THE BOGEYMAN

Most of my friends already know. I suppose I ought to announce it on my Blog as well. I found out this week I have cancer.  ...Breast cancer. When I look in the mirror I don't say, "why me?" I say, "Only You."

It's like the Bogeyman out of nightmares, jumping up and down shouting "Booga, Booga, Booga! Scared you, huh?" With a stroke, my summer is GONE. Two weeks more of waiting, Three weeks of surgical recovery, weeks of chemo-therapy (FINALLY I'll be able to use my Tonto, "What we do next, Chemo Therapy?" line without guilt.) And I'll need a lot of physical therapy to restore the surgically removed muscle mass from under my arm. I'm not sure if we're talking three months, six months or a year. Funny thing is, I'm not scared. I fully expect to ride it out and emerge victorious.  

It is operable. In fact its a completely normal "ductile" type breast cancer. I am scheduled for surgery on June 20th. The one scary thing is, though we caught it early, it is already in one of my lymph nodes. Apparently with men, who have less breast tissue, cancer makes its way quickly into the lymphatic system. The surgery will include a "dissection" of all the lymph nodes under my right arm.  Hopefully that will stop the cancer from spreading.

I am facing this with optimism and hope, trusting in the Lord to carry me through. I have confidence in my surgeon and, as always with Kaiser, they move quick with the BIG things.

Karen is afraid I'll lose all my hair. She thinks I might look cool and tough as a cueball. I'm afraid my head is too lumpy to look cool. I'm old, fat, and diabetic: my hair is all I've got.

I've already had several opportunities to share my faith in Christ. When the doctor made the announcement--which he did with great gentleness--he was obviously prepared for fireworks because he had "backup" in the room with him, just in case. But Karen and I simply exchanged a glance, as if we both expected it, and began to ask questions... rational questions. I think this was a good testimony.

Yesterday, I Had lab work done. When I sat down I saw the young lab tech reading a phone text and crying. Wisely, I waited until AFTER she had drawn blood before speaking. I stood and said, "it does get better."
           "What does?" she asked.
           "Life."
           ..."if you say so." she sniffed.
          I opened the door, turned back and said-- gently, I hope -- "I have cancer, I say so."

WHAT WON'T BOYS THINK OF?

This is the age of first-person-shooter video games. It began in the early 90's with "Castle Wolfenstein,"which produced "DOOM" and "Duke Nukem." Mac fans had the "Marathon" series. Now the list is legion. I've played the "Medal of Honor" series and "Call of Duty" as well. There's something soothing about what my friend R.P. calls "Blasting Bozos."

First-person-shooter video games did not spring into existence sui generous. When I was a boy it was called "Playing Army." My dad played "Cops & Robbers." These games differed from the video variety in that the player actually had to go outside and move his body through three dimensional space, rather than virtual reality.

My neighborhood was blessed to have an untended orange grove at the time I was growing up. That meant no irate California Citrus Growers ever showed up to complain about the quasi-military maneuvers, forever climbing trees and digging foxholes. In the Spring the grass would grow tall in the grove, climbing up into the lower branches of the orange trees. If you were careful, you could crawl in, mash down the grass under the tree, and from outside no one would ever be the wiser to your secret little fort.

We boys always played Army, year round. We didn't have super deluxe weapons, either. Some kids had identifiable, manufactured guns. Often we just used a stick or maybe a handy board dad cut and painted in the garage. I did have a "Monkey Gun Bazoka" once, but my proudest possessions were my Roy Rogers, pearl handled Fanner-Fifties. Until I lost them. Sometimes, even the girls played along. But not too much. The girls much preferred riding up and down the block on their Schwinn bicycles, pink tassels trailing from the handle bars.

There was one army game the girls refused to play. A particularly gruesome innovation I've never heard of outside my neighborhood. We called it "Machine Gun Nest." One kid got to be the machine gunner. Then others ran heroically at the nest, one at a time. The object was to die in the best Hollywood tradition. It could be heroic, pitiful or grisly. Flamboyance was the key. The guy who was judged the best in each round got to be the machine gunner. (There was a Naval Aviator version where you played a carrier-launched plane who got to crash and burn.)

Yeah, I can hear all the mothers and grandmothers now... "How horrible!" Tough. Fact is, we had fun, and though I still enjoy first-person-shooter games I've managed to live through most of my fifth decade without becoming a crazed serial killer.

8,000 PAGE VIEWS!

Observations From Hadleyville just reached 8,000 page views. I'm quite pleased. I passed 7,000 a month and a half ago. One thousand page views in six weeks is a big deal for me. Again. Thanks to all of you. My younger friends refer to a moment like this as "Snoopy Dance Time." At my age I'll have to settle for "Walter Brennan Dance Time." (Dagnabit, Luke!)

The reasons I operate this site are threefold. 1. I am opinionated. 2. I enjoy exchanging ideas with others. 3. I need the discipline to write, or at least be creative, every day.

I invite you to join the conversation by posting your own comments. I know this can be a tedious process with writing your personal information and typing in difficult to see, nonsensical words.

You can shortcut the process by creating a Google identity; that way you don't have to enter name and email each time.

Unfortunately, the nonsensical words, like EEUP, GINIXLE and BUGLUMP are necessary to cut down on Spammers.


If you have not yet become a follower of Observations From Hadleyville, I invite you to click the Follow Button, on the right side, just below the page count.

DON'S DRIVING DICTIMS (WARNING BLOOD PRESSURE REDUCTION IN PROGRESS)

Over the years I have made a number of discoveries concerning the relationship between human nature and the steering wheel of an automobile. Disney had it right back in the 1940's when mild-mannered Goofy became a demon possessed fool in the driver's seat.
Following are four of the dictims I've pronounced.


1. The car in front of you will always go slower and the car behind you will always go faster than you desire to go.

2. The annoying driver who cuts you off, or delays you because they can't figure out how to park, will annoy you AGAIN within five minutes. (Often they do this after you have reached your destination and are now on foot)

3. The universal driving code is: "Death Before Yeilding!"

4. If you are following a long string of cars, but not bunched up with them, some impatient driver will dangerously jump out in front of you from a side street, even though there is a huge opening behind you for half a mile or better.

JIMMY OLSEN BLUES

My sons once bought me a music tape for my birthday. Since they are practical as well as generous, they made sure that the music was the kind they themselves wouldn't mind listening to. The group is called Spin Doctors;  and to my mature, evangelical shame, I must confess that I like some of their music (Stone him! Yes, stone him!).  One song in particular evokes feelings I have experienced in the ministry. It is called "Jimmy Olsen Blues." It paints a somewhat humorous picture of Jimmy’s frustration as he vies with Superman for Lois Lane’s attention. He sings; "I can't believe my dilemma is real, I've been competing with the man of steel."

I know just what he means. It sounds a lot like my own laments when I foolishly compare myself to other pastors who seem to have all the talent, charisma, grace and breaks. When I really want to draw blood from my psyche, I say things to myself like; “Rats! I’m not Super-Pastor. I don’t leap tall pulpits at a single bound.  I’m not faster than a speeding youth director.” Do I dare to show my face around real pastors; Super Pastors?

In my saner moments I realize this problem is not mine alone. We all experience feelings of inadequacy. Of course, wild horses could never drag that admission out of me at a pastor’s conference. Aside from the a fore-mentioned conferences there is good news. When Paul spoke of each of us as individual members of the Body of Christ, (1 Corinthians 12:12) he was championing the concept of individuality within unity.

We are unified by our allegiance to Christ, not our sameness. In other words, God has chosen to build his Church from diverse types. Literally,  E pluribus unum; "out of many, one." This is a liberating concept. God can, and actually desires, to use you right now.  Just as you are. You may not get Lois, but you don’t have to be Superman, either.

TERRORISTS JUST AREN'T WHAT THEY USED TO BE

I spent the afternoon at the Sheriff's training location. Known as Laser Village, they no longer use lasers and M.I.L.E.S. gear. These days they use paint cartridges. They sting. I played the bomb-vested terrorist-on-a-bus. My job was to scare the assault team into shooting me. I did a good job. Got shot in the bomb vest which I didn't feel. Got shot in both arms, which I did.

If you've seen the movie S.W.A.T. it was something like the airplane assault in training. Training like this is something like playing Army as a kid, but much more stressful when you know that even sim-munitions sting like the devil.

Good training. The assault teams had to think on their feet and discriminate between legitimate targets and bystanders. This makes good sense and trains our law enforcement people to think and not develop a "target practice" mentality. I am pleased to have been of use. Full disclosure; I volunteered to be a person-most-likely-to-be-shot. Here are my "Red Badges of Courage."

GOD LOVES LOSERS

There are many reasons why God wouldn't want to use people like you or me. But don't worry, God has a heart for losers. Insulted? Don't be. Moses stuttered. David's armor didn't fit. Paul rejected John Mark. Hosea's wife was a prostitute. Amos' only training was in the school of pain. Solomon was too rich. Abraham was too old. David was too young. Timothy had ulcers. Peter was afraid of death. Lazarus was dead. John was self-righteous. Naomi was a widow. Paul was a murderer. So was Moses. Jonah ran from God. Miriam was a gossip. Gideon and Thomas both doubted. Jeremiah was depressed and suicidal. Elijah was burned out. John the Baptist was a loudmouth. Martha was a worrywart. Mary was lazy. Samson was rebellious. Noah got drunk.

Did I mention that Moses had a short fuse? So did Peter and Paul - well, lots of folks did. God doesn't require a job interview. He doesn't hire and fire like most bosses, because He's more our Dad than our boss. God doesn't look at financial gain or loss. He's not prejudiced or partial, not judging, grudging, sassy, or brassy, not deaf to our cry, nor blind to our need.

As much as we try to make a profit of them, God's gifts are free. We could do wonderful things for wonderful people, and still not be wonderful people ourselves. The Accuser says, "You're not worthy." Jesus says, "So what? I AM." The Accuser looks back and sees our mistakes. God looks back and sees the cross. He doesn't calculate what you did years ago or even days ago! Why, it's not even on His record. Sure, there are many reasons why God shouldn't want us. But just like a parent He is utterly in love with us. If we hunger for Him, if we are simply willing, He'll use us in spite of who we are or where we've been.

GRAND CANYON

Maybe These Are Miracles



Grand Canyon
— MOVIECLIPS.com

Watch the scene to the end. The key to it is the phrase, "Maybe we don't 
have any experience with miracles so we're slow to recognize them."

The movie Grand Canyon is twenty years old now, but I still think it resonates with our culture. Grand Canyon didn't do that well at the box office and as far as I remember was panned by the critics. I think it spoke the truth about our spiritually impoverished culture. The story features an ensemble cast representing people from all walks of life in LA. The question for each of them is the same: "is this all there is?"

The theme of the movie is the futility of modern life. In LA, urban life is squalid and dehumanizing for rich and poor alike. Our marvelous, modern, high-tech world has become a terrifying nightmare. It is self-evident that the world is not working the way it ought to. Life, as our culture has defined it, is random, purposeless, lonely, empty, short, brutal, nasty and nearly hopeless. The characters in the story experience the futility of knowing they could contribute to a better world, yet fail to act out of pride or selfishness.

There are two symbols of hope in the movie. The first is the "rescuing stranger" who appears frequently as a sign of hope from out of nowhere. The second is the Grand Canyon itself, which stands as a symbol of majestic creation, and ultimately of God.

Like the book of Ecclesiastes, Grand Canyon is a proto-gospel, crying out that we are missing something.  Honestly, when I saw this at the theater I had a nearly overwhelming urge to stand up and give and invitation to Christ as the credits rolled.