Political Drama

As I write, our national elections are less than a week away. For me, the political drama has been a timely distraction from my physical discomforts. I’m sure nobody cares about my opinion, but I’ll give it anyway 😊. 

A win next week for traditional values (free speech, religious liberty, limited government), would usher in a welcomed reprieve from the accelerating onslaught of the Progressive Movement (anti-Christian wokeism, economic socialism, governmental control). But no matter who wins the election, Progressive ideology is firmly entrenched in our institutions (education, commerce, entertainment, etc.) and will find ways to continue its relentless march toward apostasy.

Even if Republicans regain the reins of government, I still sense an imbalance. Instead of an emphasis on being hard working, morally responsible, and God-fearing, the focus seems to be more on economic growth and national prosperity. Lacking are the Biblical imperatives of “love thy neighbor” and “righteousness exalts a nation”. As our American founding fathers understood, only genuine Christianity can bridle wayward hearts and bring us good governance.

Still, it will be a welcomed victory, albeit a temporary one, to see Progressives fail in their many malicious attempts to keep Trump and a conservative government from pumping the breaks on their liberal agenda. Fortunately for us Christians, while we take our vote seriously, there are more important priorities than politics, like making Christ known, raising our family, strengthening our church, and pursuing holiness. Only if America turns to Christ will “God shed His grace on thee.”

As for my cancer adventure, the first 2 weeks of October were a bit rough, but the latter 2 have been better. Shortness of breath motivated me to schedule my first in-person doctor visit in over a year. My breathing issues seem to be caused by increased tumor activity in my lungs plus a cancer-compromised diaphragm. Many of my blood markers are increasingly out of range.

But it’s been nice to live long enough to see the current political drama play out, and it appears that I will make it to my 67th birthday next week. Yet, when Heaven finally comes for me, I will not, for one second, miss the evil and chaos of this world. In Heaven, beauty will be everywhere, love will abound, happiness and peace will last forever.

My First Cancer Alert

Sunday is seldom a day of rest for pastors and missionaries. On Sunday, March 19, 2017, I drove an hour to one of our Filipino churches where I preached the morning message, followed by a church lunch potluck. After arriving back home in the early afternoon, I prepared for and then traveled to lead a weekly Bible study. The sun was setting when I arrived back home.

Monday was usually my day of rest, but I awoke the next day with an annoying left abdominal pain. I tried ignoring it, but the pain increased. By 11 a.m., I was writhing on my bed with the most intense pain I had ever felt. What was going on? Finally, I forced myself to drive to a nearby hospital (same one where Sara and Jonathan were born) and checked myself into the emergency room.

As the doctors tried to figure out what to do, the pain reached its greatest intensity. Thinking the worst, I managed to call a Filipino friend who lived nearby, and he immediately came to my side. I forgot to consider that his wife was the WMU president, and by the time the doctors checked me into a room, a small crowd of well-wishers had arrived. By now the pain was ebbing and an x-ray and ultrasound revealed nothing abnormal. The doctor ordered an enema to preclude colon obstruction. When the nurse entered for the required procedure, the crowd was ready for the show. But I politely explained that Americans were particular about privacy and their momentary exit from the room would be appreciated.

By late Monday night I was finally able to sleep. When I woke Tuesday morning, the pain was mostly gone, but my abdomen would remain sore for several days. I was discharged without any explanation for what had caused the pain.

Nearly 2 years later, the incident repeated itself. In early 2019, I was living in a mission house in Fort Worth when intense abdominal pain, same location as before, left me doubled over on the bed in agony. I considered calling 911, but I endured the pain to see if it would begin subsiding, and by early afternoon it did. As before, I was sore for several days. I didn’t consider cancer because for more than 10 years I had no evidence of its recurrence and had considered myself practically cancer free. So, I dismissed the event once again.

But when it happened a 3rd time later that year in September, I realized I could dismiss it no longer. I was scheduled to return to the Philippines in a couple of months and I knew I had a better chance of discovering the cause while still in the U.S. What followed in October of 2019, exactly 5 years ago, was a series of tests – blood work, C.T. scan, pancreatic biopsy, and PET scan, that confirmed my kidney cancer had returned and was metastasizing, beginning in my pancreas.

I made the decision not to pursue treatment (too expensive), but I figured I had enough time to return to the Philippines to conclude my ministry there, sharing with them the joy I had despite my diagnosis. When the pandemic hit in early 2020, I was unable to travel to Manila for a follow-up PET scan. In June of 2020, abdominal pains made me think that my cancer was advancing rapidly, as kidney cancer usually does, and I chose to return to the U.S. following the resumption of international flights.

Now, here I am, 5 years after my diagnosis. Oddly, even though the cancer has spread throughout my body, I have yet to experience the level of pain I had on that Monday morning back in 2017. With my arsenal of pain meds, I hope I don’t have to. But cancer can be mean, so I’m expecting anything could happen anytime. Until then, and even during then, I know the joy of the Lord will be my strength.

I Am Blessed

I didn’t know her name. But I did know she was dying of cancer. The whole neighborhood knew because her screams of pain could be heard through-out the day and night. She had a daughter, Cherry, who had given up her last year in college to take care of her mother. Cherry couldn’t finish college anyway because all the family’s money had been spent on medications. Now there was none. This kind of story is common in the Philippines.

Dan and Kathy were missionary volunteers who came to Iloilo in 2008. They told me about the lady with cancer and I went with them one morning to see her. The disease was eating away her body, and I heard her loud moans and groans well before we arrived at her place. Her ‘house’ was nothing more than a tiny cinder-block store front. She lay on a hard bamboo table in the tropical heat with her daughter, Cherry, fanning her. When the money dried up, the rest of the family had left. Now she was desperate for help, any kind of help.

When Jan passed away in 2007, I had kept 2 bottles of her morphine pain meds, thinking I may need them if my cancer returned, since pain medications were hard to come by in the Philippines. That morning I had brought one bottle with me and I gave it to the daughter with instructions to place 3 drops under her mother’s tongue every few hours, or as needed. Finally, the mother was able to rest, sleep, and experience minimal pain before she passed away 2 weeks later. On the positive side, Dan and Kathy ‘adopted’ Cherry, supported her and helped her finish college.

In my 35 years as a missionary to the Philippines, there were several times I ministered to people during their last days, some of them in very desperate circumstances. Some might think that my situation is a bit desperate. I have 2 massive tumors squeezing my insides, causing discomfort and pain. I have cancerous nodules all the way from my neck, down my spine, in my lungs, and through my abdominal area. It’s been over a year since my last CT scan, so no telling where the cancer has spread to since then. Most of my days are spent trying to minimize discomfort/ pain.

But the truth is, I am blessed. I have a comfortable place to sleep in an air-conditioned room. I have plenty of food. I have a flush toilet (a luxury in many parts of the Philippines) and I can take a hot shower anytime. When needed, I can take pain medication. The IMB supports and cares for me, more than I could ever ask for. I have a family who looks after me and friends who pray for me. Best of all, I have the peace and joy of knowing I’m safe in the Lord’s merciful hands and He will carry me to Himself at His appointed time. For all these reasons, I am blessed! 

Just a While Longer

As my cancer spreads, the month of July gave me both good and bad days. Digestive problems and abdominal pain remain the primary issues. Still, symptoms are mostly manageable. Four years ago, soon after returning from the Philippines, my oncologist gave me a prognosis of 1 to 2 years. Those 2 years came and went. Two years ago, my oncologist gave me a written prognosis, dated July 22, 2022, that said my “current prognosis is likely on the order of 1 to 2 years.” Well, it’s not that the oncologists were off on their estimates, it’s just that cancer is so unpredictable in the near term.

On the positive side, my joy in the Lord and my eagerness for Heaven have not subsided. I have no fear of death (only of needles, pain, and not being able to care for myself!). Physical death is my door of passage to all the glorious things that the Lord has prepared for those who love Him: knowing Him more, filled with understanding, freedom from sin, enjoying Heaven’s riches, and so much more.

I believe it’s focusing on what is to come that keeps me excited for the future, even as cancer takes its unrelenting toll. It’s anticipating what I will gain that takes away the sting of physical death. It’s visualizing what I will see that gives me peace and keeps me smiling.

However, if I focus on what I’m leaving behind, I can easily slide from happy to sad. Nowhere is this more poignant than in thinking about my grandchildren. When I returned from the Philippines, I didn’t think I would have enough time to bond closely with Christy and Amy. But after living near them for a year and a half, and being with them several times a week, I realize how sweet it would have been to see them grow and to have a part in their lives.

Now, I’ve spent the past year and a half living with Nathaniel, and now with Rebekah who recently celebrated her first birthday. Nathaniel is my little buddy who enters my room each morning wanting to eat cereal and listen to me tell a story about Winnie the Pooh. He loves being tickled, tackled, tossed, and sometimes teased. He gives me a big hug each night before going to bed and tells me, “I love you, Grandpa.”

Rebekah is one of the happiest little girls I’ve ever seen. She will crawl into my room, come to where I’m seated, grab my pants and pull herself up, reach out with her arms, asking to sit in my lap. She greets me with a big smile and squeals with delight when I play with her. There are times when she will affectionately lay her tender head against my shoulder and I find myself whispering a quiet prayer, “Lord, just a while longer, please.”

A Feeling

One of my family’s favorite movies is Lord of the Rings. It begins with these words: “The world has changed. I feel it in the water. I sense it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost.” In regard to my health, at this point, I think I could say something similar: My body has changed. I feel it in the water. I sense it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost.

Up until now, most of my cancer symptoms have not been major. But with 2 large, growing tumors and multiple cancer metastasis, it’s hard to foresee how much longer this can continue. There have been indicators in recent weeks that my body is on the verge of experiencing significant complications. I may be wrong, but “I feel it in the water…” Much of what I used to do, is lost. My anemia and compromised lungs limit my breathing and endurance. My eye disease limits my vision. My large tumors limit my movements.

But I’m not complaining. When I returned from the Philippines exactly 4 years ago today, I didn’t think I would live another 4 months. But, like an old car about to run out of gas, I’m still sputtering along, doing what I can to help others along the way. My eagerness for heaven has grown. My love for the Lord has deepened. My joy in the Lord has increased. I can still sing with anticipation, “When I die, Hallelujah by and by; I’ll fly away.”

One thing I still feel, that has not changed, is my burden for the lost - those who don’t treasure Jesus Christ. I still remember a pivotal Sunday afternoon in 1981. I was a single volunteer on the Philippine island of Mindanao, on my way to share a gospel message to a group of farmers. The day was hot, the road was dusty, and the walk to the farm was long. As the dirty, smelly farmers entered the little bamboo house, the Lord spoke to me, “Mark, this is what I want you to do the rest of your life.”

My body has now changed but my calling has not. It’s frustrating for me not to have the strength and means to express my calling in more meaningful ways. I miss my brothers and sisters in the Philippines and the task of church planting. About the best I can do now is challenge each of us to remember that the Great Commission Jesus gave wasn’t just for His disciples, or for missionaries, but for all of us – God’s Church. Please click and watch this 2½ minute video and welcome the opportunity to pray, give, and/or go as the Lord leads.

Dreaming

It’s amazing the memories our mind manages to mend together when we dream. The other night I dreamed of my grandparent’s old farm house in southwestern Oklahoma. In 1899, when my grandfather was 10 years old, he rode in a horse-drawn wagon with his parents across the prairie from Fort Smith, Arkansas, to the newly opened Oklahoma Indian territory. They claimed a 320 acre section of farmland, then began building a house where my grandparents would eventually raise 9 children, my mother being the youngest.

When I was a boy, I would often spend at least 2 weeks out of each year staying with my grandparents, usually in the summer, occasionally in the winter. By that time, the house was weathered and worn. Water was drawn from the well each morning. Many of the vegetables we ate came from the carefully cultivated garden east of the house. The 2-seat outhouse was located about 50 feet to the west, a challenge to get to in stormy weather, especially when you were in a hurry. A propane tank was filled about once a month that fueled the kitchen’s gas stove, also serving to heat water for the portable tin bath-tub.

Around 1962.  I'm 5 years old sitting in a chair on the front porch.

In my dream it was winter-time. Huddled under several home-made quilts in the dusty upstairs bedroom, I could see snow drifting through the cracked wall slats. Rain buckets caught water that dripped through the roof that hadn’t been shingled in ages. Somehow I could see my grand-mother entering the front door before sunrise, carrying 2 logs from the woodpile out on the front porch. Lifting the lid of the stove, she stirred the glowing ashes from the night before and placed the logs on the simmering fire. Soon, a growing warmth brought me out of my blankets and down to a freshly cooked breakfast of eggs, bacon, and buttered biscuits.

They had no lock on the front door; didn’t need one. A cellar served as protection from tornadoes and as a stock room for the vegetables that my grandmother had ‘canned’ during the fall. My grandfather tended to a couple dozen cows and would grow cotton or wheat, depending on market conditions. Electricity came to the house in the 1950’s and lighted the evening lamp by which my grandmother would read her Bible while in her rocking chair. They never had a TV. A small radio reported the daily news.

So much has changed in the past 60 years. Back then, written contracts were not needed. A firm handshake or spoken word was enough to seal a deal. If anyone would have thought to suggest that men could get pregnant, or play in women’s sports, or marry other men, they would have been sent to the ‘funny farm’ or mental institution. Today they sometimes get sent to Congress. Back then, we believed in the rule of law and respected our political leaders. Today, we have kangaroo courts that convict political opponents of bogus criminal charges.

I suppose it’s nice to have dreams that can momentarily carry us back to simpler, more wholesome days. I often imagine times when my body was still strong, when I could climb a mountain or swim a river, or enjoy fellowship with my Filipino friends, or interact with loved ones from long ago. But dreams are not real; Heaven is. Apart from family and friends, there is nothing in this world that I will miss or regret leaving behind. Well, except maybe ice cream and cheese-cake. Surely, those will be in Heaven! At least I can dream that they will be.

Counting the Years

April 29, 2004, exactly 20 years ago, was a day that changed my life. That was the day I learned I had kidney cancer. The previous day I had blood in my urine that prompted me to have a sonogram. But the report wasn’t definitive and recommended further imaging. Still in the Philippines, I found a doctor the next morning who ordered a CT scan. The results showed a large tumor sitting on top of my left kidney.

Jan was already in the U.S. undergoing surgery for her melanoma cancer that had been discovered just a few weeks earlier. With my diagnosis, me and the 4 kids (David was already in the U.S. for his first year of college) had to pack up all our belongings and fly to the U.S. where I had surgery to remove my cancerous left kidney and 2 cancerous lymph nodes, which qualified me for stage 4. I declined treatment even though my life expectancy was now just a few years at best.

I’ve learned that anniversaries are a big deal for cancer survivors. Although my goal was never to live a long life, but rather to glorify God for however many days He gave me, I guess it’s still interesting to count the years. So, today marks 20 years that I’ve had stage 4 kidney cancer. Most of those years the cancer went into hiding after I had surgery in May of 2004, not making itself known again until the end of October, 2019, just before I returned to the Philippines. That was 4 and a half years ago.

Once I learned of my kidney cancer recurrence, I thought it would be nice if the Lord let me live until Christmas, 2020, when I could be with my family one last time. He’s now given me 4 Christmases. I also recall in early 2020 being disappointed that I wouldn’t get to see the April 8 solar eclipse. I was wrong. Three weeks ago, Hannah and I sat in the backyard of our Winona, Texas, house and watched in wonder as the moon totally blocked the sun for more than 2 minutes.

This week, the Lord allowed me to stick around long enough to visit with Martha and Philip who drove down from Richmond, Virginia, to spend a week with us. Last month they purchased a house in Richmond and are in the process of fixing it up. Philip continues to work in the training department of the IMB (Southern Baptist International Mission Board).

It’s totally up to the Lord how long He wants me to stick around. Recent indicators show that my cancer is taking its toll on my body. February was a difficult month for me. A cold turned into chest congestion which turned into pneumonia. It’s taken me until now to get over all of that. Recent blood work shows I’m anemic, a common effect of advanced cancer. I still have digestive issues because of my damaged pancreas. The protruding tumor on my left side often causes discomfort. I don’t see how I can make it to another Christmas, but that’s what I thought this time last year. We’ll see.

What hasn’t changed is the daily joy I find in the Lord and the peace I have in knowing my days are in His hands. I also thank the Lord regularly for the generous support and encouragement I receive from the IMB. There’s no better organization in the world to be a part of. They have gone far beyond what anyone would have expected in taking care of me. Being a missionary in the Philippines for 35 years was one of the greatest blessings of my life, and doing it as part of a great mission organization made it even more of a joyful experience.

The past 20 years have certainly been an amazing adventure. No, I will not make it another 20 years, that’s for sure. Even another Christmas is very doubtful. But my first 20 years in Heaven with the Lord will be the beginning of the best adventure of all!