A Season and a Time

This is the last of a four part series about Doc’s journey with terminal cancer; about a country doctor turned patient (part 1, 2, 3). Doc’s response epitomizes the hope that hospice holds for all our patients; that they will continue living the best they can with the illnesses they have; accepting the truth without resignation. And Doc’s example offers us a glimmer of hope; hope that if he can do it maybe we can too.

Terminal illness, like life, unfolds in stages or seasons. Each progressive developmental stage presents new challenges, new tasks, new questions that must be successfully addressed in order to move forward. Wise King Solomon understood the importance and beauty of timing, of identifying and cooperating with the seasons: “To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven…He has made everything beautiful in its time.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-11)

Doc understood there is a time to prepare, and he did. After completing his unfinished legal and spiritual business he exclaimed, “I feel like a boy let out of school!” Doc also understood that there’s a time to surrender, to relax in and trust the arms of a loving God. Doc testified, “You know, some people receive a special strength from the Lord. I’ve always been fortunate that way…I just relax and a peace comes over me”. Doc also realized the importance of living each day to its fullest. As if struck by an epiphany Doc declared, “I decided that since I’m still here, I may as well live.” And he did.

Following are some of Doc’s final feelings and thoughts that he shared with me in the last few weeks of his life: “On bad days I feel like I could go ahead and die, but I still have things to do…They aren’t big things anymore. I want to see my family, to be with them, to hear the voices of my family, my grandchildren, and my friends…I’m fortunate I have had time to prepare, but I don’t know what it (death) will be like.”

As Doc’s life was winding down it was evident that he was facing his final task of shifting his hope from the physical to the spiritual, from the temporal to the eternal, to the road ahead. And he was definitely “fortunate” that he had time to prepare.

You know, time seems to elude definition and boundaries; maybe because it’s spiritually eternal. We talk about time as something we “have” or “get”. How many times have you told yourself or someone else, “I didn’t get the time to…”; “I just didn’t have the time…”; “I will when I get the time.” I’m realizing that time isn’t something we “have” or “get” it’s something we “take” and “make”, something we “fill”. You see Doc took the time to prepare and he made time for his family. He filled his remaining time with what he valued. Sure there are times when we’re overwhelmed. But if we’re honest about it, don’t we take the time and make the time for those things that are really important to us?

So let’s identify and cooperate with the seasons and the times of our lives. For, “He has made everything beautiful in its time.” Let’s “take” the time and “make” the time for those things which are of spiritual and eternal significance. And the time to do so is now, because our time on this earth is not guaranteed.

I’ll leave you with a verse given to me by an elderly lady over twenty years ago. She told me that it helped her cope with the challenges, stages and adjustments of life: “Take Time for 10 Things. 1) Take time to work…It is the price of success. 2) Take time to think…It is the source of power. 3) Take time to play…It is the secret of youth. 4) Take time to read…It is the foundation of knowledge. 5) Take time to worship…It is the highway of reverence and washes the dust of the earth from our eyes. 6) Take time to help and enjoy friends…It is the source of happiness. 7) Take time to love…It is the one sacrament of life. 8) Take time to dream…It hitches the soul to the stars. 9) Take time to laugh…It is the singing that helps with life’s loads. 10) Take time to plan…It is the secret of being able to have the time to take time for the first nine things.

Since I'm Still Here I May As Well Live

This is part three of Doc’s story (Read part 1, 2, 4). I’m so thankful to Doc for his willingness to share the seasons of his heart. Pride keeps most of us from being honest about our fears, our weaknesses, our uncertainties and it is pride that keeps us imprisoned with them. But Doc dropped the shields of defense and the masks of pretense. He poured himself out and I am the better for it; and I hope you will be too. “As iron sharpens iron so does a man his friend.” (Proverbs 27:17)

Doc, a physician turned patient, had come a long way since first diagnosed with kidney cancer. When he took care of his unfinished business he declared, “I feel like a boy let out of school!” Then Doc realized “the peace of God that passes all understanding” (Philippians 4:7); Doc shared, “Some people receive a special strength from the Lord…I just relax and a special peace comes over me. It feels so good!”

It was as if Doc’s work was finished, his bags were packed and he was waiting at the station. But five months later he was still here. Doc was still bed bound but his family had moved his hospital bed into their Florida room so he could enjoy the sunshine. One day I felt impressed to ask him, “Where are you on the road today?” And Doc replied, “It’s strange that you would ask me that today. I was just lying here thinking hat since I’m still here, I may as well live.”

So Doc moved back into the house where his old office was attached. He eventually got up in a wheelchair and spent time at his computer. He even cooked from his wheelchair. He bought a new Bose music system and enjoyed listening to music. One day Doc said, “You know what I need is one of those motorized scooters so I can get out and around.” So I delivered one that was donated to Hospice. Doc made some modifications, attached a basket to the front and routinely rode it down the road to the grocery store to shop. I appreciate him sharing an amusing experience on one of his treks; “I had an accident on the way to the store. I wasn’t paying attention. I was thinking about how to put a cruise control on my scooter and I hit a root and turned over. The worst thing was that two old women had to help me back on. It was really humbling.”

Doc passed on several years ago but his words echo in my mine, especially when I feel like giving up; especially when I say to my self, “What’s the use”. Doc reached the place of acceptance without resignation. Doc continued living the best he could with what he had. He ceased being a victim and became a survivor.

Are you at a place in your life where you feel like giving up? I know it’s not easy. But if Doc can do it maybe we can too. We may not be what we used to be, we may not be what we wish, but since we’re still here, we may as well live. “When our lives are over, may it not be etched in our tombstones: ‘Died age 40, buried age 70’” (Coloring Outside the Lines; Howard Hendricks).

“Who shall separate us from the love of God…Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword…in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.” (Romans 8: 31-39)

Also read:
Part 1
Part 2

A Special Peace Comes Over Me Sometimes

This is part two of a four part series about Doc’s journey with terminal cancer (read part 1, 3, 4). Doc was a 69-year-old physician admitted to Hospice in October 1996. During my first two visits Doc shared how he almost died from an insulin reaction. While feeling himself “slipping away”, he told himself, “I’m not ready to die. There are things I have to do.” So in the next couple of weeks Doc completed his tasks and afterward told me, “I feel like a boy let out of school”. What a testimony to the freedom we can experience by taking care of unfinished business.

Weeks passed with Doc confined to his hospital bed. We talked about what helped him cope with being bed bound. He stated he enjoyed watching TV, especially the history channel, and listening to music. Friends and family also visited, which helped. But then, out of the blue, Doc stated, “You know, some people receive a special strength from the Lord. I’ve always been fortunate that way. A special peace comes over me sometimes. People think I’m sleeping, but I’m not. I just relax and a peace comes over me. It feels so good.”

It seems that peace is a rare commodity in our culture. Everyone seems stressed or distressed. If there really is a “peace of God, that passes all understanding” (Philippians 4:7), how do we find it? Where do we find it? Do we find it on vacation in Florida or on a Caribbean cruise? Do we retreat to the forest, return to nature? I don’t think so, because peace isn’t geographic, recreational, social, occupational, or even purely psychological. True peace is spiritual, attitudinal, positional, and prepositional.

I’ve observed that peace fills our hearts and minds when we have an accurate perception of whom we are and who God is; when we see God and ourselves in the right proportions and the right relationships.
God corrected the perception of the Hebrew people through the prophet Isaiah, when he told them; “Surely you have things turned around…I am the potter and you are the clay.” (Isaiah 29:16) How easily and quickly we turn things around and upside down. We delude ourselves into thinking we are in control.

I’ve come to believe that the first three steps of “The Twelve Steps” of Alcoholics Anonymous, are relevant to anyone and every one: 1) We admitted we were powerless…that our lives had become unmanageable; 2) Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity; 3) Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

I’m reminded of a well-worn story that graphically illustrates our struggle in living out the AA slogan, “Let go and Let God”: Once upon a time there was a farmer who liked to walk the high ridges of his farm. But one day he got too close to the edge of a cliff and fell off. On the way down he grabbed hold of a root protruding from a crack between the rocks and held on for dear life. He couldn’t climb back up and it was a two hundred-foot drop below. So he started yelling, “Help, is there anybody up there?” Finally a voice returned, “I’m God, let go and I’ll catch you.” After a moment of contemplation the farmer yelled again, “Is there anybody else up there?”

You see, sometimes we have to let go in order to realize the hand of God beneath us. I love the words of Nichole Nordeman’s song titled “What If”: “What if you’re right and He was just another nice Guy? What if you’re right? What if it’s true? They say the cross will only make a fool of you….But what if you’re wrong? What if there’s more? What if there’s hope you’ve never dreamed of hoping for? What if you jump? Just close your eyes. What if the arms that catch you, catch you by surprise; What if He’s more than enough? What if it’s love?”

Also read:
Part 1
Part 3

I Feel Like a Boy Let Out of School!

This is the first of a four part series about Doc’s journey of adjustment to terminal illness and disability (read part 2, 3, 4). Each story is individually valuable but, together, they tell a story that is inspirational. I believe we can all learn something from Doc, as we observe his progression.

Doc was the only physician in a small rural town and was a “country” doctor in every sense of the word. His office was attached to the front of his house. Appointments weren’t necessary; first come first serve. There were many late night office and home visits at the request of neighbors. He seemed to belong to the town and the town to him. He could hardly get away from his practice. His son remembered them going to the county fair and people stopping to tell him about their aches and pains. Doc was soft spoken and had a very subtle sense of humor. He was a prankster. He grinned as he told me about how he and his brother filled a weather balloon with natural gas, attached and lit a fuse, and released it into the night sky. After gaining altitude it burst into a huge rolling ball of fire. The next day the entire town was buzzing about the UFO siting. Doc spent most of his life treating his community but this time he was the patient. He was 69 years old when referred to Hospice for cancer of the kidney.

It took us little time to get down to talking about his illness. During my first visit Doc confided, “ I almost died last week. I was adjusting my insulin and gave myself too much. I went into an insulin reaction and I could feel myself slipping away, like I was leaving my body. I thought about the things I still needed to do and I told myself I wasn’t ready to die. I had to concentrate because it would have been easy to slip away.” I told Doc that I wouldn’t ask him what the things were he needed to do, but I would ask him if he did them when I returned. Two weeks passed and I returned. As promised, I asked, “Did you do them?” and he replied, “Yes”. I asked how he felt and he stated, “I feel like a boy let out of school. You know how you feel when you are out of school for the summer, when all your work is done. Everyone knows what it’s like to be let out of school.”

If you were in Doc’s shoes would you be ready to go or would you be saying, “There are things I have to do”? Doc told me the things he did to prepare. He had an attorney come to the house to complete estate planning; he talked with family members and he made peace with God. He stated, “I am fortunate that I’ve had the time to prepare.” Are you prepared? Is your work caught up? When your work is done you will feel like a boy let out of school; free. Unfinished business due to procrastination is one of the greatest causes of stress, because it preoccupies our minds and renders a part of us unavailable to the present. Death will always be an interruption; there will always be something else to do; someplace else to go, but some things are of eternal importance, so don’t put them off. Let’s live each day fully and try to stay caught up.

“Come now, you who say, today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, spend a year there, and engage in business and make a profit. Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.” (James 4:13-15)

Also read:
Part 2
Part 3

A Purple Heart for Caregivers

Caring for someone with terminal or chronic illness is like engaging in warfare. The enemy attacks without warning. Chaos, fear and anger ensue and there is a call to arms. Some enlist, some are drafted, but all lay down their lives to serve. They leave behind family, friends and dreams for a season. Some serve on the front lines while others provide support from a distance.

The war rages on, weeks turn into months and many become homesick and even entertain deserting. But they remind themselves for whom and for what they are fighting and press on. Fatigue and stress take their toll and conflicts may break out in the ranks. Soldier turns against fellow soldier, forgetting they are on the same side. Some suffer battle fatigue and are furloughed for a time. All serve and many are wounded in some form. Those who are wounded in military service are presented the “Purple Heart”. We at Hospice honor you, the caregivers, with a symbolic “Purple Heart” for laying down your lives for your family, loved ones and friends. Jesus declared, “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13-14)

Homer raised all five of his adult sons on his own after his divorce. I was impressed with their love, affection and commitment to their father. They declared, “He stood by us and we’ll do anything for him!” But five months later conflicts broke out in the ranks. They, like so many families, forgot they were on the same side. Some were wounded by “friendly fire” and the family was divided. What happened, where did it start, could it have been avoided?

Looking back, I believe they allowed competition, jealousy and bitterness to take root. Criticism grew as understanding, patience and mutual support waned. Four of the sons began to question and criticize Jim, and his wife, who were Homer’s primary caregivers. Jim returned fire, “I did the best I could. I’m not perfect. Who needs it? I just feel like chucking the whole thing and just saying the hell with it.” So he did. He turned over the care of his father to the brother who was his main critic. Jim told him, “If you think you can do a better job, then be my guest!” After only two days of taking care of his father, Jim’s brother pleaded with Jim to please come back. It’s sure easy to criticize from a distance, isn’t it?

If you are presently a caregiver or family member of a chronically or terminally ill person, please don’t allow competition and criticism to separate you. Pull and work together. Continually remind yourself that you’re on the same side; that either you all win or you all lose. Resist the urge to criticize from a distance. For God’s sake, don’t shoot the wounded! You see, those who are serving don’t need a judge they need an ally, a friend. Don’t let a fellow wounded soldier fall. Instead, run to the battle; enlist in the service. Cover them with a blanket of love, understanding and support.

If you’re a family whose war is over and you’ve been left scattered and divided, take heart, because it’s never too late to do what’s right. Learn from the rest of Homer’s story. During Homer’s funeral, the preacher opened the service by inviting anyone with something to share to step forward. One of Homer’s sons stepped forward with remarkable courage, humility and grace and addressed the crowd, “You know, me and my brothers aren’t talking to each other right now.” Then he looked squarely at his brothers and said, “We have to remember that it was the cancer that did it to us. We are brothers and dad wouldn’t want us to treat each other this way. I want all my brothers to know that I love them.” The other four brothers stepped forward and all five embraced one another crying for several minutes. Words can’t describe how moved, inspired and challenged I was by Homer’s son’s humility. What about you?