A Gentle Reminder

Celebrating more signs of spring in Tokyo

“Sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth. Sing to the Lord, praise his name; proclaim his salvation day after day. Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous deeds among all peoples. For great is the Lord and most worthy of praise” (Psalm 96:1-4).

As I was walking from Showa Hospital to the train station after seeing my doctor today, the Lord reminded me that he is worthy of praise—no matter what. It was a gentle reminder, but pointed nevertheless. The news the doctor had for me wasn’t all that good: my CRP continues to rise (it’s now as high as it’s been since I first began taking the anti-cancer drug, Sutent, in September); a CT scan yesterday shows that the tumor that has grown in the vacuum from where my kidney was removed is now advancing again (3 mm. since my last CT scan on February 9); and my doctor believes the Sutent is no longer being effective enough in fighting the cancer in my body.

I would have preferred to hear much different news. But in the short five-minute walk from the hospital to the train station, the Lord reminded me that he is yet God, yet in control, yet omniscient, yet omnipresent, and still the same yesterday, today, and forever. He is indeed most worthy of praise!

As such, Bernie and I do praise the Lord even as we ask for your prayers for wisdom in the next two weeks as we need to decide what to do from here. Now that I have doctors both in Japan and Houston, Texas, it seems even more complicated to know what to do. Consultation with “both sides” is required, and I’ve not been having good luck at all with making contact with M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston during this past month. Please pray that the Lord will cut through all the bureaucracy that seems to be binding everything so tightly and shine his light clearly on the path we should follow.

Thank you for fighting this fight with us.

Now That's Cold!

Spring's coming!

Earlier this month, I awoke in my bed feeling cold one night, despite four layers of covers, including an electric blanket on low. Our bedroom is unheated—in fact, like the Japanese, we don’t have central heating in our apartment and use only space heaters to warm whichever room we’re in at the time, but never overnight or when we go out. Then we dutifully switch off the heat so as not to chance an accidental fire. With city structures built more closely together than grains of sand on a beach, anyone’s fire can quickly escalate to everyone’s fire. Hence the Japanese are extra cautious about fire prevention. But our bedroom was no colder that early morning hour than ever. Dressed in two layers of pajamas and socks, I shouldn’t have been cold. But I was.

Mostly I was sleepy, but slumber eluded me. Even snuggling with Bernie and, with covers pulled over my head, nestling like a hibernating bear didn’t help me warm up and will myself back to sleep. Having just returned from the United States, my rational mind announced that I was victim to jet lag. (Japan is 14 hours ahead of America’s Eastern Time zone.) But that certainly didn’t pacify my need for sleep.

Instead, completely awake by now, I began recalling other cold experiences in Japan—like the time I brought in the frozen laundry from our outside clothes lines at our Tarumi house. My jeans were so stiff that they literally stood on the kitchen floor. It looked like an invisible man, minus feet, was standing directly in front of me (until the warmish room melted and collapsed the jeans in a heap on the floor). “Now that’s cold!” I admonished myself firmly for feeling cold in my toasty bed.

In that same old, drafty house where blowing wind outside moved our curtains inside--even with doors and windows shut as tightly as possible--we also found a skiff of ice on the tops of bowls or glasses left overnight in the sink with water in them. “Now that’s cold!” I chided myself years later for having become such a weather wimp.

Years before, we visited a co-worker in her apartment one winter’s day. Instead of answering the door, we heard Janet holler, “Come on in!” Doffing our shoes at the front door in good Japanese custom, we followed her voice and stepped into her freezing bedroom (no heat at all, ever). There we exploded with laughter at the sight of her. Janet was bundled under so many layers of blankets that we could hardly see any form at all in her bed. What we could see was her red face (from the cold), her head (sheathed in a knit cap), and her gloved hands holding the book she was trying to read. “Now that’s cold!” I said, trying to convince myself that I had nothing at all to complain about in Tokyo.

In quick succession, I also remembered two other experiences with cold in Japan. The Christmas following Kobe’s Great Hanshin Earthquake of January 1995, we joined church members to Christmas carol in one of the many temporary housing neighborhoods constructed after the quake. I felt like the inside of my mouth froze every time I opened it—which is necessary to sing. I was soon shivering so violently that I had the vibrato of a great opera star, though I couldn’t stay anywhere close to pitch. The now-familiar refrain repeated itself in my mind, “Now that’s cold!”

Then there was the time one early February that we attended the Sapporo Snow Festival on Japan’s northernmost island, Hokkaido. The name of the annual event that features ice sculptures of famous people, landmarks, and anime characters should have given me an important clue: it’s going to be cold. But I had no other winter clothes than those I wore in more temperate Kobe. It was only minutes—maybe seconds—after arriving at Chitose Airport that I realized next time, I’d go to the beach. “Now that’s cold!” I agreed with my head as I snuggled further down in my covers.

Several nights later, I again awoke too early this morning. Same cold bedroom. Same bed layered with the same covers. But this time, I was too hot. Instead of being frustrated, however, I rejoiced. Spring arrives one week from today. I for one am ready to bid winter goodbye.

Smiling as I Remember

Traveling with Susan by boat in Vietnam

Two months ago today, my friend Susan succumbed to cancer on January 7, 2010. Within two years of age, we had many things in common: we were both fellow missionaries to Asia under the Church of God; we were from neighboring states in Midwest America; we were alumni of the same university; we both fought cancer; and we both loved photography and traveling, often together. In fact, we were traveling companions in Vietnam, Taiwan, China, India, Lebanon, and England.

Bernie and I remember our 2004 trip to China with Susan, Choki(our adopted Chinese daughter), and Rachelle(a co-worker in Japan). We had so many funny experiences together during that two-week trip, but the best one was on a sleeper train from Beijing to Shenyang. We had five top bunks in the second-class sleeping cars. Bernie and I were in the first cubicle with six bunks, Choki and Rachelle were in the second cubicle, and Susan was assigned to the third.

After the overhead lights went out for the night, Bernie, Choki, and Rachelle all went to sleep; Susan and I were reading by the light of our small bed lamps. Before she turned out her lamp for the night, Susan climbed down from the top bunk and headed past Choki/Rachelle’s and our cubicles for the toilet at the end of the car. So far so good. But on her way back, Susan got confused about which cubicle to enter—but she didn’t know that immediately. Quietly, so as not to awaken anyone, she climbed up the end of the three-tiered beds to the top and began to crawl from the foot-end to the head-end so that she could snuggle for the night. But something was strange; no matter how she pawed at the covers, she couldn’t get them pulled back. What in the world was the matter?

Suddenly, the bed lamp snapped on and Choki peered up from under the covers. “Soo-san?” Choki spoke up with surprise in her voice. (They’d only met a few days before, so how was she to know what Susan was up to?) Choki wasn’t the only one who was surprised! With apologies and surely a red face (if we could have seen it), Susan shifted into reverse, all the time trying to keep her head down low enough so as not to bang it on the low roof of the train. (It is impossible to sit up straight in those sleeper bunks.) She made as quick an exit as she could, all the time trying not to burst out laughing at her mistake. Remembering that my light had still been on, she retreated to our cubicle without exploding, but when she related the incident, we were both unsuccessful in muffling our laughter. Roused from his sleep by our giggling, Bernie was soon a part of the laughter.

To this day, whenever we are with Choki (who lives in Japan) and remember that great trip with Susan, one of our favorite lines is, “Soo-san?”

Today I’m smiling as I remember Susan. I’m also thanking God for her life.

Immeasurably More

Bernie presenting diplomas at Tamagawa Seigakuin's

2009 graduation ceremonies

Giving glory to God
“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen” (Ephesians 3:20-21, NIV).

Our newsletter is a little late this month—on purpose. We wanted to be able to give you the latest news on Cheryl’s cancer journey, a journey that began one year ago when she was diagnosed with renal cell carcinoma in March 2009. What an incredible year it has been! Following removal of her left kidney in April 2009, the cancer recurred in September, less than six months later. Since September, she has been taking Sutent, an oral chemotherapy that is proving to be effective in fighting the cancer, with a goal of sending it into remission. It will be a life-long fight, but God is proving himself faithful day by day as we live hopefully in him. Join us in giving glory to God.

An update on Cheryl
We are praising God for the wonderful result of our visit to MD Anderson Cancer Center, Houston, TX, on February 25-26. What we heard was “immeasurably more” than we had dared to hope for. In fact, the only news that could have been better was hearing that Cheryl was cancer-free We almost had to be shooed out of the doctor’s office and told, “Go home!” because we just kept sitting there and expecting the “bad news” to come. There was none (and we finally did set the doctor free by going home). In short, this is what we learned:

■The time may come when Sutent no longer works to suppress the cancer, but there is no reason to think that this is that time since all the CT scans and other medical tests continue to show no increased cancer activity;
■To help with the side effects (that seem to have increased in intensity), the doctor recommends changing the six-week cycle of four weeks on, two weeks off to two weeks on, one week off. At the end of six weeks, Cheryl will have taken the same amount of medicine—just in a way that should be easier on her body;
■One of the side effects of Sutent is heart stress, and this is showing up in Cheryl in elevated blood pressure. As a result, she was given blood pressure medicine.
■She has been accepted as a patient at MD Anderson and, assuming things continue as they are, we will return to Houston in three months for her next CT scan. (This is perfect timing as we will be back in the U.S. for a three-month home assignment from late May.) In the meantime, she will continue seeing the doctor in Japan for regular check ups;
■On the U.S. end, the doctor will consult with colleagues about the possibility of treating the tumor with surgery and/or focused radiation. He told us that this treatment is available in Japan, suggesting the possibility of it being done here (since it would be so much cheaper and because the treatment and care Cheryl’s already received in Japan has been very good);

Here’s how you can pray with us:

►For the Sutent to continue working to suppress the cancer;
►For Cheryl’s blood pressure to return to the normal range and the water on her heart to dissipate; and,
►For her energy to be restored so that the upcoming three months will be productive and ministry assignments completed before we begin home assignment.

Additional prayer requests
●On March 15, Tamagawa Seigakuin will graduate some 190 seniors in its 59th graduation ceremonies. Please pray for these girls as they venture “into the world,” that they will not forget their introduction to Jesus Christ at Tama Sei and that many will eventually give their hearts to the Lord.
●With the end of the school year in March and the beginning of a new school year in April, these are especially busy months for Bernie. Please pray that he will find the energy, strength, and inspiration for the extra load that always falls on him at this time.
●A new church year begins on April 1 at Tamagawa Church, where we will begin our second of three years in an interim pastoral assignment. Please pray for the church’s pastoral team—Bernie, Cheryl, and Fujiwara-sensei—as we make specific plans this month for the upcoming year. (This is a special challenge in that we’ll be in the States three months for home assignment.)
●Please pray for our annual spring staff meeting, March 29-31. We look forward to getting to know our new regional coordinators, Don and Caroline Armstrong, as well as to spiritual and physical renewal (and a lot of good food) at the retreat center in the mountains outside of Tokyo.

The Best Medicine, Part 2

The offending--and currently empty--fire extinguisher

It must have been to test my resolve. Just how good was my ability to laugh, especially in situations that, at first glance, seemed anything but funny? Was I really taking my “medicine” faithfully? The results of this test would provide a fail-proof answer.

I’d been sitting at the hospital, waiting for my appointment with Dr. M., when I completed my last blog on a scrap of paper. Extolling the healing properties of laughter, I’d signed off cheerily with, “I think I’m due for another dose [of laughter] right now.” In retrospect, I’d clearly walked into a trap. Little did I know what I’d encounter when I got home.

Doing the laundry in Japan is no complicated ordeal even though we have only cold water for our doll-sized, but fully automatic washer and have to hang our laundry on the verandah, even in the snow—unless I hang it all over the dining and living rooms, taking advantage of the space heaters to speed the drying process. We don’t use lye soap, scrub boards or ringer washers, so doing the laundry is really no big deal. Usually.

Things were different on February 16. I’d hardly gotten home from the hospital when disaster struck, thoroughly disrupting the usually tame laundry task, not to mention the whole house. As I reached for the laundry tub on the shelf above the washing machine, I inadvertently bumped it into the fire extinguisher, whose “home” was also the same shelf. Before I could jump to catch it, the extinguisher hit the floor and exploded, shooting a cloud of gray smoke and fine particles into the kitchen. (Our laundry room—also my office—is at the end of the kitchen.)

Within moments, a cloud hung over the kitchen and dining area that reminded me of the mushroom clouds of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Certainly it wasn’t that bad, but from inside the “storm,” it did indeed seem devastating. The only thing I could think to do was to call Bernie at school, just down the street in the next block. I certainly did not think of laughing. Thankfully, Bernie was able to come immediately and help with the first clean up. (Note the word “first.”) He also insisted that I put on a mask in order to quit ingesting the fine particles that were falling as if a snowstorm had blown through suddenly.

As with Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the “devastation” in our dining room and kitchen continued long after the cloud had dispersed. No matter how many times I cleaned, particles continued to appear on shelves, floors, counters, and furniture. Frankly, I think we’ll still be cleaning up weeks from now. And to think that I used to think fire extinguishers were filled with foam!

Now Bernie and I are arguing over whether we really need a fire extinguisher. After all, we’ve never ever had a fire, but the problems wrought by that innocent-looking extinguisher were overwhelming. In fact, a friend of a friend had a similar experience and concluded that next time, she’ll let the fire have the house rather than deal with the extinguisher. But since we live in an apartment in a church that houses a pre-school, we must, by law, have a fire extinguisher, so I guess I’ve lost the argument.

And I failed the laughter test, too. I still believe laughter is the best medicine, but honestly, I hope my next opportunity to prove my words doesn’t come along too soon.