2 years.

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.
Psalm 116:15

Although the death of beloved saints is often most-decidedly NOT precious in our sight...

I'm not a poet. But I definitely agree w/ John Piper who said (paraphrase) "there are some emotions so deep in the soul that they can only be captured with poetry." As best I can recall, what is re-posted below is one of two poems I've ever written. (The other one was a couple of years back when another friend died; in an ironic coincidence, my two friends are buried right near each other, just a few steps apart). If you've been reading this blog for over year, you've seen this before. Started it two years ago from a room at M.D. Anderson's ICU (where I was "enjoying" my first cycle of immunotherapy) when I heard that the time of Jason Weathers' departure was at hand; finished it the next day--July 12--when I heard his faith had become sight.

Jason's wife Stephanie had her Dad read this at Jason's funeral. I will likely never receive a higher honor this side of glory. (We did make it back for his funeral, btw) As I looked at Jason's lifeless body @ the funeral, I was struck with a couple of thoughts. First, the needed reminder that in the words of a friend, we're all living in rented apartment space that's steadily wearing out such that one day, we will be leaving our temporary living quarters. Second, "death, where is your sting? Grave, where is your victory? Thanks be to God, Who gives us the victory" and "He is not here, but he is risen..." It is that second one that I have seen on display in the amazing faith of Jason's beloved Stephanie these last couple of years. She has been such a wonderful encourager to Lisa & me in our own cancer journey. And to so very many others as well. Just yesterday, we were laughing about how some of Jason's musical tastes overlap with my own, but most assuredly NOT with Stephanie's...

Two years after his homegoing, I agree all the more with these sentiments captured when I heard of Jason's passing. And I still miss him hard! Next to me right now is the collection of CDs Jason had in his car. In another great honor, Steph has allowed me to roam through the collection. I've spent yesterday and early this morning smiling, chuckling, and remembering my buddy through the widely-varied music he loved. And treasuring many a conversation that started out "Mike, have you ever listened to ______? I think you'd like them...Stephanie does NOT like them at all..." *grin* And yet, as I've been looking through his music, there are multiple CDs that I picture him reaching for when Steph rode with him somewhere. I 'spect they were in his collection for that very purpose. Yesterday at church as I was in the booth being the powerpoint guy, I was reminded once again that I starting doing that as a way to hang out w/ Jason; thus, I think of him every Sunday morning when I take my seat behind the computer.

Don't read this for the literary value of the poem, for you'll surely be disappointed. Rather, read for the depth of the emotions I'm trying to capture. This comes close, but doesn't fully capture what I felt this time two years ago. And last year at this time...and this year at this time...

As was the case two years ago, I do not focus on how he died. I choose to focus instead on how he lived.

Please pray today for Jason's beloved Stephanie and for his treasured children Anna Lea, Jon Brent, and Ally.

Giants
Mike Madaris, 7/12/08, on the coronation of my buddy Jason Weathers

Giants still walk the land occasionally.
I know this, because I knew one.
Physically strong and imposing
But that’s not the topic here,
For, he was not fearsome
Unless you lined up opposite him
On a football field
Or tried to throw him into a pool against his will.
Those aside, He got along with everybody.
Literally, everybody, as far as I knew.
Calm of demeanor, yet loved to laugh.
Quiet in personality, yet loved hard rock.
Intelligent, but not desiring to flaunt that.
Private, yet the son of a very public man
And later, married into another very public family.
In the midst of all, he was a giant.

The courtship. She was the only one.
They met when her Dad took a job at the giant’s church.
And his Dad’s. And his Granddad’s.
The realizing came quickly to most.
These two were a match.
They realized it too.
The courtship lasted until they finished college.
And he remained a giant.
Always loving, yet always honoring.
Serving. Cherishing. As it was intended to be.
Both of them Role models. Giants.
Who else marries a giant, but another giant after all?

10 years of marriage. A move to FL.
3 children deeply treasured.
One looks like her mother, yet like Dad in temperament.
One looks like his Dad, yet tempered like his mother.
And one too young to answer these questions
Though she surely looks like her Dad.
Each nurtured. Treasured. Celebrated.
Giants are like that about their offspring.

A servant’s heart.
Toward his lady. Toward his children.
Toward his friends. Toward his Lord.
Church service involved the out of the way
The behind the scenes
The un-glamorous
The invisible.
Sometimes giants stay in the background.
Perhaps that is why so few of us believe in them any more.

The servant heart spilled over into career choice.
Especially poignant to me this week
As I have been greatly served and blessed by multiple nurses
As a patient, the best in that field are wired as servants.
Others-centered. Paycheck almost incidental.
Towering over the rest of us.
Giants.

The dreadful disease with the nasty prognosis
The treatment nearly as nasty
Uncertainty. Doubt. Fear.
In this case, for others more than self
Beloved wife and treasured children.
Parents. Parents-in-law. Brother. Brother-in-law.
Not wanting to burden others with the battle he fought so well.
The larger men among us worry about us like that.

7 months of desperate fighting.
Interspersed with time spent with family and with lesser mortals.
Like me. At Starbucks. Still dreaming of an earthly future that would never be.
Then the end; rather, the beginning.
What, after all, is a last, horrendous week against 30+ years of a towering-above life?
Faith became sight.
Death & disease forever vanquished.
Ultimate Healing. No more illness, no more treatment, no more pain.
“Well Done, good and faithful servant.” The stuff of dreams.
Thankfully, not of legends.
Hopes and dreams realized.
Sin not only defeated, but now utterly removed.
As has been sung, "I can only imagine." He need not imagine any more.
This makes me smile through tears.
Victory won. Decisively. Forever.
It is well…it is well with his soul.
In that land, there are only giants. Now one more.
And this land seems all the more empty.

Rock on, Jason. See you there in the land of the eternal hello, where leukemia & melanoma are seen only through the eyes of grace-filled providence...and only then understood fully. You are still loved much and missed hard by many of us, Bro. Looking forward to that next cup of coffee & to you showing me around!
Mike

Voices on the Wind

Class of 77

(I wrote the initial version of this in 2007 rt before our 30th class reunion. This weekend, there will be a gathering back home of several dozen of us. So, I dusted off the 07 version & updated it ever so slightly. Enjoy! Or something...*smile*...Mike)

The Class of 77. (30 years later…)
Mike Madaris

We graduated during a time of some national confusion. Watergate was still working itself out. The Viet Nam war had ended, but the scars were only beginning to heal. The presidency was in a state of disgrace; President Ford’s presidency in escrow had just ended, and Jimmy Carter’s optimistic-but-deeply-flawed presidency was beginning.

Musically, we were torn between the radical protest music of the 60s, the softer music of the 70s, the continuation of the hard rock movement, and the arrival of disco. Those of us into jazz were confused by what Miles Davis had become and were electrified by Al DiMeola and Chick Corea.

Socially, drinking and other things happened, but they were still ever-so-somewhat taboo. We had graduated from fairly strict dress code enforcement during junior high to fairly loose standards in high school. Our yearbook photos provide evidence of this…

During our school days, we had witnessed a man landing safely on the moon and returning--an early 60s president’s challenge fulfilled. We saw the escalation…the massive escalation…of the Viet Nam war. Dads and brothers shipped out and fought. Some didn’t come back. We also saw the end of the war and the suspension of the draft. We saw integration, though it was not much of an issue in NW Florida. We saw political murder multiple times. We saw the launch of the political careers of a lawyer named Hillary Rodham and a Viet Nam veteran named John Kerry, though none of us knew then the roles they would play years later. We saw Viet Nam fall, and helped in various ways with the massive influx of refugees. Some of us even played patriotic tunes out at the relocation camp at Eglin AFB.

Ours was a huge class. There were well over 600 of us. We were musicians, artists, athletes, surfers, scholars, and regular folks. We were hippies, preppies, burnouts, and fishheads. We loved Mrs. “Mama Jo” Yeager and Mrs. Almond, we respected Mr. Jones, we laughed with (or was it “at”?) Mr. Kelleher, and we disliked a few too. We guys grew our hair long, thinking that made us cool. The girls wore dresses short & tight, thinking the same thing.

We went to football games, basketball games, baseball games, and the occasional track meet. We hated Vikings—the cross-town rival, not the ancient warriors. We went skiing, we went to the beach, we went to Victor’s and the Hog’s Breath, though we lied to our parents about those last two. Of course, we went to prom and to post-game dances. We fell into love and back out of love. Largely, we had no clue what love was. But we sure thought we did.

And then we graduated. Some went to college at Florida, some at Florida State. Some went out of state to various places. Some of us got scholarships; others of us didn’t.

Some took jobs and began their work life earlier. Some went into the military. We got married, we had children, we gained weight, we lost hair. Some moved away after college or due to work. Others stayed. Many of us who moved away wish we had stayed put. Or could come back.

Regardless of the bends in these past 30+ years’ roads, we remain somehow connected by time spent at a place called Choctawhatchee High School. For good or bad—mostly good in my case—we remain influenced and impacted by teachers, administrators, friends, and others we encountered there.

When I left high school, I arrogantly said I’d never come back. That lasted until the following Fall, when I ventured home & went to the stadium for a football game. The oh-so-familiar drum cadence began, and the buzz of anticipation raced through the crowd. I still love that anticipation and excitement, even after my own son’s playing days on another football field have come to an end. Just a few years ago, I once again marched with my brother and his son in an alumni Style Marchers band. And loved it. I still love to watch live jazz; partly just for the music, and partly because it reminds me of my days of trying—unsuccessfully—to master to art while in the Modern Jazz Ensemble at CHS.

We remember those who are now absent...teachers, parents, and classmates. They are missed, and their value and impact is somehow magnified as life progresses. At least part of who we are is traceable to them.

So, now we gather again. 33 years...not one of the "official" years for a reunion, but we have always done things that might not have been officially sanctioned...*grin* 33 years ago, we thought that people our age were desperately old and hopelessly out of touch. (Indeed, I am now older than my Dad ever became, which is a mind-boggling reality to grasp.) Now, we realize that having been out of HS for 33 years does not equal “old.” Well, not real old...

Oh, sure, the waistline has expanded, and the hairline is now receding in multiple directions, and “40 time” is now related to how many traffic lights my car must stop for rather than how fast we run. And, yeah, there are pills to take that help with “old people” things like cholesterol and blood pressure. And the days of baking in the sun on purpose throughout the day are a distant memory, buried somewhere on the other side of sun-related cancer surgeries & treatments in my case. And our music is now played on “classic” stations, or, worse, in elevators and dentist offices. Wierdly, though, it also shows up on our children’s IPODs too. Which is at once comforting and unsettling.

But somewhere in the midst of this life I lead is a smallish, uncertain guy with horrible-looking long hair who never imagined being this, um, “vintage.” Who still remembers the difference between 8-to-5 and 6-to-5 marching…who still remembers the formula for “Cosine of a Sum” thanks to Mrs. Almond’s “songs” in class…and who still remembers some of the words to the CHS alma mater…who still remembers giving speeches in Mrs. Yeager’s class, and being amazed to discover that he actually enjoys being in front of a group!…who still remembers the opening tenor sax part to Glenn Miller's "In the Mood"...and who still lets his freak flag fly in between mortgage payments, college tuition, Dr. visits, career moves, and that sort of thing.

Emerson, Lake, & Palmer said it best back in our day all those years ago: “Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends!”

It’s class mini-reunion time! I can’t wait. See y'all Saturday night!

Battles

"I often dream of nights I'd sit, and watch the rising sun..."

Maybe it's just me, but I doubt it.

There are songs that are utterly autobiographical. Sometimes this is true in the case of the songwriter, like, say, former slave trader John Newton's incredible hymn "Amazing Grace."

And then sometimes a song written by somebody else is autobiographical for a listener. Maybe because it connects during a particular season of life. For example, I first discovered the great song "Be Unto Your Name" that we sing at church in the summer of 2008 while I was eyeball deep in my cancer surgeries & IL-2 treatments. Thus, two years later, I've almost reached the point where I can sing the second verse without falling apart ("we are the broken, you are the healer..."). Almost, I say. *smile*

"And I spoke to you of life, and of the battles I had won..."

Recently, I was cleaning off a hard drive on our ancient, nearly-obsolete, seldom-used laptop. This particular hard drive contained data dumps from other totally-obsolete computers from a few years back. Earlier today, I was sorting through files found there and happened upon one of my all-time favorite songs in the form of an mp3 file. I had forgotten that I had recorded this years back. What a treasure!

"A warm wind blowing memories makes me long for home..."

This particular song is just over 30 years old now. Late 70s. Gainesville, FL. If you know my story, you might recall that this was not a particularly, um, successful season of life for me. Flunking out of college...Still VERY angry at God & at life because of my Dad's death just a few years earlier...Most uncertain about the ultimate things (like many 19-year-olds of course, but I took it to a whole new level)...No real life vision or direction...

"But a cold wind blows much harder, and makes me wanna roam; let me go from this lonely land before my dreams all vanish like water in the sand. Let me run from this lonely place before my dreams are shattered by love I can't erase..."

And yet, there in the midst of the darkest season of my life in so many ways, I made some great friends. A number of whom are still great friends today, all these long years later. Some of the guys were facing their own struggles, but by the common grace of God we endured. And eventually triumphed in various directions. I'm actually getting together w/ a couple of these guys over the 4th in FWB, and am very much looking forward to it.

"I search to find the meaning of the path that I am on, and I hope that my direction will not make me walk alone..."

A bunch of us used to go watch & listen to this smokin' hard rock band called "Axe." Five guys kicking out some great jams. We saw them many times. So many times that this afternoon I was picturing their exact stage setup; where they keyboards were, how Edgar's mike was always high up so that he had to raise his head & look up in order to sing; Bobby's tough-guy look & sneer as he sang & played guitar...

"I stumble for the answers to the questions that remain..."

Axe went on to some modest success. Recorded a few albums. Opened for some big-name bands in the early 80s. They recorded a superb very hard-rock version of the old Motown tune "Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch" that was just amazing live. One of the crowd favorites was "Rock & Roll Party in the Streets" which will be my motivational music tomorrow morning as I prepare to take the hill in my exercise program.

"Around the world, I've touched the sun; now I'm back again..."

But the words you've been reading are from their incredible anthem "Battles." If I had a dollar for every time I fired this up back in the late 70s & early 80s, I'd be a wealthy man. As cheesy & corny as it sounds to admit, this song & its lyrics pulled me through a bunch of dark times and gave me hope that there would be a future for me that was brighter. For that, I will always be thankful to the guys in Axe.

Plus, Bobby's guitar solo at the end of "Battles" is just awesome...*smile*

Thanks for the shows & the songs & the memories, guys. And thanks for hope.

Rock on,
bb

p.s. - here's the song in its original version. The video is just one image, so don't focus on watching. Instead, just picture this kid with long hair and very few clues jamming out to this through some evenings...sometimes jamming with a tear or two in his eye. And enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8FUN3dE3uw&feature=related

(p.p.s. - There actually is a band touring now as "Axe." But based on video footage, they're not even close to the quality of the original lineup. Just so you know...)

Mollie

(Seems I was just writing a very similar post not that long ago...*sigh*)

Rough day yesterday @ Casa beachbum. (As of the initial writing of this) I'm just in & cleaned up from gravedigging duties in the back yard. Our next-door neighbor's pit bull killed Mollie, our small cat, this morning around 8:30. (Aside: I honestly think the dog was "playing" with Mollie...but it went horribly awry...)

So, once again--and for the final time--we are mourning the loss of an awesome cat.

Mollie was about 16 or so. All black, still w/ a bit of a sassy personality. She was very small; still looked & acted like a little kitten. She was mostly an inside cat, but ventured out now & then. Once too often, as it turns out...

Mollie came to us suddenly. 16 years ago, Lisa & I were teaching college Sunday School @ our church. Thus the phone call one night from a young lady in our group. "Hey, do y'all know anybody who wants a kitten? A guy gave me one, and my roommate is deathly allergic to them" She became cat #2 around here. (Cat #1 was Maggie, who died last year in a much more humane manner...)

I'm a dog guy. But I sure did love my two cats! I'm persuaded God made two great cats in all of creation. Both of them lived here and mightily blessed our lives, even while bossing us around like cats do. *smile* And I apologize to all of you cat people for being forced to tolerate lesser cats than our two awesome ones...*another smile*

Mollie loved to rest on top of someone, especially Lisa. She had this loud & awesome purr that made us refer to her as "crackling cat."

She also *loved* a box to climb into. Just recently, Lisa brought a long & skinny box home. Mollie *loved* it!

She also *dearly* loved this soft white rug we have. She would come knead it for a while & then go to sleep, crackling the whole time.

She became something of a co-belligerent with Maggie in the quest to keep Sam the dog under control. And eventually, after he was slapped upside the head (by Mollie!) several thousand times, Sam developed a sort of detante with Mollie. In fact, an oddly-treasured memory is one that happened several times over the last 16 years. Mollie--being a cat--came & went on her own terms, and thus would occasionally stay outside at night (her choice, of course). In the wee hours of some of those nights, we'd hear a ruckus of squealing & squalling, at which point Sam would go tearing out the door to protect his cat from bigger Tom cats or from whatever the pest was. Presently, Mollie would come strolling back in, followed a minute or two later by Sam. (Sam also did this with Maggie...Sam's a sweet dog!)

My morning routine has been to start the coffee while listening to Mollie telling me most insistently that the coffee could wait while I fed her. I missed getting fussed at this morning, and will miss it from now on. Another part of the morning routine was to give Sam & Beau (James' dog) a taste of catfood after feeding Mollie. They were a tad bit confused this morning; I'm more than a tad bit sad about that routine change...

Both of my children loved Mollie. James played with Mollie & got her to do things none of the rest of us could (or would!). Anne & Mollie were sleeping buddies. Anne said yesterday, "I can't even remember when Mollie wasn't around..."

(Yep...she laid on his head quite patiently, such that I have several shots of this from this past Christmas)

As I said, a tough day.

After considerable prayer, I knocked on the door at the dog's house yesterday. Introduced myself to the guy (he's new here), and told him about Mollie & his pit bull. He was very upset & apologetic, and said he'd get rid of the dog. It actually was a blessed conversation with a pretty good guy whose dog did a terrible thing. My pulse was probably 190, but I didn't feel anger (by the grace of God!), and he responded gracefully. In fact, within about a half-hour, the dog was in the back seat of the guy's truck, moving to a new home out in the country. This is a *much* better solution than my first instinct this morning, which involved a shotgun...God graciously calmed me down, and then providentially had me teaching on guarding the heart in Hebrews 3 & 4, followed by my pastor preaching an *awesome* message on persevering under trial from James 1. All within a couple of hours of the awful incident.

I'm a dog guy. And I try hard to be a good neighbor, and will continue to be so with the folks next door. But I was not, am not, and will not ever be a pit bull fan. (Pit Bull fans, don't even bother! Enjoy your animals, as is your right. And keep them the heck away from me and mine. Lisa & I have mental images now that will haunt us for some time, all because of a pit bull that had a rather sweet & pleasant disposition. That's all I have to say about that)

So, there are four people living here who are grieving a much-loved cat. She probably didn't have many more years left, but this is most assuredly NOT the end we had in mind.

We're fine, and will be more so. But we still miss our cat very badly...

I'm a dog guy...who is VERY sad about his cat's passing...

RIP, Mollie!

bb

Approximate Sched for Mike for 5/17 @ MDA

7:30 - venture out into the *incredible* Houston rush-hour traffic
7:35 - vow to never gripe about Hardy St. traffic ever again; repeat this vow every 3.5 minutes until parked @ M.D. Anderson Cancer Center
8:30 - bloodwork (my personal record is 11 vials in one sitting...)
9:30 - P.E.T. Scan Prep
(basically, inserting an IV into my arm, pushing some nuclear waste through the IV, and making me take a 1-hour nap...really, they do make me nap! I'm OK with it though)
11:00 - P.E.T. scan (about 30 min in a tube where I'm velcroed on to the table...and yes, they really do velcro me on there...I usually add another nap, figuring (a) I have to be still, and (b) it's always quite cool in the P.E.T. scan room...)
12:00 - drink a gallon of long-overdue coffee & eat bad cafeteria food (OK, this is not on my official M.D. Anderson schedule for the day...but since I can't eat or drink anything until after the P.E.T. scan, it's on my *personal* schedule...*huge grin*)
1:00 - go whine @ brain MRI people in hopes that they'll move mine from 5:00 to, well, now. Repeat until they reschedule my MRI, or until 4:30, whichever comes first.
4:30 - Prep for Brain MRI
5:00 - Brain MRI (stick your head into a metal bucket & have someone periodically bang on it with a hammer...that's pretty close to what this is like. Luckily, I have mad napping skills, so...)
6:00 - venture back into the Houston rush-hour traffic
6:05 - vow to never again gripe about traffic on Helveston, near WCU
6:10 - be oh-so-thankful that my morning & evening "rush-hour" commute is about 25 minutes long
Sometime after that: commit serious gluttony @ a great Tex-Mex place with Lisa, aided by two HS classmates + the son of one of them (again, not on my official MDA schedule...)

Seriously, it'll be a full, busy day. Your prayers for accurate and clear test results are most appreciated, if you're a praying type.

Thanks much!
Mike

The Looming Sword

I used to wonder what it was like for folks who had to face regular visits to cancer doctors and, well, M.D. Anderson, and such places.

I don't wonder any more. It feels a lot like the life Damocles lived when he swapped places with Dionysius in the ancient legend. The legendary/mythical "sword of Damocles" always hung over his head, suspended by a thin thread, symbolizing the ever-present threat Dionysius felt.

Now, the "sword of Damocles" analogy fails, because (a) I've not swapped lives with anyone, and (b) I'm *definitely* not in a position of power.

Those caveats aside, having a sword of destruction hanging over one's head suspended by a narrow thread is pretty much how it feels to be a melanoma survivor. (Related aside: that's also why you, insert your name here, should wear sunscreen!)

Oh, I don't live in fear, for my God is on His throne, and He was not surprised in Nov. 2005 when my cancer first appeared, nor was he surprised in May 2008 when it showed up again in both lungs.

And He will not be surprised by whatever next week's followup scans @ M.D. Anderson show.

Thus, most of the time, God graciously doesn't let me linger on cancer & on the likelihood of melanoma returning.

But as the return journey looms, the sword looms also.

We head back out to Houston Sunday afternoon.

Here's the schedule of all of the "fun":

Monday - bloodwork & P.E.T. scan & brain MRI
(stick your head & chest inside a small metal bucket & have someone bang on the bucket repeatedly with a hammer; that's pretty close to what a brain MRI is like...*grin*)
Tuesday - appt with Dr. Homsi (my main medical Dr. there)
Wed. - appt. with Dr. Mehran (my surgeon)


I'd call it 50-50 that I have another surgery this time. There's the one spot near my ribs on the wall of my chest near one of the previous surgery entry points. Not a new spot; been there all along. Last time we were out there, the P.E.T. scan showed that the spot had grown just a bit (although it's still very small). Hence the surgical consult this time.

I don't really mind surgery, but I *hate* the recovery time. Plus, anesthesia messes me up for the next couple of days after. Plus, it'd be groovy if we were rolling back home Wed. evening having been told "nothing to see here..."

So, the sword becomes visible again as I'm reminded of my medical history...which reminds me how gloriously dependent & *not* in charge I really am. And which drives me to prayer. And to ask for the prayers of others. And to be mindful that a day is coming for me (and a place) in which there will be no more cancer, no more need for surgery, no more recovery needed...I can't wait, though I do not seek to get there any time soon!

If you're a praying type, your prayers are *most* welcome, needed, and appreciated.

In His Grip,
Mike

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us...And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience...
Romans 8:18, 23-25

I love college graduations...especially this one...

In May, 1983, I walked across a stage at the University of Alabama and received a degree & a handshake from the president of the University. In my case, it took 6 years and 3 different schools to get there, but that’s another story for another day.

A few years later, I received a M.A. degree. Then, in 1990, I received a Ph.D., which could well have been viewed as that year’s sign of the imminent return of our Lord.

Since then, I have attended numerous college graduations, and I actually love the ceremony. As a professor I get to don the robes & the hat and be part of the platform party w/ my colleagues. I dig the significance of the ceremony, the motivation of the speakers’ remarks (well, most of them…), and the general pomp & circumstance of it all.

But the coolest part to me is afterward, when I get to shake hands w/ my students who have just walked across the stage & received a degree. I *LOVE* this part of the day! “Mom, this is Dr. Madaris” etc. Utterly awesome, in the real sense of the word “awesome.”

And yet, in all of my goober-ish enjoyment of graduation, and all of the excitement of the new graduates, there’s a decided bittersweet feel. I really love my job, in large part because I really love college students. (well, most of them…) I like to think that over the course of battling with duration, net present value, market efficiency, supply & demand, futures contracts, gap, CAMEL ratings, and other goodies one covers in various econ & finance classes, at least some of those students become friends. Which means that graduation = saying goodbye to friends who are (mostly) moving away. I do NOT enjoy that part of graduation day. Even with the excitement of the day and of students/friends moving into career type jobs, I’m not very good at saying “goodbye.” I totally agree with C.S. Lewis, who said (paraphrased) “the reason saying goodbye is so hard is because we were never meant to do so.” One of my favorite descriptions of heaven is this: the land of the eternal hello. I can’t wait.

Well, all of that was background so that I could say this…Lisa, Anne & I won’t be at Temple Baptist Church this Sunday morning, and I won’t be eating my usual dose of catfish Friday @ WCU. We’ll be heading north to Oxford, MS, along with my Mom & her husband Leo. We’re attending a baseball game Friday night featuring the two teams that are tied for first in the SEC Western division, but that’s just the lagniappe. The real purpose of our trip happens Saturday on campus at the University of Mississippi.

James Madaris, my son, in whom I am VERY well-pleased, graduates from the School of Pharmacy with a Bachelor of Pharmaceutical Sciences degree.

At the risk of pride, there is no chance that I could ever get admitted to the Ole Miss School of Pharmacy, let alone get an actual degree from there. (I know a number of things, zero of which have to do with the natural sciences…)

I remember telling James during Christmas Break of his freshman year that this weekend would arrive with amazing speed. And so it has. What I under-estimated, was the speed at which it would arrive FOR ME.

Seems just a few weeks ago that James was dressing as our then-pediatrician Dr. Kent (who is one of my life mentors…), and playing teeball, and feeding the ducks with his Mother, and going to the zoo, and moving over to this new school setting called “PCS,” and learning how to strap on football pads, and helping me set up the tent for family camping trips…and going to prom, and laughing with me as we listened to the local rock radio station’s commercial while in MY car: “Not your father’s radio station…unless you have a really cool Dad…” And becoming a rather good all-district tackle, and graduating from high school, and getting accepted to the University of Mississippi School of Pharmacy’s Early-Entry program (which rejected something like 80% of those who applied that year), and moving into the dorm and commencing life as a UM student…

In case you’re wondering, Ole Miss has been an ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE experience for James. Regardless of your football team leanings, hear me say this—me, a lifelong Bama fan and three-time Bama grad: I find it very difficult to even imagine a better college experience than James has had at Ole Miss.

Pharmacy School has challenged the stew out of him, and he is a better man because of facing and overcoming those challenges…he has grown spiritually there…he has made some (I predict) lifelong friends who are the kind of friends parents want their kids to have…he has totally dug games from the student section at Vaught-Hemingway stadium (along with the last two Cotton Bowls), and in the ancient basketball arena, and @ the baseball stadium…he has lived on campus, near campus, and a ways away from campus…he—like his parents—has come to *really* love Oxford…all while becoming a man and being well on his way to an excellent career of serving others, which career path was decided on during high school.

I had a whole thing here about the visceral hatred many in our state have toward Ole Miss, but deleted it. Instead, let me just say this: James is NOT wealthy, he’s NOT particularly a partier, he’s NOT in a fraternity, and neither of his parents went to Ole Miss…and he dearly loves the university and the Rebel sports teams. Plus, his degree will come from one of the top pharmacy programs IN THE COUNTRY.

Why didn’t he go to Bama? Two reasons, out-of-state tuition (a surmountable challenge), but mostly because of the insurmountable fact that Bama doesn’t have a pharmacy program at all, let alone a top 10-20 program!

I couldn’t be happier with his school and career choice!

Note: James & I cheer for each other’s football teams to win almost all of their games every year…*another smile*

For those unfamiliar with pharmacy programs, James still has two more years to go. Next year, he’ll move to Jackson for the dreaded P-5 year of clinical at the Medical School. The following year will be a bunch of 5-week rotations. And then we’ll re-convene for another Ole Miss graduation, at which (Lord willing) he’ll receive a Doctorate of Pharmacy (Pharm.D.). And then off to practice his craft & begin his career.

As both of my regular readers will know, (*smile*) I dearly love my son and am very proud of his achievements and of who he has become. Hence, I’ll tell you when I decided he was going to make it to this point. 2nd semester, freshman year. A phone call, just to chat (which, just as an aside, is one of the GREAT blessings of my life…that my son sometimes calls for no particular reason). Here’s the paraphrase of part of the conversation: “Dad, don’t be offended, but I wish I could major in business…those guys have it so easy! They go to class, study about 10 minutes & then play the rest of the time. And frequently, they don’t even go to class!” I asked if he wanted to change majors. “No, I don’t; I really want to be a pharmacist!” I suggested that skipping class is not a good plan, even for business majors (remember, I’m a business school professor), but especially for early-entry pre-pharmacy students. His response: “Oh, don’t worry, Dad…I can’t afford to miss class, so I don’t!”

That’s when I knew he’d get to this Saturday.

That confidence has been confirmed through many chats & report cards & honors & such, but I’ll spare you.

So, this Saturday, I’ll don my suit—purchased this week for this very occasion—and head to Oxford with great pride and thanksgiving that God has granted me the amazing privilege of being James Madaris’ Dad, and watch him shake hands with school administrators & receive a degree that just boggles my mind to ponder.

And Friday and Sunday, we’ll watch the Rebels take on the Arkansas Razorbacks in what has shaped up to be a baseball clash of two powerhouse teams. Me? You bet! I’ll be wearing my Ole Miss hat & shirt, and hooting & hollering right there alongside this MAN who looks a bit like me…albeit a bigger, stronger, smarter, better-looking version of me. A *MAN* who, for Friday’s game, will be an Ole Miss undergraduate student, and for Sunday’s game, will be an Ole Miss ALUMNUS.

I have so many more thoughts about this event, but I'll just close with this, in loving honor of my son, and without any hint of apology.

HOTTY TODDY!

Love you buddy!
Dad

p.s. – I doubt I’ll shed any tears this weekend. Except maybe on Friday. And of course, Saturday at graduation. Oh, and Sunday when we roll out of Oxford… *smile*

16 Years ago...

...was the Rwandan holocaust.

In 100 days, 1 million were killed.

1,000,000.

The entire population of the Hattiesburg/Pine Belt area times 10. In 100 days.

Basically because of their ethnicity and/or their political leanings.

I was captivated by the tragic stories back then, and I still am, in the deep recesses of my soul. In the places I don't enjoy exploring because I don't like what I find there all too often.

Ever seen the movie Hotel Rwanda?

Now, I know students @ Wm Carey who are from Rwanda. Very pleasant, polite people, who are just a delight to visit with in the office or in the hallway. They laugh easy and often.

I think of Rwanda every morning. You see, we buy coffee beans in the mail from an outfit called "Land of 1000 Hills Coffee" (a.k.a., "Drink Coffee, Do Good"). Click here to go to their website & learn more about them. They grow the coffee there and are very missional in their approach. Quite a number of Rwandan "coffee widows" plant, cultivate, pick, and roast the coffee there. Land of 1000 Hills invests proceeds back into Rwanda. Schools...homes...clinics...jobs & training...all in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. Click THIS to see a short clip from a CNN story about the company.

1,000,000 in 100 days.

That's an average of 10,000 per day.

And much of the world went "wow, bummer...oh well, glad it's not here..." and went merrily on our way.

One hesitates to ever quote this guy, but Joseph Stalin famously said something along the lines of "1 death is a tragedy...1 million deaths is merely a statistic"

And it happened just 16 years ago. Not 160 years ago. Not 1600 years ago. 16 YEARS ago.

I have only one grand sweeping conclusion to this, that's really not all that grand & sweeping: if you ever find yourself thinking "people are really pretty good by nature after all"...remember this statistic.

One. Million. People. Murdered. In. 100. Days. SOLELY. Because. Of. Their. Tribal. Heritage.

1,000,000.

Paying a dollar or two extra per pound of coffee is an INCREDIBLY small sacrifice. (Besides, the coffee is just *vastly* superior to anything you'll find in the local grocery store). And Starbucks is not in the same universe in terms of coffee quality. But this is not about coffee.

It's about Rwanda. And about people. And about us. You. me.

How's your thought life toward those with whom you disagree religiously? How about those with whom you disagree politically? I listen to the state of American political rhetoric for the last several years, and I sometimes fear for my country. Give some of the links here a click & read or watch.

1,000,000. 100 days. 10,000 a day.

May we always remember. And always love and work so such things never happen again.

Sorrowful, yet hopeful, and always prayerful,
bb

p.s. - wanna see what God can do in hearts? Check THIS out. Only one page long...I challenge you to imagine yourself as one of the real-life characters in this story...you might need a hankie...

For Mrs. Kemp

There was a line of ladies who tried to teach me to play the piano. By “tried” here I mean “tried with pretty much no success”…Totally not their fault of course; I’d rather have been riding my bike or swimming or shooting hoops or something than practicing piano. Which is but one of several ways I was a fool back then…Hope I’ve changed a bit!

I am very grateful to all of them, even though my piano skills never got above “meager” and time hasn’t helped. I do love a piano being played, and wish I could play. (Which is one of MANY things Mom said that I should’ve listened to…)

Anyway, I’ve been thinking on this because one of those dear ladies recently left us. Her end was hard, and her leaving was merciful. Still, she will be greatly missed by many. Some are former piano students like me…others will remember her teaching elementary school music…others are close friends of hers, like Mom…But mostly, she’ll be missed by her three sons.

One of those sons taught me to play the saxophone when I was in 6^th grade. He had more success teaching me a musical instrument than his Mother did, but I still never got near his level of skill.

Another of those sons is my age and we had many an adventure along the way. I remember laughing HARD with him. Mostly we behaved…mostly, I say.

The third is younger than I, and I also remember laughing with him. I hear he still plays music, which somehow is pretty cool just now.

There was another brother the age of my brother who left us some years back.

These guys had an AWESOME mother. She was such a gentle soul with such a delicate touch on the keyboard, but also on life and on people. I’m not aware of a single person that disliked her, which is quite a remarkable feat.

Amazingly talented musically, but never chose to flaunt that talent. She was very well-schooled musically, and I recall her enjoying a wide variety of styles.

She was soft-spoken, which trait will be immediately recalled by all who knew her.

She loved her boys; all four of them.

She loved her friends. She & my Mom, for example, clicked rather quickly and stayed “clicked” until this great lady left us & went to be with her Lord a couple of weeks ago.

She loved her students. Again, soft-spoken, even when it became clear I hadn’t practiced the week’s piano lesson, or when the elementary school class was not focusing.

I’ve not seen her for years, which causes me much regretful sorrow now.

I hope…I really hope…she knew how fond I was—am—of her, despite my not demonstrating that very often nor very well.

As I say, her last days were painful and hard, and the end was merciful. Have I told you lately how much cancer sucks? *sigh*

And thus, my brother & I will be down at Mom’s this weekend, not for Easter, but for a memorial service for a wonderful lady who means a lot to my family. While I *hate* the circumstances, I am very much looking forward to re-connecting with her three sons in person. Mom fed two of them tonight, but I couldn't get here in time to join that meal. The memorial service is Saturday morning, after which there will be another service up in her native Atmore, AL. Since my children will be home, I’m heading back after the service in Ft. Walton Beach.

Rest assured, the ipod will land on some nice classical and jazz piano Saturday on the way back (think Rachmaninoff and Oscar Peterson), as I thank God for the life & influence & legacy of a teacher, a pianist, a mother, an encourager, a prayer warrior, and a friend of mine and of my Mom’s.

Rest in peace, Mrs. Kemp! Your life and your faith mattered, and you added music to this world. What higher obit could one want, after all?

With fond memories,

Mike

p.s. – join me in praying for Charles, Tom, & Robert, won’t you? And in praying for Mom and the others who are saying goodbye to a great friend.

But God

You were...but God...

Therefore, remember...

You were...but now in Christ...
(Paul, in Ephesians 2; the quotes below in response to my questions are all from Ephesians 2))

Taught this in Sunday School a few months back. INCREDIBLE set of verses! Who knew that Paul knew me so well back in the day? *smile*

So what was I?

"dead in the tresspasses & sins in which we (I) once walked, following the course of this world, following the...spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience, among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind.

How did all of that change?

"But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us (me), even when we were (I was) dead in our trespasses"

What did He do?

"made us (me) alive together with Christ—by grace you (I) have been saved—and raised us (me) up with him and seated us (me) with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus..."

Why in the round world would He do that for such a worm as I??

"so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us (me) in Christ Jesus. "

Well, so what should I do?

"Therefore remember...that you were at that time separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world."

Well, yeah...I definitely remember...and?

"But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing the law of commandments expressed in ordinances, that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace, and might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility. And he came and preached peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father..."

OK...so what??

"So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit."

And there, ladies & gents, is my story & my song.

"I was...but God...so that...therefore, I need to remember that I was...but now in Christ...so then..."

My question for you: which side of "But God...but now in Christ" are you on? Are living in "you were" or in "so then"? The answer is infinitely more important than any other question you'll ever answer.

So very thankful for "But God" & "But now in Christ Jesus"! Which is precisely what Easter is about.
bb

When God Ran

(written last week; final edit this morning fyi)

I call it M.A.D.H.D. I've enjoyed it for most of my life. M.A.D.H.D. means "musical attention deficit hyperactivity deficit" by the way. What it means is, I really enjoy a WIDE variety of musical grooves and groups and styles.

Which is why I really love (a) my ipod, and (b) the shuffle feature on it that randomly selects songs to play from my music list. Just this morning on the treadmill, the shuffle feature treated me to some screaming heavy metal, followed by Merle Haggard, Rodney Crowell, and then Phillips, Craig & Dean.

Some PCD songs came up that grabbed my heart. (and my tear ducts too, it seems...*blushes*) Seems I needed reminding of God's grace. Oh, sure, we believers talk about grace often. But I fear that sometimes we talk of it so much that we don't really stop and ponder it. In total amazement and awe. That's what these songs did for me this morning. It's rather easy to talk about God's grace in the corporate, academic, definitional sense. (and it's VERY important to do so, by the way!)

But that's not what I'm speaking of here. I'm talking about the CRITICAL need for all of us to ponder God's grace toward us individually. Doing so removes our egos from consideration, and shuts our prideful tongues up totally except for prayers of amazement and thanksgiving. "Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner" as the guy prayed in Jesus' story.

Anyway, to me these songs get toward what I'm talking about. As I say, they grabbed my soul this morning. And my tear ducts. (What, now? That's allergies...allergies, I tell ya...*blushes again*) Read and enjoy...and receive and revel in God's grace!

When God Ran
Almighty God, the great I am
Immovable rock, omnipotent, powerful, awesome Lord
Victorious warrior, commanding King of Kings
Mighty conqueror
and the only time; the only time I ever saw Him run

CHORUS:
Was when He ran to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice He said,
“Son do you know I still love you?”
He caught me by surprise when God ran

The day I left home I knew I’d broken His heart
And I wondered then if things could ever be the same
Then one night I remembered His love for me
And down that dusty road ahead I could see
It was the only time – it was the only time I ever saw Him run

And then He ran to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice He said,
“Son do you know I still love you?”
He caught me by surprise as He brought me to my knees
When God ran – I saw Him run to me

I was so ashamed, all alone and so far away
But now I know He’s been waiting for this day

I saw Him run to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice I felt His love for me again

He ran to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son”, He called me Son
He said, “Son do you know I still love you?”
He ran to me and then I ran to Him
When God ran
(click here to see a video of Phillips, Craig, & Dean singing "When God Ran"; 6:24 in length)

A Place Called Grace
So many years I heard it told
The story of compassion
A prodigal son who left the fold
And found no satisfaction

On my knees, Lord, I cried out to you,
"I'm so alone
But if there's room in Your house for one more,
I'm ready to come back home"

I know there is a place
Where arms of compassion welcome me home
Sweet mercy falls like rain
I know there's a place called grace

So many days I've trusted grace
Yet I have to wonder
How many times my human strength
Has kept me from surrender

The more I learn just to lean on the cross
The more I see
When I fall, I will fall to the place
Where mercy reaches me...reaches me

I know there is a place
Where arms of compassion welcome me home
Sweet mercy falls like rain
I know there's a place called grace

If it seems that my courage is strong
There's just one reason
He's my rock when my faith is all gone
He holds me in His arms
Gives me strength to carry on

I know there is a place
Where arms of compassion welcome me home
Sweet mercy falls like rain
I know there's a place
I know there's a place called grace

(Click here for a video montage done to "A Place Called Grace"; couldn't find a vid of PCD singing this one live in concertwhich would be my preference; 5:21 in length)

Table of Grace
Hear the good news, you've been invited
No matter what others may say,
Your darkest sins will be forgiven
You will always have a place.

At the table of grace the cup's never empty.
The plate's always full and it's never too late.
To come and be filled with love never ending
You're always welcome at the table of grace.

So come weak, and heavy hearted
Don't try to hide your earthly scars.
In His eyes, we all are equal
Don't be afraid, come as you are.

At the table of grace the cup's never empty.
The plate's always full, and it's never too late.
To come and be filled with love never ending
You're always welcome at the table of grace.

So let the first become the last
Let the poor put kings to shame.
Their willing hearts will be their treasure
By the power of Jesus' name!

At the table of grace the cup's never empty
The plate's always full, and it's never too late!
To come and be filled with love never ending
You're always welcome at the table of grace
At the table of grace the cup's never empty.

The plate's always full, and it's never too late
To come and be filled with love never ending:
You're always welcome at the table.
Everyone's welcome at the table of grace.

(back to bb) And there, ladies & gents, is how Easter applies to us in this day & time. Join me in celebrating the grace of a holy, righteous, awesome God who chooses to love & connect with hammerheads like us--like me--won't you?

Continually amazed by His grace,

bb

A Pecan Picker-Upper...

It was just a routine stroll with Lisa through the garden section at Lowe's. Plants, fertilizers, pots, flowers, ant killers,...

And then there it was. And there I went. To a wonderful place I haven't visited in a long, long time...

I don't know what its official name is. I know what it's used for though. I actually haven't laid eyes on one in decades. It's used to pick up pecans. And thus, the instant trip to that wonderful place...But it's not just the place.

It was a neat place located on West Brunson Ave. in Enterprise, AL down in Coffee County in Southeast Alabama. The peanut capitol of the world; a small town with a monument to a pest--the boll weevil--rt in the middle of town. (A weevil infestation wiped out the cotton crop, at which point the locals planted peanuts which led to prosperity of a sort; hence the monument to a pest...) But again, it's not just the place. It's about who lived there, and made it a wonderful place filled with marvelous memories for me.

His name was John William Benton. A noble name, which is fitting for one of the more noble men to walk this earth. But that's not how I knew him. To me and my cousins, he was Papa.

Papa was a tall man who seemed like a giant to us, his grandkids. And yet, despite intimidating size, he was incredibly gentle.

He moved slowly and deliberately. He was a wise man; the kind of wisdom born not so much in education, but out of innate God-given clues and experience. He was a man of few words, though they were profound.

He loved his wife and his children (one son, followed by four daughters). His beloved Martha taught junior high history. His five children all attended Papa's beloved University of Alabama. (One grandson did too...*smile*) Papa treasured them so very much. When the youngest of the four girls got married, Papa's love showed up in the sweetest way...you know the part where the minister says "who gives this woman to be married"? Well, on this day in the early 1960s, the minister asked...and got no answer. He asked again...and got no answer, until Martha, John's wife finally spoke up and said "her father & I do"...and thus began my Aunt & Uncle's wedding ceremony. I *LOVE* this sweet part of family lore!

But as much as Papa loved his son and daughters...he also dearly loved us grandkids. Before the first of us was born, Papa had a dream. In this dream, he saw himself playing with five grandsons. It was a very vivid dream to him. I was the fourth of those boys...and the next two were also grandsons. There's a great picture somewhere of Papa with us first five, all wearing matching cowboy outfits he had purchased for us.

Somehow, it still matters greatly to me that I was dreamed about and greatly treasured by my Papa before I was even born. And it also matters greatly to me that he treasured me...us...once we arrived on the scene.

I remember when we would drive up to visit that great place in Enterprise, Papa would come out & greet Mom, Dad, Jim and me. And then, sometimes before we went inside, Papa, Jim & I would walk around the corner to Goodson's store to buy a bag of peanuts. (I still *dearly* love a bag of peanuts from a country store...parched or boiled, either is fine, but none of this spicy nonsense. They didn't serve that at Goodson's, and they didn't need it!)

I also recall Papa strolling around the yard while we grandkids had a blast picking up pecans with the pecan picker-uppers. We thought we were having a blast...I now think we didn't have NEAR as much fun doing that as he did watching us.

Papa loved listening to a Bama football game on the radio, although like at least one of his grandsons, he got VERY emotionally involved in the game's outcome. So much so that his Doctor ordered him to stop listening to games on the radio because it was bad for his heart. He would take a long, leisurely walk around the neighborhood and through the woods behind the house on Saturday afternoons to avoid the temptation to tune in.

Papa's great heart gave out in the late winter of 1965 when I was only in first grade. I am quite confident that he is now part of the great throng in glory worshipping the Lord that Papa loved, and enjoying the company of many of his family and friends and other saints.

I know I miss him, as do my cousins, some of whom have even fewer memories of our beloved Papa than even I do. And as do his four surviving children, the four girls, each one of whom were the apple of his eye.

I'm so very thankful for these memories that were sparked by a tool in the gardening section at Lowe's. And for a memory lane worth strolling down now & then. And for a rich family heritage well worth celebrating...

Perhaps one day some grown-up little boy(s) yet unborn will have such fond memories of me, their Papa...

bb

A Brief Exercise in Perspective

Part A:

1. Name the five wealthiest people in the world.

2. Name the last five Heisman trophy winners.

3. Name the last five winners of the Miss America pageant.

4. Name ten people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize.

5. Name the last half dozen Academy Award winners for best actor and actress.

6. Name the last decade's worth of World Series winners.

Part B:

1. List a few teachers who aided your journey through school.

2. Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time.

3. Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile.

4. Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special!

5. Think of five people you enjoy spending time with.

6. Name someone who has served you selflessly.

(exercise ends)

2 Who Matter

One was a young, hip guy that we younger, less-hip guys wanted to be. He was smooth...calm...never too agitated...and cooler yet, he played the guitar & sang all of the cool worship/rock songs of the day. Larry Norman's still-awesome apocalyptic "I Wish We'd All Been Ready" and the like. He taught us youth Bible Study in various formats, including Sunday School and whatever we called our Wednesday night times. He made Christianity seem like fun. (What a concept, huh?)

The other was my parents' age, and yet he was the guy I wanted...want...to grow up to be. Dashingly handsome...muscular...hard-working...successful in his business. A man's man, in the best sense of that phrase. He taught jr. high Sunday School. He was the first Bible teacher I had who spoke of the reality of sin and of his own redemption from its penalty and from its power. I still remember how real he was as he spoke of his own past life (B.C.), and how he did so without glorifying himself or his past shortcomings. "Fellas, let me tell you something...people will tell you that sin's ugly & repulsive. That's a lie! Sin is fun while you're doing it; it's after, when you think on what you've done & how wrong it is that it becomes repulsive." Still remember that honesty. He, too, seemed to genuinely enjoy his faith, but also he made us feel like we were HUGELY important to him.

In fact, years after I passed through his orbit, I made an appt. w/ him to have breakfast. As I told him how very much he meant/means to me, this big, strong, manly, big game hunting, hard-working type broke down & cried right there in the restaurant. He said two things that will ever haunt me: first, he thanked me for making a point of telling him how his life mattered. That cut me to the quick, and made me resolve to tell folks who matter to me that, well, they matter to me! Do you encourage the encouragers in your life? Don't take for granted that they know; I sat & watched a man sob in gratitude as he was told--apparently for one of the few times--that his life mattered to another. Second, he cried again, and I can still hear the agony in his voice: "There are so many that I missed..."

That, my friends, is the heart of a minister. Oh, the guy I'm describing never was on staff at a church. He was in real estate development, mostly. But he had the heart of a minister. First, passionately seeking to impact the lives of others, whether they ever thanked him or not, and second, mourning over those he perceives that he missed ministering to...

Oh Lord, would you raise up more...many more...like Andy & Jim, these two who had such an impact on me? An impact that continues to this day, and whose impact was frankly slow to take root in my life.

And Lord, would you, in your marvelous, matchless grace, use me to impact others for you? Would you cause others to bless & magnify You & Your name because of what you do through me?

My sheep were scattered; they wandered over all the mountains and on every high hill. My sheep were scattered over all the face of the earth, with none to search or seek for them...For thus says the Lord God: Behold, I, I myself will search for my sheep and will seek them out. As a shepherd seeks out his flock when he is among his sheep that have been scattered, so will I seek out my sheep, and I will rescue them from all places where they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness. And I will bring them out from the peoples and gather them from the countries, and will bring them into their own land. And I will feed them on the mountains of Israel, by the ravines, and in all the inhabited places of the country. I will feed them with good pasture, and on the mountain heights of Israel shall be their grazing land. There they shall lie down in good grazing land, and on rich pasture they shall feed on the mountains of Israel. I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I myself will make them lie down, declares the Lord God. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, and the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them in justice. And they shall know that I am the Lord their God with them, and that they, the house of Israel, are my people, declares the Lord God. And you are my sheep, human sheep of my pasture, and I am your God, declares the Lord God.”
Ezek 34 (various verses)

Sometimes, this prophecy is fulfilled via ordinary people. Andy & Jim are two that the Lord used to search me out & gather me in, and to plant seeds that would later take root. And I will always be grateful...

bb

Detailed update...

I was reminded last week by loving friends that I was remiss in updating the blog on the MDA trip. Sorry about that!

Great trip out. Even Baton Rouge wasn't bad traffic-wise. (It was AWFUL for the return trip, but that's another thing...)

Stayed w/ a very sweet HS classmate again. (Reminder to USM types: she's a proud USM grad who represents the school well!)

Speaking of USM types who rep the school well, we rolled out there--again--in a nice ride loaned by another friend who's a proud USM type.

Thursday was bloodwork & P.E.T. scan day. As w/ the trip out, the waits were very short, which is good. (Especially given that I'm not allowed to have any food or--worse--coffee on P.E.T. scan day. *grin*)

Thursday night was a very nice Tex-Mex meal w/ another sweet HS classmate (who has let us stay @ her house as well...)

Friday morning: the latest most-important-Dr.-appt-of-my-life with Dr. Homsi who is my medical melanomam Dr. out there.

BOTTOM LINE: A good visit w/ good results.

Details:
Most important result: nothing new on the P.E.T. scan. That's huge w/ a history of metastatic melanoma.

Another very important result: the same little spot is still there on my chest wall. It's been there these last several trips, and is still there. (If you remember, I was to have surgery last May to remove this spot, but the surgery was cancelled after the P.E.T. scan then). They're not sure what it is. It has grown a little, but only a little. Thus, it's likely not melanoma, which tends to grow fast & aggressively. Dr. H. said it may not even be cancer at all. They don't know.

Therefore, we go back in May for another P.E.T. scan, and appt. w/ Dr. Homsi, PLUS, an appt. w/ Dr. Mehran the surgeon. My hunch is that they'll opt for surgery this time, tho I obviously don't know.

At any rate, a good visit, all in all. We're pleased.

I'll leave you with a quote from Dr. Homsi:
"You've already beaten all the numbers (odds) just by being here."

That is the handiwork of a sovereign healing God Who has chosen to keep the melanoma away and to keep me here for reasons that I'll not fully know this side of glory. It is certainly NOT because of intrinsic worth in this dude! I'm persuaded that in eternity we will discover that He chose to heal & keep me here in response to the prayers of so many of you. THANKS FOR PRAYING!!

Mike

Back On the Road Again...

...and I'm not referring here to the excellent song by REO Speedwagon. (although that song is now officially stuck in my head...)

Lisa & I head back out to Houston Wednesday, 2/17. It's time for another batch of nuking & bloodsucking (as I so delicately refer to it).

Routine followup appt.

As if there will ever again be such a thing for me...*sigh*

The Schedule:
--Wed. - drive to Houston (in a nice borrowed ride, courtesy of a buddy here!)

--Thurs. - blood work + P.E.T. scan
Note: no bkfst, no lunch, no morning coffee = Bummer!! On the plus side, we'll have a HUGE supper with LOTS of good Tex-Mex food @ Gringo's w/ two HS classmates & friends who landed out there and whose homes we've invaded before. I'm planning on embarrassing everyone @ our table w/ the sheer volume of food I'll consume. You've all been warned...
;-{)}

--Fri a.m. - the next in a series of "most-impt-Dr.-appts.-in-my-whole-life"

--Fri. afternoon - celebrate while driving back to H'burg (well, that's our plan anyway...)

We'll be staying w/ one of the two HS classmates, who is graciously opening her home to us again. (Note to USM friends: she's a proud USM grad who was a Dixie Darling during her days here in town)

We'll also be rolling in a much nicer vehicle than any of ours, courtesy of another great sacrifical giving type friend here who's letting us borrow his truck.

=============================================
Prayer Requests:
--safe travels to & from, and safe driving in Houston

--accurate scans that show "nothing to see here..." (in other words, pray that there's nothing amiss, & that the scans show that)

--peace that passes understanding (Philippians 4:7)

--pray for these VERY generous friends who let us borrow cars and invade homes; Please ask God to bless both of these friends--one lives here, & one lives there
=================================================

The bottom line answer to this question: "so, what's it like walking into M.D. Anderson?"
Absolutely overwhelming! One NEVER wants to walk in there as a patient. Pretty much nobody gets referred there by being slightly sick. (Remember, mine was stage IV in both lungs when I first made the trip in 08...)

With that said, we have had AMAZINGLY GREAT Drs. & nurses & techs. Our MDA experience has been very good (well,...good within the context of the previous paragraph...)

This trip's medical stuff:
--bloodwork - no biggie; they'll draw several vials from my arm/hand. It is mind-boggling though how many people hang out waiting to get stuck.

--P.E.T. scan - get hooked up w/ IV device; get injected w/ the nuclear stuff (mildly radioactive sugar solution, more or less...the cool movie-effect part is that they wheel it in on a cart in a metal container that's smoking all scary-like); forced lie-still nap for an hour or so in a small room; then the scan, which lasts about 40 minutes; the most, um, exciting part is when the tech says over the speaker "OK, Mr. Madaris, here comes the contrast solution"...Have you ever felt like you were losing control of your bladder? Yeah, this feels a lot like that...only you can't move...(why I thought you'd all want to know that escapes me, but there it is)


P.E.T. stands for "Positive Emission Tomography"...or "Pretty Expensive Test" whichever. (*grin*) The results of the test are quite amazing; essentially a 3D set of scan results that the Dr. can scroll through & slice & dice in different ways. What they're looking for is spots that "light up" on the scan, meaning something is drawing in LOTS of the sugar solution, meaning something's amiss.

Based on my experience w/ bad scans, picture a satellite photo of a solar eclipse...w/ the light from the sun shooting out in rays from behind the moon. If something like that shows up on a P.E.T., that's bad. (Seen those results on previous scans!)

We'll do the medical fun Thursday from 8 - 1 or so (depending on wait times); Lisa will be bored out of her skull, as she'll spend all this time waiting...and waiting...a n d w a i t i n g...

We'll meet w/ Dr. Homsi, my medical melanoma oncologist Friday morning to get the results. (reminder: "medical melanoma oncologist" as opposed to Dr. Mehran, my surgeon, and Dr. Kim, my lung dude, and Dr. Hwu my immunotherapy guy.) Just the one appt. this time, assuming nothing lights up.

So, it's time to unblock the travel routes & details I've blocked for 5 months now. *another sigh*

Your prayers are MOST welcome and MOST appreciated.

With Love & Hope,
Mike

p.s. - THANKS SO MUCH FOR YOUR PRAYERS FOR US!!!
Only eternity will show you how much you & your prayers mean to Lisa and me...For now, "thank you" plus hugs to any whose path I cross will have to suffice.

She asked me out 1st...& then I returned the favor!

1981. Sadie Hawkins Valentine's Day Banquet @ the Baptist Student Union on the campus of the University of Alabama. ("Sadie Hawkins" = ladies ask the guys; totally old-school concept dating back to those quaint, honorable times when guys actually did the asking...)

Aside from my excessive hotness (*grin*), there was pretty much nothing to commend me as a good Sadie Hawkins ask target. Really, I wasn't much of a catch back then. I'm not much of one now either, but I REALLY wasn't a catch then. Thus, I threw myself at her shamelessly, until she finally got tired of it & asked me to the banquet.

Oh, we had hung out a bit in group settings, and she had humored me by patiently enduring numerous requests along the lines of "hey, listen to this obscure hard rock CD nobody's ever heard & with good reason". She & her roommates were friends with my roommates. Plus, most conveniently, our apt. was downstairs & across the breezeway from their apt. (The Lord knew that while I'm pretty clueless now, I was REALLY clueless then; thus this little bit of gracious providence for which I am eternally grateful...)

But Valentine's Day, 1981 was our first official date. It must have gone OK. There were other dates. Then *lots* of other dates. Then a fraternity pin (speaking of old-school cool-ness...)...followed by a proposal.

There was a wedding in Gilbertown, AL on June 2, 1984.

A move to Terre Haute, IN. A house purchase & everything. A kid playing grownup, with a house, a job as a professor, debt,...the works!

Then a son.

A move to Hattiesburg, MS in August, 1989.

Followed shortly by a daughter.

Along the way, there have been triumphs, tragedies, job changes, illnesses, financial (& other) challenges, successes, failures, joys, sorrows...But through it all, dreams fulfilled & prayers answered beyond my wildest imaginations.

She still pretty much looks the same; I singularly do not. Oh, what a journey it's been! Can't wait for the next 29 years! And it all dates back to Valentine's Day 29 years ago.

I'll let some songwriters complete this one.

"In joy and sorrow my home's in your arms
In a world so hollow, It's breaking my heart
Oh girl we are the same; We are strong and blessed and so brave
With souls to be saved, And faith regained
All our tears wipe away
In joy and sorrow my home's in your arms..."
HIM, "In Joy & Sorrow"

"But, Baby, what will we do when it comes back to me & you? "
Wayne Watson, "Watercolor Ponies"
(note: Is yours a child-centered home? Might want to re-think that if so. I'm glad our children knew/know they are DEARLY loved and HUGELY missed...and I'm VERY glad Lisa & I have spent some time on our relationship these past 25 years of married life! As Wayne W. says, "the watercolor ponies will one day ride away...")

"I often dream of nights I'd sit and watch the rising sun, and I spoke to you of life, and of the battles I had won. A warm wind blowing memories makes me long for home, and a cold wind blows much harder and makes me wanna roam...I search to find the meaning of the path that I am on, and I hope that my direction will not make me walk alone..."
Axe, "Battles"
(One of my all-time favorite songs...pulled me through some very dark days/months/years by giving me hope. Plus, it just kicks booty as a great rock song w/ a great guitar solo...*smile*

Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.”
Genesis 2:18
(One can almost imagine the Lord looking forward in time at me & going "and it's especially not good for that guy to be alone...")

"And now a smile, a face, a girl that shares my name,
Now I'm through with the game, this boy will never be the same.
Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with ya honey,
Everything will bring a chain of love.
In the morning when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes,
And tell me everything is gonna be alright....
Loggins & Messina, "Danny's Song"

"Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh..."
Genesis 2:24

"And my lady is the softness in my world...And my lady hears every note I play..."
Mountain, "My Lady"
(Another favorite by a favorite group. I sang along w/ this for years, dreaming the whole time...and then the dreams came through in Tuscaloosa, AL. I *love* the line "my lady hears every note I play" even though I don't play music any more. Excellent description of Lisa...)


HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO MY AWESOME, LOVELY BRIDE!!!

With more love than I could ever capture in words,
Mike

P.S. - thanks for asking me out! ;-{)}

For Bill & Traci

(note: I wrote this last Thursday, 2/4, with final edit & finishing touches today)

So, here I sit @ 12:15 a.m., well past my bedtime, pondering the depths of God's providence.

Our dear friends Bill & Traci Massey got the call NOBODY wants to get today. Hodgkin's Lymphoma, a.k.a., Hodgkin's Disease, is Traci's diagnosis. They go to the Dr. tomorrow. (update: and to the oncologist later this week)

Cancer sucks.

Not a word I use very often...but I use it here because it fits. How else to describe this wonderful, godly, servant-minded, Christ-centered, go-the-extra-mile couple with three young daughters getting the phone call today that changed the entire trajectory of their lives??

But cancer is most assuredly NOT ultimate!!

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair...So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:7-8, 16-18

*That* my friends, is what is ultimate. Re-read this phrase slowly: an eternal weight of glory...

My friends Bill & Traci already had one of those secured. Yet in His providence, our Lord has seen fit to somehow magnify their weight of glory.

I praise You in this storm, & I will lift my hands, for You are Who You are no matter where I am...and every tear I cry, You hold in Your hands...You never left my side...and though my heart is torn, I will praise You in this storm...
Casting Crowns, "Praise You in This Storm"

(press >>>THIS<<<>every Thursday night via ipod while driving back from night class)

Now I guarantee you that where they are right now, & where they will likely be in the days & months to come will NOT seem like a "light momentary affliction." But in light of an eternal weight of glory, it will be.

As Margaret Becker once sang, "when glory, ever more glorious, stands revealed" that eternal weight of glory will be seen. And in its light...in His light...Hodgkin's Lymphoma will seem like a blip on the radar screen.

But not yet.

Right now, it is an all-consuming thing that would consume Bill & Traci's every thought and devour every moment of time they have.

So would you please join me in praying that the sovereign Lord of the universe, who has called us by name & we are His, would sustain and encourage and empower and equip them?

And would you please join me in praying that my friend Traci would be totally & completely healed of this dreadful disease?

And would you please join me in praying that God would magnify Himself and His name and His character through Bill & Traci's time in the valley of the shadow?

Thanks so very much!

With a heavy heart,
Mike

p.s. - a passage my oncologist shared with Lisa and me on our first visit to his office in December '05:
But now thus says the Lord,
he who created you, O Jacob,
he who formed you, O Israel:
“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
Isaiah 43:1-3