Tell Me About An Adventure You've Been On ...

One of my earliest childhood memories is of the first time I was ever sent away to summer camp. It was June 1970 and I was just ten years old and was driven to and then dropped off at the Chandler Baseball Camp in the budding metropolis of Chandler, Oklahoma … where about all you can do is play baseball. They had a camp there that apparently closed for good in 1995 after opening in 1958, but it had a glorious 37-year run of producing many outstanding baseball players including even a few major leaguers of which all of us dreamed of becoming. It was there that I hit my first true home run to left field on a screaming line drive that was lashed so hard it actually broke off the top of the picket fence as it left the yard. It was also the first time I had ever played baseball on fields that actually had an outfield wall. Prior to that I had always played on playgrounds with just a backstop, three bases and a home plate, and you either had to crush the ball so far that the outfielders had to run for days to retrieve it or be so blazingly fast running the bases that you could outrun the speed of the thrown baseball. Well, I was never a guy who could really do either of those things, so I mostly hit doubles and triples … a lot of doubles and a nice number of triples, but never really a true home run that did not feature a mixture of one or more errors on the defense. But not on this day … and I still remember what my coach Red Dog had written on my end of camp report card to my parents … “Steve hits with good power!” It felt so good to actually read that as a budding young baseball player with his whole future ahead of him … but I digress, because in reality, I did not actually sit down to write stories of my prowess on the baseball diamond. You can probably surmise that my future did not include stops at any of Major League Baseball’s Thirty Glorious Ball Parks as a big league player. No, just those as a fan with a Bucket List of dreams of visiting every big league park at least once in person during my life time. And sadly, so far they seem to be razing these stadiums faster than I can get out to visit them. No, this is a story much grander and much more terrifying than that of simply playing baseball every day, and one could never compare the glory of the Chandler Baseball Camp to the absolute majesty and splendor of the Cooperstown Dreams Park in Cooperstown, New York, a place my son Andrew and I got to call home for two glorious weeks split between July 2007 and July 2008. These two camps are as different as the night is from the day. And while the daytimes and even the evenings at the Cooperstown Dreams Park are magnificent in so many ways, not even considering the National Baseball Hall of Fame is just right up the road in Cooperstown proper, the nights actually belong to the Chandler Baseball Camp in unbelievably horrifying ways. This story goes that back to the summer of 1961 [or was it 1962? No one ever seems to know these things with certainty … and memories can most assuredly get a little foggy with the passing of fifty years] but there was a young boy named Johnny who was a twelve or thirteen year old camper at the park back then. He was a pitcher but they would use pitching machines to help with batting practice because we basically practiced baseball all day from 9 am to 12 noon and then again from 1 pm to 4:30 pm and had basically an hour to eat dinner in the chow hall and then get dressed out for that night’s game against some all-star team from some small or large town in either Kansas or Oklahoma that would roll in for the 7 pm first pitches. The night games were most certainly a spectacle as we would don those glorious pin-striped uniforms that looked all the world like the New York Yankees home uniforms except for interlocked NY being replaced with a capital C. Each Chandler team would charge on to the game fields simultaneously as thunder bomb fireworks both lit up the skies with fire and blasted them with sound, quickly followed by piped in Stars & Stripes Forever music playing on all the loudspeakers scattered throughout the park. This was the big time for a ten year old little boy, but was a pretty big deal even for junior high schoolers and high schoolers as well, as their stadiums were bigger, seated more people and of course the fields were much larger as well. This is where both Oklahoma’s and Kansas’ best baseball teams came to lose and lose they usually did, as those Chandler teams were both well-coached and hard to beat. And maybe the umpires helped us out a bit as well … who’s to say? But this is not a story about those nights either. No … this is a story of both mystery and mayhem that occurred during every camp, usually during it’s last week. As I recall our camp sessions lasted three weeks and this night was usually somewhere around either Wednesday or maybe Thursday of the last week, and occurred a few hours after last out was made in the last baseball game of the night. This is a story about Johnny. A funny yet terrible thing happened to Johnny during that Summer of 1961 [or was it 1962?]. Did I mention that Johnny was a pitcher? Yes and a very, very good pitcher from the tales I was told, and his job that afternoon was to field his position as the pitcher and feed baseballs into the pitching machine while the rest of the campers played a game called “Work Up” where basically every camper took turns playing each defensive position on the field while he “worked his way up” to being the hitter. Every time a hitter made an out he had to go out to right field [position #9 in your scorebook] and then work his way back up to being the hitter again by getting each successive batter out. And every time an out was made the ball was slowly rolled back toward Johnny on the ground beside the pitching machine. This day, however, was not to be Johnny’s day. Sadly, Johnny both made a terrible mistake and he was the victim of awful timing as he reached down to pick up a baseball lying just in front of the pitching arm of the machine just as the arm came firing downwards with a fast ball. If you’ve ever seen these machines they have a vertical piece of metal shaped kind of like a rounded arrowhead protruding downwards from the metal cradle that the baseball rests on as it is pitched which is located at the business end of said pitching arm. And it just so happened that through either fate or the worst of timing that metal arm came crashing down just as Johnny’s right arm [his pitching arm no less] was outstretched reaching for said baseball. There was this awful sound of ripping human flesh and sinew, crushing bone and the ear-splitting shrieking of Johnny screaming in agony. Copious amounts of blood were now spurting from his shoulder both onto the pitcher’s mound and well as soaking his Chandler Baseball Camp t-shirt … and his now severed arm lay just beneath the pitching machine. And then the most awful thing happened … his teammates began to laugh at and mock Johnny … some even called him “Johnny The One Arm” … and no one rushed to his aid save for his coach who couldn’t make it out of the dugout quickly enough. For a moment in time that seemed like forever, Johnny stood there frozen in horror, fear and agony only to be humiliated by those he thought to be his friends. Some said Johnny was cocky, conceited, stuck on himself, not a team player, many a thing like that. Some even said that “he had it coming” that it was “karma,” or “schadenfreude,” etc. But there were things about Johnny that everyone did agree on … he was the best player at his age level and perhaps even in the entire camp, he was the fastest runner on his team and many thought he had major league potential. And in the blink of an eye, all that seemed gone forever with a single pitch. Then things got crazy in a hurry … just as time had seemingly come to a complete stand still for that ever-lingering moment, it then sped right back up and abruptly went into overdrive. Instead of Johnny waiting for his coach’s help, he took off like the wind into the woods behind that field … never to be seen again as the young boy he was at the time. And he left his severed arm right there on the pitcher’s mound for the staff and the emergency personnel to deal with. An ambulance and the police were called but no one could find Johnny. I am told that bloodhounds were even deployed and there was certainly a bloody trail to follow, but then … nothing! It was like he had completely vanished into the wind. They expected to find a young dead boy’s body in those woods in the coming days but no body was ever recovered. And then strange things started happening around the camp beginning the next summer and they became progressively more frequent and more disturbing with each passing year. A couple of years later the metal frame of an old barber’s chair mysteriously appeared right at the edge of those same woods that Johnny disappeared into two or three years before, and in the seat of that chair rested the skull of a cow. Camp officials began to worry that the camp had become haunted with the ghost of Johnny! Then different camp items began to mysteriously disappear from the camp at night only to sometimes be found out in those woods or, even creepier, on that same mysterious barber’s chair. Then people started seeing Johnny at the outfield walls during night games … he only came out at night … but he would always outrun the camp personnel back into the woods and could never be found. He never said anything either. Most people just chalked these tales up as ghost stories with no basis in truth, but over time, so many unexplained things kept occurring that people soon ran out of coincidences with which to assign them. Could Johnny have really survived that trauma? Is he now a ghost doomed to haunt the camp forever? Would he become violent and hurt some camper like he had been hurt so many years before? No one knew anything with assurance anymore. Finally, probably in 1967 or 1968, the camp formed a posse to go out on the first of what would become these grand and glorious camp-ending missions searching for Johnny, or “Johnny the One Arm” as legend and folklore had began calling him. All the campers gathered together just outside the mess hall and nearly every one had his own flashlight and we then marched off together into the woods to find Johnny. Johnny was none too pleased with this development, but if he was actually threatened by our searches you could never really tell. No, Johnny knew the woods far better than anyone at the camp, and he knew the camp at least as well as anyone on staff and better than everyone else. No one had the upper hand on Johnny … and, if you recall, Johnny only had one hand. And did I mention that Johnny was blazing fast as a runner??? Well … he never lost a step with his arm injury, and what he lacked with that missing right arm he more than made up for with his swiftness of foot. And did I mention that Johnny also had an attitude? He was right to be aggrieved with how awfully he was treated that day way back in ‘61 or ‘62, but now he took offense to a new level. It was finally time for Johnny to get even. That barber’s chair just past the left field fence and at the edge of the woods would also have what appeared to be human bones show up on them from time to time. Some would say they were animal bones but none of us campers ever really knew for sure and none us dared to venture much past that barber’s chair deeper into Johnny’s woods and certainly never alone. Well, except on those nights when the posse would form and we would go on our great annual hunt for Johnny the One Arm. Like I wrote earlier just about every one of us would go on this hunt, but if the truth were told, there would be a lot us who would have just preferred to stay safely in our bunkhouse on those particular nights. After all, life has no shortage of mayhem involved in it … and who really needs to go looking for more?!? But most of us were afraid of our fear being exposed and “there was strength to be had in numbers,” right? After all, there were probably 300 of us campers plus the staff and coaches involved in these hunts. What really is the chance that Johnny would actually kidnap me or any other single camper? And that my bones would turn up on Johnny’s barber chair in a few weeks? There was no denying the risk … yet the risk seemed manageable enough. After all, Johnny only had one arm! So we grouped together and marched out towards Johnny’s chair and every camper had a buddy that he was watching over and who was watching over him. We were all excited, very nervous and quite worried all at the same time. Most of us thought it would all go for naught. Many campers didn’t even believe that any of what I’ve written before was true or could possibly even be true. Those that did believe never expected Johnny to let himself be found, let alone captured, but no one really had any idea of what would actually come next. Because as we all quickly learned … this was Johnny’s camp, this was Johnny’s show and this was Johnny’s night. Out of no where, he suddenly appeared, running like the wind … here, there, seemingly everywhere … all at the same time … it was like he was defying all the laws of physics and nature and all at the same time. In an instant no one was marching toward Johnny’s chair in the woods any longer … No! We were all now running for our very lives as quickly back toward our bunkhouses and just as fast as our feet could fly. I don’t know if I’ve ever run faster or been more terrified in my entire life. But my foot speed was no match for Johnny’s. No, Johnny quickly caught up to me in probably 300, maybe 400 yards and then I felt this incredibly strong push in my back and I went tumbling head over heels to the ground rolling several times before coming to a stop. And then just like that Johnny was gone … knocking over dozens of other campers and then seemingly disappearing into the shadows of the night. No one had seen that kind of foot speed ever in their lives before that night. And so many campers had stories like mine that we all shared together between ourselves the next morning. As best as I can recall, no camper turned up missing that night. Johnny had just been toying with us. But he did leave a note on his barber’s chair that if we came back out looking for him again … at that time he would be playing for keeps. And I literally took his words to heart … after all, Johnny never said much … he didn’t have to really. But I was safe for now … at least until baseball camp next summer.

Two COVIDS … Two Americas Surviving a Pandemic in a Post-Factual Age This is a column that I’ve wanted to write for at least a year now but it always has seemed to take a backseat to one or more pressing issues any given week. But I was re-emboldened to do so this week when I read an article in the New York Times by David Leonhardt that beautifully captured many of the thoughts I’ve had over the past year since vaccines became our reality and not some far off distant hope.

Before the advent of the mRNA vaccine COVID-19 was actually the LEADING CAUSE OF DEATH in the United States for the first twelve months of the pandemic … from March 2020 through February 2021 exceeding that of heart disease and cancer. I don’t know how many of you are actually aware of this … especially those of you who repeatedly refer to it as a “cold or flu.” It was so much more than that for the first year … and for the unvaccinated it remains to this day the leading cause of death in our country. However, given the prevalence of the vaccines [70% of the country vaccinated including 85-90% of the population at the highest risk] it’s place on the hierarchy of death has dropped to #3 for 2021 as a whole, back behind the usual suspects but still ahead of stroke.

Not surprisingly, COVID’s starkly different impact on the young and old has been one of the virus’ defining characteristics. It tends to be mild for children and younger adults but is often severe and dire for the elderly. More than three-quarters of all the COVID deaths in the U.S. have occurred in patients 65 years old and older. So you would think that older Americans would be more fearful of the virus than younger Americans. Yet they are not! That is one of the most striking misconceptions this virus has produced. In reality old and young people express similar levels of concern about their personal risk from COVID. And by some measures, young people are actually more worried. The most plausible explanation for this perplexing phenomenon is political ideology.

Older Americans, as a group, tend to lean to the right, while younger generations lean to the left. And no other factor influences COVID attitudes as strongly as political ideology as several polls have repeatedly shown. Across broad demographic groups, Americans have broadly similar attitudes toward COVID and this is not just true of the old and the young, but also of men and women, rich, middle class and poor. The partisan gap, however, is huge. Many Democrats say that they feel unsafe in their communities; are worried about getting sick from COVID; and believe the virus poses a significant risk to their children, parents and friends. Republicans are less worried about each of these issues. So who is right? Not surprisingly there is no single answer to that question as I alluded to in detail back in October [Facebook, 10/30/21] when I wrote the lengthy article on COVID becoming endemic. Different people have different attitudes regarding risk. Some find driving in a snowstorm to be an acceptable risk but others do not. Neither is necessarily wrong. But polling does show that many, if not most, Americans have adopted at least some irrational beliefs about COVID.

In our highly politicized country many people seem to be allowing partisanship to influence their beliefs and sometimes to overwhelm scientific evidence. Millions of Republican voters have decided that downplaying COVID is core to their identity as conservatives, even as their skepticism of vaccines means that the virus is killing many more Republicans than Democrats. Where on the other hand, millions of Democrats have decided that organizing their lives around COVID is core to their identity as progressives, even as ongoing or repeated pandemic isolation and disruption are fueling mental health problems, drug overdoses, violent crime, rising blood pressure and growing educational inequality. As one infamous gun-control advocate [David Hogg] tweeted last year, “The inconvenience of having to wear a mask is more than worth it to have people not think I’m a conservative.” No where is this dichotomy more clearly seen than around the vaccine. The COVID vaccines have been and remain remarkably effective at preventing serious illness. If one is vaccinated, one’s chances of getting severely ill are extremely low. Even among people 65 and older, the combination of the vaccines’ efficacy and the Omicron variant’s relative mildness means that COVID now appears to present no more danger than a normal or severe flu to them. For the unvaccinated, however, COVID is worse than ANY common virus. It has already killed 882,000 Americans, the overwhelming majority unvaccinated. But when you consider the level of worry about getting sick that Americans have when viewed by vaccination status you find that among the Unvaccinated only 14% are “very worried,” 25% are “somewhat worried,” 29% are “not too worried,” and a whopping 27% are “not at all worried!” Among the Vaccinated but no Booster 22% were “very worried,” 39% were “somewhat worried,” 26% were “not too worried,” and just 11% were “not at all worried.” Lastly, among the Vaccinated with a Booster: 22% were “very worried,” 46% were “somewhat worried,” 25% were “not too worried,” and 6% were “not at all worried.” This is a remarkable disconnection between perception and reality. While the majority of those vaccinated and boosted say they are worried about getting deathly sick from COVID, the truth is riding in their car presents a greater danger to them. On the other hand, the majority of the unvaccinated say they are not particularly worried. And the starkest, saddest way to understand the irrationality of this view is to actually listen to the regret of the unvaccinated people who are desperately sick from COVID or who have watched loved ones die from it. A California prosecutor famously said last month, “There’s nothing that matters more than our freedoms right now,” at an anti-vaccine rally. She died of COVID earlier this month.

By the same token, I know that some Democrats believe that their approach — with their emphasis on minimizing any COVID risks — comes with little downside. But the polls also call into question much of their argument … especially when it comes to children. One of the few areas that the poll respondents, both Democrats and Republicans, agree on is a widespread concern that pandemic disruptions are harming their children. People are right to be worried, too. Three medical groups — representing pediatricians, child psychiatrists and children’s hospitals — recently declared “a national emergency in child and adolescent mental health.” And beyond that, the worst effects have been on black and Latino children, as well as children in high-poverty schools.

Many Democrats are effectively dismissing these costs and instead focusing on the minuscule risks of COVID hospitalization or long COVID among children. Most Democrats, for example, say they favor moving classes online in response to Omicron, despite widespread evidence that remote schooling has failed and little evidence that shutting down schools leads to fewer COVID cases. Closed schools certainly do more damage to children and vaccinated adults than Omicron does. Democrats like to think they are the party that respects science and evidence, and on several issues such as vaccines and perhaps even climate change they may be right. But just because something is usually true doesn’t mean it always is. On COVID, both political tribes really do seem to be struggling to read the evidence objectively. And as a result, the country is suffering thousands of preventable deaths every single week while also accepting a preventable crisis of isolation that’s falling particularly hard on our country’s children. So I hope this helps … regardless of exactly where you may fall on the political spectrum … at least I hope it makes you think and perhaps reconsider any deeply held beliefs about the virus that may not actually be based in reality. But more than anything else it is both my hope and my prayer that it can perhaps provide a patch of common ground that we all can find a way to move beyond our partisan differences and come together on.

So on to what’s new. Many of you have expressed your care and concern as well as sending your best wishes this past week as I finally have gotten to experience the virus from the patient’s perspective. Today as I write this it has been ten days since my symptoms began. I like so many others was the victim of a false negative rapid antigen test which delayed my diagnosis by a day and strangely by the time I found out I was actually positive I had already turned the corner. For me, Omicron was really not much different than the recent cold I had right after Christmas [I was positive for Rhinovirus by PCR] which actually lasted almost three weeks. Omicron only made me fairly sick for about 12 hours on the Friday afternoon/evening the week before last with fever, myalgia and malaise causing me to basically sleep for the next 14 hours. By Saturday when I went for PCR testing I had already turned the corner. I deferred ordering one of those precious and few boxes of Paxlovid that we have in our community preferring to save it for one more in need and instead quarantined with my wife at our new beach home on Ochlockonee Bay for a week [hey it’s tough but someone has to do it] and plan to re-enter life tomorrow providing I retest negative today [actually my swab was collected yesterday]. I have been blessed by God no question and am grateful for the magic immunity [although not perfect] provided by three doses of the mRNA vaccines and probably some immunity built up from well over one hundred exposures to the virus over the past two years. I guess it was bound to happen eventually and better to have faced the fury of Omicron rather than that of Delta.

So far as Omicron goes … it seems to be in recession over most of the country already [as forecast] as well as in our neck of the woods. Our phone calls started decreasing perhaps 10-14 days ago, though we still have patients testing positive every day [including four yesterday]. That, however, doesn’t mean the horror show has begun to recede yet … on the contrary, deaths have surged this past week reaching 3,895 on Wednesday surpassing the peak level of death that we saw in January 2021 [3,400 deaths/day at peak] as the mass vaccination campaign was beginning to roll out. By comparison, the Delta variant topped out at 2,000 deaths/day … a threshold that Omicron reached last week. So look for Omicron to be the most deadly strain of all as predicted just due to its supreme contagiousness. And now I hear there has been isolated in France a variant of Omicron that is almost twice as contagious [how is that even possible??? … since measles and Omicron share the title of most contagious viruses ever]. This virus is not going to be called Pi however, but Omicron BA.2 … go figure. If you insult it like that, it may just decide to kill us all. BA.2 … really! Maybe they really mean BE A OMICRON TOO!!! But I diverge … hopefully all this herd immunity that Omicron has built up in the population will hold BA.2 in check. It doesn’t seem to end though. And why would it? It has apparently already spread to forty countries [including the U.S. Britain, Denmark where it is now accounting for 40% of the cases, India, Sweden and Norway]. And before you get too comfortable … just know there is a BA.3 as well. Yes, Omicron is a triplet virus … all three are sub-variants of each other … each different in a few loci but all related to each other. BA.3 is seems to be the runt of the litter. I guess he gets what ever is left over. BA.2 apparently spreads faster but it would seem that BA.1 got the first plane out of South Africa and had a head start attacking the world. So while it may help to be uber contagious, sometimes you just need a break in life [even if you’re just a virus]. But don’t worry, the other two are coming!!! Seriously though, so long as vulnerable people remain out there we will be dealing with COVID in one form or another, perhaps for a very long time.

So on to where exactly we stand as of today. The rapid spread of Omicron BA.1 has clearly peaked in the United States and did so on January 18 with a startling 1,178,403 new cases in a single day [and please recall as I’ve stated weekly now for over a month that these numbers above and to follow are serious undercounts as they do not include people testing at home and the high false negative rate for rapid antigen tests vs. this variant]. We are now seeing nationally on average 484,497 new cases per day … so well below 50% of just where we were 10 days ago. The case positivity rate nationally is down to 25.0%. In Florida the numbers look similar where we are now down to 30,606 new cases yesterday from a peak of 66,669 nineteen days ago. That, too, is less than half of where we just were just 2.5 weeks ago. The statewide positivity rate also fell [for the first time since Omicron arrived] last week to 29.3%. Locally in Leon County we are down to an average of 600 new cases per day over the past week from a peak of 889 new cases per day last week … a 32% drop. However, our case positivity rate remains very high at 28%. For my recently adopted other home county of Wakulla, they averaged 73 new cases per day over the past week, down from 94 last week, a 22% decrease. And finally, the case positivity rate in Wakulla County also remains very high at 32% and still climbing. We have lagged behind the rest of the state by about 7-10 days throughout, since Omicron started in South Florida when it arrived in the state.

It is when we get to discussing the “lagging” indicators that the story starts to get especially grim. The hospitalization rate in the US seems to have just crested at 146,069 patients with 25,624 in the ICU [on January 22, there were 151,070 inpatients nationally with 26,110 in the ICU]. Locally we are running a hospital census of roughly 200 inpatients over the past week with some daily fluctuations. This amounts to a 33% increase from last week and a 144% increase over the past two weeks. It is the burgeoning death totals that are most staggering for Omicron as feared … and this is not primarily because it is so virulent [it is not … perhaps 30% less so that Delta] but because it is so very contagious. You can just tell by the raw numbers of people infected by this strain that this was bound to happen even if it was thankfully less virulent than its predecessors. This past Wednesday we recorded 3,895 deaths in a single day. This breaks the record we set this time last year by almost 800 patients. In fact, we have just about averaged the peak daily death total for the original coronavirus when it was at it’s absolute worst for this entire week. Those numbers are still climbing so it is quite sobering. And again, the vast majority of these patients are unvaccinated. So far as the state of Florida goes we are losing on average now 320 patients per day and our cumulative death toll stands at 64,955 as of today. Locally in Leon County, we have lost at least 10 patients [including one of my most favorite patients] to Omicron [cumulative death count is 540] and Wakulla County has lost 3 [cumulative total is 109 patients]. I do expect these numbers to continue to rise for the next 3-4 weeks or so.

On the brighter side, I do think Omicron provides those of us “fortunate” enough to be afflicted with an excellent form of “natural immunity.” I think coupled with the mRNA vaccination immunity for the original coronavirus it only pads our defenses against what is still to come. You may have heard that Moderna began testing a booster vaccine against specifically the Omicron variant this past week and Pfizer has a similar vaccine in development. So for those of you who are able to dodge Omicron [and my hat is off to you if you can] it won’t be too much longer before you can join us with this new form of “hybrid” immunity. That is it for this week. I do hope you will carefully consider what I discussed in the first portion of this update and reconsider some convictions that you may have regarding COVID that are just factually incorrect and let’s all see if we can find a meeting place in the middle that will better help us to get through all of this together rather than on opposite sides screaming at each other.

Thanksgiving 2021

 

Our last large gathering [pre-COVID] Thanksgiving 2019

Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. -- 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18.

Scripture tells us that godliness with contentment is great gain, but being content is not always easy to do        [1 Timothy 6:6].  I dare say that the past two years have only emphasized that point.  I can't recall at any other time in my 61 years on this earth there being a more challenging and difficult period ... realizing that I have never lived through an actual World War or a true civil war.  But for the better part of the past two years we've all been hard pressed really on all sides.  And this is especially true for those of us in the healing professions.

Scores of sick North Floridians line up for COVID testing

Paul said that he learned to be content in whatever state that he found himself [Philippians 4:11].  And Paul didn't just talk about this, he actually showed it to us.  When he was shackled in a Philippian jail did he throw himself a pity party and declare "Woe is me!?"  No!  He and Silas sang praises to their God.  Was this because God had shown them great mercy?  Well, yes [for the salvation of their souls] but no as well, as they had just been flogged and now were sitting alone in prison.  For what?  For speaking the Name ... yes, THAT Name.  We, on the other hand, too often praise God AFTER He has answered our prayers.  And while there is nothing wrong with thanking God for answered prayer, we miss out, I think, if that is the only time we praise Him with Thanksgiving.  God is good [He is actually the definition of Good] and it is impossible for Him to be anything less than good.  It is his nature and character.

Consider Jesus as he stood before Lazarus' tomb.  He looked up at his Father and said, "Father, I thank you that you have heard me"  [John 11:41].  Isn't it interesting that Jesus actually thanked God for hearing his prayer BEFORE he actually spoke it and before Lazarus emerged from the tomb resurrected from the dead!  God is worthy of praise and we don't have to wait to see if God actually delivers on our request before we thank Him.  And if God chooses to say, "No," that doesn't mean God is less worthy of our praise.

Little did we know in the Summer of 2020 that we 
weren't yet even 25% of the way through this.

Scripture tells us that it is impossible to please God without faith [Hebrews 11:6] and when we choose to be thankful and praise God at all times, we are exercising our faith.  We are praising God because He is capable of doing everything we ask and then so much more.  He is worthy of our praise ... just because He is God.  And it pleases Him if we praise Him ahead of time because we are saying, God, whether or not you choose to answer my prayers, I praise you for who you are.  I thank you for all you've given me.  And Lord, even if you choose to say "no" to my requests, I know you have your reasons.  You are the only one who is the Alpha and the Omega, the only omniscient one, and the one who loves me most.  Your thoughts are much higher than mine and your ways are higher than mine as well [Isaiah 55:8-9].  We can and should choose to be thankful in all things.

Another COVID patient succumbs to the virus at TMH during the Delta Wave, August 2021

And this brings me to my principal life verse and the very Scripture for which this blog was named some thirteen years ago.  "Brothers, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do, forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus." -- Philippians 3:12-14

The first of what is now a steady stream of miracles of deliverance from this virus

Four hundred years ago this month, in November 1621, Governor William Bradford organized a celebratory feast following the Pilgrims first year in America inviting a group of the fledgling colony's Native American allies including the Wampanoag chief Massasoit.  This is now remembered as America's "first Thanksgiving" -- although the Pilgrims themselves may have not used that specific term at the time  -- this celebration lasted for three days.  We also know that two years later they repeated this celebration in 1623 to mark the end of a long drought that had threatened that year's harvest.  Days of thanksgiving became a common practice in many New England settlements going forward.

During the American Revolution, the Continental Congress designated one or more days of thanksgiving every year beginning in 1777, and in 1789 President George Washington issued the first Thanksgiving proclamation by our national government.  In it, he called upon Americans to express their gratitude for the happy conclusion our war of independence and the successful ratification of the U.S. Constitution.  His successors, John Adams and James Madison also designated days of thanksgiving during their presidencies as well.  But afterwards the practice of yearly Thanksgivings dissipated, though New York and a few other states to adopted an annual Thanksgiving holiday, each celebrated on a different day.  However, the American South remained largely unfamiliar with the tradition.

However, in 1827 the noted magazine editor and prolific writer Sarah Josepha Hale [author of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" ... among countless other things] launched a campaign to establish Thanksgiving as a national holiday.  And for the next 36 years, she published numerous editorials in magazines, newspapers and books and sent scores of letters to governors, presidents, and other politicians requesting this repeatedly, earning her the nickname as the "Mother of Thanksgiving."

Abraham Lincoln finally heeded her request in 1863, at the height of the Civil War, in a proclamation entreating all Americans to ask God to "commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife" and to "heal the wounds of the nation."  He scheduled Thanksgiving for the final Thursday in November, and it was celebrated on that day every year until 1939, when President Franklin Roosevelt moved it up a week in an attempt to spur retail sales during the Great Depression.  Roosevelt's plan, known derisively as "Franksgiving," was met with passionate opposition and in 1941, the president reluctantly signed a bill making Thanksgiving the fourth Thursday in November.

Did any of you know about Sarah Josepha Hale's prolonged persistence in creating this holiday that we so often take for granted?  Have you even ever heard of her?  What if she had chosen to give up her quest after one year or ten years or even twenty years?  Her goal would have been left unfinished.  Just like her story, our Christian walk of faith is often described as a marathon and not a sprint.  Every day of our lives is another day to choose between right and wrong, to perhaps help or serve another person in need, to literally die to self to serve our God in both big and small ways.  As Christians we are called to persevere, to press on.  Often it can feel like an unrewarding task.  It is hard but important and we can look to God for the bigger plan.  These past two years have only served to emphasize the monotony of the struggle.  There has been much suffering and great loss.  Our country seems lost and adrift at sea drowning in strife and questioning the very truths it was founded on and that which is still all around it.  Spiritual blindness seems to be the real affliction of our days.  Our mission since Jesus ascension is and has been still the same ... "go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them and teaching them to obey all that I have commanded of you."  And if we obey him in this, then his very promise at the end of this commission will always be true as well ... "And behold, I am with you always, even to the end of the age."  And that right there is all we really need to be truly thankful.

Life Tribute for Royce A. Currieo (Dad)

How does one bury their father and the patriarch of one's family … exactly?  It is never an easy proposition but in the case of my Dad it seems especially difficult.  I suppose you could just recite a litany of his attributes and call it day … but that seems both a bit trite and very superficial.  It would also ignore the soul … that part of each of us that lives forever.  And that is what in Dad’s life makes this especially difficult … because he was just so hard to pin down.  It always seemed like a game to him in so many ways.  Although for most of us it seemed more like literal life and death.

And that is probably Dad’s greatest attribute … he was just so dang smart.  He very likely was the smartest man I have ever known.  The only trouble with that though was the he was incredibly aware of just how smart he was … at all times.  And if you didn’t believe it, you could just ask him.  He was a long time member of MENSA [you know that club of the IQ top 2%’ers] and he would let you know about it.  He often joked [or were these really jokes?] That only Mensans should be allowed to drive, or vote, or whatever it was he was annoyed with at the time.  And you never really knew if he really believed this or was just jerking your chain.  

And this fabulous breadth of knowledge was not just limited to mathematics [he thought Calculus, Differential Equations, Organic Chemistry, Physics and even Thermodynamics were all easy to understand].  Well … maybe for him they were … but he also was a brilliant student history, wartime strategies [and especially World War II … he probably knew more about that war than both Gen. Eisenhower and Gen. MacArthur combined … but I digress] … now where was I?  Oh yeah, he also had far-reaching knowledge of economics and even thermonuclear physics.  Yes, he was literally building hydrogen bombs when Sheryl and I were born.  But it was not only these things that he knew, but he was also a scholar of the Bible way back in the day.  When I was a teenager, I could actually picture him debating the Apostle Paul about Systematic Theology once they were both in heaven together.  But he seemingly grew tired of this when we moved from Tulsa to Clearwater, KS and sadly, I never really saw that interest again.  It was almost like he already knew all of that.  I think this can be a danger for the brightest in the world … they can somehow become “too smart” for God, if such a thing was even possible.  But I do take comfort that Dad knew the gospel inside and out.  He also knew the Word.  But the demons do as well and it does them no good.  My prayer is that somewhere deep down in his soul the word was an anchor for his faith and that he really believed.  I know the Apostle James would struggle accepting that kind of faith but all Jesus looks for is faith that is really faith and not merely knowledge and it only takes a small mustard seed amount for Jesus to see it.

Dad was also very loyal.  He loved his kids dearly and was fiercely committed to them and believed the best of them … always!  Whenever you were with him he raved on and on about whatever kid or kids were NOT with him.  This always seemed a bit sideways to me … maybe I because I was always more of a Steven Stills kinda guy who believed that you should “love the one you’re with.”  But Dad was more into loving the one who wasn’t there.  So maybe the trick was to quickly leave so that he would say good things about you too!?!  This, I think, highlighted one of Dad’s strongest and perhaps most maddening attributes … he was a Contrarian’s Contrarian.  He was probably the most contrarian person I’ve ever known.  I think he really loved a good argument and it was all too easy to get sucked into these with Dad … even if you went into the visit determined not to let this happen.  Because he knew how to get everyone’s goad.  Literally everyone.  And he loved a good argument … and not just because he always won.  He liked the sport of matching wits with people … even if it just made him feel victorious at the end.  Kind of like how he loved playing Monopoly and then slowly wringing every last cent out of every single player at the table.  He was always the “Master of the Board” at the end of every game.  Only he didn’t really care to bronze the board to showcase his victory … because he knew the result would be the same the next time we played the game … and the next time we played the game … and the next time we played the game.  My only question is why he never did this with anything other than Monopoly money.  I mean we could all be looking at a serious inheritance here!  But I digress again.

He strongly encouraged … nay downright expected all his kids to graduate from college.  Maybe that was because so many in his direct lineage had not.  But we knew from first grade on that it was college or bust for us.  He moved into our Sungate home in large part because that is where the best schools in Tulsa County were and he did not leave until Sheryl & I had graduated from Memorial High School.  Ann was no longer living with us then, but he pushed her too, and made sure she could go to OSU and graduate from college as well.  Education was very important to Dad and all us kids are better for his commitment to it.

Dad was one of the charter members at Asbury Methodist Church.  The church was barely a year old when we started attending and had just moved into a newly constructed fellowship hall with a Sunday school wing when we moved to Tulsa late in the winter of 1967.  Everyone knew everyone back in those days, and Dad quickly became a 6th grade Sunday school teacher even as he sat under the adult teaching of a giant of man named Frank Strozier [a Georgia grad and offensive lineman as I recall … he was my first exposure to SEC football and the whole “it just means more” thing … but again I digress].  His wife Dorothy would be instrumental in developing my young faith as well, as she taught my third grade Sunday school class and literally discipled me into faith in Christ.  Frank Strozier taught my Dad to become a student of God’s word.  Rev. Bill Mason played a very large role in encouraging Dad’s spiritual growth as well and he was powerfully used by God  keep our family together following the suicide of our mother in 1971.  It’s really hard to believe that will be fifty years ago this coming May.

Less than two years after that tragedy, Dad met Glenda whom he somehow then managed to pluck off the vine.  She was so much younger than him and seemingly way out of his league.  He definitely “married up” as they say these days.  And all my friends wanted to know how I ended up with such a hot momma.  I’ve often wondered that myself.  But it was all in God’s grace and she was the best thing that ever happened to Dad.  And those two became instrumental in developing a praise and worship ministry using what was at that time considered to be fairly contemporary Christian music [like the Bill Gaither Trio] … it doesn’t sound quite so “contemporary” tonight as we played and heard some of those songs but it was quite avantgarde for the Methodist church circa 1976 when all we ever seemed to use was the Charles Wesley hymnal.

And that brings us back around to faith … and what exactly is “saving faith?”  

If you, O Lord, kept a record of sins, who could stand?  But with you there is forgiveness; Therefore you are feared.  I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope.  My soul waits for the Lord, more than watchmen wait for the morning.  Put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with Him is full redemption.

He was wounded for our transgressions.  He was bruised for our inequities; the chastisement that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His stripes were are healed.  All we, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; but God has laid upon Him the iniquity of us all.

There is, therefore, now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus … for the law of the Spirit of Life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and death!  Amen!  And it is all of our prayers tonight that Dad now you are finally free!

                                                [adapted from Psalm 130:3-7, Isaiah 53:5-6 and Romans 8:1-2]

Do we know this for certain in Dad’s life … sadly, no, not for certain … and it is my challenge to each you watching this tonight that you not leave your children with this kind of uncertainty, because it is the worst kind of uncertainty on this side of eternity.  Were there flickers of faith in Dad’s life?  Most certainly there were … the were actual times of faith with roaring flames … but then much like God would do for 400 years while his people grew into a mighty nation in Egypt and then again for another 400 years in the inter-testamental period of the Scriptures there was nothing but deafening silence from God.  These past twenty years have been difficult for our family for many reasons … not the least of which was just how physically difficult it was to communicate with Dad given his terrible hearing loss, but think how much harder it must have been for him … all that brilliance essentially locked in with no easy way for it to be seen or communicated.

So as we say goodbye to Dad tonight … and tonight is really more for us that remain than it is for him in the end.  What do we say?  How do we think?  I think in the end we just have to leave Dad’s eternal fate up to the Lord.  The Scripture that keeps coming to mind for me in times like these … albeit now it is more up close and personal for me than it ever has been … is Genesis 18:25, ‘Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?”  And I think that is that we must keep our focus on … that God is just; God is good; and God does not do anything that we will not ultimately approve of someday. 

“Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?”

                        Life Tribute for Grandma Laura Threadgill

You don’t have to know a lot of things in life to make a huge difference for the Lord in this world.  But you do need to know a few things that are great and be willing to live for them as well as be willing to die for them.  People who make a great difference in the world are not usually people who have mastered a great many things but rather are people who have been mastered by a very few things that are very great.  If we want our lives to count we don’t have to have a high IQ; we don’t have to be smart or have good looks; we don’t have to be from rich families or have graduated from a prestigious university.  We just have to know a few basic, simple, majestic, obvious, glorious, eternal things.  We just have to be gripped by them and be willing to live our lives by them and be willing to die for them.  Grandma Laura’s life models this fact and each of ours can too.  Because ultimately, it isn’t any one of us that matters but rather what grips each of us that makes a difference.

The question fundamentally is … Do we really want our lives to make a difference?  Not all of us can truthfully say yes to this question.  Too many of us just want to be liked, to finish school, to have a good job, to find a good spouse, to have a nice house and yard, to have a nice car, to have long weekends, to take great vacations, to grow old and be healthy, to die easy and to not go to hell and that’s all we want.  Do we really care if our lives on this earth count for eternity?  If not, then that is a tragedy in the making!

Grandma Laura did not care very much about the things this world thinks are important. 
She lived most of her life in a small house on the landing approach pattern near a moderately busy airport and would have never moved except the City of Tulsa condemned her home.  And as far as I remember she never even learned to drive a car.   Those things were not important to her.  But what she did care greatly about and poured her life out for was this one thing:  to make Jesus Christ known to everyone that she came into contact with.  And for me this started way back in the Fall of 1972 when she became my new grandmother and the first person in my life to show me what his gospel looked like up close and personal in real life and in real time.

Is Grandma’s passing at nearly 98 years of age a tragedy?  An entire life spent devoted to one idea … that Jesus Christ is Lord … is not a tragedy.  A tragedy is to strive to retire early to live a life pursuing worldly pleasures and worthless idols such as mansions on the beach, yachts, endless rounds of golf, countless fishing excursions, etc. as the final chapter of our lives before we stand before our creator to give an account of how we spent our latter years … as John Piper famously said twenty years ago over a field of hundreds of thousands of college kids at One Day “here it is Lord, my shell collection … Lord, look at my shell collection … and I’ve got a good golf swing … and look at my boat!  God, look at my boat!”   That’s a tragedy!  But not for Grandma Laura.  Don’t waste your life … don’t waste it.

Grandma’s life could be best summarized by this simple yet profound couplet:

Only one life … twill soon be past,

Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Let’s please not throw our lives away on what John Piper calls “fatal success.”  This idea didn’t originate with John Piper though.  It was no less than Jesus’ who lamented the rich young ruler who came to him in Matthew 19:16-21 and who went away sad “because he had great riches.”  Rather we should strive to emulate Grandma who lived her life following the words of Isaiah [in 26:8] who said Your Name and Your Renown is the desire of my soul!    Grandma’s soul desired something infinitely great and infinitely glorious and her passion was that those around her would come to have that same passion.  My prayer is that this would become our passion as well.

Thank you Grandma for that precious gift.  We know you are finally home and finally eternally happy!  Well done good and faithful servant.  Kiss the Son for all of us!  We love you and will sorely miss you.  Until we meet again!

This Is About That: A Father of the Groom's Toast and Charge

Good evening friends and family … we are bringing our celebration of Andrew and Cora to a close tonight … don’t worry though … there will be plenty of time to continue the celebration tomorrow.  Both Janna and I again want to thank you for coming tonight but more importantly than that … we want to thank you for the parts each of you have played in molding both of them into the wonderful people they are today.  But they are not finished growing yet … so please, please continue speaking into their lives.  They need you to and we need you to as well.

Andrew’s journey began 24-1/2 years ago when he was born in Hawai’i though he only lived there for a few months.  Cora was also born “way out west” as they say in San Diego.  So perhaps they were just destined to find each other and to build a life together.  Andrew has the great misfortune [or maybe I should better say … CHALLENGE] of being born fourth following a string of amazing sisters who blazed the trail before him.  I can’t even begin to imagine how hard that would be for him to live in the light of those expectations.  But somehow Andrew thrived in that pressure cooker of both great academic as well as behavioral expectations.  None of my kids were as diligent in their studies as Andrew was and he ultimately exceeded them all as a result.  But it was probably the Godly way his sisters lived their lives that was the hardest act to follow … more on that in a minute.

But those were not the only challenges Andrew had to deal with.  Perhaps the most underestimated challenge is collectively what I call the “estrogen effect.”  Don’t be deceived … this whole “gender fluidity” concept so much in the news these past few years didn’t just begin during the Obama days.  Oh No!  It goes back at least to the late 1990s when one morning a three year old Andrew asked me for my help in finding his panties … since somehow I have always been in charge of the laundry.  I, of course, told him that he did not wear panties … to which he indignantly replied that he “most certainly did wear panties.”  It took a lot of convincing that day to assure him that boys wear underwear and girls wear panties.  Thankfully, he never asked me for help in finding his bra during his teenage years.

With God’s providence, Andrew found his way as a boy in a girls’ world, developing a passion for sports like his dad along the way.  He was active in church activities always, but Jesus was never his passion during his teen years like He was for his sisters, so that created great concern and consternation for his mother and me as he headed across town to FSU for his college years.  So many budding lives of faith get shipwrecked during that transformative time in the lives of young people.  It goes without saying that there were many prayers offered up during those years and the years leading up to them.

Several of you sitting here in this room tonight are physical manifestations of those very prayers … Sam, Franklin, Michael who are here tonight and also Yates and Joey who will be there tomorrow …  But there is literally no greater example of this than Andrew’s best friend and best man Connor who

he met for the first time that very day he set foot on campus as incoming freshman.  Connor and he would be floor mates in their dorm and Andrew’s fate was set.  Connor was [and still is] such a Godly and Godward young man that day when Andrew first met him … we were overjoyed to see  the providential hand of God at work and the final transformation of Andrew by God Himself through Connor, all his roommates at the Rock and through the fabulous ministry of Cru had begun and made Andrew into the very man he is today.  A man worthy of a terrific young woman like Cora.  And the best part of his Cru story as well is that is where he met the lovely and gracious Cora who came to FSU a year behind him.  I could see immediately upon being introduced to Cora what the attraction is and to know Cora is to love Cora.  Janna and I could not be happier to be welcoming Cora into our burgeoning family tomorrow … a family that is now up to NINE grandkids, all six and under, and counting!  No pressure on Andrew and Cora to add to the fold and to keep the name of Currieo from, in Lincoln’s words, “perishing from the earth.”  Well … there just might be a little pressure there!

Lastly, I want to close by reminding all of us … myself included, of just what will happen tomorrow afternoon [rain or shine] when Andrew and Cora pledge their lives together in Christian marriage.  This is no ordinary transaction or worldly promise.  NO!  The entire heavenly realm will take notice of this and the Sovereign hand of Almighty God will join these two individuals into “one flesh” for the rest of their lives.  It is of both eternal and cosmic importance.  Satan and his demons will take notice as well and scowl … determined to tear you apart, but you will be sealed by the Holy Spirit of God Himself and if you walk faithfully in His path you will bring Him great honor as a couple, for you will be far more powerful joined together than either of you would be separately.  Powerful for tearing down strongholds and advancing the literal Kingdom of God.  This is because your union is about far more than you yourselves … because in the light of eternity … THIS IS ABOUT THAT!

Which Lens Will You Use This Thanksgiving and Going Forward?

Living a life of gratitude does not come easily for me ... even though I seemingly write about it every year at Thanksgiving.  It is those other 364 days of the year that seem to define me.  And yet I know and very much want to do better.


We all know we should count our blessings, but all too often it is just so much easier to count our miseries.  Somehow, that just seems to come much more naturally.  And miseries seem to capture my thoughts and interrupt my days so much more readily than blessings [and maybe yours as well].  Just tonight as I was hoping to escape for an hour or two to "write my annual Thanksgiving devotional for tomorrow's big dinner gathering" our two basin kitchen sink holding our 27 lb. turkey surrounded by gallons of water as it thaws collapsed as the adhesive bonding it to our granite countertop failed spilling countless gallons of water under the bar, onto the floor flowing both toward the kitchen table as well as the center island.  So instead of having more time to ponder my blessings I had an all new and fresh reason to grumble.  So many days of the year seem to go just like this.  But then I realized once again that counting my miseries really just shrinks my soul, and in the end I end up more miserable than when I began.

So how does one begin to "count their blessings" really?  It can certainly seem like an arduous task at first ... more an act of taxing obedience rather than an overflow of joy, but in the end, it seems to open up space in my heart.  When I choose to focus on what I have been given, rather than linger over what I am missing, I feel happier, more content, and less agitated.  And when I choose to face my miseries directly and find blessings in them [like I actually have a nice kitchen with TWO sinks and a ultra-large bird to feast on tomorrow ... when so many just a few miles to the west of us are literally living in tents because all their earthly possessions were actually blown away a mere six weeks ago] well ... something miraculous happens.  I view all of life a bit differently.  I begin to see my circumstances through a lens of faith.  And I am able to declare with confidence that, even in the worst of circumstances, God is still good and there is much to be thankful for.

A Pilgrim's Perspective

For years [until I started writing this blog] I pictured the first Thanksgiving as the Pilgrims' joyful celebration of a bountiful harvest, sharing with the indigenous people God's abundant provision in a fertile new land.  But celebrating that first Thanksgiving was a veritable act of faith and sober worship, not a natural response to prosperity and abundance.

In the fall of 1620, the Mayflower set sail for Virginia with 102 passengers on board.  On December 16, they landed in Massachusetts, far north of their intended destination, just as winter was setting in. This northern climate was much harsher than Virginia's, and the settlers were unprepared for the cold season ahead.  Winter brought bitter temperatures and rampant sickness.   Shelter was rudimentary at best.  Food was scarce.  People lay dying all around.

That winter, all but three families dug graves in the hard, frozen New England soil to bury a husband, wife or child.  By the spring of 1621, half of the Pilgrims had died from disease, exposure or starvation.  Virtually no one was untouched by tragedy.

And yet in the midst of these monumental losses, the Pilgrims chose to give thanks.  They saw in Scripture that the Israelites had thanked God in all their circumstances.  Even before provision and deliverance came, the Israelites were instructed to give thanks.  King Jehoshaphat saw the power of thanksgiving as the Israelites' enemies were routed before their eyes while they were praising God [see 2 Chronicles 20].  And the words they used were similar to the beautiful refrain that runs through so many Psalms, "Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever!" [Psalm 118:1].

The Pilgrims and Israelites chose to be grateful for what they had, rather than to focus on all they had lost.  They had to look for blessings.  Actively and deliberately.  Their thanksgiving was not based on pleasant circumstances, but rather on the understanding that God was to be thanked in both prosperity and adversity.  Their gratitude was not a "positive thinking" facade, but a deep and steadfast trust that God was guiding all their circumstances, even when life was beyond difficult.  Viewing their lives through a lens of gratitude changed their perspective.

I have found that viewing life through a lens of gratitude can change my perspective on just about everything.  Yet it always comes down to a choice of which lens I will use today ... or even multiple times throughout the day.

I think we all know someone who excels in the art of photography.  I think of the old Christmas Ideals magazines I used to look through repeatedly each holiday season ... somehow those fabulous photos truly captured the "ideal" of Christmas for me as a young boy.  Or how about those amazing photographers at Life magazine back in the day?  They seemed to so precisely capture the essence of life back in the 60s, 70s, and 80s.  Or even the famous black and white photographer Ansel Adams who so fabulously brought the essence of the American west to life in the simplest but most profound pictures of just a tree or a stream or a mountain or a range of mountains.  He had a gift.  But even closer to home my daughters Alli and especially Ariel have a similar gifting.  They see things that I would never notice or maybe it would be even more accurate to say that they "see things in things that I would never notice."  We can all drive by an old, faded barn and see a dilapidated building in need of paint [or in my case of even needing to be torn down], but they may see a beautifully weathered structure with great character, focusing on unique angles and lines, finding intricate details that don't even register with me.  They have a unique gift to look past the obvious and relish the small things.  One of the most amazing cases in point for this was shortly before Ariel went off to college at FSU and moved into her dorm room we were driving down Bronough Street and Ariel screamed out "stop the car!"  She had seen an almost finished up Saturday yard sale with a beat up, scarred old literal "ice box" in the yard.  And she started pleading with me to buy it for her.  Of course I implored "What on earth for?  How can you possibly need an old ice box taking up space in your cramped  dorm room?"  Because I saw literally a banged up nearly 100 year old "ice box" that many years ago had served to keep things cool.  "But now we have electricity Ariel ... even in Dorman" [her old dorm long since razed to the ground].  "I've already bought you a mini-refrigerator."  Yet, she saw it as a BOOKCASE and so it was for many years and it even followed her into her first, second and maybe even third apartment as a young married woman!  She could see things I could not ... mostly because of what she chose to focus her lens on.

In the same way, how we view our own lives depends mostly on what we choose to focus on.  From some angles they can look like complete messes.  But from other vantages, they can be perfectly beautiful.  Our perspectives truly depend on where we focus our lenses.

Fifteen and a half years ago in the middle of the construction of this house [on June 22, 2003 to be exact] I accidentally pulled 1320 pounds of drywall over onto my left lower leg essentially crushing it.  The pain was both immediate and unbelievably intense ... by far, the worst thing I have ever experienced in my life.  It literally felt as if my foot had been ripped from my leg, which it turned out is actually what had happened once the drywall could be lifted off my leg by the firemen and paramedics.  But between the constant pain of this would come incredible paroxysms of burning pain that I could only describe as if a six inch diameter steel rod had been heated up to 2000 degrees and then jammed up through my heel into my ankle and finally up through my lower leg to just below my knee in a recurring manner lasting between 5 and 15 seconds and occurring roughly every 1 to 2 minutes.

Eventually before I could be transported to the hospital, after I had been "hog-tied" to the backboard, the paramedics had to "set" my foot which was six inches away from my lower leg and facing backwards.  The agony of that moment was indescribable and afterwards, at best, my foot was still 30 degrees out of proper alignment.  God had my full attention now.  It is sad that it took this for God to be able to speak to me about my need for brokenness.  Up until that moment it had been a theological concept that I was very intrigued by but one that I wasn't completely willing to choose for myself.  Ultimately, God chose it for me and I was and still am in many ways so much the better for it.  Little did I know then that as I wrote the story of my miracle week of brokenness that He would end up using that story to provide divine healings from terminal breast cancer, drug addictions, other cancers, lives on the skids, etc. ... the story was shared at the Southern Baptist National Convention that summer, was published in our university's alumni magazine, etc.  I received e-mails literally from all over the world describing the myriad ways that God had used that story to change the lives of people from Australia to Europe and literally from all fifty states.  What seemed like a shipwreck of my life that could very easily and in reality in all probability should have cost me my foot and ankle led many to Christ, myself included, in ways I could have never imagined.  The sacrifice of that "light and momentary affliction" as Paul called it in 2 Corinthians 4:17 "prepares for us an eternal weight of glory" that far outweighs what we may have suffered for his sake.

Or consider five years later in the spring of 2008 coinciding exactly with the weekend when I was, unbeknownst to me at the time, selected for elder in my church [Four Oaks Community Church] that I experienced the sudden onset of perilous and malignant hypertension [blood pressures running in the 220/120 mm Hg range], intensely severe and crushing daily migraine headaches, the sudden paralysis of my left sixth cranial nerve resulting in drastic double vision when looking to my left [not to mention my eyes looking all "googly-eyed" as Janna called it for the next 6-9 months], the complete and permanent disappearance of my thyroid gland [to the point that the ultrasonographer looking for it asked if I had had it removed ... there was, of course, no surgical scar on my neck].  This all coincided with a Bible study I was leading for my community group through the book of Philippians and we had just finished my very favorite passage in Scripture ... chapter 3 vv. 7-14 which would become overtly real and personal to me over the next nine months, and in fact, became the very namesake for this blog [v. 14] nine years ago.

But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ.  What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things.  I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ -- the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith.  I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.  Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.  Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it.  But one thing I do:  Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

Ultimately, God restored my vision slowly over three months after the diplopia had persisted unabated for six full months.  My blood pressure came under control with the aid of three ongoing medications.  My thyroid gland never returned and I require chronic full daily thyroid supplementation.  Thankfully after nine hours in two different MRI machines over the course of two weeks no dreadful cause of my left sixth nerve palsy was ever found ... as the "six syndromes of the sixth cranial nerve" are all harrowing and all but one is fatal and MS [multiple sclerosis] can itself be fatal in some cases.  No explainable medical cause was found for any of this.  My neuro-ophthalmologist and my neurosurgeon both favored an autoimmune cause [though every test of autoimmunity known to medicine was negative] while I attributed it to demonic activity corresponding to my ascension to the eldership [they said it couldn't be that "because there is no such thing as that" ... I told them it took more faith to believe their autoimmune theory than it did my demonic theory].  All I know is that I have never felt closer to Christ than during the times when I've "shared in the fellowship of his sufferings" and it is only at those times that I have felt the closest to his resurrection power.

So as I reflect back on the path that my life has taken over the past fifteen years, I know that I would have never chosen to take this path myself, and from certain angles, my life has at times looked very bleak.  In fact, one of my community group members remarked as he watched my struggles with headaches and double vision that he didn't think that it was worth it.  He could not have been more wrong!  From the angles that I have chosen to view my life, I see it as beautiful.  I have seen God use me in incredibly powerful ways that I could have never done and would not have done on my own.  He has blessed me with an incredibly wonderful and faithful wife of almost 36 years; four fabulous and brilliant children who all love and serve God; three amazing sons-in-law who also love and serve God ... one full-time vocationally!  I have been blessed with SIX amazing grandchildren with two more on the way.  I have a son who is pursuing medicine vocationally and a son-in-law who has chosen to do the same.  I like to think that they have chosen to follow in my footsteps [whether they have or not is beside the point in my mind].  Two of my daughters chose nursing to be their vocation. So from a family where the healing arts are just about completely foreign comes a team of healers!  God has been so incredibly faithful and good.  I am excited about the future which looks incredibly bright, though none of us knows for certain what exactly it holds.  What we do know though, is that if we are in Christ then we know the One who holds it and for that assurance we can all be thankful.