 so I could help lead the Oasis worship and prayer meeting. I found new
insights in its words and gained a wonderful new confidence in God.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Just
two months later, we learned of Susan’s brain tumor. I had no idea how Psalm
23, now from my heart, would comfort Susan as she struggled through the pain
and fog of her disease. I realized that God had put that word inside me ahead
of time so it could come back out when we needed it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">As
time went on, we both became more dependent on God. We settled into praying all
the time, hoping for the best, and being ready for anything. The attitude of
David’s Psalm is amazing. He writes, "Even though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me." <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">In
a closer look at those words, the "even though" speaks of God's
resources for us during times when nothing makes sense. He invites our trust
and then builds us up as we trust him when it's so hard. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">To
"walk through the valley" speaks of us moving through hardship. It's
not a destination - we don't stay there. It’s hard, but somehow we’re okay.
There are good things to come.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The
"shadow of death" is just that, a shadow. While we must encounter
death in this world, it has no hold on us. Although its power is greater than
our own, it cannot claim or govern us because Christ has overcome it for us.
The reason it appears as a shadow is that there is a greater light above it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">"I
will fear no evil" speaks of God's love, which is his very nature. He
wraps us up in his perfect love, and it casts out all fear.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">"You
are with me" is as personal as it gets. God knew each of us before the
foundation of the world. Although sin, death and evil may threaten to separate
us from him, he guards his children. He draws us near. He remains with us and
for us.</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Other
Psalms got woven into our lives during and after Susan’s illness. Vicki Gelberg
gave us Psalm 103: "Praise the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his
benefits – who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems
your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion."<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Chris
Olson gave us Psalm 121, personalized for Susan: "I lift up my eyes to the
hills—where does Susan's help come from? Her help comes from the LORD, the
Maker of heaven and earth. The LORD will keep Susan from all harm—he will watch
over her life; the LORD will watch over her coming and going both now and
forevermore."<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The
Psalms still speak. Recently I got this from Psalm 89: “Righteousness and
justice are the foundation of your throne; love and faithfulness go before
you.” Then I connected it with Psalm 23: “Surely goodness and mercy shall
follow me all the days of my life.” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">How
brilliant is God then? He attracts us to himself so we’ve got his love and
faithfulness out front with his goodness and mercy following behind. He’s done
that for us. It’s perfect – he’s places us right in the middle of his
provision, like a Psalm sandwich. God is amazing. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Several
things come to mind about what the Lord has done during our journey. First, God
is developing my character.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">In
showing me his nature, he’s also shown me my own. That part’s not pretty. My
sinful nature rages inside me and often spills out. The hymn says, “Prone to
wander, Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love.” That’s me. I’m often
shocked at how easily I forget who I am. At the same time, I always know I’m
his. I am bonded to God. I know that because of Christ, God doesn’t see my
sins. He’s removed my transgression from me. In his eyes, I’m a saint, so I’ll
go with that. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Second,
God has poured out his tremendous love for us. He has loved us immensely
through our church. You prayed for us. You supported us with encouragement,
cards, cash, gift cards, housecleaning and meals. You volunteered companion
care with Susan for six hours every weekday for six years so our family could
go to work and school. A choir army of you painted our house inside and out in
about four hours one Saturday. I call it “Extreme Makeover – Brain Tumor
Edition.” You all showed God’s love to us in life-giving ways. We will always be
grateful.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">God
also allowed me to love my wife well. Sometime earlier we learned at church
that Susan’s primary love languages were time spent and acts of service. These
were the things that if I would just do them, she’d feel most loved by me. Now
she was compromised and needed lots of help, so I got to care for her – with
time spent and acts of service. It’s true that cancer brought that on rather
than my own big-heartedness; but I’m glad it happened. Susan knew she was
loved.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Third,
God has brought us salvation and healing. Susan died well. She used up every
ounce of life in her body, but for six years, her spirit forged ahead. She had
peace inside her that only deepened. Her confidence in God and in his good
plans for us only grew. She was not afraid to die. When that time came, as much
as it has grieved us, there was nothing left unsaid or undone, nothing between
Susan and me or our kids that needed to be restored. She was complete. That was
a gift.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">But
there’s another gift. God comforted and strengthened us and he let others see
it or perhaps feel it. He has allowed us to comfort others with the comfort
we’ve received. I don’t understand all of that, but I’ll go with it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Finally,
God has worked for good through a hard situation. He’s brought things into perspective
for me. Susan had 52 years on the earth, not long enough; but I know even 90
years whiz by. I’m 51 and I know my days here are numbered. The system of this
world is all messed up; and yet we spend so much of ourselves devoted to it and
so little of ourselves devoted to God. I’m compelled to make my time here count
for God while I have it. His kingdom is the only one that will last.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Moses
said to God on Mount Sinai, “Show me your glory.” God’s response surprised me.
He said, “I will cause all of my goodness to pass in front of you.” God is
good. Along with love, goodness is his very nature. I believe he wants to grow
us into people who know his goodness. Sometimes the only way he can do that is
to put us in situations where it’s impossible to do anything but trust him. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Think
about it. He took Moses out of a palace in Egypt, made him wait 40 years in the
wilderness, brought him to the end of himself leading Israel out of captivity,
until finally, Moses couldn’t wait to know more about God. He had to go through
a whole bunch of things that didn’t make sense. He had to learn to trust God in
that and let God reshape his desires.
God grew Moses so much into his goodness that he was allowed to come
face to face with it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">What
if we could embrace every situation God puts us in with a sense of Godly
adventure and with the confidence that there’s a glorious discovery at the end
of it? Our first reaction is to cry out and cave in under suffering, but what
if God wants to help us rise up under hardship? What if we just need to allow
him?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">If
God can use a hardship like brain cancer to prune away things that don’t belong
in our lives and prepare us for heaven while giving us a greater awareness of
his presence, isn’t that a good thing?</span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-83509356099672932242014-01-18T09:56:00.000-08:002014-01-24T09:50:44.850-08:00Six Months<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Today
is six months to the day since Susan went to Heaven. I’m compelled to record
some thoughts that have been swirling in mind for the past while. I’ve visited her
grave three times so far. I went once in August when the patch of sod was still
sub-green and uneven, clearly outlining her exact burial place. I went again
around October and found a pristine lawn with no headstone yet and only vague
landmarks, so I could only guess where her body lay exactly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW3m1CSAfvAywiJ5_f0K7jwE67TclcTeR_TWE5bFrpo-iXklQOkLbj5MkLZCLbxv5OEWkurmmzQiXPNpYad6z532aqpVbReIUKDUbCSjPhf5QB3eSCUfl19m9a8zoFx-yVPhhK7mgXsmA/s1600/028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW3m1CSAfvAywiJ5_f0K7jwE67TclcTeR_TWE5bFrpo-iXklQOkLbj5MkLZCLbxv5OEWkurmmzQiXPNpYad6z532aqpVbReIUKDUbCSjPhf5QB3eSCUfl19m9a8zoFx-yVPhhK7mgXsmA/s1600/028.JPG" height="228" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">A
few days before Christmas, I received word from Rose Hills that her marker had
been placed. I went there Christmas Day along with thousands of others attending
their loved ones and found her grave easily. Our spot is secluded and quiet. Susan's marker looks just like I’d hoped – simple, lovely, and hopeful. That was her
style. John 20:31 says, “But these are written that you may believe that Jesus
is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his
name.” That verse summarizes Susan’s and my desire that, having received such
grace from God for hard circumstances, our experience and response would lead
others to this precious faith.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">"Life in his name” on Susan’s headstone is God’s eternal Word for his people. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"Life in his name” </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">takes root as we live in relationship with him for our days on the earth. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"Life in his name” </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">infuses our dying through the power of the cross so death
becomes a bitter but hope-filled parting for those we leave behind and a launch
pad to heaven for us. And since his name is I AM (and I will be with you), </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"life in his name”</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> forecasts our life without end, where with time and
sin and death removed from our experience, we will be alive with the Lord
forever. I sure wonder what that's like in heaven. Susan used to and no longer does.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I
like the fact that her stone quietly screams “life in his name” from the grass right there over the bodies of Susan and thousands of others. It mocks the silence of death. It proclaims
there’s more. It recalls the one who exchanged his life for ours in his dying and then reversed death for all with resurrection power. And since we know that life in his name is our
choice and we also know whether we’ve chosen it or not, it urges a response from the
living while we still have today. I hope you believe in Jesus Christ and have life in his name, because we're all destined for the dust. As weird as it sounds, there's a way to welcome that day. As my favorite Iowa-bred preacher says, God does
his best work in graveyards. </span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-73026075102020044832013-10-03T22:13:00.001-07:002013-10-04T07:24:56.993-07:00My finger's like a piece of pie<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
put my wedding ring back on a week ago. I’m not double-minded, and I usually
don’t waffle in my decisions. But grief has a way of leaving you untethered,
adrift, without traction. I expect it’s all going to be sort of squishy before
things settle down.</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
had proper motives for putting my ring in safekeeping. Since Susan had gone to
Heaven two months before, it was a tangible step for me to move on, to heal. It’s
not that I want to close a door on the past, but I don’t want to be shackled by
it. I gotta go forward. But its absence from my finger tripped me up. Not wearing
it felt as unnatural as wearing it feels normal. I kept being startled when absent-mindedly touching my finger, as though I forgot to tell my hand that I removed
my ring on purpose. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">But
really, the blank space on my finger was too much of an exclamation point
behind the constant, silently droning statement that Susan has died and that we’re
to remain apart for the rest of this earthly life. That blank space underscored
my longing for her. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Still
ringless, I went to God with my desires. All of them. When you think about it,
our lives in this flesh are all about desires – to have our fill of food for
hunger, drink for thirst, sleep for rest, comfort for pain, money for peace of
mind, applause for ego, sex for lust, domination for power, and on and on. Our
flesh is a huge, gaping mouth that will never be filled or satisfied no matter
how much you dump into it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
thought about our tendency to substitute the flesh for the spirit. We’re willing
to chase our desires and spend enormous amounts of time, money and energy on
them and then, when finally surrounded with an abundant quantity of what we
want, we find it tastes tinny. When we decide we really didn’t want that thing,
we move on to capture the next one. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
thought about marriage, and how in it God gave us the greatest relationship we
could ever choose. I thought about how a husband and wife are joined together
in love to know and be known together more than with any other person. I thought
about how God designed loving, committed marriage to show us a small but
tangible example of the intimacy he created us to have with him. I thought
about how easily we can substitute flesh for spirit in marriage and expect our
mates to love us perfectly and completely, the way only God himself can. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Then
I thought about God himself. I thought about all of our longings. I realized
again how we so easily stuff everything imaginable into the mouth of desire,
hoping it fits into the God-shaped space inside us, and how reluctant we are to
actually put God himself in there. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">So
my ringless self sat there before God and admitted that wearing my ring would
comfort me. I said that although wearing it would still remind me of my longing
for Susan, it would also prompt a prayer that I might desire him even more. I’ve
said that prayer a lot lately. I am under construction. And my finger’s like a
piece of pie</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> – i</span></span>t has meringue on it. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">* * *</span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I expect this will be my last post on this blog since Susan's brain tumor journey is complete. I have more to write, but differently, so there's a book and some other stuff percolating. I'll share details here when I have them.</span></span>
Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-54553985809987331012013-09-19T21:23:00.001-07:002013-09-20T11:19:24.833-07:00Stepping through it<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">When
should a widower remove his wedding ring? It’s a fair question, even if there’s
no good answer. Technically, I’m no longer married, even though I did nothing
to end it. It’s just a fact. I’m no longer married. I could have removed my
ring the day Susan passed away. I didn’t. I could wait three or four or six
months. I didn’t. I removed it last night, two months after July 18. It seemed
like the right thing to do. I thought of going three months, but why? When is
the right time? I guess I was ready.</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">For
a guy who doesn’t wear jewelry, it took a while to get used to wearing my
wedding ring. I remember staring at it while we were driving to Palm Springs
for our honeymoon, 28½ years ago. The sun gleamed off of its polished gold
finish and sparkled in its stones. It left me transfixed, not just because of its
beauty, but because we were married. I liked that. I liked my ring. It was an
up-front symbol of our joy together and the commitment we made in marriage
before God. I knew I never wanted to lose it – what a horrible thought. When I removed
it, it was rarely and briefly. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">So
nearly three decades after a non-jewelry guy got used to wearing it, my ring is
in safekeeping. It will take a while to get used to again, but oppositely. I was
transfixed again today in reverse. I must have unconsciously touched my ring
often over the years; because I certainly touched my bare finger a lot today.
Each time, I was horrified for a moment that I lost it, and then remembered it’s
gone on purpose. Then I’d forget the next time. I was unnerved over and over
again. Seeing my ring used to remind me of Susan and our life together. Now,
feeling an empty finger and seeing a pale ring mark reminds me of her absence. So I grieve. It’s another step,
another phase of it, and part of the deal. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Recently,
someone who’s bearing the burden of caring for a loved one with a long-term
illness asked me, “How do you do it? How do you carry on?” That’s another fair
question. I struggled a bit to answer. I know how Susan and I did it; and I
wasn’t sure if that would be true for my friend. We trusted God. I know he
enabled us to trust him, but I don’t think it was any more than he’s enabled
anyone else. I’m so glad we were able to respond the way we did, moving to
accept our circumstances early and not fight them. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
listened a few minutes to my friend and realized she’d needed to vent. I also
caught glimpses of healthy responses to their circumstances. Gratitude –
knowing God better due to their situation. Joy – recognizing his goodness at
work. Trust – learning to accept things the way they are, without assurance of
our desired outcome. When times are truly hard, those are precious and powerful
responses.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I’ve
been thinking this week about the Shema, that centerpiece of Hebrew scripture
that begins, “Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is One” in Deuteronomy
6:4. This command follows: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with
all your soul and with all your strength.” </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Sometimes
it takes all our strength to love the Lord our God. To love him, we first
must know that he’s good – a fact he declares about himself and demonstrates continually.
His very nature is goodness. To love him, it helps to know he loved us first. Without
his original love, we wouldn’t have the capacity for it ourselves. To love him,
it also helps to know as well as possible that his love for us comes at an
unimaginable expense to him. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">God’s
goodness and his original, costly love are the source of his command for us to
love him with all our heart, soul, and strength. Sometimes it’s hard to love
him when our circumstances seem unbearable. Sometimes it takes all of our might. But it’s
comforting to know that the avenue of love between God and us flows two-ways. He already loves us with all his might. Lovingly, God wants our response. He simply directs us to
love him the way he loves us. My finger feels naked.</span></span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-26578824313680524042013-09-05T20:36:00.000-07:002013-09-06T06:24:30.783-07:00God's faithfulness<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">A
few weeks ago I stood near Susan’s grave, and looking down at the browned,
uneven sod outlining her plot, I found myself talking to her. I never thought I’d
be one of those people who do that. I know she’s not there, just the body she
left behind. Still, I spoke quietly for a few minutes, as though she needed to
know what’s been going on, how the kids and I are doing, how much we miss her,
all that stuff. I cried a bit and knew I was speaking for me and not for her. </span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGGs4YDKRMHkAVKiNe5_G1P8j6hxxKALQE91FvJ4kLUXOQurvEoIVY0R6uPJKGg0UnRSYAYTTFLzs0ajt5dVa1LmOcRCFxPdp0Ritr0yG5TNzJhtkV3j3w1Qa-Q8fc0yVdkFGhNPFvvn8/s1600/RoseHills-20130816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGGs4YDKRMHkAVKiNe5_G1P8j6hxxKALQE91FvJ4kLUXOQurvEoIVY0R6uPJKGg0UnRSYAYTTFLzs0ajt5dVa1LmOcRCFxPdp0Ritr0yG5TNzJhtkV3j3w1Qa-Q8fc0yVdkFGhNPFvvn8/s320/RoseHills-20130816.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The
emptiness of losing someone so close to you is hollower than I thought it would
be. It’s not just emptiness, which is deep, it’s persistent emptiness, which is
also permanent. There’s no shaking off the reality that Susan isn’t here
anymore. It’s tempting to nurture a desire for her to return, but there’s no
sense in it – just more emptiness, plus unfulfilled longing. So that’s a door to
close. That’s how it is. I know it will get easier in time; but I do miss Susan.
And that’s how it is. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">All
the while, God’s faithfulness prevails. I think scarcely a day has passed for
six weeks without at least one card arriving in the mail to encourage and cheer
us. All of them stacked would reach about a foot tall. A loving group of
friends still provides dinner weekly; and a relative of Adam’s girlfriend just
gave him a 1985 Thunderbird with 50k miles. Is it crazier that there’s a 1985
anything with 50k miles, or that someone gave it to Adam? We’ve received such
amazing generosity. Meanwhile, the UCLA Foundation has received over $1500 in
donations in Susan’s honor to support brain tumor research. Those are lasting
and meaningful gifts. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">In
Psalm 77, Asaph cried out to God from the anguish of his situation, but leaning
in to trust him, he said, “My heart mused and my spirit inquired.” Then Asaph
remembered the goodness of the Lord and certainty of his promises to be loving,
compassionate, and merciful. Next, in Psalm 78, he considers his stubborn and
rebellious forefathers “whose hearts were not loyal to God, whose spirits were
not faithful to him.” </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I’m
becoming more aware of my utter need for God. I agree with the hymn writer: “Just
as I am, without one plea </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">– </span></span> but that your blood was shed for me, and that you
bid me come to thee. O Lamb of God, I come. I come.” I’m aware of the Lord’s
hand of grace on us as he guides me and our family. I pray I will have a loyal
heart and a faithful spirit that can be of use to him somehow. I pray he will
reveal his specific will for us in this new chapter of our lives. </span></span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-62399141776834436292013-08-15T23:00:00.001-07:002013-08-16T07:43:07.134-07:00Giving thanks<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you, Lord, for this day. Thank you for the gift of life. Thank you for life on
earth under the covering of your goodness and for life in Heaven with you that
is beyond our imagination. </span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you, Lord, that even though human sin caused us to live in a fallen world, you
did not abandon us. Thank you that you entered into our brokenness and made a
way for us to be restored to you. Thank you for restoring Susan to you in life
when she believed in your Son and again in death when she passed into heaven.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you for working through Susan's cancer so we could know you in a way that we
could not have known you otherwise. Thank you for comforting us and allowing us
to share that comfort with others. Thank you for giving us faith so others may
believe and for giving us strength so they may be strong. Thank you for Jesus
who came to conquer death for us and who said, “Because I live, you also will
live.” Thank you upholding that promise along with every other one you made.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you for Susan. Thank you for her simple and solid faith, for her gentle spirit,
and for the way she trusted you constantly. That was a gift. Thank you that she
was the sweetest person I know. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you for allowing us to grow in faith together, first as she led me and then as
I led her, until over 30 years went by on the path of growing in Christ with
each other. Thank you for the people who shared life with us and helped us grow
that way by their example, their encouragement and their prayers.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you for our church where generations of family were baptized and married, where
we worshiped and served you, and where we married and raised our own children.
Thank you for the balcony where I first heard Susan sing “Great is Thy
Faithfulness” with the congregation on a Sunday evening, for the desire I felt
to know you who are so faithful, and for the doorway into your kingdom you
opened for me. Thank you for wooden pews where Susan first dared to raise her
hands in worship, for chairs she rearranged for drama rehearsals and for carpet
where she surrendered to you on her knees in prayer. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you for the home Susan decorated with some lovely things but really beautified
with her presence. Thank you that I got to be with my best friend every day and
for how happy that made me. Thank you for how she created a place of love and
refuge for our family and for the way her life matched the sign she put over
our fireplace that encourages everyone to live well, love much, and laugh
often. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you for showing me that Susan's two favorite love languages were time spent
together and acts of service, and that even though I selfishly neglected them
for too long, you provided the conditions for me to speak love into my wife by
focusing on her for hours, weeks and years while serving her in just about
every way a person can. Thank you for how that brought healing to our souls.
Thank you for a good marriage that became a great marriage and for more
intimacy and fulfillment together than we thought possible. Thank you that I
had the privilege to return her to you in better condition than when you gave
her to me.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you for how you prepared us for Susan’s brain tumor journey in giving us a
sense that first, we would be okay no matter what, and second, that you had a
purpose for us in it. Thank you for such hope and confidence in you. Thank you
for helping us move past asking “Why?” since that leads to frustration and
bitterness, and for leading us to ask “What are you doing?” and “Who do you
want us to be?” and “How shall we respond?” since that leads to faith and
discovery.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you that when a spirit of fear came upon me one night like a massive, black
wall near our bed, you reminded me that your perfect love casts out fear and
you helped me push it away. Thank you for your Spirit, a wondrous helper. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you for first-class medical care. Thank you for a neurosurgeon in Long Beach
who offered his best help if we wanted it but his encouragement to visit UCLA
for another opinion. Thank you for a neuro-oncologist at UCLA who looked at
Susan’s scans and said “We can do that,” who was a faithful guide through the brain
tumor wilderness and who also became a caring friend. Thank you that she met
high standards, spared no resources, and would usually return my calls within
about 3 minutes.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you for the oncology nurse who would greet us in the clinic waiting area for
chemotherapy, have a recliner or a bed waiting, and serve us like we were the
only people in the place. Thank you for so many caring professionals who treated us that way.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you that Susan had the perfect disposition to be a long-term brain tumor
patient. Thank you that she fought to live without fighting you or me or family
or the unfairness of cancer. Thank you for her incredible strength, her desire
to do well in all things, and for her courage to stand fast when it was hard to
do so. Thank you for loving hospice staff and for a nurse who, even when Susan
couldn’t speak, said he knew she was a grateful person because she had a
grateful face.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you for our amazing church family. Thank you for a team of some 30 caregivers
who donated at least 7,500 hours over six years so Susan had care and
companionship each weekday. And they thanked us! Thank you for a couple who
cared so much to offer us weekly housecleaning for us for six months and ended
up providing it for nearly three years. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you for over ten thousand dollars given to us over the years by way of greeting
cards, cash pressed into handshakes and anonymous envelopes. Thank you for
one dentist and staff where Susan worked who instead of a gift exchange at
Christmas, gave us the money they would have spent on each other. Thank you for
another dentist where Susan worked who provided years of free dentistry for our
family during her illness. Thank you for a compassionate barber who refused
payment from me more times than I can count and for friends who paid for my
haircuts before they left the shop. Thank you for meeting our needs and giving us encouragement.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thank
you, Lord, for this long catalog of gratitude and for many more reasons to give
thanks. Thank you for bringing Susan into the glory of your presence after
helping her run and finish the race you set before her. Thank you for giving us
comfort, hope and peace to counter the sadness of being separated from her.
Thank you for reminding us that even if you give us 90 years, it’s only a
breath. Thank you for teaching us to number our days and live with our eyes
fixed on you. Thank you for helping me say, “Any way you bless me, I’ll be
satisified.”</span></span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-714219609792917392013-08-08T20:32:00.002-07:002013-08-08T20:32:42.648-07:00Susan's memorial service: Lexie<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Our
23-year-old daughter Lexie sang “Not For A Moment” by Meredith Andrews at her
mom’s memorial service. It’s an amazing song – and she sang it amazingly. I love
my Lexie girl!</span></span>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Not For A Moment (After All)</span></span></b></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">You
were reaching through the storm <br />
Walking on the water <br />
Even when I could not see <br />
In the middle of it all <br />
When I thought You were a thousand miles away <br />
Not for a moment did You forsake me <br />
Not for a moment did You forsake me <br />
<br />
<i>[Chorus]</i><br />
After all You are constant <br />
After all You are only good <br />
After all You are sovereign <br />
Not for a moment will You forsake me <br />
Not for a moment will You forsake me <br />
<br />
You were singing in the dark <br />
Whispering Your promise <br />
Even when I could not hear <br />
I was held in Your arms <br />
Carried for a thousand miles to show <br />
Not for a moment did You forsake me <br />
<br />
<i>[Chorus]</i><br />
<br />
And every step every breath you are there <br />
Every tear every cry every prayer <br />
In my hurt at my worst <br />
When my world falls down <br />
Not for a moment will You forsake me <br />
Even in the dark <br />
Even when it's hard <br />
You will never leave me <br />
After all <br />
<br />
<i>[Chorus]</i><br />
Not for a moment will You forsake me </span></span></blockquote>
Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-41789895082335129632013-08-07T21:34:00.001-07:002013-08-07T22:15:29.473-07:00Three weeks later<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Nearly
three weeks since Susan went to heaven, there’s a strange sense of time passing
differently than before. So many things are different for our daughter, sons
and me now – the focus of our activities, the function of our memories, the
extension of our plans. Hours and days thread along unusually, laced with
missing her. </span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">When
we were thrust into Susan’s life-and-death brain tumor journey six years ago,
she and her care became the exclusive object of our attention. Lots of other
things didn’t matter. Decisions about what to do today or next week or in months
all played off how she was now or how she might be doing then. We learned to
expect the unexpected and got along by praying all the time, hoping for the
best, and being ready for anything.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Memories
are weird. My consciousness of Susan a month ago was her still in bed like she
had been for most of five months, her weakened body now paraplegic according to
her nurse’s notes, and needing to be offered food or water if she wanted it. Peace
prevailed for her; but it was a hard situation. We’re relieved that’s done. But
my consciousness of Susan since she died is wider, freshly informed by photos
chronicling her life and ours together. It’s youth, energy, vibrancy, maturity,
joy, possibilities, life. I grieve in those memories. There’s not much relief
there, just a lot of sadness for me. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">While
my sense of the future during Susan’s illness was bound with uncertainty about
the outcome of her brain cancer, that’s been resolved. It’s done. Susan and I came
to accept our circumstances in June of 2007, so I must do the same today. I’m
working on that. It will take as long as it takes, so I’m making no demands of
acceptance. I’m there mentally I think, so my emotions will trail along in
their time.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Balance
is important to me. I will not deny my grief, but if I focus just on me, pain and
loss, I’ll become a thumb-sucking navel-gazer, to quote a favorite preacher. To
counter self-pity, I've found it helpful to look up with gratitude to the
Living God who sustained all of us so marvelously during our trial and with
whom Susan now dwells in glory. Grief, relief, gratitude – I consider them all
valuable. I’m amazed to think how both Susan’s confidence in God and her faith
that Heaven would be more wonderful than we could imagine have been fulfilled
for her. She’s with Him. There. Now – or whatever “now” means in Heaven. It’s
thrilling, really. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I’ve
been checking in with Lexie, Austin and Adam to know how they're doing. They’re
okay, like me. It’s early. No one’s falling off the rails. Grief, relief,
gratitude. Following such a profound conclusion three weeks ago, the future
seems more open; time is perhaps a bit lighter, which is good. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">To
whatever degree you have followed our journey on this blog and elsewhere, you
have measures of grief, too. I’ve become more aware of that lately from cards,
notes, comments, and expressions of sympathy. We’re so thankful for your care,
prayer and support for us, and all the ways you’ve expressed it. It means the
world and had made a huge difference. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">My
high school classmate Connie Brown-Bennett was moved to write the following
verses after Susan died and gave me permission to share. I may post other
tributes in the coming days in the same way. This is so lovely and amazing:</span></span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Mike, I wasn't able to attend the funeral yesterday, but you and
your family were in my thoughts and prayers. So much that late last night I
wrote a poem/song inspired by Susan and you.</span></span><br />
<div style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">A woman of faith, a mother, friend, and wife. The love she had for
others shone in her eyes. This world brought pain and suffering which she
gracefully bore. Still trying to lift others, she fought hard but lost the war.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Well done thou good and faithful servant. Well done oh sweet and
precious one. Your life has been an inspiration. You are blessed. You are
loved.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">A man of the Father, a husband, and a dad. With honor and courage
held all that he had, bound together through their trials by the power of
prayer, and his love never ending, in her need, he was there.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Well done though good and faithful servant. Well done, oh true and
goodly son. Your life has been and inspiration. You are blessed. You are loved.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-4339220560170550862013-07-31T20:28:00.003-07:002013-07-31T20:28:40.306-07:00Susan's memorial service: Austin<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Our
21-year-old son Austin honored his mom with this hymn at her memorial service.
He played and sang so well.</span></span></span><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">It
Is Well with My Soul</span></span></span></b><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">When peace, like a river,
attendeth my way, </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">when sorrows like sea billows
roll; </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">whatever my lot, thou hast taught
me to say, </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">It is well, it is well with my
soul. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Refrain:</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">It is well with my soul, </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">it is well, it is well with my
soul. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Though Satan should buffet,
though trials should come, </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">let this blest assurance control,
</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">that Christ has regarded my
helpless estate, </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">and hath shed his own blood for
my soul. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">(Refrain) </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">My sin, oh, the bliss of this
glorious thought! </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">My sin, not in part but the
whole, </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">is nailed to the cross, and I
bear it no more, </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">praise the Lord, praise the Lord,
O my soul! </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">(Refrain)</span></span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-67389001568100511582013-07-28T21:34:00.002-07:002013-07-28T21:34:20.175-07:00Susan's memorial service: Slideshow<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Here's the slideshow we featured at Susan's memorial service. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://youtu.be/eAA6cAAqAu4" target="_blank">Susan Buccowich Memorial Slideshow</a></span></span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-56537948895062083772013-07-28T11:55:00.000-07:002013-07-28T11:55:08.395-07:00Susan's memorial service: Adam<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Our
20-year-old son Adam sang Phil Wickham's “Cielo” beautifully at his mom’s memorial
service. "Cielo" means Heaven. I'm proud of you, son! </span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Cielo</b> </span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I'm
walking through the bright white gates<br />
Breathing in and out your grace<br />
All around me melodies rise<br />
That echo with the joy inside<br />
So I start to sing</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">But
I can't sing loud enough<br />
I can't sing loud enough<br />
When I'm singing for You my God<br />
I can't sing loud enough<br />
I can't sing loud enough<br />
When I'm singing for You my God</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">With
a thunder roll and a brilliant light<br />
Your glory boasts and the heavens shine<br />
The saints and angels stand in awe<br />
Captured by the beauty of it all<br />
So I fall to my knees</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">But
I can't bow low enough<br />
I can't bow low enough<br />
At the vision of You my God<br />
I can't bow low enough<br />
I can't bow low enough<br />
At the vision of You my God</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
can't hold it all inside<br />
I'm reaching for the One who </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Brought me out of death and into life</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">But
I can't lift my hands high enough<br />
Lift my hands high enough<br />
When I'm reaching for You my God<br />
I can't lift my hands high enough<br />
Lift my hands high enough<br />
When I'm reaching for You my God</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Oh
I'm reaching for You my God<br />
I'm reaching for You<br />
I'm reaching for You<br />
I'm reaching for You my God</span></span></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Copyright © ℗ 2012 Phil Wickham </span></span> </div>
Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-6382274470715272402013-07-24T23:43:00.000-07:002013-07-25T00:49:26.641-07:00Susan's memorial service: brother Randy<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Here is what Susan's brother Randy Romberg shared at her memorial service yesterday:</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">For
whatever reason, Susan always really seemed to have great affection for me.
This, in spite of some of my actions toward her when we were kids.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUdCpkfk5NOQmIJ_JMKaoklvZ5-nV1m2P8sTP7rtlZAP1ErYUrKag4fV6chr5RW_xeeWnPn1-YWax4iwwC3uHm-lMSc4750YlC-0lXo1n0ftN0SI5W-WSSR98oFsYcDCg7pf_UV6eYi4/s1600/1970-04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUdCpkfk5NOQmIJ_JMKaoklvZ5-nV1m2P8sTP7rtlZAP1ErYUrKag4fV6chr5RW_xeeWnPn1-YWax4iwwC3uHm-lMSc4750YlC-0lXo1n0ftN0SI5W-WSSR98oFsYcDCg7pf_UV6eYi4/s320/1970-04.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L-R: Randy, Susan & Brian Romberg, 1970</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">When
Susan was in about 7th grade, she LOVED David Cassidy. She studied his every
move in Tiger Beat magazine. She also played her Partridge Family album
incessantly. I pounded on her bedroom door hoping she’d make the awful noise
stop. She ignored me. At some point I actually came to believe that Keith Partridge
thought he loved me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">There
were the times when I chastised her for being the slowest person on the planet
Earth. You absolutely could not rush her. This did not always fit well with me
and my hyper-active ways. My dad affectionately called her “Slough-Foot Sue.”
I’m not 100% certain, but I think that title alluded to the fact that she was a
bit slow moving. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">There
was also the time in high school when we were on vacation at Clear Lake and she
took her usual full hour, at least, getting herself all dolled-up for the
evening. When she came down to the dock, I pushed her in the lake. Nobody thought
that was funny then either. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Actually,
those incidents were few and far between. Most of the time the two of us
treated each other with love and respect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Now,
ever since we were in our thirties or so, I have consistently looked about ten
years older than Susan. The truth is she was actually a year-and-a-half older
than me. But that was one thing about my sister. She always looked great. As a
matter of fact, it was important to her to look like everything was perfect. It
was important to her to do as good a job as possible in all of the areas of her
life. Susan worked very hard to be as perfect as possible when it came to being
a daughter, a wife, a mother, and a Christian. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">So,
even though she was always kind and thoughtful, on the inside she was a bit of
a worrier and kind of bound up. That was until about ten years ago. It was then
that everything changed for her. You’re going to hear more about that in a
little while. But suffice it to say that Susan met the real God who just wanted
to love her and who didn’t expect perfection.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">That’s
when Susan became free. Free from guilt. Free from expectations. Before that
time she was careful not to offend, not to draw attention to herself, and to
always do the right thing. After that time, Susan grew deeper friendships,
laughed more and loved more. Her faith became something simple. A simple trust
that the God who loved her held her close. That simple faith is what got her
through breast cancer and a long road of brain cancer. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Further,
after Susan’s stroke and brain surgeries, she had like zero inhibitions. She
would sing a silly song for you. All you had to do was ask. She’d make strange
faces just for kicks. And hair and make-up weren’t even a consideration. This
was definitely not the Susan from before. I know some of this was the effects
of brain trauma, but it was the path she was heading down anyway. I’m telling
you, she became free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">So here are my questions for you; Are you a
worrier? Are you bound up on the inside? Are you attempting to measure up in
some way? You don’t have to. There is a solution. His name is Jesus. And He is
a God who offers freedom. The only thing He asks is simple trust – the kind
that Susan had.</span></span></span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-62675254721431241892013-07-20T14:03:00.000-07:002013-07-25T00:49:59.849-07:00Obituary<h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Susan M. Buccowich</span></span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Susan Buccowich, 51, passed away peacefully on July 18, 2013
following a six-year battle with brain cancer. Susan Marie Romberg was born
July 23, 1961, the second of three children and the only daughter of David and
Helen Romberg. She grew up in Paramount and attended Lincoln Elementary and
Alondra Junior High before graduating from Paramount High School in 1979. </span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A key aspect of Susan’s youth was her activity at Emmanuel
Reformed Church in Paramount where she belonged with generations of her Christian
family. Depending on her age and the day of the week, she could be found in
worship, attending or teaching Sunday school, participating in youth groups, singing
in choirs, acting in and leading drama ministry, and participating in women’s
ministries plus a variety of Bible studies. Susan centered her life on God and
his people.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She met Mike Buccowich at church one evening with the
college group in 1982. They began dating within a couple of months and became
inseparable. They enjoyed each other’s company anywhere and spent time serving
at church, sharing Falcon burgers at Cerritos College, and establishing a
relationship they would treasure. In 1984, Susan graduated from the Cerritos
College Dental Hygiene Program and pursued her professional career. Mike and Susan were
excited to be husband and wife, and married on March 23, 1985.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Motherhood arrived with joy for Susan in 1989 when their
daughter Lexie was born, followed by sons Austin in 1991 and Adam in 1993. She
learned to balance motherhood with her career, and created a warm and loving
home for her family. Susan also helped introduce a legacy of faith to her
children, helping them to know and serve God just as she had done. She happily continued
family traditions in her own home and sought to create lasting memories on
birthdays, Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving. Annual highlights also included
family vacations for water skiing at Clearlake, snow skiing in Mammoth, and weekend
retreats in the mountains at Angelus Oaks. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Susan’s sincere faith and trust in God became remarkably
evident when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2005. Caught early and
treated with surgery in 2006, it served to make Susan more thankful for the
gift of life. But her Christian foundation became indispensable when she was
diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor in 2007. Knowing her life belonged to
God and that his good purposes can be established in spite of the hardest
circumstances, she determined to prevail against a disease with an average life
expectancy of 18 months. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She endured </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">radiation treatment and 6 chemotherapies,</span></span>10 ER admissions, 19 hospital stays and 14
surgeries throughout her brain tumor
journey. She overcame a number of complications including tumor progression
four times, brain hemorrhages twice, and even fungal meningitis. But bigger
than her overstuffed medical file, Susan’s huge capacity to prevail with peace
in the face of death demonstrated God’s resources at work in her life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She
pursued her journey knowing that God would provide for her needs and wanted
others to share in the comfort she received. Her positive attitude brought
encouragement to her family and to others as God saw fit. Her legacy of
trusting the Lord in spite of overwhelming circumstances will continue by his
grace.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Susan is survived by her husband Mike and children Lexie,
Austin and Adam; her brothers Brian (Nancy) and Randy (Dorothy) Romberg and their
families; her father David Romberg; and scores of people who knew her and
accompanied her on her journey – friends, co-workers, patients, and people of
the family of God. Funeral services will be held the week of July 22, 2013 at Emmanuel Reformed Church. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Susan’s family expresses their profound gratitude for
everyone who prayed for and supported us over the years with family meals,
gifts, gift cards, housecleaning, cash, gas cards, flowers and countless notes
of encouragement. We especially want to thank Susan’s caregiver team for your
vital weekday visits so she could be supported while we were at work and
school. You are amazing. Your help was life-giving. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We’re also deeply grateful to Dr. Leia Nghiemphu and the
neuro-oncology and neuroscience teams at UCLA who extended Susan’s life again and
again and gave us the gift of time. Susan was a beneficiary of yourr tireless
commitment to bring healing into the devastation of brain cancer for patients
and families. Your commitment will continue to bear fruit in the form of more effective
treatments and better outcomes. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Those who are inclined to remember Susan with flowers are
encouraged instead to donate generously to the UCLA neuroscience program. You
may <a href="https://giving.ucla.edu/Standard/NetDonate.aspx?SiteNum=168" target="_blank">donate online</a>
or by check payable to the UCLA Foundation and mailed to: </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The UCLA Foundation</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Attn: Patricia
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Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-2637856631372620222013-07-18T11:18:00.000-07:002013-07-18T11:18:52.255-07:00In Heaven<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Susan
went to Heaven this morning. I was lying on the couch not sleeping when Daisy barked softly a couple of times. Alerted, I stepped over to Susan right away. She had stopped breathing. It was 4:23am. I listened as her heart quietly stopped beating a few minutes later. </span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Pastor Ken shared this word with us yesterday from Psalm 73: </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="text"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">“Yet I am always with
you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and
afterward you will take me into glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth
has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is
the strength of my heart and my portion forever. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="text"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="text"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Those who are far
from you will perish; you destroy all who are unfaithful to you. But as for me,
it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign </span></span><span class="small-caps"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> my refuge; I will
tell of all your deeds.”</span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="text"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></span></span>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Our
sister-in-law Nancy shared this word with us today, John 10:28, “I give them
eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my
hand.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
also think of John 14:19, “Because I live, you also will live.” The Word, the Word
of the Lord, the Word of Life. Such a comfort. Such grace when we need it. Our God is everything to us.</span></span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-45725784876014706082013-07-17T19:58:00.000-07:002013-07-24T11:59:37.302-07:00Passing over<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Last
night, Susan began passing over from her familiar, temporary home to the home
in Heaven the Lord has prepared for her. She is actively passing away now in
that final course that can last hours or days. Her body so clearly is failing;
yet she’s still so lovely. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Our family and friends have been gathering with us
to visit, grieve and say goodbye, or at least to get used to the idea. It’s
hard. We’re sad and we have peace. Susan has peace. We feel so loved and
supported and thankful. We treasure God’s presence, welcome his timing, and
pray for her comfort and ours. </span></span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-75207768100406053152013-07-13T12:49:00.000-07:002013-07-13T12:49:50.096-07:00Hospice, week 14<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">At
14 weeks on hospice care, Susan’s status seems strangely stable. She continues
her trend of less eating and drinking with more sleeping and unresponsiveness. This
week she wasn’t interested in food from Tuesday through Thursday, but finally
ate a bit of applesauce yesterday morning. </span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">When
I spoke with her hospice nurse during yesterday’s visit, he said the human body
is an amazing resource. Looking up to God, he said we’ve been given all we need
to survive with the smallest amount of nourishment. He told me in spite of all
that’s going against her, she has no infection, no skin breakdown, the meds and
nutrition she needs – she’s doing perfectly. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">We’re
left to continue our surreal existence with Susan sort of living and sort of
dying, attended by the peace of God. We’re in a place we don’t want and don’t
want to be rid of; dealing with a situation we didn’t start and can’t stop and
can’t speed up or slow down. We can’t control such circumstances, so we accept
them. Knowing the Living God as we do, we have comfort in yielding to him. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The
holiness of it is that a precious human life waits in the center of our
situation – Susan, my wife, our kids’ Mom, others’ loved one. She’s precious to
us and greatly precious to God. We’re all focused on her and attending to her
needs and her comfort. The holiness of it means God is present with us during
these days for his will, his good plans for us, and his glory in it. We
recognize that and accept it, and we don’t need to know why it’s happening or
what will happen next. It’s all so weird and hard and okay. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">We
thank God for his presence and for the support of a community who prays,
visits, brings meals, and shows love in lots of ways. </span></span><br />
Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-41241472170151744652013-07-04T15:40:00.001-07:002013-07-04T15:42:07.808-07:00Six on the 4th<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Things
have changed by degree for Susan over the past week – persistent sleeping, hazy
alertness, less food and water, few words. She’s unable to move her left arm
now, like the rest of her limbs. Water comes by way of a two-ounce syringe
since she’s not able to use a straw anymore. During a brief waking moment the
other day, I told her I can see how she’s doing physically and asked, “But
how’s your spirit? Do you still have peace?” “Yeah.” I knew she did, but hoped
she could say it. It just feels good that we can still communicate.</span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQCaRMGurqT5cKvwJijIxnOiXKkNeoduNKI8yfu_CXfXujzm-qhudSNsdCrKzVqyuwHIaNmNOHyaRkbA3kcZdvThwWVwQogtoIiL_C2hxRK0cSch09UQYAe_ID9y4uKjyJRLtuSGXIhk/s1600/photo(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQCaRMGurqT5cKvwJijIxnOiXKkNeoduNKI8yfu_CXfXujzm-qhudSNsdCrKzVqyuwHIaNmNOHyaRkbA3kcZdvThwWVwQogtoIiL_C2hxRK0cSch09UQYAe_ID9y4uKjyJRLtuSGXIhk/s320/photo(1).JPG" width="239" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Six
years ago yesterday, I watched as Susan’s condition worsened at home. We were
biding time until her scheduled brain surgery after her tumor biopsy the prior
week. But her headache grew more intense that day and brought lethargy and
vomiting. I helped her into the SUV and rushed to Long Beach Memorial, watching
her fade as we drove. I parked near the ER entrance and began helping her out
of the passenger seat when she passed out and slumped over. Was she dying? I
remember saying “Susan, stay with me” sharply and hollered for someone to grab
a wheelchair. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">They
admitted her in a blur; then came all the hook-ups, a CT scan, a visit from
Pastor Ken, and some groggy, painful hours for her in ER that led to getting a
bed in the neuro unit upstairs. I went home to rest but got a midnight call
that she was in ICU on a ventilator following a seizure. I met Susan’s brother
Randy there. We watched as she writhed and pulled at her restraints to yank the
tube from her throat. I remember how that didn’t seem like Susan to me. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Those
July 3<sup>rd</sup> events brought her to emergency brain surgery the evening
of July 4<sup>th</sup>. Her family rushed home from Clearlake or booked flights
from Colorado while friends left their patriotic parties to join the hospital
vigil. We had lots of prayers and tears, and then great relief when she came out
of surgery with a good report. What followed were the waves of treatment,
healing, recurrence and complications of brain tumor world that have dominated
our lives for the past six years. Now Susan is home on hospice care.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">I
think we’re as prepared as a family can be for days like these. I’ve been blessed
by our children’s bravery and how their recent comments reveal acceptance.
Lexie said she’s glad we’ve had this time to be with Mom while she’s on
hospice, that it’s better this way than if she’d passed away more quickly. Austin
said he’ll be relieved when Mom is in Heaven, healed in the presence of God
instead of lingering here in her weakness. Adam said he assured Mom that she doesn’t
need to stay here for our sake, that we’ll be okay, that she’s not letting us
down when it’s her time to go. I’m so thankful that God has given us all such strength.
</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">I’m
encouraging them to tell their Mom what’s on their hearts. She can’t respond
much, but she hears us. I asked them to imagine her not being here – if they
think there’s something they wish they would have said to her, they should say
it now.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The Psalms continue to resonate as I read and
pray with Susan in mind.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">“But may all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you;
may those who love your salvation always say, “Let God be exalted! Yet I am
poor and needy; come quickly to me, O God. You are my help and my deliver; O
Lord, do not delay.” Psalm 70:4-5</span></span></span></blockquote>
Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-64361494531828043012013-06-25T21:05:00.001-07:002013-06-25T21:05:47.348-07:0011 weeks and 6 years<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">This
week makes 11 that Susan’s been home on hospice and six years since we found out
about her brain tumor. It’s an odd conflict of trends since one suggests demise
and the other survival. I suppose “conflict” rightly describes a lot of things
for us.</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The
kids and I are conflicted in that we don’t want to lose Mom, but we don’t want
her to linger in her diminished state. Susan seems conflicted since she’s at
peace with things overall but clearly struggling with being bedridden for so
long, unable to speak much and able to move only her left arm due to painful
muscle loss. Six years have widened the divide between our former life and our
brain tumor one. We’ve adjusted as much as we can to the new normal, but we’re all
naturally conflicted about having lost the vibrancy of those days even though we
know God is sustaining us in all of it.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I’m
conflicted too, in all the ways I’ve mentioned, having borne them all to
some extent just to identify them. What may have changed for me over the past
week or so is a greater impatience for our circumstances. I don’t like seeing Susan
in pain, lingering like she is. Lately she’s awake and cheerful once for every
five or six times she’s awake in discomfort. Things have shifted. That’s hard. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">What
hasn’t changed is the goodness of the Lord, the surety of our heavenly home,
the good plans he yet has for us, and our gratitude for all God has done for us.
He’s secured our lives eternally and has kept us in his care. Our friend Letty
Wunderley brought a delicious meal tonight and reminded me that God orders our
steps. That means he knows the end from the beginning, from our birth to our
death, and he has our lives wrapped up in his grace. There’s a great peace in knowing
that. It prevents us from trying to control things we can’t and to just accept.
And trust.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">We’re
not the first ones to cry out. David says in Psalm 13:1, “How long, Lord? Will you
forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” That’s a good
question. It’s honest. I like how it doesn’t bother
God when we ask it of him. He knows our hearts.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">So
after 11 weeks and six years, we’re conflicted, but thankful. We’re torn, but
peaceful. We don’t understand so many things, but we know and trust the one who
does. We trust his plans and his timing. We trust the Lord. Whatever may have
changed for me over the past week, our God never changes. Our help is in his
name, the one who made heaven and earth. He’s just as worthy of our thanks and
praise today as he was on June 25, 2007. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">June 26 will be six years of Susan’s
brain tumor journey. That’s 2,190 days. Tomorrow is just one more, so we’ll
keep taking them one at a time. </span></span><br />
Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-43652078305363590682013-06-18T19:10:00.000-07:002013-06-18T19:28:07.298-07:00Desperate to see Jesus<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Now
in her 10<sup>th</sup> week of hospice care, Susan’s trend continues with
noticeable decline over the weeks yet little change from day to day. She
usually manages to have one daily meal while we do our best to keep her
hydrated. Her verbal interactions are small and infrequent. She still smiles
easily when she’s awake and lucid; but sadly, those days are fewer. She’s been
less responsive since the weekend.</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">We
recently received an amazing gift. Our friend Joyce Wybenga delivered a DVD from
a church service around 2002 when Susan shared her experience from Joyce’s
Companions group that focused on listening to God. It’s amazing on several
levels.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The
video recalls a time of young kids, busy schedules and certainly no inkling of
Susan’s brain tumor. It’s deeply moving to see and hear her again in the prime
of life. She appears animated in a way otherwise entrusted to memory and
displays the energy, humor and emotion that are so familiar to knowing her.
It’s a precious gift and a great comfort to see that Susan again.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">But
what she says is more remarkable. Susan relates an instance with the story of
Zacchaeus, who wanted to see Jesus but could not because of the crowd. She shares
how meditating on the Word in Luke 19 ushered in a new experience with God for
her. She confesses that she either had been too distracted by the crowd in her
life to see Jesus or too reliant on her own efforts, but that she yielded to
God that night in Companions. She shares how it changed her. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
remember that event and the season which followed, and how God took hold of Susan’s
heart and secured it in his own. It was a time when she moved from a position
of striving to one of receiving. She caught God’s love for her in a series of powerful,
cleansing experiences, like waves washing over her. As she yielded to him, she
let go of stuff inside and received healing. No longer content with doing, she
found fulfillment in being with God and surrendering to his will, which transformed her. Susan saw God and
his love for her in a new and truer way, which changed how she saw herself. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
remember how it changed her worship. I’d see her in church next to the kids
from my perch with the worship team, her arms splayed out like if they could go
further, they would. Sometimes I wouldn’t see her at all because she’d be on
her knees. I loved seeing her surrender in worship and how it inspired me. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
remember times past when I’d be serving in music ministry or church leadership and
growing spiritually, maybe more or differently than Susan was at the time. She’d
feel left out and a bit frustrated. During this season though, she was growing,
almost slingshotting forward. It was exciting for both of us.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">For
a long time, Susan had wanted to see Jesus just like Zacchaeus, but couldn’t
because of the crowd. God used that passage to call her out, to lead her away
from the crowd so he could speak tenderly to her and bless her. That’s what she
shares in the video, so we see a transformed woman speak with eloquence and
emotion about how God’s love changed her and how she surrenders to him every
day.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I’d
have been happy for five minutes of Susan reading a grocery list on video in
2002, so this is an over-the-top gift. It’s her, complete and fulfilled, sharing from her
heart about real and meaningful truths in her life. I wasn’t able to produce a clip of it for
this post, but you get the idea. Sometime later I hope you can see the visual
evidence of someone completely captivated by God’s love.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It may seem awkward if not impossible to connect
that vibrant Susan to the one in her hospice bed. I know I can’t neatly tie a
cause and effect together here or explain God’s purposes in it. Neither can
you. We can explain the person and ways of the King of Heaven to a point; but
beyond that point, we can’t. God is so much mystery, and that’s good. Perhaps
we’re learning to live with it and simply to trust that the One who loves us so
well will work it all out.</span></span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-2657738713142978652013-06-08T14:20:00.001-07:002013-06-08T14:20:42.549-07:00Hospice, week 8<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Today
begins Susan’s eighth week at home on hospice care. On days when she’s more awake
and alert, I get the feeling she’ll be with us indefinitely. On days when she
mostly sleeps and doesn’t eat, drink or respond much, it seems she has less
time, days maybe. It’s hard to know because we can’t. We’re left to trust the
Lord with life and death just as much as we did when Susan’s brain tumor
journey started six years ago. </span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje41jJYQqiYSmrSbBOLbJ6d7jS2wczWWEchArDinf2Hap-XQNlQ25cV8z8xvr0A36Ntn6mrpr0L2hdsjS75coplkNG5jRER3PR87piqP2cyeM8qINJZDJjukpKhTeiw4-5lR_HU6Yeqsw/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje41jJYQqiYSmrSbBOLbJ6d7jS2wczWWEchArDinf2Hap-XQNlQ25cV8z8xvr0A36Ntn6mrpr0L2hdsjS75coplkNG5jRER3PR87piqP2cyeM8qINJZDJjukpKhTeiw4-5lR_HU6Yeqsw/s320/photo.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">These
days there are usually about 2 hours in 24 for us to interact. She’s most
lovely at first when she fully awakes, with her eyes clear, bright, and blue. Her
warm smile beautifully frames her thinning face. She responds to my jokes with
a knowing look and a brief giggle. We still connect. In those moments I move in
with affirming words, food, water, and meds. I ply all of her daily meds on her
at once since a second opening is so elusive. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
enjoy praying with her before her meal. We thank God for the gift of life, for
his love and faithfulness, for his peace, joy, healing and strength; for our
kids. We declare our trust in him and our thanks for holding our lives in his
hands. When we finish praying, Susan usually sighs and looks me in the eyes
instead of saying “amen.” Sometimes she says simply, “yes.” It’s all amen
anyway. Yes, God, you are good. Yes, we trust you. Yes, we thank you. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It’s
amazing how God’s Word becomes so consistently relevant through the filter of
each day’s circumstances. This week I saw Psalm 65 like never before. David
says:</span></span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">“Praise
awaits you, our God, in Zion; to you our vows will be fulfilled. You who answer
prayer, to you all people will come. When we were overwhelmed by sins, you
forgave our transgressions. Blessed are those you choose and bring near to live
in your courts! We are filled with the good things of your house, of your holy
temple.”</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Eventually,
all people will come to God. Susan will come in her time with his Son’s
credentials. Her praise waits for that moment when she comes to him, when her
vows are fulfilled – like her vow to trust him for salvation. She’ll praise
him in person for the day he relieved her of her sins and forgave her
transgressions. She’ll praise him for so much more; her praise will go on and
on. She’ll join those he chose to bring near and live in his courts. She’ll be
filled with the good things of his house. </span></span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">“You
answer us with awesome and righteous deeds, God our Savior, the hope of all the
ends of the earth and of the farthest seas, who formed the mountains by your
power, having armed yourself with strength, who stilled the roaring of the
seas, the roaring of their waves, and the turmoil of the nations. The whole
earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening
fades, you call forth songs of joy.”</span></span><br />
</blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Meanwhile,
here on earth where morning dawns and evening fades, the One who answers prayer
responds with awesome and righteous deeds. We know the effect of his creative
deeds that brought our world into being. We’re among those across the globe who
witness his dominion and care over us. </span></span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">“You
care for the land and water it; you enrich it abundantly. The streams of God
are filled with water to provide the people with grain, for so you have
ordained it. You drench its furrows and level its ridges; you soften it with
showers and bless its crops. You crown the year with your bounty, and your
carts overflow with abundance. The grasslands of the wilderness overflow; the
hills are clothed with gladness. The meadows are covered with flocks and the
valleys are mantled with grain; they shout for joy and sing.”</span></span><br />
</blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">During
our years on the earth, we all enjoy the abundance of the world God made and sustains
for us. For a time we have the opportunity to praise him for his goodness that
covers the earth. And if we choose, we can lay claim to the greater glory that
is the heavenly Zion. If we choose, we can praise him now, in our plenty or our
wanting. But we look forward to the greater praise that rightly waits for him
when we enter his house at last. </span></span><br />
Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-52184712579780761022013-05-30T20:45:00.000-07:002013-05-30T20:45:07.390-07:00Hospice, week 7<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Susan’s
progression of more sleeping and less waking continues since last week. The
past few days she’s had fewer meals, either from sleeping through mealtimes or losing
interest in the meal she’s having. Her hospice nurse encouraged me not to
worry, that she really doesn’t need more than one meal a day. It’s hard to know
how much time she has at this point; but I know one can linger only so long
without food and even less without water. I know that as Susan’s journey takes
her toward Heaven, food and water will become less important to her.</span>
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">That
said, today she had several awake periods and ate three meals. She had a good
day. She smiles easily when she wakes up and still never complains. Our messing
around is muted; but she still giggles when I tease her. That’s because when we
mess around, we don’t mess around. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I
asked Susan the other day if she’s ready to go to Heaven. She said “yes.”
Curious, I asked if she thinks she’ll go to Heaven soon. Just like you and me,
she couldn’t answer. I asked if she’s scared. She said “no.” I love her courage
and trust in God.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I’ve
been praying Psalm 63 for Susan this week. David wrote these words in the
Desert of Judah:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><sup>1 </sup>O
God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body
longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. </span></blockquote>
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Susan’s
soul thirsts for God and her body longs for relief in a weary land, our
restless world.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><sup>2 </sup>I
have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory. <sup>3 </sup>Because
your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. <sup>4 </sup>I
will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands. <sup>5 </sup>I
will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my
mouth will praise you. </span><br />
</blockquote>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">She
knows the God she worships. She knows his goodness. His love is her greatest
treasure, and is one of the spiritual possessions she will take with her from
this earth. The lesser things will stay here; but she’ll bring her great
treasures back to the Lord with thanksgiving so they can celebrate together. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><sup>6 </sup>On
my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night. <sup>7 </sup>Because
you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. <sup>8 </sup>My soul
clings to you; your right hand upholds me. </span><br />
</blockquote>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Susan’s
journey is so much more private now. Sometimes I find her awake at night, lying
there quietly. She has thoughts that only the Lord knows. God truly is our help;
we have no other. He gives us great peace, so much that we praise him under his unseen
protection.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><sup>9 </sup>Those
who want to kill me will be destroyed; they will go down to the depths of the
earth. <sup>10 </sup>They will be given over to the sword and become food
for jackals. <sup>11 </sup>But the king will rejoice in God; all who swear
by God will glory in him, while the mouths of liars will be silenced.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></blockquote>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Cancer
is a great disabler that is itself disabled. The lie of cancer is that it will
consume you; but now I realize how limited it is. It cannot touch your soul. It
cannot snuff your spirit. Cancer may so disease a person’s body that it cannot
go on living – but cancer dies when the body does. Cancer loses. When Susan goes
to heaven, she will glory in the Lord, forever. </span><br />
Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-45663161414454020962013-05-21T20:14:00.001-07:002013-05-22T07:21:31.668-07:00Sometimes not here<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The
noticeable change for Susan over the past week is a slight decline to the point
that she’s sometimes not here. She sleeps most of the time, often deeply, and
is often weakly alert when she’s awake. When she is alert </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">just after waking up,
she doesn't have a lot of stamina. She's otherwise comfortable and
sweet-spirited. Word-finding is really hard, so she doesn't talk much. I
noticed the word “paraplegic” in her nurse’s notes, so I guess that’s true
since she hasn’t walked in about three months. Medical terms can be jarring in their
accuracy.<span style="color: black;"></span></span>
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">It’s
weird that she’s sometimes not here. She slept through me repositioning her in
bed recently. She slept during Adam’s birthday party with 15 guests. On Sunday,
after sleeping all night, she slept through late morning. She slept through
much of yesterday’s bed-bath with her nurse’s assistant. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Going
on hospice is acknowledges that if someone’s about to commence the process of
dying, you’re going to support it and not interfere. That’s a hard decision to
make. That process on hospice means you’re sometimes not here; then I suppose
it means you’re sometimes here but mostly not, and then finally you’re not here
at all. I've noticed that Susan’s journey is becoming more private, something she has to do
alone. That’s hard too, even though there's no other way. Gradually or all at once,
being separated from someone you love is just really hard. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The
Fairfield Four sing, “You got to walk that lonesome valley, you got to go by
yourself… ain’t nobody else gonna go there for you.” That’s another jarring truth
even without the medical terms</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The
other day I thanked the Lord for being my shepherd, so there’s nothing I will
want. I thanked him for making me lie down in green pastures, because I needed
that rest. I thanked him for leading me beside quiet waters and enjoyed the
sounds I heard. He refreshes my soul. I thanked him for guiding me down the
right path for my good and his glory. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I
thanked him again that his presence, his perfect love, casts out all fear from
the valley of the shadow of death. I thanked him that while it’s a lonesome
valley, he’s there with his strong hand to lift and guide and comfort. I thanked
him again that the reason it’s the valley of the shadow of death and not the
valley of utter darkness is his light. His light gives
vision and means the gloom is only temporary.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">"Because
you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. My soul clings to you;
your right hand upholds me.” Psalm 63:7-8</span></blockquote>
Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-1756828804133788482013-05-13T18:24:00.002-07:002013-05-14T13:21:09.942-07:00Strange joy<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">We
enjoyed a nice Mother’s Day yesterday that started with breakfast in bed for Susan.
Okay, so she has every meal in bed. Work with me here. She chose the
bacon and cheese omelet over the oatmeal and relished a second course of
vanilla frozen yogurt topped with fresh raspberries and blueberries, drizzled
with boysenberry syrup. Later, instead of our traditional lunch at Randy &
Dorothy’s, everyone came over for mid-afternoon dessert so Susan would be
included. It was good family time.</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNueEkTQVLOMqmteUZEwIogaF574-DaWuRpe8RMC-Vg_cQnpwXr3ZcB6d6mvW7-e7k3UHRLsObUs4Ox6uGCPqYTw8pMViHv0J9Aqfm7fpHXUGzxnsJKj7JGxb2GHx_Tl7ieUuL3DtihVQ/s1600/Mothers-Day-2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNueEkTQVLOMqmteUZEwIogaF574-DaWuRpe8RMC-Vg_cQnpwXr3ZcB6d6mvW7-e7k3UHRLsObUs4Ox6uGCPqYTw8pMViHv0J9Aqfm7fpHXUGzxnsJKj7JGxb2GHx_Tl7ieUuL3DtihVQ/s320/Mothers-Day-2013.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I
recall Mother’s Days past, when the kids and I would work furiously and
secretly in the kitchen to prepare a partially elegant meal while Mom got ready
for church. If there were fresh berries and something sprinkled with powdered
sugar, it was partially elegant. We’d try to catch her after her hair was done
but before she got fully dressed so we could coax her back to bed for the
surprise delivery. I remember the kids gushing with excitement for the special
presentation of breakfast and cards and flowers, and how their anticipation met
with delight that she was enjoying what we’d prepared. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">This
year was different, like so many things for our family. Susan remains stable,
neither improving nor declining. She knocked back a urinary tract infection
this week with antibiotics and knocked back several more severe headaches with morphine.
Like always, she’s in good spirits and is generally most alert just after waking from restful sleep. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Now
in week 5 under hospice care, things have progressed differently than I thought
when I didn’t know what to expect. I guess I still don’t know what to expect;
but we’ve all gotten used to Susan’s bed in the den and the quiet routine of
attending to her. Life on hospice in week 5 is strangely normal, strangely
joyful, and strangely open-ended. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Strange
joy” borrows a title from Bob Bennett’s latest album, <a href="http://blog.stevebell.com/2013/01/bob-bennetts-new-cd-joy-deep-as-sorrow/" target="_blank">Joy Deep as Sorrow</a>, a recording I recommend highly. The song speaks
of peace in the middle of trial and “strange joy, barely understood, that from
the night of trouble dawns the day of good.” We’re in the firm center of that
mystery, with Susan not really dying but not really living and with us not
really grieving but not really celebrating. We’re waiting for weighty things to
transpire that are orchestrated by loving and unseen hands according to a
divine timetable, while God’s people attend to us in prayer and with acts of
kindness. We’re waiting. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">But
the joy is real and the peace is real. They mock our circumstances, a situation
that should bring sorrow and chaos. This strange joy from God makes it possible
for us to be okay, really. It’s nothing new for him to dispense – we’re just
among the latest of countless people who have latched on to the power and
mystery of the Cross. He supplies our purpose for living, comfort when dying,
and resurrection hope beyond the grave. I love Jesus’ words, some of his last,
in John 14:19: “Because I live, you also will live.” The gospel is so simple. Today
we’re okay, really. In faith, tomorrow we will be too.</span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-40999190839200363732013-05-05T15:33:00.000-07:002013-05-05T15:35:55.986-07:00Resting<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Susan
is resting. She woke up early, feeling well, had breakfast and got a clean gown
and sheets. She asked for her glasses using words she couldn’t come up with two
weeks ago. Now she’s resting. Yesterday she had a severe headache, took some
pain meds and then rested. She rests a lot. </span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I’ve
camped on Psalm 62 this week, which begins, “My soul finds rest in God alone;
my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my
fortress, I will never be shaken.” </span></span><br />
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span id="goog_234728046"></span><span id="goog_234728047"></span><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
love that Susan has found her soul’s rest in the Lord. I believe it’s the
singular reason she’s prevailed in peace and strength for nearly six years under
the decay of brain cancer. It’s why the ICU nurse asked her if she ever
complains. She just doesn’t. She voices pain when she hurts too much; but her
resting soul prevents her from raging or railing against it. There’s a
difference.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Our
souls long for rest. We spend our lives trying to find it. As Americans, we’re particularly
good at the pursuit and are invited to partake from the nearest TV, computer, billboard
or radio: nicer clothes, sleeker cars, fuller lashes, harder-hitting
entertainment, smoother beer and better investments. We buy it up because we
can’t get no satisfaction. Really, we’re desperate for rest. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Susan’s
pursuit for satisfaction disappeared overnight nearly six years ago. While
fighting for her life, having a new summer purse no longer mattered. Neither
did a new hairstyle, nor the HDTV. You may not have said we were overly
materialistic; but it seems many of the things we valued proved unreliable for
life’s foundation. Quickly failing when tested, our false supports gave way to
our true foundation in God. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">There’s
a reason David says, “He alone is my rock and my salvation.” Rock is massive
and immovable. It lasts, especially when compared to things of earth that come
and go, things that rot or break, things we think are important. God is our
mighty rock.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Salvation
is the ultimate. What, or who, can save us? Who besides the Lord? Who else said
he made us? Who else said he can save us? Who else has made good on every
promise in spite of our attempts to explain him away? Who else, brokenhearted
about our rebellion from him, offers us salvation and not annihilation? Who
else offers provision and purpose on earth in exchange for our devotion – and
the hope of heaven besides?</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">In
light of all else that claims to offer what our souls need, God is a worthy refuge.
“He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be
shaken.” He’s where Susan found her soul’s rest a long time ago. Heaven,
whenever she goes there, will be just another form of it.</span></span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378800582190781814.post-35383371925929247562013-05-01T18:26:00.000-07:002013-05-01T19:44:47.762-07:00Hospice, week 3<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">We’re
thankful Susan continues to hold fast in her third week on hospice care. She’s
taking plenty of liquids and food and has none of the hazards that often come
when bedridden for weeks, like skin breakdown or breathing trouble. She’s been
a bit congested at times, but has responded well to her breathing treatments. She
still has periods of severe headache and takes morphine only when she can’t
stand it.</span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Her
cognitive status remains mostly unchanged also<span style="font-size: small;">;</span> verbally responsive but not
talkative and sleeping a lot of the time. She doesn’t complain, but remains
sweet and pleasant. I haven’t observed any seizure activity or progressive
decline one might associate with tumor growth. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">In
spite of her diminished state, Susan is much like she has been since her brain
cancer diagnosis: here, at peace, and trusting in the Lord for his will and his
timing. It’s such a strange existence for all of us, but one that’s become
familiar, even normal. Our sons play Xbox games while Mom lies in bed a few
feet away. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">We
know little else except that God loves us and has us in his hands, and that
friends stand with us in love, prayer, and beautiful expressions of support. My
constant prayer is, “Lord, have mercy on us.” </span></span></span>Michael Buccowichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05806674469744955058noreply@blogger.com2