End of September Thoughts

Bernie and Mike sing at Tamagawa Seigakuin's 2010 school festival.

September used to be one of my favorite months. Notice the past tense.

When I was a child, September meant the start of school. Not that I was eager for the summer holidays to end, but I did look forward to some new clothes, a new lunch box, and meeting my friends again for the new school year. September always spelled new and exciting to me, even if year after year our first assignment back was to write, “What I Did during My Summer Vacation.” (Although I didn’t voice it out loud, I did often wonder why teachers couldn’t be more creative in assigning paragraph topics.)

But that was a long time ago. These days I’m starting to think that it might be good just to jump from August right into October—at least if the last two Septembers are indicative of what the month is going to hold for me in the future.

It was early September 2009 that I learned my cancer had recurred. Then while waiting for test results to determine which course of treatment would be recommended, I found myself shadowboxing with fear, an opponent that was definitely present even if I couldn’t see it. In our sparring, I also discovered many opportunities to doubt God and his good plans for my life. I’m grateful that I emerged from that September stronger than ever in my faith, but I did have some scars to show from the battles.

I remember one day in particular. Despite feeling weak physically, I attended the annual school festival at Tamagawa Seigakuin. I’d be there only an hour or two at most, or so I thought. I knew I had a fever that was getting higher, but I couldn’t go home immediately. Complicating matters further, I met an acquaintance who offered to introduce me to a faith healer. Let me say it clearly: the Bible teaches that God is a healing God; it instructs us to ask him for healing; and I believe God can and does heal, even miraculously, even cancer. So there shouldn’t have been any problems.

But when I showed interest in her suggestion, my Christian friend lowered her voice conspiratorially and told me that this faith healer was Buddhist, adding, “But that’s okay. We all believe in the same God.” Do you realize what you’re saying? I wanted to shout out loud in my shock. Instead, I recoiled from her involuntarily as if she had the plague. Although I did accept the faith healer’s calling card from her, I asked Bernie to burn it later that evening. I felt strongly that I had to get rid of the evil I’d carried into my home. We also prayed together, asking God to put his shield of protection around us. As we did, peace returned to my troubled heart even as my high fever finally broke. Even now, more than a year later, I’m convinced my faith was on trial that day.

And this year? The trial continues, but in more subtle ways. After six relatively “healthy” weeks in which it was sometimes easy to forget that I have cancer, my oasis in the cancer journey has come to an end, at least for the time being. Fatigue has returned and, more recently, pain has become its companion. On top of this, I’m coughing again and running a low grade fever most days. All of this is right on the heels of my writing a victorious blog on September 4 in which I testified about the wonderful lessons God had taught me in the year since my cancer recurred. Those lessons haven’t changed, but it is definitely harder to share them jubilantly when I’m not feeling good and when doubts have begun assailing me once again. The trial is not over.

Needless to say, I’ll be glad to put yet another difficult September behind me and to enter October tomorrow. Of course, I have no way of knowing what October will hold. Yet these words of Paul renew my confidence and restore my hope:

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:16-18).

One Year Later

Bernie and Cheryl, September 4, 2010

September 4, 2009. One year ago today. It was the day a doctor told me he suspected my cancer had returned. He was right.

In looking back over this incredible year, I’m grateful for so much, not the least of which is the fact that I’m much healthier today than then—and that, even though I still battle cancer. I’m also grateful for the lessons God has taught me as we have journeyed these past twelve months. Some, if not most, are lessons yet in progress. (I seem to be a slow learner who requires application after application for a lesson to really be absorbed.) Without any specific order, here are ten I’ve been learning in this past year:

1) Patience. I’d far rather just jump right to healing, but it’s been a year of wait, wait, and wait some more. I’m still waiting. After the cancer recurred, I had to wait a very long three-plus weeks before I could start taking the first anti-cancer medicine. Every two weeks thereafter I waited for the results of tests to show if the drug was being effective. When in March 2010 a CT scan showed that Sutent had stopped working, I had to wait another endless three weeks before the second drug, Afinitor, became available in Japan. What really tested my patience (and faith) was that throughout this wait my body was weakening noticeably. Most recently, I’ve been waiting since May to see whether doctors will set a surgery date as a way that I might become “cancer free.”

“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord” (Psalm 27:14). Waiting requires patience, which doesn’t come easily to me. Perhaps this is why I’m being given so many opportunities to learn this lesson.

2) God is worthy of praise. Always. Forever. No matter what CT scans and blood tests show and doctors proclaim. No matter how I feel. No matter what. None of these change or challenge the always faithful, always powerful, always in control God. I join the Old Testament prophet Habakkuk to proclaim, “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior” (3:17-18).

3) My trust is in God. It is not in percentages: the efficacy rate of a certain drug, the chances that surgery will get all of the cancer, survival rates for renal cell carcinoma, and more. My trust is in God, my Father, whose word never fails because he is “the same yesterday, today, and forever” (Hebrews 13:8).

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear . . . . Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth” (Psalm 46:1, 2, 10).

4) And a related lesson: doctors don’t know everything. Even their guesses—educated though they may be—are only guesses. Will this particular medicine work? What treatment is best? Should they perform surgery? How about radiation? How long will I live? Only God knows. I am so happy that my trust is in him.

5) My husband stands beside me “for better, for worse, in sickness, in health.” Never have my wedding vows been so meaningful; never has Bernie’s love been so real. I don’t have cancer—we have cancer. We travel the journey and fight the battle together.

6) The family of God is truly amazing. “Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40:30-31). How often during this year Bernie has commented that it is the prayers of the family of God around the world that provide the updraft for the eagle to soar. A prayer partner in Missouri said it a different way when she wrote, “When you can’t pray, remember that we’re praying for you.”

7) The cancer journey shouldn’t be walked alone. It’s a journey for the whole family—both one’s blood family and the wider family of God too. Why would anyone choose to go inward, silently bearing the burden while trying to keep a stiff upper lip and a smile on the face? Why would anyone choose to walk alone? It happens often in Japan where people are so private about personal matters. Solo journeys may be adventuresome and break Guinness world records, but the cancer walk should not be attempted alone.

8) God’s Word is powerful and full of promise and hope. It is the way God has spoken to me most often this year. I have been renewed, strengthened, comforted, challenged, nourished, and sometimes chastised. Jesus quoted the Old Testament in Matthew 4:4 when he answered Satan’s temptations: “Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.” Neither do I live by anti-cancer medicines. Far more important is the Word of God—something I’ve “known” my whole life, but never as I have known it this past year.

9) What you don’t know won’t kill you. Cancer kills, of course; a lack of knowledge doesn’t. Therefore, even as I pray for healing, I pray for my doctors (who’ve studied and are knowledgeable, but only to a degree). I’ve chosen not to focus on the cancer itself. Instead, I want to focus on the Lord and on walking with him. “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things,” Paul wrote in Philippians 4:8. It is good advice for me—the very best.

10) My worth doesn’t stem from what I do. It is based on who I am: God’s beloved child. So many scriptures testify to this fact, yet I confess I’ve often acted like the more productive I am, the worthier I am. If you look at my date book, I’ve not accomplished much during this year. Instead, I’ve been with the Lord in his school of learning and I’ve come out in a much better place and with much greater understanding of God. It’s a far more stable place to be for I stand on a foundation that cannot be moved. It’s a new kind of productivity that I’ve discovered: delighting myself at Jesus’ feet even if I accomplish nothing else during the day. It is enough.

“Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him and he will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun. Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him” (Psalm 37:4-7).

Back in the Harvest Field

August in Japan means neighborhood summer festivals.

The charge
“The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field,” (Matthew 9:37-38, NIV).

We don’t know if these words in Matthew inspired William J. Henry in 1897 to compose the words and music to the song, I Cannot Be Idle: “I cannot be idle for Jesus says, ‘Go and work in my harvest today; And then at the evening when labor is done, whatever is right I will pay.’ Then away to the work I will go and join in the reaping of grain. And back from the harvest with beautiful sheaves, I’ll come with rejoicing again.”

But both Jesus’ charge and the words of this old Church of God hymn are reverberating in our hearts this morning, our first Monday back in Japan after a three-month medical leave of absence. It is good to unpack and settle back into the apartment we’ve lived in for the past seven years. It is even better to be back in the harvest field God first called us to in 1976. Even though we’ve lived in four different Japanese cities since then (Saga, Fukuoka, Kobe, and Tokyo), God’s call on our lives hasn’t changed. We thank him for his grace and call, even as we thank you for your prayers and other support that have enabled us to be obedient to God here in Japan. Please do pray with us that we will see the promise of a plentiful harvest fulfilled.

An update on Cheryl
During our three months in the United States, we visited M. D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston three different times. Our most recent visit in early August resulted in the good news that Votrient, the drug Cheryl began on June 10, is being effective in the fight against cancer. For the first time since she began taking anti-cancer medications in September 2009, the main tumor in the cavity where the left kidney was is dying on the inside. We had expected the medicine to work by shrinking the tumors. (In fact, the main tumor somehow managed to grow a little, despite what is happening inside.) But God can work any way he decides—and even without our understanding—so we are looking ahead in faith that come November (Cheryl’s next visit to Houston) the situation will be even better. Could it be the doctors will discover that the main tumor is dead and there is no evidence of any of the smaller tumors that are now in the abdominal wall? Please pray with us to this end.

By the way, we reported in the last newsletter that Cheryl was experiencing great difficulty in adjusting to Votrient. Praise God that this is no longer her situation. Although she does have some digestive issues and must be careful to conserve her energy, she no longer deals with pain, fevers, and the other more distressing side effects. Praise God for answering prayer and for working in Cheryl’s body through Votrient—something confirmed again by the most recent blood tests which showed all the important numbers rising into the “normal” range. Needless to say, we are rejoicing!

For your further prayers
Now that we’re back in Japan, our focus has shifted from medical treatments to the harvest field. As such, Bernie preached at Tamagawa Church on Sunday following our arrival late Friday, August 20. We were grateful to discover he’d not forgotten his Japanese during our long time away and for the warm welcome we received (in more ways than one). Not only were temperatures nearing 100 degrees that morning (we are SO grateful for air conditioning at church and in our apartment), but the typically reserved Japanese congregants were outspoken and demonstrative in their joy at our return. Please pray for us as we continue to pastor Tamagawa Church and mentor our associate, Fujiwara-sensei, until she is ordained and can lead the church herself.

The next day—today—Bernie was in his office at Tamagawa Seigakuin. September promises to be both exciting and busy for the school as it celebrates its 60th anniversary through a number of special activities. Pray with us that these will bring glory to God and serve as a great testimony of his love to all who participate, including the as many as 6,500 visitors who will attend the annual school festival on September 18 and 20.

We also look forward to resuming our monthly home meeting, Praise Time, on September 13. We understand a new woman will join the group that day. She has recently been diagnosed with lung and brain cancer. Please pray that Cheryl’s own cancer journey will be a witness of hope for her and lead her to accept the only true and lasting source of all hope, Jesus Christ.

Finally, please pray for Will and Mandy Johnson, our newest staff members in Japan. They too arrived on August 20. Pray for their transition to life in Japan, their teaching assignments at Tamagawa Seigakuin, and their service at Tamagawa Church.

Not a Chance Encounter

Emma. I met her poolside, overlooking the beautiful ocean of Mexico’s Cozumel resort island where we were vacationing. We were unlikely conversation partners: she, in her mid-twenties, on her honeymoon, and holding a can of beer in her right hand while occasionally drawing in from the cigarette in her left; me, enjoying the solitude and quiet of the sinking sun whose pink, red, and orange hues were gradually transforming the western sky into an exquisite palette of breathtaking beauty.

Actually, I wasn’t in the mood for talking with anyone, especially one so obviously “different” from myself. Only a short time earlier, I’d given into the tears that had threatened all day. It was the last day of our vacation, but more than that, it was only one week before we were to return to Japan. (It’s always hard to say good-bye, no matter how many times we do it since returning to Tokyo means facing a lifestyle and locality I’ve never yet in seven years grown to appreciate. The transition never comes easily.)

I’d been ignoring the reality of the passing days and what was coming, but with only a week remaining, I couldn’t pretend time didn’t matter any longer. So the tears had come, first only a couple escaping down my cheeks, and then suddenly a torrent was shaking my shoulders. Bernie sat with me on the couch, delaying his snorkeling to stay with me until the flood subsided. Shortly, I made my way outside to be comforted by the approaching sunset.

Alone and drinking in the peacefulness of the landscape, I was reminding myself to hold it close to my heart so that I will be able to conjure up the comforting memory when I feel irritated by 27 million people soon crowding me unmercifully in Tokyo. And here came Emma.

“Buenas noches,” she greeted me cheerfully. I smiled and responded, “Hi,” in English, signaling that I wasn’t Mexican and couldn’t converse with her in Spanish. Apparently she couldn’t have gone much further herself because she breathed a sigh of relief and immediately switched into English. Sitting down on the edge of the elevated pool area, she struck up a conversation. One topic led to another and before long I was answering an oft-repeated question when someone discovers we’ve lived in Japan for 30-plus years.

“Wow! That’s a long time,” Emma marveled at our tenure, telling me that she was only 26 years old herself. “You must have been really young when you went. Wasn’t that scary?”

“When you’re young, you never imagine there’s something you can’t do,” I replied with a laugh, even as a voice inside told me not to miss this opportunity to share the real reason we went to Japan. It wasn’t just that we were young—I was 21 and Bernie 22—and looking for adventure; the main reason was God’s call upon our lives.

“Actually, we’re Christian missionaries,” I told Emma. “That’s why we went to Japan and that’s why we’ve stayed so long.”

As I expected, there was a momentary pause in the conversation as if Emma was wondering what she’d gotten herself into and evaluating whether she wanted to go any further. To my surprise, she proceeded to tell me that she is an agnostic who wonders whether atheists just might be right about the non-existence of God. Nevertheless, she is very curious about religion and has her own repertoire of religious experiences, including infant baptism in the Lutheran church and rebaptism in a Pentecostal church as a teenager.

What in the world can I say that will make any difference to Emma? I prayed silently as we conversed. In the end, I shared with my new friend that knowing God is not about religion, but about relationship. I urged her to continue keeping her ears open because God so desires an intimate relationship that he is pursing her, even through our talk. I also thanked her for our conversation after she thanked me for not judging her.

“It was a gift to me,” I assured her. Noting the quizzical expression on her face, I added, “It’s been a tough day, but the God I believe in and trust just used you to encourage me.”

Whether or not Emma can understand, I have no doubt that this was not a chance encounter. Through a confused agnostic, God reminded me of his desire to use me as his hands, feet, listening ears, and heart—even in Mexico. And most especially in Japan.

You've Got to be Kidding!

Bernie and Cheryl, grateful for times with our grandchildren

“You’ve got to be kidding!” That’s the first thought that crossed my mind when I stepped on the scales at the doctor’s office and discovered I’d lost another two-and-a-half pounds since my previous visit two weeks earlier. I wasn’t happy with the news. In fact, my shoulders sagged with discouragement and tears welled up in my eyes—a really amazing reaction, considering that I’ve counted calories and worried about my weight all of my adult life.

Despite great diligence on my part, weight has always hounded me like ants drawn to the sticky sweetness left on a picnic table after a mid-summer watermelon feed. Born with a sweet tooth, I’ve been especially susceptible to chocolate, a delectable delight that has always lured me like a siren’s song. In fact, I’ve often quipped that I’d have to die in order to lose weight. That joke doesn’t seem so funny anymore—too close for comfort, I’m sure.

And besides, I’m quite alive and well, thank you very much. But, without much appetite and battling some digestion issues (side effects of the cancer drug I began in June), sometimes even the thought of food is enough to nauseate me. Needless to say, eating has become a chore—necessary, I know, but downright hard, nevertheless. Even ice cream and chocolate no longer have allure for me!

Off the scales, I entered the examination room, had my vitals checked, and then waited for the doctor. That he was only running fifteen minutes behind schedule wasn’t the only surprise I encountered there. Being told that my blood work showed I’m malnourished and that he wanted to prescribe an appetite-stimulating drug was far more shocking than either a mostly-on-time doctor or further weight loss.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I mumbled to myself, shaking my head in wonder. After all, I am familiar with appetite suppressors, have even tried some—without success, I might add. But appetite stimulants? They are as unknown to me as Russian or Arabic.

All of this is to say that the cancer journey continues to be one of new and unexpected experiences, only some of which I understand and none of which I control. I am reminded of the psalmist’s thoughts:

“Oh Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue, you know it completely, O Lord. You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain” (Psalm 139:1-6).

And I am grateful that it is enough that God knows, even when—especially when—I don’t.