Good news for Hank and for Susan

Cris Zaveleta posted on CarePages:

Yes, we are home. AGAIN. and I plan on keeping it that way! Hank is doing well and is continuing to rest. He is having a little trouble with his right leg/foot and walking isn't easy, we have no idea what that is about, but we will figure it out and get him moving again.
I know I've said this a million times, but I just want to THANK everyone for your continued support, love, prayers, visits and yummy food. We feel so Blessed.
Hank will start the dendretic cell vaccine (clinical trial) in two weeks, he will get an injection every other week for a total of 3 injections. He will also start an I.V. medication-Avastin, in 4 weeks. I’m not sure how long they will give that one. He will continue to get MRI's every 6 weeks to keep an eye on things. That's the plan for now. I will keep you posted.  XOXO - Cris

Susan and I were able to visit and pray with Hank and Cris last week after Susan’s oncology visit, and were greatly encouraged to see how well he’s doing and how beautifully they trust God and reflect his peace. Strangely, it’s almost easier to go through an ordeal like GBM yourself than see others suffer with it. That was true for me concerning Hank and Cris until I realized we share the same confidence and hope in God. Ultimately, I know Susan and I are okay, that’s why we have peace – now I know Hank and Cris are okay, too.
 
I love Hank’s heart for the Lord and how he so freely voices his desire that people know Jesus. He shows neither pretense nor embarrassment in sharing his faith. He’s just a guy for whom the important things in life have been brought into focus while other things have been stripped away. He knows whose he is and where he’s going. As I pray for his healing, I’m also praying for the desires of his heart and thank you for doing the same.
 

Meanwhile, we’re encouraged once again with Susan’s latest MRI that shows her tumor is stable. I’d been concerned that more headaches recently were a sign her tumor was growing, but since she wasn’t worsening in other ways, I was cautiously optimistic. I figured we were dealing with her latest effort to get off steroids. The doctor agreed.
 
But the next day she told me the radiologist who viewed her MRI noticed signs of thickening of the lining outside Susan’s brain (the dura), a condition called intracranial hypotension. It usually occurs if there’s a leakage of fluid from the spinal cord from a spinal tap or an accidental puncture, and could have happened when she recently had some electrodes removed from her lower back. If so, perhaps the leak was a small one since she didn’t have the terrible pain that comes with rising to sit or stand. In any case, the condition usually resolves on its own. Susan has been feeling well lately, so we’re okay with not having a complete understanding of what happened.
 
We’re glad to have Susan well and free from tumor progression so we can concentrate on weaning off steroids again and hopefully her gaining strength and function. Her gains are small and incremental while memory and vision are still difficulties for her. Still, we’re aware that God is keeping us in his care as we seek him for healing, strength, and restoration. I’m reminded of God’s word that says, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9) We continue to trust him in the mystery.

On faith

With over three years since Susan’s brain tumor came along, we've come to accept the reality of our situation and trust God with the outcome. Every now and then I’m reminded of the grim statistics, and saw another today: fewer than ten percent of people with GBM are still alive five years after diagnosis. Still, Susan has outlived the average survival of 12-18 months and has responded to treatment each time her tumor has grown. So, we keep in mind that statistics are a collection of data about a topic, and they don’t determine the outcome for a person with brain cancer. As I noted recently, Susan has had no great improvement, but hasn’t had any nasty complications for a number of months, while her tumor has been stable for a year. Our stance remains the same – trusting God, praying always, hoping for the best, and ready for anything.
 

Given our outlook, we haven’t needed to ask why. I think lots of people get stuck there. Upheaval is frustrating. It doesn’t make sense. It’s not fair. It’s natural to bog down in it, shake your fist at the sky, and demand, “Why?” But we accept that if the question is unanswerable, we waste a lot of resources asking it. Instead, we’ve found peace in trusting the Lord and his good, mysterious plans for us, and focusing on our response to our situation. That's a work in progress; but we have peace. Even so, the desire for understanding remains, though not in a disruptive way. It just makes me wonder – what is God doing?
 

I was invited to sing on the worship team at church on Sunday at 9:00 and 10:30, an activity that used to be a weekly routine but now is something we can manage once in a while when Bob asks and when Susan is doing well. We used to be at church for hours on Sundays, interacting with lots of different people all over the campus. Lately it’s different – we park in a handicapped space near the side entrance, scoot into the sanctuary sometimes on time, visit the restroom after the 9:00 service, get home so Susan can rest, and interact with whomever we might see within that small space and time. But this Sunday we were there for several hours once again, more mobile, and able to run across a variety of people. The recurring comment amazed me: people are praying for us. We know this, but Susan and I continually heard words like, “I’m praying for you.” “We pray for you every night.” “You’re in our daily prayers.” “Our small group prayed for you this morning.” It was awesome to hear, in random encounters, over and over again. The message was unavoidable. It made me wonder – what is God doing?
 

Last night while dreaming I heard a voice say, “Faith is like a tree. It sends down roots and grows strong and tall, stretching its leaves to the sky.” Then I heard another voice. “No, faith is like a feather, delicate and blown around by the wind, and completely unable to fulfill its purpose on its own. But with others, connected to the body and the wings of the Holy Spirit, it soars to unimaginable heights.” THAT made me wonder.

Another good week

With more distance between her and the conditions that led to July’s hospitalization, Susan continues to improve. Some of her sores from shingles remain and still are painful, but much less so.  We had several more urology activities, including another consultation on July 30 to discuss the treatment plan for Susan’s kidney stones. While the stones may be causing her ongoing infections (with another last week), we decided to table the issue until we know whether the bladder pacemaker may fix her incontinence and another point of infection.
 

Susan had an InterStim device connected Tuesday on a one-week trial basis. She has a controller the size of a large TV remote that clips onto her waistband and connects electrodes passing under her skin to the sacral nerve on the lower spine. The idea is that when urinary urgency or frequency is caused by disrupted brain signals, sending mild electrical pulses to the pelvic floor can help a person regain control. Susan has had some improvement so far.  We’ll evaluate the results on Monday with the urologist. If they look good, we’ll schedule another surgery to implant the device.
 

I continue to be amazed at Susan’s unquenchably positive attitude and enduring faith. To her, today’s headache is not as bad as yesterday’s and will be better tomorrow. Those shingles sores were a lot worse a few weeks ago.  That back pain will only last a few more days. True, her incomplete memory means her awareness of pain that continues even over days at a time is blessedly distorted. But her ability to draw from her reservoir of hope truly is life-sustaining. 

Speaking of her incomplete memory, I enjoy Susan’s remarks lately when it’s time for dessert. Since her diabetes became known to us, she now enjoys a low-carb fudgesicle after dinner instead of something with lots of sugar. She really enjoys it. A lot. She’s thrilled she actually can have such a treat. She’s astonished it’s not forbidden. It’s indulgent. It’s dreamy. It’s so satisfying. Carried away in a silky-cold chocolate stupor, she’ll say something like, “I know I have this treat every night, but what's nice about not remembering things is that I forget how much I enjoy it, so I get all excited when you bring it to me the next night. And now it’s the next night already so I’m really happy.” “Yep,” I reply, “First time every time.”
 

When we broke Susan’s overnight fast after surgery at noon on Tuesday, we gave thanks for our food and for all the support we get from doctors, family, and friends.  Susan recalled being greeted by someone at church on Sunday who’s familiar with our situation and said she’s praying for us. Susan doesn’t know her well. She thought about all the people she doesn’t know who know about us and support us in prayer. Her thoughts turned to Heaven.  She said someday she’ll go to Heaven and she’ll see all these people she doesn’t know now but will know then, and will have an instant connection to them. As she’s said so many times before, she said we have no idea about the things God has in store for us in Heaven. It will be amazing.
 

I think of what John says – that disciple who saw and heard and touched and knew Jesus on earth, and years later writes about what is to come. 

“Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. Everyone who has this hope in him purifies himself, just as he is pure.” 1 John 3:3-4

This is the hope that’s burned into our souls. This hope holds out the possibility that God could heal and restore Susan instantly for the remainder of her years on earth.  But greater than mere possibility, this hope holds out real knowledge for us.  We know we’ll have eternity with God that’s beyond anything we could imagine.

A three-year brain tumor survivor

Susan remains strong and stable prior to her next tests to update the status of her brain tumor and kidney stone.
 
June 26th marks three years since we discovered Susan’s brain tumor, an anniversary laden with paradox.  As a glioblastoma multiforme patient, she has surpassed a life expectancy that averages only about a year from diagnosis.  That’s a fact too obvious, since we’ve known four friends and one Massachusetts senator who have succumbed to high-grade brain tumors since our journey began.  Susan has beaten the odds. Yet with just 10% of GBM patients surviving more than five years, we wonder what the future holds.
 
Why is Susan is a three-year survivor?  Is it that at age 46 when diagnosed, she was younger than average and better able to rally her strength?  Is it that she had access to surgeries, medications, and treatments when she needed them along with world-class care at UCLA? Is it that her type of tumor has a mix of cells that responded better to treatment than others?  Is it that she’s got an unquenchable positive attitude?  I'm encouraged by these comments in a NY Daily News article: 

While new findings continue to extend the lives of patients with glioblastoma, for the moment, it remains one of the most dreaded diagnoses. For those who receive it, putting up a fight against the tumor may help.

“If you go to the Internet and do a search on outcomes in glioma, everyone will call it a terminal illness,” Dr. Henry Friedman, co-director of Duke’s brain tumor center, told the Times. “Your outcome is ‘dead on diagnosis.’ If you don’t have the philosophy that you can win, you have lost before you started.”

NY Daily News 09/01/09: Glioblastoma

While there may be a number of reasons Susan is doing well, ultimately we see God's hand at work.  He's keeping us.  It's just a mystery.  We come to the end of three years with no conclusion – except that Susan has survived this long.  Even the term “survivor” can be troubling.  Was Ted Kennedy a brain cancer survivor for 14 months until he died a month later?
 
Paradox enfolds our spiritual perspective as well.  We are burdened, but not broken down.  Fear attends, but God’s perfect love forces it to the margins.  In turmoil, we've received peace.  Our weakness has been overcome by God’s strength; our vulnerability covered by his faithfulness.  Yet while God is able to heal Susan from GBM, he has not.  Suppose he does?  A Susan healed from GBM will eventually die from something else. 
 
Through this paradox, a force drives us.  Susan is driven to be gracious, enduring, and hopeful as she strives to live. I am driven to care for and encourage her, to declare her a survivor, and to try to make some sense of our situation for our sake and for others.  Three years ago, we were driven to acceptance almost immediately and found the load lighter.  We were driven to behold the darkness and void, and realize it has not been given any power over us. 
 
We are compelled to complete this season of testing, whatever the outcome of Susan’s disease; to see it not as an affliction but as an experience with God. As for me, I knew I was in for a time of testing.  This was a test of faith I must pass.  Do or die.
 
Honestly, I have failed wildly.  But even wilder has been learning my failure was for my benefit, not God’s. My weakness is no surprise to him - but I needed to see it myself.  In terms of spiritual currency, I’m broke.  I’m so broke, sometimes I can’t even pay attention.  But now, in my brokenness, comes the greater part of the test – testing God. The paradox deepens.  

Who is this God who flips a season of testing so he's the one on trial?   Who is this God who decides in advance to bear with his fragile children so we can come to terms with our weakness, which itself is the key to knowing his strength?   Who is he, secure enough in the outcome that he's willing to allow a messy process to play out?  When everything's gone wonky, we're laid low.  Now God can get our attention, help us know he's near, and communicate deeply to our souls about his true nature.

• It’s exactly when your courage is sapped and you feel alone that you can know the God of Deuteronomy 31:8, “The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged."
• Seeing you’re awash in peril yields the real power of John 16:33: “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
• It’s natural to tremble in the face of death.  In that darkness, an ancient enemy looms and would overtake me.  But when I notice God is there and he’s relaxed enough to “prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies” (Psalm 23:5), then I am at ease too.  God himself becomes my confidence.

To be serene while facing death almost makes no sense.  To be joyful in hope with brain cancer is a bit of a contradiction.  To be confident in one unseen who’s waiting at the end of a journey marked by pain, loss, and uncertainty is actually understandable when you know who's really there. At three years, we’re growing more comfortable with the mystery.

More breathing room?

The past several weeks have provided more breathing room for Susan and me as we enjoyed an unforgettable 25th anniversary stay in Laguna Beach, more time without complications, and even a trip for her to Mammoth this week with family.  Our brief stay in Laguna offered pristine springtime weather, hours spent on the hotel balcony entranced by the seaside panorama, and a chance for Susan to have her feet in the sand again.  Our 9th floor room brought us eye-to-eye with seagulls and was a perfect perch to watch pods of dolphins, surfers, beach walkers, crashing waves, and even a couple of migrating gray whales.  An epic weekend would not be complete without a Jacuzzi bath for Susan (years since the last one) that rejuvenated her. 

The weeks since then found us resuming Susan’s blood draws leading up to next week’s UCLA oncology visit, gathering with some of my friends from high school, celebrating Good Friday and Easter with our church and our family, and getting Susan, Lexie and Adam away to Mammoth with the Rombergs.  Austin spent Easter vacation working on a mission trip to an American Indian community in Arizona.  Although the road trip was a bit taxing, Susan did well in Mammoth and had a pretty smooth week.  Lexie made me proud by taking great care of her mom and working hard to make sure she stayed safe.  I put in some longer hours and was able to focus on my work more than usual, although I missed everyone, Susan especially.  Even so, I can attest to the value of respite for the caregiver.  My time with her following our break finds me more relaxed and patient, armed with a deeper well of compassion and a better perspective than I had a week ago.  

But Susan hasn’t been doing well this weekend.  She’s tired, confused, and generally out of it.  She’s had several spells of nausea or vomiting at mealtime, so I’m on the alert for more signs of trouble.  She’s been headachy but has no fever.  After a couple of long naps yesterday, she seemed a bit better last night – yet the nausea returned this morning as we prepared for church.  I’m keeping her home to rest and will continue to watch her closely in case there’s more going on than just the effect of traveling and altitude.

Our Silver Anniversary naturally leads us to reflect on our lives as a couple and celebrate the gift of spending most of our years on earth with each other.  It’s a unique experience.  Spending a lifetime as husband and wife is different than being with a friend, companion, parent, or sibling.  Why?  Each of these relationships has a certain level of familiarity, compatibility, trust, and common interest that creates a bond deeper than a casual acquaintance.  But marriage goes deeper still, involving a level of physical, emotional, and spiritual intimacy unlike any other relationship.  In the most significant way, it satisfies our human desire to know and be known.  This is what God had in mind for us and is what Jesus spoke of in Mark 10:7-8, “’For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.'  So they are no longer two, but one.”  This is the gift Susan and I have enjoyed so far for 25 years.

I’ve said before that Susan is probably the most gracious patient on the planet.  She has needs but does not make demands.  She hates the thought of being a burden and apologizes when she feels she imposes on others – which is frequently.  Her attitude compels her to try to do as much as she’s capable of doing and just makes it easy to care for her.  Her positive outlook prevails.  She’s confident today is better than yesterday, tomorrow will be better still, and God will fix what’s wrong either while she’s alive on Earth or when she’s with him in Heaven.  

Yesterday when I told her I love her like crazy, she said she’s not sure why since she’s not able to do anything.  She said she can’t love me very well.  I assured her our love is not about doing, and that she loves me perfectly.  I know and feel her care for me in whatever way she expresses it.  But more than that, just her being with me becomes our unity and is itself the expression of our love.

A mild lapse, but improved again

Susan improved again after being burdened for a couple of weeks with greater fatigue and confusion most likely brought on by some combination of chemotherapy, a lower steroid dose, and a cold and cough.  Her blood counts returned to normal ranges the week following last month’s oncology visit, so she was cleared to have her 5th dose of CCNU on March 4.  She’s been understandably more tired, but again had no nausea or vomiting, thankfully.  Her next series of blood tests will determine whether she’ll have her 6th and final dose of this chemo. 
 

We visited UCLA again yesterday for an infectious disease follow-up with Dr Uslan, who tracks Susan’s progress from past complications like fungal meningitis and urinary tract infections and provides another set of eyes on her blood counts and liver function.  We were glad to have an uneventful exam and extend her next visit to six months from now. 

We celebrate Susan’s continued stability along with the gifts of life and our marriage as we approach our 25th anniversary on March 23rd.  In the months following Susan’s diagnosis in 2007, a generous and anonymous friend gave us a gift certificate for the Surf & Sand Hotel in Laguna Beach.  We were too consumed with crises to use it initially, but I thought of using it last March for an anniversary getaway since she was in pretty good shape.  I faced the brain tumor quandary – do we seize the day and get to Laguna while we can, or do I gamble on Susan living another year so we can celebrate our 25th in style?  With less than three months out from a life-threatening brain hemorrhage, would she have another?  Would tumor growth or infection or something else interrupt?  Would Susan yet become a GBM statistic for the 24-month average life span after diagnosis? 
 

I had our silver anniversary in mind, but I was trying to answer just another form of the original question – how long will Susan survive?  Since the answer is unknowable for us, I circled back to what we do know:  our lives are in God’s hands.  That resolved, I could go on faith that we’d get to our 25th together if it’s God’s will since he knows what’s best for us.  It felt good to have such a goal.  And it was strangely enjoyable to defy the beast of uncertainty made up of all the things that could go wrong over the next year.  It’s kind of like I was flipping GBM the bird even though I’m not the bird-flipping type.  Take that.
 

This whole brain tumor journey is stinking hard.  It’s hard emotionally, spiritually, physically, and financially.  It’s hard on Susan; it’s hard on me, on our kids, on our parents, on our family and friends.  I wish I could say I’m unwavering in my strength, but one day recently I became upset under the stress of getting errands and things done at home when I had to take time to help Susan.  Since I was obviously irritable, she apologized and said she’ll do anything she could to help.  My thought came immediately and shocked me:  “How about not getting a brain tumor?”  I held my tongue.  

A few months ago I concluded that with all of Susan’s deficits from vision to mobility to memory, I’m just glad to have her around.  I told myself if this is as good as it gets, it's okay.  We’re still together.  After 25 years of marriage and nearly three years in brain tumor world, her weaknesses have exposed my own.  Confronting my brokenness has been as hard as anything else we’ve been through.  I believe it’s one of the great human challenges under any circumstances.  I’m learning my strength will fail and even my resolve will waver.  But I’m learning to trust the one who loves us incredibly and whose promises are enduring:  

But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.  2 Corinthians 12:9

Our 25th anniversary will be a special day for us.  We're grateful to belong to each other for so long and thankful for someone's caring gift so we can celebrate so nicely.  I’m so glad I met my Susan.

Continued stability

Susan has been doing well following her fourth dose of CCNU chemotherapy after waiting a week to see if her blood counts improved. They did, so she took her chemo pills at home on January 14. She was moderately more tired last week, but came through without nausea or vomiting. She takes Zofran for a couple of days after chemo to prevent nausea that seems to do its job well. The next side effect to watch will be in mid-February when she resumes weekly blood work prior to her next scheduled exam and chemo toward the end of the month. Drugs like CCNU tend to knock back the body's vital blood cells 4-6 weeks after having them; and each cumulative dose makes it harder to bounce back and raises the possibility of needing a transfusion. The complimentary alternative treatments she has three times each week with our chiropractor may be part of the reason she's holding up well so far. Dr Jim Augustine provides her with bio-cranial adjustments and electromagnetic pulse therapy; plus she takes daily supplements to support liver, brain, and digestive function.

We are grateful this continued period of stability. This week marks one year since Susan's brain hemorrhage and her last hospitalization.  This is by far the longest period of time without a hospital stay since she was diagnosed over two and a half years ago.  Having twelve months without a major medical event and its atrophy of inactivity has helped her gain vital strength. We also know many people continue to hold us up in prayer.  We are ever aware that God is keeping us in his care.
 
I chatted briefly with a patient I met at the chiropractor's office who apparently is familiar with Susan and asked me how she is doing. I said she's under continuing treatment for a brain tumor, but she's hanging tough and doing pretty well. At times like this I try to reflect the realistic optimism we've adopted. I do not choose to speak from gloom, that she has a malignant brain tumor with a two-year average life expectancy and a 100% eventual mortality rate. Nor do I choose to convey a false cheeriness that God will heal her since we know he can, but don't know if he will. That's a lot to blurt out, but it's contained in my response – yes, brain tumor; and yes, okay. But the kind man wanted to know more. How are WE doing?
 
I shared that we are doing okay, really. We are Christians and we trust the Lord. Yes, we trust the Lord he conceded, but what are we doing? I asked the kind man what he meant. He wanted to know if we're doing everything we can, pursuing every treatment – did we know about Dr Burzynski in Houston? I said I knew about Burzynski's claims and some of his successes and controversies. Ultimately, Susan was not eligible for his clinical trials since she'd already had surgery and radiation. The kind man wanted to know why surgery didn't fix it. I spoke of tendrils and aggressive brain cancer – it grows back. Then he said his wife had died of cancer eight years ago, and I understood. He couldn't fix it for his wife. He said you think you're ready for it, but you really can't be. The kind man still grieves.
 
I had to go help Susan from the treatment room, so I assured him we're pursuing every medical option available to us, and we also trust the Lord with our lives. We just do. Every day is a gift. Peter writes about living in "the tent of this body" (2 Peter 1:13) and receiving "a rich welcome into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ" (2 Peter 1:11). If we did not own that perspective, I'm pretty sure we'd be living in despair. So we continue to hope for the best, and in faith we are ready for anything. For now, God is keeping us and giving us his precious peace.

Hanging tough in brain tumor world

Susan's condition has remained stable over recent weeks with some improvement in strength. Although she needs full-time care and assistance to walk and accomplish daily activities, she can more easily lift herself from an elevated chair and handle small stair steps. We're so grateful to enjoy another period without complications, infections or hospitalization. More importantly, I'm amazed at Susan's attitude and outlook, and her tenacious inner strength. She's gracious when needing help, positive that she's doing better today than yesterday, and usually ready to kid around and be sassy. On Sunday as we were leaving between church services, our friend Randy drove up the crowded aisle and asked if he could have our parking space. I shut her door and I joked it would cost him five dollars. I got in the car and told Susan about it. She said, "That's good. You gotta get 'em when you can."

Every Christmas I look forward to when I once again realize the magnitude of God's gift to us in the birth of Jesus. Sometimes it's in a scripture, or in a song; in prayer or in hearing a sermon, or in a God-breathed human encounter. I'm still soaking up this year's moment. Todd VanEk had a word in his sermon Sunday on Luke 2:12 where the angel says to the shepherds, "This will be a sign to you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger." Everything about this announcement shattered people's expectations about the coming of the King of Kings. The news was given to shepherds, who were poor and marginalized. The King was a baby – weak and dependent, clothed in rags, and lying in a feeding trough for livestock. The urine and manure may have been at a safe distance, but the smell wasn't. Then Todd brought the zinger. Jesus was born into a mess. The "sign to you?" There is no human mess Jesus is not willing to enter, bringing healing, strength, grace, and mercy. Wow. That was it. That's the room in my heart I could prepare for Jesus this Christmas, and he came right in.

I was not prepared for the living example of Jesus' love that would follow just minutes later, after church. The woman sitting in front of us with an infant turned out to be our friend Patti. I did not know she and her husband were expecting. We learned they stepped in as parents of their relative's baby boy after he suffered abuse and broken bones in only the first six weeks of his life. He's nine weeks old now. They've had him for three, and are willing to adopt him if the legal arrangements can be made. For now, these 30-something Christian parents are adjusting their lives, their family, and their careers to make room for another baby boy born into a mess. This is selfless love – astonishing and familiar. It's a fitting display of God's Kingdom that arrived on Earth with baby Jesus in Bethlehem. As we prayed with tears, I could see the Spirit of our Savior bringing healing, strength, grace, and mercy to this baby and to this family – just like Jesus has always done. I'm so glad to have met him again.

Chemotherapy, Round 3

Yesterday was co-pay mayhem following Susan's blood draw at UCLA at 7am, MRI at 8am, and oncology visit at 9am. Then we winged it down to Torrance for her dermatology exam and back up to Westwood for an infectious disease follow-up. The only actual infectious disease I noticed was LA traffic. So much schlepping in one day – I ought to have my skin examined. Wait, we did that. The schedule worked out perfectly until our first appointment. It took longer than usual and cramped our timing. Thankfully, the other two doctors accommodated our delays. We pulled into our driveway by about 5pm with Susan mostly nap-less and dog-tired.

Her MRI revealed slightly more new tumor growth than in August, confirming her need to begin a third round of chemotherapy, so she begins oral CCNU (Lomustine) tonight. We spoke at length with Dr Nghiemphu about Susan having a biological agent called XL184, but were put off by its similarity to Avastin with the potential to cause another hemorrhage. We might have decided otherwise if the new tumor tissue were faster-growing and had lots of blood vessels in it, but we think CCNU will handle the need at this time. XL184 sounds promising for high-grade tumors since it cuts off blood flow like Avastin, plus it inhibits certain chemical receptors involved with the cancer. I deeply respect Dr Nghiemphu's approach in making recommendations like these. She informs and explains, and outlines potential benefits and risks - but since an outcome is so uncertain, she stops well short of dictating a treatment. Instead, she invites us into the push/pull of a complicated decision until we arrive there together. The quality of her care is so good – and gives us confidence and peace of mind in the process.

Our dermatology and infectious disease excursions came about because Susan developed two suspicious sores about two weeks ago. They emerged quickly and had too many cancer-like symptoms for my comfort, especially since Susan had a pre-melanoma removed about 5 or 6 years ago. Thankfully, they've already begun to heal and evidently were not caused by anything internal, although their origin is unknown. We walked away with a really good antibiotic cream from the dermatologist and the availability of the ID doctor at UCLA in case we need him.

Lord, sometimes I'm tempted to ask why we have to walk this road of suffering, but I hold back. I know "why" is a mystery on this earth. It may not matter in Heaven. This road is crowded - I'm sure if I knew how many were making their way along, I couldn't bear it. Some people have it way worse than we do, so how can I complain? Some people's whining seems louder than the size of their troubles; but if they've reached their limit, how could I tell them to be quiet? It's better not to compare.

I remember the days before disaster struck. Susan and I were a team in marriage, as parents, in ministry, and in life. Our activities were intertwined in the fullness of those pursuits while the years tumbled out too quickly for us to notice – date nights, anniversaries, soccer teams, kids club, slumber parties, homework, bible studies, dramas, choirs, board meetings, work days, ski trips, the occasional doctor visit, and lots of fun along the way. How quickly life got up-ended! Our game board got turned over; and many things I thought were permanent simply fell off. I didn't know life could be so basic. Alive. Today. Each other. You. At times, it seems that's all we've had. Mostly though, we live somewhere in the middle – date nights have become doctor appointments, that sort of thing.

We grieve at losing the life we had and we grieve the absent promise that life will return to what it was. But what's surprising is that life still offers fulfillment and satisfaction. We have hope, joy, and peace, thanks to you. Somehow, we understand everything is ok. And we know you better. Knowing you provided for us while things were going well was nice, but having you provide for us while we suffer is phenomenal. There's something about your comfort now that tells us you love us, but in a way we couldn't notice until so much had been taken way.

Lord, you know we just met some new friends who learned their son had a brain tumor when he was just ten months old. That was their on-ramp to the road of suffering. You know our other friend just found out he has cancer after his surgery last week. That was his on-ramp. You know about my co-worker's friend whose 22-year-old daughter just died in a 405 Freeway car crash, leaving a toddler without a mom. Her family quickly merged onto the road of suffering. There are so many people on this road – in fact, I'm pretty sure every person on earth will take one of the on-ramps at some point. It's hard, Lord. Upheaval. We can't know why it happened or how it will turn out. And there's no off-ramp in sight. But you know all these answers – why the suffering, how it will turn out, where the road leads; and you choose to keep them hidden from us. That's ok, really, because you know what's best for us. Please help me to focus on you and not our circumstances. Help me to trust you with the mystery.

Looks like more tumor

With the results of Susan's Dopa-PET scan on Friday, it appears she's experiencing tumor growth and will need to restart chemotherapy in the near future. Dr Nghiemphu wants to match the PET scan with Susan's last MRI for a better review; but she believes the scan confirms a new area of tumor near the midline and ventricles. She'd like to see the results of next week's scheduled MRI before we decide on a treatment, most likely another type of chemotherapy. In March when we discussed the potential for tumor recurrence, she said there are a number of chemotherapy drugs she believes will be effective for Susan's combination of Grade III/Grade IV tumor cells. Since we've gotten beyond the first and second lines of treatment of Temodar + radiation, then Avastin + CPT-11, it seems we're venturing into an individualized mode where you find something effective and stay on it as long as it works. Thankfully, Susan is a brain tumor survivor who has taken as long as two years to reach this point.

There is relief in understanding what's wrong since Susan has slipped below her fine form of month or two ago and the burden on her system has become more evident. There's hope in anticipating the next level of treatments will do their work to help her and that God may heal her by any means. And there's comfort in knowing that God has us in the palm of his hand, just as he has all along our brain tumor journey. I find these words from 1 Peter 1:6-7 especially encouraging – Peter praises God for our living hope, for our inheritance, and for God's protection, and then writes:

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith — of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire — may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.

Our help is not in gold, or medicine, or even in our faith itself. Our help is in the name of the Lord. I can't say it any more plainly – we trust him.

What brain tumor?

I called home from the office this morning to check with Susan and see if she was feeling better. She’d had a few symptoms return after a weeks-long absence and was feeling tired and discouraged when I left the house. By mid-morning, she’d slept some more and was feeling well. When I called, we had one of those fluid, lucid conversations that are becoming more commonplace and lead me to wonder, “What brain tumor?” Susan is clearly in the best shape she’s been since last year at this time when hydrocephalus set in and set off a season of infections, fractures, illness, and hemorrhage. Her improvement over the past 3-4 months has been remarkable – and most welcome, since it’s ushered in a level of normalcy to our household that we’d missed for a long time. This morning’s episode reminded both of us how little she’s been ill recently and alerted me that complications could interrupt our lives again at any time. We remain, as ever, squarely in the Lord’s hands and thankful for Susan’s healing, strength, and restoration.

We had a conversation at church recently with some friends who have been faithful in support and prayer for Susan. A typical 5-10 minute chat involves the weather, the movie you saw, the team you like or what the kids are doing, so it’s not ordinary for a person to speak of death and dying in the span of a casual conversation. But when Kristen shared that she’s been encouraged by Susan’s faith, Susan responded honestly in what’s become a normal (but not too frequent) acceptance of our situation. She said something like she couldn’t have expected all that’s happened, but she’s ready to go home to the Lord whenever he’s ready for her. She believes God has a purpose and work for what remains of her life on earth, but when it’s time to go to heaven, it will be far better than being here.

Her comments demonstrated Susan’s peace with her circumstances, her trust in whatever the Lord’s plans are for her and the glorious confidence she has in her future. I couldn’t help but note the odd contrast of her words considering how well she’s doing, but I also cannot imagine a greater gift than God’s perfect love that casts out all fear (1 John 4:18). It’s just like our good and sovereign Lord to solve a problem for us that way – if he doesn’t remove the circumstance that’s giving us trouble, he’ll take away its ability to trouble us.

Paul writes, “Where O death, is your victory? Where O death, is your sting?” The passage he quotes in 1 Cor 15:55 is from Hosea 13:14,

“I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death.
Where, O death, are your plagues? Where, O grave, is your destruction?”

Put another way, the Inez Andrews gospel song says, “Lord, you don’t have to move my mountain, but give me the strength to climb.” I just love that Susan is living it.

More infection, persistent weakness

This is a rare Sunday morning when Susan and I stayed home from church. She has headache and abdominal pain and needs to rest. Days like this seem to come and go more frequently and interrupt Susan’s otherwise cheerful spirit and initiative. Her funk was more intense a week ago on Saturday when I became convinced infection had returned. I spoke to Dr Leia about Susan’s confusion, weakness, and pain (but no fever), so she prescribed another round of oral antibiotics and suggested we get some labs done in a few days. We still had some Cipromycin on hand from last time and were able to get her started without having a prescription filled. By Tuesday, Susan’s response was mixed – improved memory strength, and mental status, but with periodic slumps in each area. On Wednesday, Dr Leia ordered labs for blood and urine and extended the Cipro course to seven days. The lab results showed slight infection, a reasonable fact since five days of antibiotics knocked it down some. Right now we’re stumped about her persistent symptoms and realize there are several factors at work, as always, like the effects of her hemorrhage, infection, or possible tumor progression. We’ll know more about all of it this week when we go back to UCLA for more labs, an MRI, and a visit with Dr Leia.

Tomorrow will be our 24th wedding anniversary. We got married in 1985 between the winter and spring quarters during my first year after transferring to UCLA. I was sort of an oddball student since I commuted to campus from Bellflower, wasn’t involved in activities there, and was married by my 22nd birthday. After I had proposed to Susan in 1984 (at Tommy’s in LA so she wouldn’t expect it), we didn’t want to wait until summer of 1985 to get married, so UCLA’s calendar determined the date – Saturday, March 23, 1985. I rushed out of my last final exam on Friday to make it to our wedding rehearsal that evening. I think I got a “C” on that one and felt satisfied I had a good excuse in having my thoughts on bigger things.

As I said to Susan the other day, twenty-four years is almost a long time. Next year will be our Silver Wedding Anniversary, which is a year later than almost a long time. In late 2007, someone generously and anonymously gave us a gift certificate to stay at the Surf & Sand Hotel in Laguna Beach, a perfect thing to bank for a special occasion like our 25th. But since one of us has a malignant brain tumor, shouldn’t we use it now? You know, “carpe diem,” and all of that? We decided to wait and have something to look forward to. She’s made it this long.

The Word of God is so much my food for life. I need it for guidance, strength, counsel, and to slap me out of foolish thinking. During this season of Susan’s illness, we’ve had our lives emptied of things we thought were important and even indispensable. With life becoming more basic and undistracted, I realize how temporary we are, how small our efforts can be, how quickly we exhaust our strength, and how little we truly understand. This truth came alive recently as I read and rested in Isaiah 40, a passage that has great importance for me. In huge contrast to our lot, verse 28 says,

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

Wow. My life is but a breath on this planet – but he’s the everlasting God. I can produce nothing that will last, really – but He’s the creator of the ends of the earth. I’m often wiped out by 9pm – but he will not grow tired or weary. I don’t know what our cancer journey means, why it’s happening, or how it will turn out. But I am getting to know God better. His goodness is overwhelming, and His understanding no one can work out, think through, or comprehend.

Hard news, and a healing

Thu 07/26/07
I received the Mayo Clinic pathology report faxed to my office – not good news. Susan's tumor is a malignant, grade IV glioblastoma, not the milder grade III oligodendroglioma. The tissue has unusual characteristics more commonly seen with the milder tumor, so it looks like oligodendroglioma. Dr Scheithauer at Mayo is the global expert in brain tumor pathology, so kudos to the LB Memorial staff for getting his opinion. I confirmed the report was sent to UCLA and I forwarded it to LBMMC Neurosurgeon Barry Ceverha also.
I spoke with Dr Nghiemphu, who recommends surgery within two weeks followed by simultaneous radiation and chemotherapy for this more rare and deadly tumor. Experimental clinical trials are usually available for Glioblastoma patients; but not for Susan since she had breast cancer last year – she would need to be cancer free for 3 years. We'll consult with Drs Liau (UCLA) and Ceverha (LBMMC) to decide who will operate.
To me, this is the perfect setup for God to do something miraculous. I believe in Him and His power. Lord, have mercy.
We had a 1pm appointment in Long Beach for Susan's abdominal CT scan. The nurse had difficulty getting a good vein for the contrast solution; but the scan finished quickly.

I truly was rattled by the Mayo Clinic pathology report that revealed Susan's tumor is a grade IV glioblastoma instead of the lesser oligodendroglioma. Several weeks ago, a doctor told me glioblastoma is a death sentence. Mind you, he's one of many gifted and experienced physicians who work in clinical practice focused on known conditions, standard treatments, and probable outcomes. They know more about specific areas of God's creation than I ever will, yet God seems so far removed from their clinical realm. I've had several times where fear or despair have come over me, and I've pushed them away. A time of worship on the 405 freeway brought my focus back to the Living God, God the Healer.
On our way to church for Oasis, I spoke with Susan about the Mayo report, she with her 10-12 inch incision on her scalp, her impaired vision, her vertigo, her muddled memory, and her numb right foot. We talked about the ominous report and uncertain outcome. She believes she will not die yet – that God has work and witnessing for her to do on this earth. And she is not afraid to die. We resolved again that we will not fear, we will not despair, and we will trust God for healing. We will wait on the Lord while we pursue every medical option available.
Oasis was amazing. The Holy Spirit was in charge. Bob & Chris Olson sang over the congregation, then Mitch VanderWal read scripture and we entered into prayers of praise together. I shared our perspective with those gathered, feeling awkward that as a leader of Oasis, so much attention was drawn to my wife while there were other cancer patients in the room who were more unnoticed. Oh well, this is where God has put us, on display. I shared Philippians 2:16-18 and Daniel 3:18. We had a time of deep, emotional worship, turning the focus from ourselves to God. Vicki shared how the Spirit led her to organize the prayer vigil. Ken spoke from the heart and prayed, followed by silent prayer, and more deep worship and prayer. As the night, concluded, Vicki was impressed to pray for healing of Susan's vision. A group of people rallied around with Melanie Gunsolus obediently ministering. When Sue opened her eyes, she was looking directly at Melanie, seeing beautiful eyes instead of just "shiny glass!" And she was seeing colors, not just shades of grey! Thank you, Lord!
Melanie was confident Sue would receive healing when the Holy Spirit came upon her and she felt a "transfer" go from her to Susan, similar to what she's experienced in the past with other healing. Pastor Ken watched our niece Alyssa's face as Susan was healed and described the happiest expression he's ever seen – a mixture of joy, wonder, and amazement. It was holy ground as faith became sight. Thank you, Lord!

Regaining awareness

Wed 07/11/07
Susan still unable to remember she had surgery or why, but now remembers she's at LBMMC.
We had a family meeting with Dr. Ceverha, who said lab results of tissue from surgery are likely a high-grade oligodendroglioma, a stage 3 tumor that is responsive to radiation and chemotherapy. The sample is being sent to the Mayo Clinic to confirm. We will meet with a neurosurgeon at Cedars-Sinai this week for his opinion.
Susan's memory is improving. She knows she's missing something, that there's activity going on that she's unaware of, and she knows it – but she can't connect things together. I encouraged her that these are normal feelings, that she's been through a lot; she's making progress and will continue to improve.
Visual impairment – unable to decipher items on bulletin board 12 feet away, unable to recognize large letters/numbers on a greeting card or identify colors of pink robe or blue bed pad.

Thu 07/12/07
We've been reading a devotional each night in Streams in the Desert, a gift from our dear friend Lisa Korver. Each one seems to be written just for us. The 7/12 theme is faith – the strongest trees are not found in the forested valleys under the protection of surrounding mountains. They're formed on the hilltops under the full force of wind and storms. In my one shot at life, I would rather be made strong in faith than stay comfortable and soft. Otherwise, why bother? God shows us His favor by giving us seasons of testing. Suffering is another precious gift that allows us to know Him as in no other way. I will never regret what has happened.

Fri 07/13/07
I was awakened at 3am for prayer and worship. Deep stuff. The term "purchase-living" came to me with Colossians 1:22-23, that we have been reconciled "by Christ's physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation — if you continue in your faith, established and firm, not moved from the hope held out in the gospel." The word "confidence" came with the image of the Lamb that was slain in Revelation 5, along with the image of the Passover lamb in Exodus 12:3 that required an act of faith for deliverance. A mystery: the work is done for us – with our involvement. I also compared "oligodendroglioma" vs "Jesus, name above all names." Like I said, 3am, deep stuff.
After a sobering meeting with a neurosurgeon at Cedars-Sinai, Randy Romberg, Vicki Gelberg and I wrestled with Susan's limited prognosis. Here is what I know:

• God is in all of this. It's on display; and many people are experiencing it with us. Something really good is coming.
• We are to speak words of life. I push back fear and despair when they approach.
• I resolve to stand with the three Hebrew men in Daniel 3 (above), trusting and believing God for Susan's healing amid the mystery of His sovereign will.

Sat 07/14/07
Susan continues neurological improvement, feeling more with it and acting more like Susan. Some facts are just not there, while other things come back amazingly. She was eating peas with dinner and finished my rhyme from long ago, "I eat my peas with honey, I've done it all my life; they do taste kind of funny, but it keeps them on my knife." Pretty cool.

A new awakening in ICU

Thu 07/05/07
Susan began a five-day stay in ICU. We celebrated some initial breakthroughs – she's speaking! She opened her eyes, she was alert, and she was able to have her breathing tube removed in the morning. I asked, "Do you have any pain?" (No). "They took that tumor out" (I have no idea what you're talking about).
We also discovered some initial setbacks – limited vision and impaired memory. Susan evidently had a stroke near the corneal artery (possibly with her seizure on the evening of July 3rd) that affects her right field of vision.

Fri 07/06/07
Even though on Day 2 after surgery Susan was making great physical progress, somehow death was near. With her memory deficit she did not know where she was, or why, and did not know the year or month. She could not remember our children or even that we had any. She expressed concern for me and what I must be suffering for her, which was encouraging.
Later, she said, "It's stubborn sometimes." (What is?) "Whatever needs to give up." (What needs to give up?) "The spirit or soul or whatever." Then she asked, "Who is asking me to give up my spirit?" (Who does it sound like?) "I don't know." (Ask Jesus to show you...Do you want to give up your spirit?) "I don't know..." (If you do, it's ok...) If it's her time to go to Heaven, I need to release her.
I had no idea what to expect next. A while later, when I described our kids to her, she prayed for them. She asked God would allow her to know them and who they are, to give them peace and to help them, to let them see her attributes, to give them wisdom and strength in all they do; to "bless and keep Mike and his family, to guard and protect them in the peace of Christ. Thank you for who they are and for what you will do in them." I wondered again if she was going to die soon.
In spite of her severely limited memory, not only is Susan "all there" spiritually, she's in a deeper place than before. Later she said, "Where's my scripture?" and was feeling around her bed. "Where did I put it?" (Just relax. I think it's hidden in your heart. What scripture are you looking for?) "The Lord is my Shepherd." We started saying Psalm 23 together. Then the woman who couldn't tell me the correct year recited the entire passage by herself. Wow.

Sat 07/07/07
Susan is still poorly oriented (doesn't know year, place, what happened; I reminded her about our children.) We read Mark 10:46-52 about Jesus healing a blind man named Bartamaeus. I prayed for removal of cancer, and restoration of memory and sight. Susan prayed, "Dear Jesus, thank you for your love and grace and thank you for your mercy. Thank you for your mercy. I ask you for your healing and mercy so I can be your witness of your love and grace, so I can be a witness for my children. Thank you for helping me and being with me. Amen."

Mon 07/09/07
Susan's attitude has been remarkable – thankful, upbeat, appreciative for everything.

Our sister-in-law Dorothy sat with Susan for several hours and visited. Susan talked about not having awareness of past or future, leaving her with what's most important – being here, now, with Dorothy. Pastor Harold Korver rejoiced to hear about it, because while most of us are weighed down by the past or worried about the future, Susan has the precious gift of "living in the now."

Perspective

We're thankful to our family and many friends who love Susan and are lifting her to the Lord in prayer. We truly are grateful for your care expressed in many ways and for the genuine labor in prayer being spent on Susan's behalf. Because this is happening to Susan, it's affecting people who are connected to us on various levels. We believe the end result will be a wonderful God-encounter for everyone involved. We're all in the hands of the living God.

Susan is one of more than several dozen people from Emmanuel Church in Paramount CA who are undergoing treatment for tumors and cancer – at least ten were diagnosed since May 2007. What's going on? I'm not sure about per capita cancer statistics nationwide, but all of this sounds like a lot for a church with attendance of about 1700.

One puzzling fact about Susan is that she was treated for early stage breast cancer in July 2006 and had a bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction. (Thankfully, with early detection and surgery, she did not need radiation or chemotherapy.) What's unusual is the brain tumor is totally independent from the breast cancer. Both are "primary" tumors; the breast cancer had not metastasized. That's like lightning striking the same person twice. 

Attitude 

Early in the morning on Wed 06/27/07, the day after we got news about a mass on Susan's brain, the word "attitude" had been swirling in my mind, which led me to Philippians 2:5, "Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus."

As I read further the Lord impressed me with Philippians 2:14-16a: 

"Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life." I felt that we were on display for some reason with this thing, and that we should be speaking words of life.

Also, I've learned over the past year or so that circumstances (good or bad) are not an end in themselves, but a means God can use to teach us something wonderful about Him. So, I'm aware not to ask "Why?" but "What?" "What are you doing, Lord? I know you're hiding something good for us in here somewhere – we'll look until we find it."

Preparation 

Around April 2007, I spent about a month extracting deep revelation from Psalm 23 so I could help lead Oasis, our mid-week meeting at Emmanuel for prayer, meditation, and worship.

Psalm 23, A psalm of David. 1 The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. 2 He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, 3 he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. 4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. 5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. 6 Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

I had no idea how these words from my heart would comfort Susan as she struggled through pain and neurological deficit in the days following diagnosis. Meanwhile, in early 2007, Susan shared with her friend and mentor Joyce Wybenga that she truly knows God loves her, more than she's ever understood before. Had God been preparing us for this, or what?

The Living Word 

After Susan’s diagnosis, a variety of people shared a stream of Bible verses with a remarkably hopeful thread. God's Word is living, active and creative, and is part of His power for us today in the context of our lives:

From my sister, Becky

2 Chronicles 20:15 "Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God's."

Exodus 15:2 "The LORD is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation. He is my God, and I will praise him, my father's God, and I will exalt him."

Nehemiah 8:10 "Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is sacred to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the LORD is your strength."

From Vicki Gelberg

1 John 1:1-4 "That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched—this we proclaim concerning the Word of life. The life appeared; we have seen it and testify to it, and we proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and has appeared to us. We proclaim to you what we have seen and heard, so that you also may have fellowship with us. And our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ. We write this to make our joy complete."

Psalm 103:1-5 "Praise the LORD, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. 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, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's."

From Bob Olson

Philippians 4:4-7 "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

From Chris Olson

Psalm 121 (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. He will not let her foot slip – he who watches over Susan will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over her will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD watches over Susan—the LORD is her shade at her right hand; the sun will not harm Susan by day, nor the moon by night. 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."

Also, in the day or two after surgery while Susan was in critical condition, my sister Becky saw a vision of Jesus walking with Susan, holding her up and helping her to walk. She saw an IV tube going from his body into hers. Jesus said, "This is why I died."

Okay, don't know about you, but I'm feeling pretty good at this point. Let's review:

• Susan is in Christ, and Christ is seated in the heavenlies at the right hand of God, "far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every title that can be given, not only in the present age but also in the one to come" (Ephesians 1:21). Jesus is far above the power of cancer.

The Ultimate Question 

Medically speaking, Susan will die from her brain tumor. It is incurable, so at some point, we're told, it will overcome her. More surgery and radiation and chemotherapy can delay and interrupt; but the medical prognosis is limited. Of course, don't we all have to go sometime? The human death rate is still 100%. But after 22 years of marriage, Susan and I are still planning to grow old together.

So now what? We will continue pursuing every medical treatment, and we thank God for the best help from the best professionals (Long Beach Memorial, Mayo Clinic, Cedars-Sinai, UCLA). Overall, we pray, knowing that God is good and that He is able to do miraculous things. If there were ever a circumstance where He could do something glorious for His name's sake (and for us), this is it. A miracle is simply the intersection of God's power and human need. We're asking for one. Yet God is sovereign, and He'll do His will, not ours. 

Encouragement  

I like the story of the Hebrew men in exile in Babylon, forced by Nebuchadnezzar to bow to a false god or be burned alive. In Daniel 3:16-18,

"Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to the king, 'O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.'"

I resolve to stand with them. Our God is able to save Susan, and (in faith) He will rescue her. But even if he does not, (in faith) that's ok. God does not owe us anything; and there are lots of people worse off than we are. Whatever happens, He will receive glory, and our worship. Please join Susan, our children, and me as we celebrate the Living God, as we give thanks and as we worship.

I have known the presence of God in worship for a long time, but I have yet to know Him significantly in healing. My desire is that worship will be the bridge and that it will not be for Susan alone, but for others who are afflicted. To God be the glory!