Tar Heels, Blue Devils, and the Easter Bunny

One of Keaton’s older brothers is currently getting a free ride through college because he can throw a football approximately 4 miles... and thread a needle with it.  The University of North Carolina came knocking on the Coker family’s door and the coaches took our boy up to Chapel Hill.  We were happy for him, but were also left with a bit of a quandary.  You see, we’d always been Blue Devil fans.  We like Duke.  They play round ball in Durham, and their coach is a fine member of the Long Gray Line.  We cheer for West Point grads around our house.  Coach K is the reason we’ve always worn our blue a few shades darker than the Carolina blue of UNC.  These two shades of blue are NOT compatible.  Not at all.  Anybody who knows anything about sports knows THAT.

But NOW, there’s a UNC jersey with the name “Coker” on the back.  Number 11.  And our loyalty is being tested.  We love our nephew, so we’ve been wearing lots of that “Carolina blue” lately around our house. (It’s actually more like Powder Blue, but they don’t like it when you point that out…)  And just as we were finishing our detox of all things Blue Devil, the story goes and takes another turn.

Keaton is about to graduate from Flowery Branch High School, and apparently he’s about to graduate from his current team of doctors at Egleston and Johns Hopkins as well.  They’ve been a great team, and we’re grateful for them… but our boy has gone and become a man.  He dwarfs his doctors, and the little plastic chairs in the Pediatric waiting room no longer provide a stable base for his physique.  So it’s time for us to play at the next level.

You’d think the world of medicine would work a whole lot differently than the world of major college football – but from my observations, the two have a lot in common.  Keaton is being recruited.  And we need to decide what color jersey he’s going to wear.  Cancer hospitals aren’t so different from major colleges in the way they recruit.  It's hard to get their attention at first, but once they find out ANOTHER hospital is looking at you... they get more aggressive in their recruiting.

Sloan-Kettering in New York would like to have Keaton.  But they’re yankees… and that makes me think of THE Yankees.  Wrong sport.  And we don’t really like pinstripes.  Let’s face it, they’re not very manly.  Sloan-Kettering will have to up their offer to entice us to wear pinstripes.

MD Anderson in Texas would like to have Keaton.  Longhorns.  Not a bad option truthfully.  They have good steaks and cowboy boots there.  We really like big steaks - and what's better than a great pair of western boots?  But really… who looks good in that awful Burnt Orange of the Longhorns?  Serious drawback.

Then there’s the place in California.  I think it’s San Francisco.  Keaton is sporting longer hair these days and it's a great shade of brown.  He also looks great, from time to time, as a bald man.  But blonde?  I just don’t see it.  California needs to sweeten their offer before we turn our O-Lineman into a Surfer Dude.

Did I mention Duke yet?  Yep.  The Blue Devils are in the hunt.  They’ve offered some serious cancer smackdown talk and have promised moxi with their clinical trials.  If you've followed this blog, … you know that we’re fans of moxi in our family.  I’m also lobbying for them to throw in some basketball tickets at Cameron Indoor for Aunt Marybeth… but so far, they haven’t taken that bait.  It’s really the only missing component.  We’d probably have a deal otherwise.

Emory isn’t taking all this transfer talk laying down, mind you.  They tell us they actually HAVE an adult wing on their campus.  (Who knew?) They are scrambling to come up with a counter offer.  It’s too early to discuss publicly, and our agent has sworn us to secrecy… but Emory is huddled up trying to entice us to stay with a promising clinical trial of their own.  Our interest is piqued, but they’re moving slow and we’re attracted to speed.

Decisions.  Decisions.  So many great Cancer Hospitals.  We’re thankful to HAVE options to evaluate.  Keaton’s last workout for the medical staff of each of those hospitals went great.  (Translation… his PET scan revealed that his brain cancer is still contained in the brain.  It hasn’t spread to his spine or any other parts of his body that we are deeming OUT OF BOUNDS.  That makes him more marketable.)

At the moment, we’re leaning toward the royal blue of Blue Devil Nation… so what in the world will we do with all those powder blue shirts?  How can we possibly have a Coker in each place?  

Then there’s the matter of the mascots.  Nobody outside the state of North Carolina REALLY knows what a Tar Heel IS exactly… but we pretend that we do.  I know the history, so spare me the informative emails.  But have you taken a close LOOK at the mascot that is supposed to represent that rich history?  I don’t get it.

And for that matter… what exactly is a BLUE devil?  Is it just a devil that pitched a toddler tantrum and held his breath till he turned blue?  That doesn’t seem worthy of Keaton’s calm, cool demeanor to me.

So I’m proposing a solution.  Let’s just create a mascot called the Tar Devil.  Maybe Joel Chandler Harris would lend us the image of the Tar Baby.  Close enough if we add horns. 

My kids love that story.  But all good stories about the Tar Baby have to include a rabbit.  Turns out… ours does.  Hold on and I’ll connect the dots for you.

Last summer, I had the privilege of leading a small group “Mother/Daughter” Bible Study.  God definitely has a sense of humor as I am personally devoid of BOTH of those qualifying components.  My mom has been in heaven for over four decades now… which is longer than she was ever on the earth.  And my house is teeming with testosterone.  Not a pink thing in sight with my husband and two sons.  Nevertheless, these mothers and daughters – and me – circled up and studied scripture together.  It was awesome.

The youngest daughter in the room was a little girl named Kylie… not yet a teenager, but close.  She took notes and leaned in and hugged me a lot.  Good grief, I was a goner.  That girl had me wrapped around her little finger in about two seconds flat.  Each time we gathered to study the bible, we also prayed for Keaton.  These girls didn’t know Keaton personally – as many of you don’t.  But over the summer, they became part of Keaton’s Warriors.

A month or so ago, Kylie’s knee started hurting.  Inconceivably, a slight limp has turned into a cancer diagnosis.  She’s in the early rounds of treatment.  Her hospital room is filled with stuffed animals – courtesy of shocked and grieving friends who haven’t yet wrapped their heads around this fight.  Of all of the stuffed animals, Kylie’s favorite is a soft cuddly rabbit approximately the size of herself.

On Friday, while Keaton was saying farewell to his pediatric team at Emory – he decided to stop by and visit Kylie.  They’d never met, but kids with cancer understand each other like no one else can.  

Keaton is a class act.  He wants to devote his life to ministry… not really the preaching kind, - just the kind where you meet people where they are and point their focus UP.  I’d say his career has officially begun.  I think it's poetic that it began Easter weekend.  And THAT'S the story of our journey through Tar Heels, Blue Devils, and the Easter Bunny.

If you’d like to expand your prayer life as you continue to pray for Keaton, we’d love for you to add Kylie to your list.  You can follow her story at:

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/kyliemyers

We’ll keep you posted as we head in a new direction for Keaton’s treatment, but I’m liking the Tar Devils.  Keep wearing those gray bracelets, and remember to PRAY FOR KEATON!

The 2nd Time Around

It snowed… AGAIN!  It was our 2^nd snow storm in less than a month in the Atlanta area.  I’m not sure that’s ever happened in my 30+ years of living in the big city. 

I noticed some interesting things during the double whammy.  There was a lot more energy and enthusiasm for the snow the first time around.  That first time, I took about 200 photos and even posted a little video to the blog of the kids out playing. We huddled by the fire to warm up and then dashed back outside to play some more.  We laughed as we bundled up in every piece of cold weather gear we owned.  It took 15 minutes just to zip everything and pull on dry socks and hats and gloves and scarves.  We didn’t care.  We were ALL in. 

The second snow storm a couple of weeks later?  Not so much.  We complained that it wasn’t “good” snow.  It was too slushy.  The sledding wasn’t fast or thrilling.  We huddled by the fire MORE and we played LESS.  Donning all the gear seemed like a lot of trouble this time.  Rather than celebrating “free days”, we began to grumble that we’d have to make up the missed school days at the end of the year.   

Lots of things in life seem harder the second time around.  If that’s true even for exciting things like snow days in the south, then things that were already hard the first time… like chemo, can seem insurmountable the second.

Keaton had another MRI last week.  It wasn’t the news we wanted.  As of today, he’s back on chemo.  More scans have been ordered and there will be many medical hoops to jump through in the weeks ahead.

Are we disheartened?  Yes.  Will it be hard?  Yes.  Is that the whole story?  NO!

After I talked to Keaton’s mom on the phone, I knew I couldn’t give in to the disappointment I felt in my heart.  I finished up some chores and then carved out a few minutes to sit quietly.  I grabbed my bible and told God I needed to hear from Him.  Where does a Christ-Follower find strength?  “Seek and you will find.”

I was flipping through some familiar passages, but they weren’t producing the hope I felt I needed.  So I just sat still and asked Him what He wanted me to hear.  At that VERY moment, the phone rang again.  It was Keaton’s mom, again.  She had a story to tell me.  And when we hung up… I knew God had answered my question.

As you might imagine, dealing with insurance companies is a nightmare during times of serious and expensive illness.  Knowing that the doctors wanted Keaton back on the chemo right away, and having learned that insurance companies do not share our sense of urgency, Sharon began making all the necessary phone calls literally from the car on the drive home from the doctor’s office. 

The insurance company has additional rules when the prescribed drugs are astronomically expensive.  For cost purposes, they mandate the use of particular pharmacies to acquire these drugs – typically the big chain stores.  Having our roots in small town USA, our family does not applaud this rule, as we prefer the personal attention offered by the “mom and pop” pharmacies.  But we want the drugs, so we follow the rules.

Today, the mandated particular pharmacy did not have the drugs on hand.  It was going to be Tuesday before they could get them.  Not acceptable.  Sharon got some moxi and told the insurance company exactly that.  (In our family, we affectionately call those moxi-moments “getting in touch with your inner-Doris.”  Doris is Keaton’s grandmother and is a force to be reckoned with.  We’re grateful she’s on Team Keaton!)  Miraculously, the insurance company caved and granted a ONE TIME exception to the particular pharmacy rule.  Sharon knew exactly where to go.

She walked in the door of their favorite “mom and pop” pharmacy.  They know her there.  Heck, they even deliver drugs to your house if you need them to do that.  The pharmacist wanted to help, but he didn’t have the required drug in stock either.  He, however, could get it by Monday – so at least that was one day sooner of cancer-fighting drugs into Keaton.  Sharon was grateful.  She chose gratitude. 

One of my favorite authors, Ann Voscamp, has a saying: “thanksgiving always precedes the miracle.”

At that very moment, a well-dressed blonde lady walked into the pharmacy.  The pharmacist looked up in surprise and then smiled.  He looked at Sharon and asked, “How would you like to have that drug today?”  

The well-dressed blonde?  Oh, no one special.  Just a drug rep from the company that happens to distribute the very drug Keaton needed.  A conversation ensued.  Hearts were stirred.  Arrangements were made.  And a drug sitting in Duluth, Georgia was delivered by courier to Sharon at a pre-arranged rendezvous point…today.

Chemo drugs weren’t the only thing delivered today.  Hope was delivered by God Himself… simply because He knew we needed it.

Hearing the story from Sharon led me to the scripture I needed earlier.   Familiar?  Yes.  But the pharmacy story chiseled the truth of it into my soul.  I like it best from a new translation of scripture called The Voice, "Know this: my God will also fill every need you have according to His glorious riches in Jesus the Anointed, our Liberating King." - Philippians 4:19

It's fair to say that we needed chemo drugs today.  But I think what we needed  even more was the reassurance that God is still with us.

Are you guys still with us, Keaton's Warriors?

Here's the thing:  that 2nd snow storm in Atlanta wasn't really any different than the first.  We just failed to bring enthusiasm to the sled.  This round of chemo won't be much different than the first.  We need your prayers and we need your support.  We need you to bring enthusiasm to the sled.  You up for that?  I assure you, your part will be easier than Keaton's, but it's vital.  So do what you do best.  Encourage.  Text.  Show up.  Call.  Break out those gray bracelets and do your thing.  If God went to the trouble today to let us know that HE is still with us... maybe you could too.  Nobody's quitting here.  O-Linemen don't do that.

Snow Days

It snowed!  I know the news reports were horrible coming out of Atlanta... and they were all true.  People were stranded all over this city.  But the doom and gloom wasn't the WHOLE story.  This 4 minute video shows the other side of Snowmegeddon 2014.  The neighborhood kids made the most of it.

Take a look and remember the carefree days of playing outside in the snow.
(For reasons that are too technologically advanced for me... it takes about 10 seconds for the video to actually START playing once you click the arrow!)

The Trumpeter

The silent march was nearly over.  We had stood in the bitter cold; barely recognizable to each other due to all the layers of coats and hats and scarves we had tightly wrapped around us.   It was seriously cold, the kind of cold that causes you to lose feeling in your fingers and toes.  We had listened to political speeches and sang songs and gazed at all the Pro-Life signs that were held high by many around us.  My personality is not that of a natural activist, so I was new to the whole “Rally and March” thing.  To be honest, I was there by obligation.  The school my sons attend supports the Georgia Right To Life March every year by transporting the entire Middle School downtown to the State Capitol to the event.  I was a designated driver/chaperone.  This was my older son’s third March.  It was my first.  I felt a twinge of something over that fact.

It seemed fitting to march in complete silence.  They say the purpose of the silence is to symbolize the infant victims whose cries have been silenced through legalized abortion in our country. The death toll is now up to 55 million and is growing at the rate of 3000 per day.  The sheer numbers staggered my mind.  I thought about that as we marched around downtown Atlanta.  When there is silence, there is actually time to think.

I also thought about the professional lobbyist who made one of the speeches.  He made the point that we’ve spent billions of dollars in this county exploring the red planet, Mars.  Why?  To search for signs of life – any life… even single-cell-amoeba life.  Yet, we willingly destroy the most complex arrangement of cells ever created by God, at the rate of 3000 per day on our own soil.  I think about that as I march.  It’s new perspective for me.

I think about the lady who stepped up to the microphone and told the crowd that she was the product of rape.  Her biological mother was brutally raped at age 15.  And then her biological mother did a very brave thing.  She carried the child conceived in violence to full term and then she gave her up for adoption to a family who loved her from the start.  The speaker made the point that SHE was not a violent or brutal person despite her conception.  I’d never thought of it that way before.  I marched on wondering if I’d have that kind of courage.

I was warned that there may be hecklers, particularly as we marched around the campus of Georgia State University.  But here’s something I learned on the march: hecklers are more inclined to participate when it’s fair weather.  Their indifference and absence made an impression on me.  I glanced around at our Middle School students marching silently, with faces set like flint, straight ahead into the cold wind.  They were standing up for what they believe, no matter the weather.  I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat, and I felt honored to march beside our kids who were veterans of the March, even though their adult chaperone was a rookie.

We rounded the last corner of the route and headed back to the Capitol building.  This final street was particularly empty of bystanders.  The only people in view were a few policemen lining the route, looking relieved that their peacekeeping services were not needed.  And that’s when I heard it.  It stood in stark contrast to the silence of those marching.  Perhaps the acoustics of the clear, cold day aided in the amplification of the sound.  The lump I had worked hard to swallow returned instantly as my ears recognized the sound of a lone trumpet playing Taps.  

I craned my neck to find the source of the soulful sound.  When my eyes locked in on the musician, the lump won the battle and the tears began to roll down my cheeks.  It was a mom playing that trumpet.  She had a baby strapped to her back in one of those “baby hikers”, and a preschool child on each leg… maybe ages 4 and 2 or something like that.  She just stood there, an empty stroller and her kids as her only companions, and she played the 24 notes of Taps over and over.  I don’t know her story.  Perhaps she had an abortion early in her life and knows that the physical procedure heals but the scar on the soul never really does.  I don’t know if that’s her story, but it IS the story of a couple of friends that I love.  To them I would assert that the March is not just about “protest”, it’s also about redemption.  God can ease the pain of regret with the promise of reunion.  Amazing Grace.

Here’s the thing: I will likely forget everything I heard from the polished political speakers that day, but I will never forget that lone mother standing up for truth.  It reminded me of something the prophet Jeremiah wrote:

Thus says the LORD: "Stand by the roads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls.  But they said, "We will not walk in it.'  I set watchmen over you, saying, 'Pay attention to the sound of the trumpet!' But they said, 'We will not pay attention.'" - Jeremiah 6:16-18

I don't know if our participation in the Georgia Right To Life March made a real difference in the abortion debate in our country.  The cynics among us would say that "no one paid any attention."  But I learned something important from that trumpet-playing-mom.  Standing up for truth, no matter the specific debate, is really something between you and God.  I think He took note of that mom with her trumpet and I think He took note of our students shivering in the cold.  Did it change anything, really?  It did actually.  It changed something in me.  It transformed my mental image of an "activist."  No longer do I picture a loud, banner-waving, angry person surrounded by hoards of like-minded people.  Now I see it as a personal thing, a strong but simple thing.  Something that stands out the way a tiny penlight stands out in a dark room.  I've seen a true activist and I know what she looks like... and what she sounds like.

Seasons

While I was sitting in the metal bleachers (freezing my hinny off) at last Friday night's high school football game, God put these two contrasting images in my brain.  Amazing.  I came home and searched the archives for the photo on the left, and couldn't wait to unload the photos I had just taken - knowing there would be a version of the photo on the right.  I was startled that the body positions were so similar in the photos taken a year apart.  It was as though God was REALLY making a point to me that He did NOT want me to miss.

I was TRYING to pay attention.  TRYING to tune in and marvel at the faithfulness of God.  And then He went and interrupted my mental focus with such a force... it took my breath.  It wasn't a "breakthrough" or a new epiphany.  It was just a simple truth that was so crystal clear, it hurt my chest to try to contain the emotion of it.  Here's what He brought into my mind:

"And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered; so don't be afraid..." - Matthew 10:30

God was quite aware when the "very hairs" of Keaton's head numbered exactly ZERO.  And I have to believe He's applauded from heaven as each one has grown back.  

The doctors will not give us permission to use the word "remission" for about another 4 years.  (Doctors are a drag.)  But I wanted you to know that Keaton is doing really well.  Are there still daily struggles and physical hurdles to overcome?  Of course.  But the fact is, we couldn't have asked for a better MRI this last round.  We'll continue to hit our knees on a regular basis between subsequent MRIs... which will occur about every 3 months.  Thank you for praying WITH us.  Keaton's Warriors are the best on the planet.  

Seasons.  When we're in a season we'd rather skip, it feels like it will be that way FOREVER. But that's a lie - a very powerful and effective lie.  Satan wants us to give up.  Defeated Christians are not a threat to Satan's agenda.

Perhaps you are still in the middle of your difficult season.  You're stuck in the photo on the left and have no idea when the right half of your story will develop.  That's a hard place to be. I have some friends in that place. It's real, and a cute little blog entry isn't going to fix it.  But this much I KNOW: God is not absent or distant during that season.  We may look in the mirror and see NO hair (or no job or no financial margin or no community or no relief from the current struggle) - but while we're looking in that mirror, God is busy numbering.  He sees both sides of the photo right now.  Faith is the bridge between the two sides of the photo.  Journey on.  Don't quit.

"Listen to me you descendants of Jacob; you whom I have upheld since your birth, and have carried since you were born.  Even to your old age and gray hairs, I am He, I am He who will sustain you.  I have made you and I will carry you;  I will sustain you, and I will rescue you." - Isaiah 46:3-4  

But Blessed Is The Man

“One time, four of us boys were riding on the sideboards of our old Model T,” said Uncle Clifford as he stood before the crowd at Dad’s 90th birthday party.   One mention of the family’s old Model T was all it took to hook the SUV-driving crowd into the story.

Uncle Clifford, thoroughly enjoying the moment, continued, “One of ‘em looked down at Jute and said - (y'all know his name is Julian, but I call him Jute), ‘Jute, where are your shoes?’ And then Jute said, ‘Clifford ain’t out-growed ‘em yet!’”

The crowd howled with laughter – not just at the joke – but at the WHOLE THING.  Wrapped up in that one little story were so many things to celebrate:

• My 90 year-old Dad has a healthy 93 year-old "big brother" who still remembers, with great clarity, their glory days of growing up down the dirt lane.
• They are the lone survivors of a family of 13 children that endured the Great Depression without their father, who was deceased at that point. They survived by pulling together, making do with what they had, making their own fun, and leaning into the promises of God.
• That family had 6 girls and 6 boys (one sibling died as an infant) – so OF COURSE there were four boys riding on the sideboards!
• We've buried 10 of their siblings through the years, and most of the spouses of those siblings – so funerals have been more plentiful than parties.  But last night was a different deal.  Last night was about celebrating LIFE while the honoree was still able to enjoy it.  Every person there seemed swept up in the moment.

My two brothers and I, and our better halves, stumbled and fumbled our way through the whole planning process for this birthday party.  (Thank God for better halves!)  Frankly, most of us had no idea what we were doing!  We only knew that we wanted it to be a very special night for Dad.  We had plenty of food and nice decorations.  But I learned something really valuable when it was all said and done. 

I learned that what makes a 90^th birthday party REALLY great is the character of the 90 year-old himself.  Dad was the reason the party was so great.  The Social Hall at Sardis Baptist Church was filled to overflowing.  Each person there wanted a moment with Dad.  Each could have had a speaking part during the Roast, because each one had a story to tell.  Most could have relayed a story to the crowd about a time when Dad helped them out, made them laugh, encouraged them in some way, or brought them something fresh from his garden or from his catfish pond.  He’s THAT guy.  My Dad doesn’t have diplomas hanging on the wall or a fancy house, but he knows what has eternal value.  He’s been making deposits for 90 years in his Kingdom account.  Last night I realized that my Dad is filthy, stinkin' rich.

One of the activities we did at the party was to complete a Thumbprint Tree.  Ever seen one of those?  It’s used in lieu of a Guest Registry.  It starts with a drawing of a tree, with lots of bare branches.  Our tree was skillfully and lovingly crafted by my professional-artist-cousin, Joanne.  I tell her all the time that God has HER artwork hanging on HIS refrigerator!

As guests arrive, they place their thumbprint on the tree and sign their name in it.  Little by little, the tree takes on life and fullness.

I didn’t know it at the time, but God was weaving this blog post together from the very beginning of our party planning process, weeks ago, when I first asked Joanne about drawing that tree.  When I saw the completed Thumbprint Tree, I got a huge lump in my throat.  God brought this verse of scripture to my mind from Jeremiah 17.

But blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD;

  whose confidence is in Him.

He will be like a tree planted by the water

  that sends out its roots by the stream.

It has no fear when heat comes;

  its leaves are always green.

It has no worries in a year of drought

  and never fails to produce fruit.

Dad certainly hasn't been shielded from "heat or drought" in this world.  Among other things, he suffered the loss of his wife at an early age, leaving him two boys ( a teenager and a 9 year-old), and a 6 year-old GIRL to raise.  But Dad just kept trusting in the Lord and placing his confidence in HIM - even when it was HARD.  And from the looks of things last night, God is doing HIS part by keeping Dad's roots healthy.  My stepmother takes great care of Dad, and an entire community surrounds him with TLC.  And the fact that his Fingerprint Tree is now FILLED with "leaves" convinces me that Dad has truly "never failed to produce fruit."  I'm unspeakably grateful to be his daughter.

A favorite preacher of mine said recently, "the value of a life will always be measured by how much of it you give away." Last night I saw through the eyes of the crowd just how valuable my Dad's life is... and he ain't done yet!

Take that thought with you as you start another week.  In a culture that tries to measure our worth by the size of our house or the price of our car... truth says something different.  So send your roots out by the stream this week and let God begin to fill you.  There's nothing wrong with working toward a nicer house or a bigger car, but maybe the thing you can do this week to increase your true net worth THE MOST is to help a kid with his math, or make some phone calls on behalf of a friend who needs a job, or give a single mom an evening out by watching her kids.  God's economy is different.  My Dad gets it.  Happy 90th Dad.  I hope we do this again in ten years.

Bending Down

Holy COW!!!  Did you guys pray hard or WHAT?  If you didn't read the last post... this one won't make sense to you.  But if you did - this will make you smile.

Keaton served as one of the Team Captains for this week's football game - AND he played EVERY offensive series except one (I think.)  I gave up trying to take pictures, he was in there so much!!  Besides, cheering wildly is way more fun than hiding behind a camera.

In Psalm 116, these words are recorded:  "I love the LORD because he hears my voice and my prayer for mercy.  Because he bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath!" (NLT)

He cares about the cancer - but He also cares about the little things.  We have no idea what next week's game will bring, but for THIS week we stop and say "Thank You."  We thank God for being so intensely personal.  And we thank all of YOU for praying!

I want you to picture the truth of this verse from Psalm 116 as you go about YOUR week, and then just go ahead and ASK.  I don't know if you'll get the same answer that Keaton did this week, or not.  I am not God.  But I DO know that when I get a mental image in my mind and in my heart of God bending down to listen when I pray... I'm much more apt to ASK.  And I DO know He's good.

Keep the faith.

IN. THE. GAME.

Worse Than Cancer

Before Friday night, I’m not sure I would have believed there was much of ANYTHING “worse than cancer,” especially for a teenager.  But that was BEFORE.  On Friday night, I received an education in an outdoor classroom comprised of metal bleachers facing the 40 yard line.  And now I understand.

It was Friday Night Lights at its finest.  The band was loud and festive, and the home team made a grand entrance onto the field through a raised banner. 

I kept standing on my tiptoes trying to spot Keaton in the pack of Falcons racing onto the field.  It made me smile to see that he came out of the dressing room last.  He was savoring the moment, taking it all in.  I think he’s earned that right.  He took his time with the traditional rubbing of the statue, and then jogged to catch up with his teammates as they ran through the human tunnel onto the sidelines.  It was exciting and just, well, GREAT. 

I tried to process all the different emotions swirling around inside me.  Knowing the road Keaton has traveled for more than a year - the surgeries, the radiation, the chemo, the endless MRI’s and blood tests – and then seeing him suited up and ready to compete just felt overwhelming.  All I could do was mutter, “Thank you, Jesus.”  Keaton’s path right through the heart of aggressive brain cancer has been undeniably graced by the supernatural.  You see, he’s endured it ALL without missing much school AND without allowing himself to give up and just lay on the couch in front of the xbox like so many others would have done.  I watched him this summer on our family vacation, jogging and doing endless pushups and situps, all in preparation for his senior season of football.

And it was finally here!  The crowd was on its feet, the music was blaring over the speakers, and we were making complete fools of ourselves cheering for #70.  Who on earth cheers for a LINEMAN like that – I mean maybe a star running back or a flashy wide receiver, but a lineman - who does that? WE do, thank you very much, and YOU would have too if you had been sitting next to me in the bleachers.

Keaton got his chance during the 2^nd offensive series.  He is no longer a starter, but we already knew that.  We just wanted to see #70 making some holes, and he did exactly that!  The Flowery Branch Falcons SCORED on Keaton’s first series!!  May I just tell you that we nearly caused our section of the metal bleachers to collapse?  I am a short, white, middle-aged woman – but I’m pretty sure the entire crowd was impressed with my vertical leaping ability after that touchdown!

We had expected that Keaton would likely play every OTHER series.  We were mentally braced for that.  His stamina was still returning, so it made sense that he would share the O-Line responsibilities with others.  He was doing a GREAT job blocking for his tailbacks and quarterback, so I knew it was just a matter of time before he won back his starting position. 

The OTHER series came.  I stood up in anticipation, with the zoom lens aimed at #70.  He didn’t leave the sidelines.  And then the other, OTHER series came and still #70 remained on the sidelines.

Three and a half quarters of series went by, and Keaton remained on the sidelines.  His helmet stayed on his head and he stayed near the coach – ready to go in with just a GLANCE his way.  The glance never came. 

And that’s when I learned in my metal bleacher classroom, the lesson I never would have believed before last Friday night.  The thing that’s WORSE THAN CANCER is being treated like a kid with cancer. 

I suppose it’s human, as a diagnosis drags on, to begin to see a “patient” instead of a person.  We tend to focus on all they’ve been through.  We focus on the weight loss and the hair loss.  And by doing so, we fail to see God when He’s showing off right in front of our faces.  He’s inviting us into the story – to be PART of the story.  How?  Put him in the game.  Treat him like a kid… not the kid with cancer.  And then?  We should marvel at God as the kid performs.  That’s the part God invites US to play.  But sometimes we choose the safer route.  We mean no harm, of course.  We just feel awkward or maybe a little fearful.  We aren’t sure what to say.  So we glance in a different direction.  It’s just easier  that way.

There are always plenty of emergency vehicles on hand at a football game to take care of physical injuries or accidents.  But what sort of vehicle do you summon when the injury is a broken heart?  I kept looking, but one never came.

 

You may not know Keaton personally, but I’ll bet you know someone walking a hard road.  Maybe you DO know someone like Keaton, with a serious medical condition.  But perhaps instead, it’s a friend tangled up in a messy divorce, or a neighbor in serious financial trouble, or friends with a kid in rehab.  Ask God to bring to your mind the person in your circle of influence that fits the category.  And then pray for courage to pick up the phone.  Take ‘em to lunch.  Meet for coffee.  Share something going on with YOU and ask for their input.  PUT. THEM. IN. THE. GAME.

I love the stories of Jesus’ ministry in scripture.  I especially love the stories of His miraculous healings.  He didn’t just heal the physical ailment, He restored the whole person.  Remember when He healed the lepers?  He sent them to the priest so that they could be restored to their communities.  Jesus put them in the game.  How about that crippled guy who was let down through the roof?  Jesus healed him… and immediately told him to “go home.”  Jesus put him in the game.

We sat in the bleachers last Friday night feeling disappointed, but we chose to cling to the truth.  Paul said it best:  “We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance.  And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation.  And this hope will not lead to disappointment.  For we know how dearly God loves us.”  (Romans 5: 3-5 NLT) 

I know Keaton is developing endurance and strength of character.  I also know he’ll keep showing up at practice giving 100%, because that’s the kind of kid he is.  He’s surrounded by a great support system, including his O-Line Coach, whom Keaton has credited with being “his favorite coach EVER.”  Together we are coming around Keaton, and together we'll figure this out.  Cancer affects us all.

As you continue to pray for Keaton’s physical healing, please also pray for the aches and pains that never show up on an MRI.  And just for the record, Keaton handles those a lot better than his aunt.