by John Creasey
Letters seem to be such a poor substitute for you, but I am really proud of you, and I’m glad you’re doing what God wants you to do. You mentioned in one of your letters there would probably be lots of times when we would be separated from each other. The more I thought about that, the more I realize it’s true, but Ward, the reward will be so great. Maybe not here on earth, but when we get to heaven. I want to have “sheaves” to lay at the Master’s feet and hear him tell us, “Well done.” Even with all the separation and things that might come our way, I would rather spend my life with you in the work of God than anything else I can think of. ~ DLT letter, 30 June 1955
These are more of those days we imagined would come, in long ago letters during our courtship. Even in the first year of our courtship, we were apart more than we were together. To my younger readers, I cannot over emphasize counting the cost ahead of commitment to a lifetime with the person with whom you’ve fallen hopelessly in love. I know, hormones rage, the moon is full, and romance is in the air as it should be. I get all that.
But for all the reasons why you are certain you will live happily ever after, there are also reasons why you will not. Examine those reasons honestly and carefully ahead of time as best you can. For us, one of our costs has been the many times of separation. Sometimes two or three days. Sometimes two or three weeks. A part of our commitment to serving our Lord and those he loves. Each separation comes with its own price. Some higher than others.
Friday 16 May. We are driving through rugged south-central Anatolia, 5500 feet above sea level, on our way down to seaside Antalya, where we will spend two nights. It has been a hard week for Dixie as side-effects of chemotherapy are in play. We talk together every day via FaceTime. (Technology definitely has a good side.) But I see in her eyes she is suffering. It hurts my heart.
Everyone here keeps her in their prayers each day. I urge her to check in with SCCA to apprise them of what she is experiencing. On Thursday night she looks better, but we both know there is more to come. Two travelers, Lorilee and Cindy, both cancer survivors, send Dixie advice about what to do should there be hair loss. It is one of her ongoing practical concerns.
At a roadside restaurant high in the Taurus Mountains, our journey family celebrates birthdays for two in our group, replete with cakes and songs and laughter. We even sing the birthday song in Turkish. The yin and yang of life. Two days ago we were 400 meters (1300 feet) above ground in a hot air balloon, and 60 feet below the earth in a cave labyrinth carved out by the hands of generations, beginning with the Hittites and continuing to the earliest Christians. All in the same day. Joy and happiness. Pain and suffering. Life. We must be careful not to seek only good times and curse the bad. Both are the ingredients from which a rich and complete life is made. Jesus taught us this by his word and in his example.
I remind myself of this important truth as Dixie resumes her chemotherapy schedule at SCCA; a second round of Gemcitabine infusions that will happen each week for three more weeks. Every Thursday. Our prayer is for victory over this Enemy Cancer. We ask for wisdom and great care from doctors and caregivers. Strength and health for body and soul. Understanding and patience as we dig our way through life’s labyrinth. Joy and happiness. Pain and suffering. All in the same day.
For you are our glory and joy. ~1 Thessalonians 2:20
More days and nights come and go. Soon after our arrival in Athens, Mark manages a text contact with Michele. He reports that she and Mom have just arrived home and are preparing something to eat. I check the time difference in my mind. It is past 8:30 PDT. Why so long a day for them? No word on this. The connection has been interrupted. Attempts to reconnect do not work. We’ve had long hours before at SCCA, but this late? Is something wrong? Separated by so much land and water and sky, I can only wonder. And pray. Technology has failed me. Mark reassures me that all must be well or they would be reaching out through our predetermined emergency chain of contacts. Still . . .
Saturday 24 May 7:30 AM (9:30 PM Friday PDT). Days ago in Istanbul, one of our travelers placed in my hand a rock on which is inscribed, For he will order his angels to protect you in all you do ~ Psalm 91:11. And so it has been.
Two weeks have passed. We are on our way home, flying somewhere between Athens and Frankfurt. Everyone is safely on board. No serious illnesses. Two successful, inspiring and educational weeks behind us, trekking through modern Turkey, the Aegean Isles of Patmos, Rhodes, Crete, Santorini and, finally, Corinth and Athens, unpacking the biblical world of early Christianity. I am pleased that everyone is returning home with happy hearts.
I, too, am looking forward to home, to reuniting with Dixie and our daughter, Michele. It has been three days since seeing or talking with either of them. Internet connections are too poor for FaceTime in the islands, and almost always onboard ship. Hotel Internet in Athens was no better.
I listen to the voices and laughter of our travelers gathered in the aisle around me, sharing news of their respective journeys with new friends, a group from Texas having spent the last four days in Athens. Swapping stories of guides and coach drivers, sounds and smells, hotels and scenic byways, all the things that enrich the traveler’s soul. Memories soon to be shared with family and friends at home are being tested and refined with strangers whose only real affinity is that of having recently returned from their own fields of adventure. It is all so natural, so necessary to do. Yet my own thoughts take me to a distant place, one that draws closer with each passing hour as we fly from east to west with the sun.
We are homeward bound.
The pilot informs that we will soon be landing in Frankfurt, where we will transfer to our next flight. An attendant tells us, upon arrival we should hurry to ensure making our connection, noting since we are Americans we may have to pass through two security check points instead of one. It seems Americans have become high maintenance in today’s world of travel. We say goodbye to Elizabeth, who is flying directly to Dallas. The rest of us prepare for the remaining eleven-hour flight to Seattle.
Saturday 24 May 2:05 PDT. I send a text to Dixie, “Hummer landed.” We arrive almost a half hour late, disembark, and with hundreds of other citizens and guests of our great nation, patiently make our way through customs and passport control, while being welcomed by smiling uniformed agents into the United States of America. We wish our Californians well as they hurry off to be among the last to board their connecting flight to San Francisco and just like that, for the first time in two weeks, Mark and I are alone! We text the girls again as we slowly make our way to the arrivals area.
In a short while, both Dixie and Michele greet us curbside and on the twenty-minute drive from SeaTac International Airport to our home, I hear the good news. While the treatment on Thursday had taken considerably longer, the results were worth the effort. New anti-nausea drugs were included with this chemotherapy and Dixie has had no recurring upsets since.
Michele has been the consummate caregiver. Dixie is eating small bites of anything she wishes every two hours (Michele arranged an automatic timer to sound off as a reminder), plus larger bits at mealtimes. All in all, a very positive step forward in the wellness process. The only new ‘shadow’ is a first notification from our medical insurance that some treatments already received will not be covered. “If we wish to appeal, etc . . .” And so it begins. Still, this is not enough to overshadow the progress, the renewed light in her eyes, the smile on her face as I gather her into my arms.
Welcome home!
20
Any Port in a Storm
Autumn is the most beautiful time of the year, when all the trees change to reds, golds, amber and orange. All favorite colors, with the depth of greens of all shades. What beauty!
God spoke all that beauty into being with words. Jesus spoke healing and the beauty of life into a 12-year-old girl, calmed a roaring sea, painted word pictures for people to understand. “He said” is a common phrase in the Gospel
s that mimics God the Father’s voice throughout all of Scripture.
God still speaks through sights and sounds. The apostle Paul prayed for the Ephesians that the “eyes of their heart may be enlightened” to hear him speak and understand.
May my heart see and hear you with clarity and understanding. Thank you for the anticipation of all that I will yet experience. “No eye has seen no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him.” May my eyes and heart reflect that joy! ~ DLT diary, September 2008
Tuesday 27 May. We meet again at SCCA with doctors from Infectious Diseases. The two liver spots having been treated with antibiotics are gone, but a new spot in a new location is now visible. They are unsure as to what this may represent, but will continue a regimen of antibiotics and schedule another CT-scan with dye, re-examining the liver, abdomen and lungs.
We are led to another room and our next appointment. A “New Port Teach” with everybody’s favorite nurse, Deb Leslie (whom I tag as an SCCA equivalent of the career Master Sergeant). Loud, passionate, professional and caring, possessing what Israelis sometimes refer to as sabra spirit, tough and prickly on the outside, warm and mushy on the inside. She brings us up on what to expect regarding the new port insertion planned for the next day.
Wednesday. Following a blood draw, Dixie is prepped for what is slated to be “a minor surgical procedure that will not require general anesthesia.” We meet the team that will do the deed. Eventually, I am politely excused to my home away from home in the waiting area and told it will be “one or two hours and someone will come looking for me.” And so the process begins. It is being done because of the myriad blood draws and medications that have overwhelmed her veins abilities to cope.
In surgery, the port is placed just beneath her skin, the end of the catheter inserted into a large vein with the catheter tip placed near the heart. The port is located in her upper chest area just below the collarbone. Once the port is placed under her skin, it’s ready to deliver medication into the bloodstream.
A special needle can be inserted through the flexible cover of her port, which connects to a catheter. She feels a mild pricking sensation during needle insertion and is given a tube of anesthetic cream to numb her skin an hour before each time her port is used in order to reduce discomfort. She never uses it. The port provides a method for collecting blood samples and may also deliver contrast media for CT scans.
Her port is designed to deliver medications and chemotherapy through the chosen large vein directly into her heart. This allows the medication to be diluted more quickly than if it were given in peripheral veins in her arms or hands. Also, by delivering chemotherapy directly into her heart, it will not further break down the peripheral veins, which already seem to roll up and run for cover whenever another needle is pointed in their direction.
Thursday. Early in the week, medications have held nausea at bay. Not today. This morning, vomiting returns with a vengeance, leaving her weak and thoroughly exhausted in the fight to regain control. The day continues its downhill roll when at 1:30 we arrive at SCCA for a blood draw, only to find the lab technicians will not draw from her port until it has been in place for at least twenty-four hours. During the patient checkup with Lisa Vanderhoef, PA-C, Dixie decides she is not up to taking the scheduled chemotherapy. Lisa checks with nurse Deb and they agree. Come back tomorrow. We drive home and Dixie goes straight to bed.
Friday. After resting through the night, we return for her initial port draw. It is a success. On we go to F5, where the new port is used again, first for a 72-hour anti-nausea medication, followed by the rescheduled Gemcitabine infusion. By 5 o’clock we are home again. It’s been a busy week. Good days. Bad days. But all are days in which our Lord is never far away.
I’ve heard it said when the minister grows older, he learns to content himself more and does not expect so much from people. He learns to live with his disappointments. Can this be God’s plan for us? Is there no more than this to expect from ministry? God help us all if this be true! I cannot reconcile myself to such a fate. Prove yourself and fulfill your promises in us. Use wherever and however you choose – but use us in a fruitful ministry, not one that is barren! ~ WT diary, November 1963
Last summer, we had the joy of celebrating 50 years of Valley Christian Center’s existence in Dublin California, the church we served for twenty-three of those years. This weekend, Westminster Chapel of Bellevue Washington, where I served as care pastor and executive pastor and Dixie as minister to women, is celebrating its 50th anniversary. Once more we are filled with joy for what God has done on our respective sacred journeys.
And on this, one of their busiest of afternoons, we receive a lovely e-note from Pastor Gary, giving thanks for our having come to serve for a season as part of the Westminster staff, and for our mutual friendship. His warm note concludes by saying, “Celebrations are important. I felt like celebrating the two of you today and wanted you to know.”
Relationships among colleagues in ministry are, I believe, divinely meant to bind us together. Such was the case with Paul, Barnabas, Timothy, young Mark and Peter. There are lists of others whose names are recorded in the Bible. Sadly, even the chosen Twelve discovered, as have we through the years, that such divinely appointed relationships do not always come to full fruition. But when they do it is very special, even transformational, leaving us forever changed for the better; more like Jesus, at having faithfully served together those whom Jesus loves.
21
Always a Bride
My thoughts today turn to being your bride. What does it mean to “be the bride of Christ?” After I had made the commitment to be Ward’s bride, I set about planning a wedding . . . a party really. What I would wear, whom to invite, what to serve, how to decorate . . . all the important stuff.
7 The wedding - L-R Wanda, Dixie, Ward, Clyde
Ward, however, set about planning where and how we would live out our lives . . . plus, he made every effort to be with me as much and as often as possible. And in the “between times” he reminded me of his love through letters. All his efforts pointed toward the day we would be “together” for our lifetime.
If I had spent my preparation time and effort focused on spending a life of “singleness” and putting roots down where I was instead of preparing to go to live with him, I am sure he would have wondered about my commitment to become his bride.
How much of my time and efforts and preparation are focused on my comfort and life lived here, instead of preparing for when I shall come to live in the place you are building, in preparation for when we will be united in “marriage” . . . the bride of Christ?
Lord, lift my head so I can focus more on eternal things. Help me to keep perspective on this temporal life as it is just that . . . temporary . . . until I go to be with you.
In the meantime, help my “preparations for the wedding” be like planning the party that it is: invitations, serving, decor, and my clothing in righteousness and garments of praise. ~ DLT diary, June 1996
The evening is hot and muggy. I watch nervously as Dixie comes toward me, looking amazing, absolutely stunning in the bridal dress she has especially chosen for tonight; while I and the guys with whom I have sung and lived and traveled throughout much of America for the past two years, the guys directly responsible for our being introduced to each other in the beginning, now stand as a band of brothers looking on with me as I reach for her hand.
It is 2 June.
We sit at a table for two, gazing out at boats slipping across the water. A ship is passing as the sun prepares for its exit, bowing in silent elegance to the city across the harbor. It is Monday evening, not Saturday. The city is Seattle, not Tulsa. And the year 2014, not 1956. It is surreal. I look into her eyes. She returns the gaze with a smile that says she knows. I reach for her hand and utter a brief prayer of thanks as God and we together . . . in the same moment . . . are remembering.
H
ow many times have we done this, since that first night? The night that I reached for her hand and we pledged our love to God and one another, “for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, ’til death do us part, so help us God.” A cherished moment, then and now, as the three of us continue the sacred journey we began together, fifty-eight years ago. And I wonder . . . is this our last time?
Her hand is different tonight; warmer then, thinner now, and cooler from the chemo treatments she has endured these last weeks. And yet it’s the same. This same hand held our children, while with the other she fed them their meals. This same hand held thousands of other hands through the years, as with an infectious smile and a warm hug she offered words of hope and encouragement and the promise of better days ahead.
8 Dixie wears her wedding dress on her 50th anniversary.
22
Why Do You Think You’re Here?
Whoever reflects earnestly on the meaning of life
is on the verge of an act of faith. ~ Paul Tillich
Thursday 5 June. Her day begins with an eight o’clock appointment at UWMC Radiology / Oncology Department, where she undergoes the latest CT reevaluation scan with dye. The liver still has small spots, but the doctors seem not too concerned. The spots do not look like cancer. The lungs appear to be stable, but one spot in this area is slightly larger than before (from 2mm to 4mm). Still too small to be of great concern unless it should grow to a full centimeter. They will keep a watch on this as well. Even the littlest of things are important now.
“Why do you think you’re here?” Those are the words from the radiation oncologist. I give an explanation as to what I understand; then he asks what further questions do I have. My questions have to do with longevity and quality of life. He answers by reciting survival percentages, with and without radiation. Favorable percentages FOR the treatment prescribed push me in that direction. ~ DLT diary, 2015
