Morgan Bolt's Blog, page 11
February 27, 2016
February 27th, 2016
This post comes to you from Lincoln Nebraska, where I'm sitting on a porch swing enjoying the 70 degree weather. We left early on Wednesday the 24th and drove into eastern Indiana, where a snow storm prompted us to stop for the night. Luckily our hotel was a mile down the road from a Culver's so I got a butterburger, cheese curds, and a concrete mixer (for those who don't know, a delicious concoction of frozen custard with things like Reese's peanut butter cups mixed in for added fat content and a more delicious flavor). I love midwestern food.
Thursday we drove to Lincoln. I guess I should technically say I drove, because I love driving and don't let anyone else drive if I can help it. I'm really enjoying being on a road trip. It's interesting to see just how many more birds of prey there are once you're across the Mississippi River. As someone who pays attention to such things, It's a pretty noticeable difference. Driving in Iowa or Nebraska, you can't go five minutes without seeing an american kestrel, red-tailed hawk, or bald eagle. It's also impressive to experience just how much space exists out here. Every time I've been out west, the vastness of it all helps keep everything in perspective. It also stands in stark contrast to the cramped confines of New York City. The dog park we went to here in Lincoln was probably ten acres and felt more like a repurposed cow pasture than anything else. It could easily have been two or three different parks in NYC.
Friday night we met up with a handful of relatives--grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, etcetera. Korynne's recital was far more than just an excuse for us all to get together though. Seeing her play was a real treat, and her talents and abilities are genuinely impressive. Today we all made the most of the beautiful weather, and after trying in vain to tour the inexplicably closed Capitol Building (which I suspect inspired the architecture for Naboo [a planet in Star Wars]), we enjoyed a lovely day spent touring the University of Nebraska campus and relaxing at a couple of parks.
Tomorrow begins our tour of national parks in the Southwest, starting with Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, a park that will be new for both of us. We're really looking forward to it, and we both are so grateful for the chance we have to go on this vacation.
Thursday we drove to Lincoln. I guess I should technically say I drove, because I love driving and don't let anyone else drive if I can help it. I'm really enjoying being on a road trip. It's interesting to see just how many more birds of prey there are once you're across the Mississippi River. As someone who pays attention to such things, It's a pretty noticeable difference. Driving in Iowa or Nebraska, you can't go five minutes without seeing an american kestrel, red-tailed hawk, or bald eagle. It's also impressive to experience just how much space exists out here. Every time I've been out west, the vastness of it all helps keep everything in perspective. It also stands in stark contrast to the cramped confines of New York City. The dog park we went to here in Lincoln was probably ten acres and felt more like a repurposed cow pasture than anything else. It could easily have been two or three different parks in NYC.
Friday night we met up with a handful of relatives--grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, etcetera. Korynne's recital was far more than just an excuse for us all to get together though. Seeing her play was a real treat, and her talents and abilities are genuinely impressive. Today we all made the most of the beautiful weather, and after trying in vain to tour the inexplicably closed Capitol Building (which I suspect inspired the architecture for Naboo [a planet in Star Wars]), we enjoyed a lovely day spent touring the University of Nebraska campus and relaxing at a couple of parks.
Tomorrow begins our tour of national parks in the Southwest, starting with Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, a park that will be new for both of us. We're really looking forward to it, and we both are so grateful for the chance we have to go on this vacation.
February 21, 2016
February 21st, 2016
My wife and I are heading off on a road trip Wednesday, so the normal schedule of Sunday evening blog posts will be thrown off a bit, though I do hope to still post often, if not regularly. I also suspect the next few weeks of blog posts will read more like a travel log than anything else, but since we're planning on going places like Carlsbad Caverns, Saguaro, Joshua Tree, Death Valley (I hear it's a wildflower year!), and other national parks, it should still be interesting, I hope.
Should the scans in a month or so find nothing of interest, this will just be the first of many road trips to national parks in the coming months and years. Should we get less-than satisfactory results, we'll both be immensely grateful for the chance to have spent a month driving to and camping at different amazing places in the southwestern U.S. Hopefully someday soon we'll get to plan for longer intervals than six short weeks at a time, but for now it's plenty, and we're going to make the most of every day we have.
Should the scans in a month or so find nothing of interest, this will just be the first of many road trips to national parks in the coming months and years. Should we get less-than satisfactory results, we'll both be immensely grateful for the chance to have spent a month driving to and camping at different amazing places in the southwestern U.S. Hopefully someday soon we'll get to plan for longer intervals than six short weeks at a time, but for now it's plenty, and we're going to make the most of every day we have.
January 31, 2016
January 31st, 2016
It's past time to talk about hair and cancer.
Last year I lost my hair. Got it back. Lost it. Got it back. I think I lost it again? Now I have it back. Before my ordeal with cancer, I assumed that people undergoing cancer treatment did not have hair, and that their hair coming back meant they were cured. Now though I know there really is no such thing as "cured" with regards to cancer, and that you cannot judge someone's treatment progress by their (lack of) hair. Even so, it can be hard to remember.
For the first few rounds of chemo--now amazingly over a year ago--I kept my hair. I shaved it off preemptively, thinking that I'd lose it right away when treatment began. Then we arrived in NYC and found out it wouldn't go anywhere until later rounds of more intense chemo. So there I was with my hair buzzed short, but not even starting to fall out. When it did finally go, it was surprisingly quick to come back, often making valiant efforts between rounds of chemo. In July I had a full head of hair and a weirdly soft black beard. I looked pretty swarthy and dashing. People often assumed I was done with treatment, though in truth I had another surgery, chemo, and two kinds of radiation treatments yet to go. As annoying as it might have been to have people I assume I was done, I really couldn't blame them. It's terribly confusing.
I too have made assumptions on the progress of others' treatment based on their hair. I can clearly remember being so glad last spring to see that one of the young patients we had gotten to know had her hair again. She must just be back for a follow up appointment, I stupidly assumed. Sadly my assumption based on her appearance was horribly wrong. She was merely between treatments, and her cancer had in fact returned, and to a terrible extent. Her situation has been and continues to be for me the most heart-wrenching part of this past year. Please, please pray for D.
That experience highlighted for me just how shallow we too often are. Western culture at least emphasizes physical appearance so much that we quickly evaluate and make assumptions based on looks alone. Cancer provides a great example of this. We see someone bald and thin and assume they have cancer; when we see their hair has come back, we presume they're all better now. Without knowing a person well, and taking the time to really understand their situation, we can easily draw wrong conclusions, even if we have lived through the same situation as them, even if we have found ourselves on their end of those false assumptions. How great it is then to love and serve a God who knows us for who we are inside, and does not judge on outward appearances.
Last year I lost my hair. Got it back. Lost it. Got it back. I think I lost it again? Now I have it back. Before my ordeal with cancer, I assumed that people undergoing cancer treatment did not have hair, and that their hair coming back meant they were cured. Now though I know there really is no such thing as "cured" with regards to cancer, and that you cannot judge someone's treatment progress by their (lack of) hair. Even so, it can be hard to remember.
For the first few rounds of chemo--now amazingly over a year ago--I kept my hair. I shaved it off preemptively, thinking that I'd lose it right away when treatment began. Then we arrived in NYC and found out it wouldn't go anywhere until later rounds of more intense chemo. So there I was with my hair buzzed short, but not even starting to fall out. When it did finally go, it was surprisingly quick to come back, often making valiant efforts between rounds of chemo. In July I had a full head of hair and a weirdly soft black beard. I looked pretty swarthy and dashing. People often assumed I was done with treatment, though in truth I had another surgery, chemo, and two kinds of radiation treatments yet to go. As annoying as it might have been to have people I assume I was done, I really couldn't blame them. It's terribly confusing.
I too have made assumptions on the progress of others' treatment based on their hair. I can clearly remember being so glad last spring to see that one of the young patients we had gotten to know had her hair again. She must just be back for a follow up appointment, I stupidly assumed. Sadly my assumption based on her appearance was horribly wrong. She was merely between treatments, and her cancer had in fact returned, and to a terrible extent. Her situation has been and continues to be for me the most heart-wrenching part of this past year. Please, please pray for D.
That experience highlighted for me just how shallow we too often are. Western culture at least emphasizes physical appearance so much that we quickly evaluate and make assumptions based on looks alone. Cancer provides a great example of this. We see someone bald and thin and assume they have cancer; when we see their hair has come back, we presume they're all better now. Without knowing a person well, and taking the time to really understand their situation, we can easily draw wrong conclusions, even if we have lived through the same situation as them, even if we have found ourselves on their end of those false assumptions. How great it is then to love and serve a God who knows us for who we are inside, and does not judge on outward appearances.
January 24, 2016
1/24/2016
Weekly blog posts will resume next week! Stay tuned...
January 10, 2016
January 10th, 2016
The uncertainties and questions surrounding the end of cancer treatment feel unsatisfying and cause confusion. Several times this past year, when I still had surgeries and more rounds of Chemo ahead, people assumed I was completely finished with treatment and totally cancer-free simply because my hair had begun to grow back. Honestly it seemed at times like others were downright obsessed with my hair, but that's another topic for another time. It was interesting though to see how people often thought of cancer as something that either is being treated or has been cured, as if those were the only two possible options.
It seems--in American culture especially--that we like to have two simple options. Things are either true or false, good or bad, or some other simple dichotomy. We often see black and white when a full spectrum of colors lies in between, and we fail to appreciate ranges of possibilities like we should. I could go on and on about this and I likely will sometime later, but for now I'll limit this to how people seem to view cancer treatment. I have had a hard time explaining to others that I don't know If I am done or not with treatment. I've barely even tried to explain to others that my oncologists would have preferred to keep me on chemo another year or more, but that they ultimately left that decision up to me, and I chose not to bother with maintenance chemo. Cancer treatment is a complicated and messy process. For many people, such as me, there is no single definite end point.
I finished my planned course of treatment back in October, with my last day of radiation therapy. Since then I've had scans, an ultrasound, and an abdominal drain installed and then removed. I still take a handful of pills daily, to combat the toll treatment has taken on my immune system. Who knows what else I may have done in the future, or if it will really be considered treatment or not. In large part, the scans I will have in early February will determine what comes next. And I am certainly not alone in having this type of experience. A friend of mine had surgery just this past week, to replace the titanium femur he had received last year. The first prosthetic femur worked itself loose somehow, so needless to say this was a very necessary surgery. While I wouldn't exactly consider his surgery a part of 'cancer treatment' itself, it is only because he had osteosarcoma in his leg that most of his femur had to be replaced with a titanium bone instead. This was, then, in many ways a part of his cancer treatment, even though he has been declared to have No Evidence of Disease. For many of us, cancer treatment becomes very uncertain once the planned course of treatment ends. Achieving NED can happen multiple times, with recurrences interrupting everything and wreaking havoc on the comfortable categories of cancer patient and cancer survivor. When dealing with aggressive cancers, it is nearly impossible to find an exact end point to treatment. Treatment just sort of slowly ends without any fanfare.
Given what I had seen of cancer prior to 2015, I would never have dreamed that the waters would be so murky at the end of planned treatment. Videos of patients dancing on their last day of chemo or ringing a bell to declare themselves cured are far more palatable and therefore popular than the unsatisfying kind of end to treatment I had. Add to that the fact that the weeks immediately after my last day of radiation were far worse than the weeks leading up to them, and it's no wonder people don't hear much about this kind of experience with finishing cancer treatment. We like closure. We like to mark the moment when one has moved from being in treatment to being cured. We like simple options, not the complex decisions and uncertainties than many of us with difficult cancers face.
In some ways, I am still getting treatment. As I mentioned above, I take pills daily as a result of my cancer. But I am also not actively receiving any medical care that actually combats cancer. It is a strange, in-between, waiting phase filled with uncertainties. We haven't bothered to make any definite plans for any time after my next scans. Once we have the results, we'll figure out what comes next. It is, to say the least, a rather odd way of living, one that defies attempts to label and place it in one category or the other. I may not be in treatment right now, but cancer still has a lot of sway in my life's course. In the midst of all the uncertainty, it is comforting to remember that God excels at bringing order from chaos.
It seems--in American culture especially--that we like to have two simple options. Things are either true or false, good or bad, or some other simple dichotomy. We often see black and white when a full spectrum of colors lies in between, and we fail to appreciate ranges of possibilities like we should. I could go on and on about this and I likely will sometime later, but for now I'll limit this to how people seem to view cancer treatment. I have had a hard time explaining to others that I don't know If I am done or not with treatment. I've barely even tried to explain to others that my oncologists would have preferred to keep me on chemo another year or more, but that they ultimately left that decision up to me, and I chose not to bother with maintenance chemo. Cancer treatment is a complicated and messy process. For many people, such as me, there is no single definite end point.
I finished my planned course of treatment back in October, with my last day of radiation therapy. Since then I've had scans, an ultrasound, and an abdominal drain installed and then removed. I still take a handful of pills daily, to combat the toll treatment has taken on my immune system. Who knows what else I may have done in the future, or if it will really be considered treatment or not. In large part, the scans I will have in early February will determine what comes next. And I am certainly not alone in having this type of experience. A friend of mine had surgery just this past week, to replace the titanium femur he had received last year. The first prosthetic femur worked itself loose somehow, so needless to say this was a very necessary surgery. While I wouldn't exactly consider his surgery a part of 'cancer treatment' itself, it is only because he had osteosarcoma in his leg that most of his femur had to be replaced with a titanium bone instead. This was, then, in many ways a part of his cancer treatment, even though he has been declared to have No Evidence of Disease. For many of us, cancer treatment becomes very uncertain once the planned course of treatment ends. Achieving NED can happen multiple times, with recurrences interrupting everything and wreaking havoc on the comfortable categories of cancer patient and cancer survivor. When dealing with aggressive cancers, it is nearly impossible to find an exact end point to treatment. Treatment just sort of slowly ends without any fanfare.
Given what I had seen of cancer prior to 2015, I would never have dreamed that the waters would be so murky at the end of planned treatment. Videos of patients dancing on their last day of chemo or ringing a bell to declare themselves cured are far more palatable and therefore popular than the unsatisfying kind of end to treatment I had. Add to that the fact that the weeks immediately after my last day of radiation were far worse than the weeks leading up to them, and it's no wonder people don't hear much about this kind of experience with finishing cancer treatment. We like closure. We like to mark the moment when one has moved from being in treatment to being cured. We like simple options, not the complex decisions and uncertainties than many of us with difficult cancers face.
In some ways, I am still getting treatment. As I mentioned above, I take pills daily as a result of my cancer. But I am also not actively receiving any medical care that actually combats cancer. It is a strange, in-between, waiting phase filled with uncertainties. We haven't bothered to make any definite plans for any time after my next scans. Once we have the results, we'll figure out what comes next. It is, to say the least, a rather odd way of living, one that defies attempts to label and place it in one category or the other. I may not be in treatment right now, but cancer still has a lot of sway in my life's course. In the midst of all the uncertainty, it is comforting to remember that God excels at bringing order from chaos.
January 6, 2016
January 6th, 2016
Hello! I just wanted to take a quick moment and let everyone know that an essay I wrote for BioLogos is now posted. You can read it at the link below, if you are interested. That is all!
http://biologos.org/blogs/jim-stump-faith-and-science-seeking-understanding/thank-god-for-cancer
http://biologos.org/blogs/jim-stump-faith-and-science-seeking-understanding/thank-god-for-cancer
January 3, 2016
January 3rd, 2016
Happy New Year!
I've never made any resolutions for the new year. I've always thought it a little weird to use an arbitrary date on a calendar to make changes in my life. That and I've probably never spent enough time reflecting and thinking about changes I may need to make. But this year I'm going to give it a go. Without further ado, I resolve to:
- Be more friendly, loving, and gracious. I've learned this past year that you never know what someone might be going through. Any interaction with anyone could be a chance to brighten their day, to share God's love, to brighten what could be a dark time for them. Christina and I have been blessed many times this past year by simple gestures of kindness, even from complete strangers. I hope to pass that on this year.
- Enjoy every moment for what it's worth. You truly never know what the future holds, and how much more time you have left. I want to enjoy every moment like it's the last one I have, and I want to be more present and invested in the time I have and the people I'm with.
- Gain weight. I hear it's normal in American culture to have a resolution regarding weight. So, I'm going to try to gain weight and get in shape. I'm planning on eating and exercising a lot. Obviously this resolution is conditional upon my health; if I have to go back into treatment for cancer then I don't see myself gaining weight, but I will still try.
- Finish at least one book, hopefully two. I have a few projects going on (see the "book announcements" section on this blog), but my main project is a follow-up series to the Tamyth Trilogy. The quickest way to describe it is to say it's sort of what 'The Lord of the Rings' is to 'The Hobbit'. I'm about halfway done with the first book, and hope to finish it and pursue a traditional course of publishing for it. Anyone know any literary agents? :)
- Love God and my neighbor better. These are the two essential teachings of my religion, and two mandates at which I fail daily. This is not so much a resolution for the year but one I need to make every day, and reflect upon regularly.
There are probably other resolutions I need to make (such as see 'The Force Awakens' at least three more times) but this short list will have to suffice for now.
I've never made any resolutions for the new year. I've always thought it a little weird to use an arbitrary date on a calendar to make changes in my life. That and I've probably never spent enough time reflecting and thinking about changes I may need to make. But this year I'm going to give it a go. Without further ado, I resolve to:
- Be more friendly, loving, and gracious. I've learned this past year that you never know what someone might be going through. Any interaction with anyone could be a chance to brighten their day, to share God's love, to brighten what could be a dark time for them. Christina and I have been blessed many times this past year by simple gestures of kindness, even from complete strangers. I hope to pass that on this year.
- Enjoy every moment for what it's worth. You truly never know what the future holds, and how much more time you have left. I want to enjoy every moment like it's the last one I have, and I want to be more present and invested in the time I have and the people I'm with.
- Gain weight. I hear it's normal in American culture to have a resolution regarding weight. So, I'm going to try to gain weight and get in shape. I'm planning on eating and exercising a lot. Obviously this resolution is conditional upon my health; if I have to go back into treatment for cancer then I don't see myself gaining weight, but I will still try.
- Finish at least one book, hopefully two. I have a few projects going on (see the "book announcements" section on this blog), but my main project is a follow-up series to the Tamyth Trilogy. The quickest way to describe it is to say it's sort of what 'The Lord of the Rings' is to 'The Hobbit'. I'm about halfway done with the first book, and hope to finish it and pursue a traditional course of publishing for it. Anyone know any literary agents? :)
- Love God and my neighbor better. These are the two essential teachings of my religion, and two mandates at which I fail daily. This is not so much a resolution for the year but one I need to make every day, and reflect upon regularly.
There are probably other resolutions I need to make (such as see 'The Force Awakens' at least three more times) but this short list will have to suffice for now.
December 20, 2015
December 20th, 2015
Tomorrow I'll be in New York City for an ultrasound of my stomach. The last set of scans came back somewhat inconclusive, and it seems I have a buildup of fluid in my abdomen. We'll know more tomorrow, but the plan is to drain it, a simple procedure compared to everything else I've had done. The scans also highlighted two spots of interest, both at the bottom of my lungs, likely inflammation from radiation, but we won't know with much certainty until I have more scans in a month. For now, we continue to live scan-to-scan, waiting and hoping for conclusively cancer-free results.
It seems fitting that we spend this Advent season waiting for good news, news that will usher in a brighter future. Advent is, after all, about waiting for the arrival of the Messiah, the deliverer who will establish God's kingdom here on Earth. Waiting for a God who enters into the messiness and uncertainty of this world, and looking for a tomorrow made better by God’s presence in it, seem especially fitting activities as I wait for definitively clear scans, whether or not I ever get them.
It seems fitting that we spend this Advent season waiting for good news, news that will usher in a brighter future. Advent is, after all, about waiting for the arrival of the Messiah, the deliverer who will establish God's kingdom here on Earth. Waiting for a God who enters into the messiness and uncertainty of this world, and looking for a tomorrow made better by God’s presence in it, seem especially fitting activities as I wait for definitively clear scans, whether or not I ever get them.
December 14, 2015
December 14th, 2015
When we got the diagnosis over a year ago now, I took the news much better than a lot of other people. Better than anyone, honestly. While, as I have talked about before, some of this is due to my generally carefree nature, I attribute a good part of this that to the fact that I, not someone I love, would have to go through it all. It would be far worse to have to watch someone else I care about enduring round after round of chemo, surgery followed by surgery, followed by still more surgeries, and truly nasty radiation treatment. On the other side of the coin, several people have expressed to me that they wish it was them, not me, going through it all. It is, I think, a natural reaction when we see people we care about suffering. We want to take it from them, to carry their burden and give them some respite from their trials. I would never let someone I care about take my cancer from me, even if that were possible.
In so many ways, I am grateful that it is me, not other people I know and love, going through this. For one, my body seems to handle craziness well, and to look at me now you would likely never guess what I've gone through this past year. My hair and beard are back, and I look rather fit and healthy, on the whole. I know that not everyone is so robust or able to handle such stress--mental and physical--without it taking a more serious toll on their bodies and their baseline level of health. I may be down about 50 pounds from where I was before this whole ordeal began, but it just makes me look like a runner, rather than a...whatever I looked like before. Couch potato, maybe? I haven't had any serious or trying long-term effects from my treatment this past year. That just isn't true for a lot of people going through this type of treatment, for various reasons. One of those reasons must be that, for whatever reason, I heal quickly. For that, I am immensely grateful.
But my thankfulness that it is me and not my wife, or brother, or sisters, or any number of other people going through this extends well beyond the practicality of how my body has handled it all and come out as unscathed as possible. The mental anguish that others must have handled this past year is not something I would care to deal with. I really doubt I would have remained half so calm and happy as I've been this past year were it my wife, not me, going through all the miserable treatments. That's why when people have expressed to me that they wish they could have this instead of me, I think 'well, that's really sweet, but I'd never let you.' Cancer treatment is not something I'd ever let someone I care about deal with, if I had the ability to go through it on their behalf.
Perhaps that’s how God feels. Perhaps for God it was so unbearable to see people muddling through their own mistakes that God came down to go through it all for us, giving us a way to be free from our wrongdoings and the suffering they can bring. Much like the people who have expressed that they wished they could take my cancer from me and go through the treatments themselves, God looked at humanity and could not help but become incarnate as a person, to go through the human experience of life, to endure the consequences of sin on our behalf. While it's impossible, of course, for any of us to actually take someone else's disease and go through their misery for them, it's comforting to have a God who can do much the same thing, and in fact already did.
In so many ways, I am grateful that it is me, not other people I know and love, going through this. For one, my body seems to handle craziness well, and to look at me now you would likely never guess what I've gone through this past year. My hair and beard are back, and I look rather fit and healthy, on the whole. I know that not everyone is so robust or able to handle such stress--mental and physical--without it taking a more serious toll on their bodies and their baseline level of health. I may be down about 50 pounds from where I was before this whole ordeal began, but it just makes me look like a runner, rather than a...whatever I looked like before. Couch potato, maybe? I haven't had any serious or trying long-term effects from my treatment this past year. That just isn't true for a lot of people going through this type of treatment, for various reasons. One of those reasons must be that, for whatever reason, I heal quickly. For that, I am immensely grateful.
But my thankfulness that it is me and not my wife, or brother, or sisters, or any number of other people going through this extends well beyond the practicality of how my body has handled it all and come out as unscathed as possible. The mental anguish that others must have handled this past year is not something I would care to deal with. I really doubt I would have remained half so calm and happy as I've been this past year were it my wife, not me, going through all the miserable treatments. That's why when people have expressed to me that they wish they could have this instead of me, I think 'well, that's really sweet, but I'd never let you.' Cancer treatment is not something I'd ever let someone I care about deal with, if I had the ability to go through it on their behalf.
Perhaps that’s how God feels. Perhaps for God it was so unbearable to see people muddling through their own mistakes that God came down to go through it all for us, giving us a way to be free from our wrongdoings and the suffering they can bring. Much like the people who have expressed that they wished they could take my cancer from me and go through the treatments themselves, God looked at humanity and could not help but become incarnate as a person, to go through the human experience of life, to endure the consequences of sin on our behalf. While it's impossible, of course, for any of us to actually take someone else's disease and go through their misery for them, it's comforting to have a God who can do much the same thing, and in fact already did.
December 6, 2015
December 6th, 2015
let's talk about thoughts and prayers. Personally, I think they're great. I want your thoughts and prayers. Just today someone told me they'd be thinking about me and praying for me. Cool! One of the ways we've made it through this past year is by the prayers, thoughts, and considerate deeds of others. Most people really aren't in a position to do much more than think of us and pray for us, and that already is more than I would ask of anyone. So there's nothing at all wrong with offering solidarity, thoughts, prayers, good vibes, or whatever other intangibles one wants to direct at another, whatever their situation. And I don't think anyone is making the argument that people shouldn't think of or pray for unfortunate circumstances, though it seems plenty of others believe this. The problem arises when thoughts and prayers are all people offer. But that's not quite right either. More specifically, the trouble comes when people who are in a position to offer more give only thoughts and prayers.
let me explain what I mean by this. This last spring, I didn't want you (unless you're reading this, Doctors Heaton and LaQuaglia) to do my surgeries. I did want you to remember that I was having surgery, and pray for it to go well. That's because you (probably) are not a surgeon. You aren't in a position to do more than think of and pray for me. But if my surgeons had said "we're thinking of you and praying for you," and then decided that was enough, and not to even try surgery, I would have been upset, and justifiably so. They at least should try something, right? There may not be a huge chance that the surgeries would be successful, and as I'm writing this we really don't know if there is any cancer left in me or not. Time will tell. We're thinking and praying for the best. But at least my surgeons tried in earnest to solve the problem, to use their talents, intellect, training, and station in life to keep cancer from killing me.
And that's the issue here in the U.S. regarding gun-related deaths. Too many people in places of political power who have the ability to do something, anything, to work towards decreasing the number of people killed every year are doing nothing, while offering thoughts and prayers as if that will solve it. It saddens me that nothing is being done in this area. I like to think everyone should be able to agree that we have too many gun-related deaths in this country, and we should do something about it. Between shootings and accidents, way too many lives are lost because of guns. It shouldn't be a radical sentiment to want to work towards solutions that prevent these unnecessary killings.
I really don't care what you think the right course of action is, and honestly I'm not here to argue one way or another about gun control, background checks, or any of that. The point I want to make is that we ought to hold a more honest, open-minded, and constructive discussion about what we can do. We need to acknowledge as a country that we have a serious problem, on a scale far greater than that in similar nations around the world. There must be something we can come up with, agree upon, or at least compromise on that can reduce the number of people killed by guns every year.
Too many people die of cancer too. If the powers that be only offered us their thoughts, prayers, and wishes for good health, there would be public outcry, and rightfully so. Instead, cancer research happens through a combination of funding from the government, individual donors, nonprofits, and pharmaceutical companies alike. Numerous hospitals, societies, organizations, companies, and associations are working on improving treatment options. Something is at least being done about cancer. It's high time we do something about gun-related deaths too.
Thoughts and prayers are fine, but not if that's all we get from people who should be doing more. After all, Jesus didn't say "I was naked and you thought about how cold that would be, and prayed that I would find clothes. I was hungry and you thought about how glad you were your own stomach was full, and prayed I'd find some food from that nearby dumpster. I was in jail and you thought about how hard it must be in prison, felt bad for me, and prayed I'd have visitors." It's pretty obvious to me that our politicians, at least those who profess to follow Jesus, need to do more than think and pray about gun violence. The truly uncomfortable part of this for me is that really, all of us can probably do more than think of and pray for someone in some situation somewhere. We need to be open to the ways we can and should help others. It might not be popular or easy to think like that, but it's what following Jesus requires. And it's something I'm sure I fail at every single day.
let me explain what I mean by this. This last spring, I didn't want you (unless you're reading this, Doctors Heaton and LaQuaglia) to do my surgeries. I did want you to remember that I was having surgery, and pray for it to go well. That's because you (probably) are not a surgeon. You aren't in a position to do more than think of and pray for me. But if my surgeons had said "we're thinking of you and praying for you," and then decided that was enough, and not to even try surgery, I would have been upset, and justifiably so. They at least should try something, right? There may not be a huge chance that the surgeries would be successful, and as I'm writing this we really don't know if there is any cancer left in me or not. Time will tell. We're thinking and praying for the best. But at least my surgeons tried in earnest to solve the problem, to use their talents, intellect, training, and station in life to keep cancer from killing me.
And that's the issue here in the U.S. regarding gun-related deaths. Too many people in places of political power who have the ability to do something, anything, to work towards decreasing the number of people killed every year are doing nothing, while offering thoughts and prayers as if that will solve it. It saddens me that nothing is being done in this area. I like to think everyone should be able to agree that we have too many gun-related deaths in this country, and we should do something about it. Between shootings and accidents, way too many lives are lost because of guns. It shouldn't be a radical sentiment to want to work towards solutions that prevent these unnecessary killings.
I really don't care what you think the right course of action is, and honestly I'm not here to argue one way or another about gun control, background checks, or any of that. The point I want to make is that we ought to hold a more honest, open-minded, and constructive discussion about what we can do. We need to acknowledge as a country that we have a serious problem, on a scale far greater than that in similar nations around the world. There must be something we can come up with, agree upon, or at least compromise on that can reduce the number of people killed by guns every year.
Too many people die of cancer too. If the powers that be only offered us their thoughts, prayers, and wishes for good health, there would be public outcry, and rightfully so. Instead, cancer research happens through a combination of funding from the government, individual donors, nonprofits, and pharmaceutical companies alike. Numerous hospitals, societies, organizations, companies, and associations are working on improving treatment options. Something is at least being done about cancer. It's high time we do something about gun-related deaths too.
Thoughts and prayers are fine, but not if that's all we get from people who should be doing more. After all, Jesus didn't say "I was naked and you thought about how cold that would be, and prayed that I would find clothes. I was hungry and you thought about how glad you were your own stomach was full, and prayed I'd find some food from that nearby dumpster. I was in jail and you thought about how hard it must be in prison, felt bad for me, and prayed I'd have visitors." It's pretty obvious to me that our politicians, at least those who profess to follow Jesus, need to do more than think and pray about gun violence. The truly uncomfortable part of this for me is that really, all of us can probably do more than think of and pray for someone in some situation somewhere. We need to be open to the ways we can and should help others. It might not be popular or easy to think like that, but it's what following Jesus requires. And it's something I'm sure I fail at every single day.
