Divine Detour Along an Irregular Trail

The Detour Leads Where?!

Short? 

A short post from the Wild Gray Goose? 

Well, not zackly.  Meditating over this beach sunrise IN the Wild Gray Goose (the name we lettered on to our travel trailer), I read my January then my March posts.  They were too good to let slip on to the past post right margin.  A read, smile, teared.  You see, my trail has been irregular and irregularly wonderful.  It's all a gift from a God gracious beyond comprehension. Then the detour.  Such requires re-thinking, re-planning, but mostly re-committing to the Wild Goose I follow no matter the trail, speed bumps, or detour He guides me past.  Yes, "past." 

I think I was taking for granted the laziness of my formerly passive prostate cancer. When I sent the Provenge special forces to the battle, the pc enemy screamed, "GAME ON!!"  Seems there are now outposts in multiple locations in my skeletal and lymph structures.  I start chemo in five days.  Yuk!

SO, it may just be that my contribution to man/woman kind, especially my faith-framed brothers and sisters, is that I aquit well my Finish Well leg of The Race.  Thus, I offer you five minutes, perhaps more, of reflection by directing you to the January and March posts.  Poetic but centered, these captured my state of being along the trail.  Turns out that race is neither a dash nor a marathon, but a cross-country run over obstacles and even detours.

I Starbucked a post at Gendads while awaiting my visit to the oncologist.  Thoughts for you when you are caught between learning What Is and knowing I AM is in utter control.

Winging My Way in Life's Dusk-Light

I am prompted this morning by my quiet wonderings our of yesterday's event as big expensive medical machines scanned silently for a battle report; my Provenge-trained guys in white hats against the fierce black-hatted prostate cancer thugs.  Mostly it's long-forgotten, esoteric writings that give hints of glory found at life's end.  I thought it was time for an update.  Thus, this morning's journal entry.  Long, but deep.  Don't start reading if you don't have five more minutes to grab some dusk-light.

Thoughts along the trail are more like a slide show than a You Tube video of the journey; more a head and heart report than a travelogue.  Oh, but what a journey it has been--AND IS!  There is room in my heart but no words my lips can shape to express the inexplicable glory of Grace and the presence of Jesus deep down and throughout my being.

Seems my life's light is taking on the faint glow of dusk. My reflections may be prompted by the old fashioned stinky day, now yesterday's history; too busy by half, too unfulfilling by whole.  Or, could it be the passion for Cari, Taylor, Colton, Brooke, Gracen, Charis (oh, yes, now there is The Gift that keeps on giving), and Kira.  And Matt?  Distinct because sons-in-law as best friends reflects the unique role we play in each other's lives.  Or, it may be that all of this is framed by the extraordinary love of an extraordinary woman and which makes the reading of today's Scripture so powerful with joy that I find myself--again, inexplicably--grateful, even excited, that the Journey's end is just over there around the corner shimmering in the somehow glorious glow of dusk.

Whatever the source--or, The Source--this glow from the deeps of my soul and the tear forming just above each corner of my smile encompasses a very small world.  I have no fame of worth that is not granted by these few.  And, it is enough.  And it brings cherished light to David's rejoicing in Psalm 9, spoken out of the terror of life gone wrong, "I'm thanking God from a full heart with whistling, laughing, singing, and jumping for joy."  Then my pal Apostle Paul said of a life of worship portrayed vividly in Philippians 4(v4-9) that a "sense of God's wholeness will settle you down."  To which I said, "AAAaaaaah, yes, this God I worship and walk with is worthy of more praise than I can give Him."  And I can ride around that corner on  the trail lighted only dimly at dusk but somehow bright and alluring as if I were finding Home.

Journaling Wild and Gray

Don't make too much of the "Gray" thing.  Life is bright, exciting, full--too full.  "Gray" gives mystical tone to the Wild Goose, the description of the Holy Spirit by my Celtic forefathers.  And mystical and myserious and magical and mighty are the wings I follow.  Seldom predictable are the glens and glades, the mountains and the valleys, the glistening lakes and the swamplands, He will take me to.  Wonderfully odd that He is the portion both indwelling and guiding me of the immutable God with Whom there is "no shadow of turning."  And Who awaits my presence.

The "Wild" part sure fits, though. For some--not all--"wild" and "wonderful" are twins.  I'm pensive today.  You can smile when pensive, you know. I smiled scanning my journal and pondering what a wonderful and wild life He had assigned me.  Yes, "assigned."  It's a Grace thing.

So, I wrote this morning.  Really, I WROTE.  By hand.  In my journal. That holds lots over keyboarding.  Keep in mind the frame of reference; cancer, Deep Rivers Family Ranch, the Book (Generational Fathering), and a joyful marriage that fills in the pastels of a wild and wonderful life.

One journal section reads,(After reading, again, Proverbs 19:21, "We humans keep brainstorming options and plans, but God's purpose prevails.").  "I make my plans as if the end were in sight.  Well, it is.  And I do.  It's just that the fog of God's mystery shrouds the milemarkers ahead.  I guess I'll catch a glimpse of my Father's cairns here and there. Wassat I hear? I believe it's the honk of my Friend luring me on ward into the Grand Mystery."

How am I...REALLY?

My blogging sabbatical now over, I find myself a wee bit guilty about not keeping my Wild Gray Goose pals up to date. 

I affirm "Wild."  This has been a wild, wild and wonderful time, these last few months for this cowboy and his bride.  Halted writing Generational Fathering and spent our time, energy, a some of our limited (very) wealth with our extraordinary family, Matt and Cari (daughter) Pettit and their new venture, Deep Rivers Family Ranch.

If I said "we're passing the baton" would you get the analogy?  It's a real-life picture of what the Lord God and Trusted Heavenly Father is doing in all our lives.  Picture us still huffing and puffing having finished the hard runs around the track, but we're watching Matt and Cari pick up the pace to rescue struggling families by interventional whole-family therapy on the ranch using equine assisted therapy with their five horses.  Sound exciting, doesn't it?

Ok, now for the real and very personal issue in our lives.  Yes, I am gearing my writing effort back up to see marketable drafts of  Generational Fathering ready by summer.  This is framed by the advance of my Prostater Cancer.  Stage Four Metasticised.  BUT you need to know three things.

1) I am receiving hopeful new and recently FDA approved Provenge.  Treats and "trains" my own blood to attack the pc cells. 
2) I am under no limitations, pain, or even awareness of the cancer.  I do have some interesting side effects of the female hormones as part of the treatment.  Of the 37 possible side effects, I get only hot flashes.  Carolyn and I laugh often as we try to syncopate hot flashes.  As a tentive marker down the trail, I am counting on five years. 
3) I am in full trust in my Lord's choice of events for my life.  "Finishing well" has new, more urgent meaning.  While more relaxed and less "commanding"  (Carolyn credits the hormones) in my lifestyle, I have this exciting sense of being in the closing stages of the great chess game of life where every move counts.  In my case, I am confident of the victory that has been won on my behalf  by the Lord Jesus with whom I will spend eternity.  Lots of freinds and family to meet there, including the ones who'll say "Thanks for introducing me to salvation and to eternal life."

Does this tell you the story?

MYSTERIOUS AND WONDROUS

Pretty much sums it up, Mysterious and Wondrous.  That date just below, April 14, should read today, July 18.  I liked reading what I sensed in the journey back then.  The mystery is in the Sovereign Father's gracious care over me compounding the mystery of  Prostate Cancer.  Don't feel a thing.  It's the monster lurking in the shadows. But as death has no sting, Grace tames the monster. While it is still ugly and barely restrained by medication, the taming is in my sheer lack of fear. The Gray Goose comforts me; His call is slightly  muted and doesn't drive me wild as before, but there is no more assuring a chorus, than His call...I swear I hear tones of the Heavenly Host echoing in the background.

PASSING...NOT AWAY BUT ON

Following the call of the Wild Goose frames the way early Celtics saw God's leading, His Holy Spirit. That quiet, haunting, clear call comes from within for those indwelt by that Spirit.  Rebirth through Jesus,  our Savior, assures the Goose has nested, though He never rests.

Then there is life's long journey to consider...actually our lives are a very short trail when looking back from its latter parts.  It's value beyond survival is all about following the call of the Wild Goose.  The unexpected--like our son's sudden, untimely death at 31--or the inevitable--like aging often accelerated by cancer like my slowly progressing variety--is an expected part of the short story we call our life.

When seen in this context, life's design and purpose takes eternal dimensions.  We all think about it now and then.  Life's end, I mean.  Ironically, the earlier the better.  Here is where I put in my pitch.  If I may extend the metaphor,  I want to repeat the Wild Goose's call.

Life's end is not about "passing away," a strange euphonism, to be sure. LIFE IS ABOUT PASSING ON. Ok, "passing on" to a better, an eternal life.  Sure.  But what about passing on the values, the spirit, the milestones of a Walk With God to those heirs of your journey can impact what seems sure a much darker, more chaotic world than we have known.  It's called LEGACY.  And a godly legacy is not accidental, it's intentional.

That's why I invite visitors here to www.gendads.com, my blog.  The blog is all about passing IT on.  This site is about what's going on in me.  Inside the cancer (prostate) journey and in my heart, a heart made so much richer by my following the Wild Goose call to invest my life in my grandchildren.

ODD THING, THIS "BUCKET LIST"

Yikes!  Oct 26 my last post? Odd. This one of the three I participate in is my favorite.  Few visit; sorta private.  This would leave you to believe I'm delinquent or dead.  Not yet; "dead" that is.  Guilty on "delinquent."  May I explain?

Been caught up in my passion...legacy building.  It's my swan song, my "finishing well" focus.  It's living with the grandwonderkind, daughter and soninlaw for weeks at a time and writing; living it and writing it.  Writing these days is compressed stuff.  Blogging on http://www.gendads.com/ and http://www.legacydad.com/ and doing queries to editors of major mags in vairous readership cultures. (Harder than writing the actual article). The book, Generational Fathering, not so much.  Soon will pour four isolated days each week. I hope. We'll see.  You can watch the progress on http://www.generationalfatheirng.com/

THREE GENERATIONS OF COWPOKES

This brings up the "bucket list". Yes, I'm still working on the five-year statistical framework of my fourth stage prostate cancer. If it were you, would it be a good thing? It is for me. Forces focus and value to each minute, each activity. Multiplied by 365, that just ain't that many days. Does 1852 sound like a lot. It didn't yesterday. Today it's 1851. "Yikes!" again. Which is why I go to my bucket list. Revision 6 or 8 or something. But, I do like this one I shared in a blog comment.

Before I share may list, let me share this. My son's life was transformed JIT by reading "Sacred Romance" by Curtis and Eldredge. He died six months later of cancer. He both announced and demonstrated the "romance" notion. Chapters 11 and 12 are a gateway to "getting it," to understanding what the journey is all about. "Coming Home" is a clue. Life of my 75 (or so) years is preparation for the rest, the un-countable years into eons into eternity. I'm ready. Soooo, dear friend, my "Five Year Window" frames my look out on to the Coming Home scene with Jesus and the Heavenly Hosts smiling and singing, probably dancing, too.

Well here 'tis:
A REAL Bucket List...as in "kicking the bucket." A narrowed and definitive window to Walk With God, love my wife more and better, family and friends, too. Rest of the bucket list gets less important, less urgent. Funny how the urgent "geterdone...NOW!" list is so much shorter. Yes, The Book(and speaking on Generational Fathering.com), and the Elk hunting trip as a passage rite for the oldest two grandsons, finishing the personal testimony tract--AND using it. Rest of the list is in 8 point type. Long term legacy stuff tops that list. Like maybe a trip to India with four grandkids so they know the world is bigger and poorer than they thought. A visit to the Cameron Clan homeland in south-central Scotland. Short term semi-legacy stuff like, magazine articles and blogs galore, return to Alaska with whole family( and revisit a Ketchikan high-lead logging site of my youth) and take the family by train to Denali, one sky dive (not toooo short a legacy, I hope), my Wheaton College 50-year class reunion, maybe one more beach honeymoon with my still-beautiful, still-alluring and fun bride. That's a pretty full five years. Bonus time will be spent hardening the foundation of our grandchildren's future as lighthouses for the dark generations of the future, maybe pitching in with daughter and son-in-law's dream ranch for intensive full-family therapy.

WHEN THE ONCOLOGIST CALLS AND THE LORD SAYS, "Son, ..."

Think back on it, even just a little.  Do you realized how many times from our youth onward we who know we belong to God's family through our spiritual rebirth talk about "the end"?  My most recent "end times" phrase has come allive...so to speak.  I pray the author of the ditty they call an epitaph on my tombstone will include it.  Yes, it comes from deep within my personal and spiritual DNA; "Finish well."  "Wait!...Hey, what do you mean, 'FINISH'" ?!!

 

What if, suddenly, there is a number attached? Like a date, like so many years?  Like 5x365=1826..."more or less," so to speak?  It's the material of novels, drama, and comedies. Here's how USA Today put it: "Death bites. But dying while healthy, rich and free enough to drink life to the last drop is getting great press, thanks to 'Bucket List'".  The comedy about living to the fullest before you "kick the bucket" is three years old and still people are circulating things like, "100 Things To Do Before You Die".  It's great sport.  Unless there's a time frame.   

At lunch after our oncology consult, Carolyn and I drew up a bucket list, and
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WHEN A FRIEND ASKS A SIMPLE QUESTION: "How's it going?"

None of us need walk alone on our way to the Wedding.  Though the Groom awaits, the journey there is anything but smooth. 

Got a note this morning.  "How's it going?"

He's a friend.  A good one.  Never "met" him, though.  Except electronically, and that was through mutual comrades in the Ransomed Heart Net online-sphere.  Then our similar blogs Strategic Fathering.  I knew he was my kinda guy when he signed off, "JC Dude".  "So," he asked, knowing I'd recently discovered that my once-contained Prostate Cancer had begun to wander,"How's it going?"  So, my answer starts out cute, then got more more serious.  Reflect on the latter. 

No, "fun" isn't a form of denial in this case.  It's a field leveler.  When the notion of life's finality become reality there are several routes built around attitude. 

Here's the one I took.  Wonder with me if you'd take the same trail through the forest, the one to the sunny glen or through the dark, if majestic, evergreens. . .    
 

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SPOSE THEY'LL FIND HIM...THE "BAD GUY"?

Dunno.  Prolly not.  Finding the "Bad Guy," I mean.  Caps indicate proper (or, in this case, "improper") noun, a name.  The Devil? No, 'he" is really an "it". 

Confused?  So's everyone, even the Urologist and Oncologist.  They don't say "confused" because they are paid a lot--A LOT!!--to know stuff but not tell stuff.  But their eyebrows lift in response to "Where's it going?"   "How far along?"  "How long?"

The "bad guy" ain't there.  In the world of blaming Bush and almost anyone/anything else, I suppose we could pin this one on God.  Yea, the Sovereign One, Creator of Heaven and Earth.  Jesus, we are assured, is the creative agent AND the "Sustainer" of earth.  And health.  Let's blame them.  I do. 

After all, it is a mean, onery, vengeful Judge who carries out the punishment for sin just like He said He would. Blame Him, not Adam who stood by passively as the Snake cajoled his wife.  He watched her succumb and didn't even lift the Garden hoe to the Snake's head.

OK, enuf bloggish sermon.  I do blame God for the extraordinary life that has no explanation but Grace.  It's been a long one, in and out of more danger than a Tuesday evening of TV.  Seventy years worth and, they tell me, probably ten years or more to go.  At least I know what my schedule is. Sorta. 

So, other than Adam (and Obama is just as related to him as Bush), ain't no one to blame.  You take the Whole Story to account and recognize every day we have is a gift from the Source.  

Romans put it this way in 5:17(Message)  If death got the upper hand through one man's wrongdoing, can you imagine the breathtaking recovery life makes, sovereign life, in those who grasp with both hands this wildly extravagant life-gift, this grand setting-everything-right, that the one man Jesus Christ provides?

Have you visited the book site recently.  I just did.  I LOVE it.  (Which is why this is a break in my headlong effort to meet a book proposal deadline).  http://www.generationalfathering.com/  Subscribe, why don't you?


  

CONTEMPLATING DEATH/LIFE...FOUR GENERATIONS APART

She almost died.  But for immediate, savvy action by her dad, a survivalist and therapist, wee little Charis, faced the end of her life at one year and one week.  Way out on the Aquarius primitive campground in Utah's Boulder Mountain, three family groups had a moment of horror.  Gathered for breakfast someone noticed Charis was struggling, not breathing.  Before panic spread to chaos, dad upended his precious new life by her feet, whacked a couple of times.  Nothing came out, but breathing and serious crying followed.

Breathing and crying are pretty typical human activities.  The former is always a good thing.  The latter?  Well, crying, spelled "whining," is typical, seldom good.  There is pain, crying, gain.  Good thing.  There is sad, hurt, overwhelming-life-stuff crying.  Let's face it, since the Fall, there are mosquitos at Aquarious, vipers in the desert, and "snakes in the grass" of our lives.  But WAIT...crying is a sign of life.

The phone call prompted fears and tears at even the thought of our extraordinarily precious granddaughter, Charis, not being there to greet us at Christmas.  It also prompted deeper thougthts about my own life.  Three days apart, Charis was one and I was 70.  HMMmmm.  She's alive and quite well with the Aquarious incident to remind us how fragil life is.  I go TODAY for a consultation on my prostate cancer.  Second procedure didn't work.  PSA rising slowly.  Matt's not there to upend me and whack me to recovery.

The Last Three of Five Are in the Un-named Generation

Cultural characteristics change about every 20 years.  Academics label them with a tell-tale name.  So, academically, my Traditional Generation (then Boommers, Generation x, then Millennials) is four official cultures sets away from Charis (hers still unnamed until they see what characterizes it, but a return to traditional values and built-in digital savvy is a mixed blessing). 

So what?!

So, prayer is something God likes more than almost anything.  It's talking, relating, enjoying, thanking.  It's worship.  Here's the SO-WHAT:  Pray--worship--with a sense of life's uncertainty, its brevity.  Boy, oh boy is it brevitacious seen from this end.  Thank Him for your life and, yes, the tears you survived.  Pray for a friend.  Include me, if you will (and Carolyn who's most affected...I don't "feel" a thing).  Pray for at least one friend with illness, sadness, or who is missing out on personal salvation and its glory of eternal rescue from both fears and tears.   

[ To enjoy the delights of the Oldest's, Taylor's, Rite of Passage--AND MINE--go to our DIAblog, http://www.gendads.com/ ]

HOW DOES A SOVEREIGNTIST DEAL WITH VERY BAD NEWS (or is it?)

What's the difference in 3.4 and 10.7? Well, if you just turned 70 and the the recent operation for prostrate cancer was suppose to drop the PSA down to below .5, you'd be faced with the challenge that faces me. Is the Lord God Almighty, Maker of Heaven Earth and Commander of Angel Armies paying attention? He's busy. Did this one get by Him?


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