Storms

I didn't end up spending any time in the tunnels last night, even though the storm did come. The winds were high, it rained, but it seemed to me, in my isolated dorm room, it was no more than a normal though heavy rainstorm with a bit of lightning.

Afterwards, I heard that people had gone to great lengths to prepare for the possibility of the predicted hailstones the size of baseballs - car dealers had moved thier lot inventory to warehouses, etc. Better safe than sorry. Ounce of prevention worth a pound of cure.

So at this point, I would like to urge those of you who either have a family history of cancer or are that magic age of 50 to GO immediately - don't wait - and have a colonoscopy done. Or check whatever area necessary.

Just in talking with a classmate today I heard once again the story of a friend in stage 4 cancer for whom there is little hope, and she has a teenage daughter. She is trying experimental stuff in hopes of buying some time.

Sometimes the predicted storms blow buy without much effect. Sometimes you wish you had moved the car into the garage (-: Denial is not the same as wisdom. Just go make sure and be glad you live in a country where you can. Stage 1 is a whole lot easier than stage 4.

Happy Friday!

The Bluffs

Lake Michigan butts up against Concordia's campus, and I am drawn to the edge of the lake like deer to water. Most of this side of the lake is inaccessible because of the huge dropoff between land and water. Slowly the cliff at Concordia has eroded resulting in a loss of nearly 5 acres of land, hence the 12 million dollar project to stop the creep and save the territory, now worth much money.

(See here for more details:

http://www.cuw.edu/News_Events/site_improvements.html )

My first year here, it was no small feat to get close enough to the edge to see the lake. You had to battle unmown underbrush, hungry mosquitoes, fear of falling over the cliff - it took courage and perseverance to see the lake. Most of the students didn't bother. They had so much to do. But I could not help myself. It was useless to try and stay away. So I battled through for the precious glimpses of the vast body of water below. I went as often as I could.

Then they began construction, and erected an orange mesh fence to mark the out of bounds area. They mowed grass fairly close to the fence, so other than the gnats, bees, and mosquitoes, you could not only get closer, but after they mowed down the brush, you could see much more of the lake. A few other students ventured to take a look once or twice. My wont was to wander out by the bluff early in the morning every day while the dew was still on the grass.

I had hoped they would be done with the project this year, but alas! It is not quite complete. You can migrate half way down the cliff in slowly looping new white sidewalks past the ampitheater of pure white stone risers and sod steps, but the orange fence prevents you from reaching the bottom and the water. No dangling your toes in the icy brink this year!

What is it that draws us to water? Some innate primal urge? Some need to confront something so much bigger than ourselves? I couldn't say. This year I wait until classes are over and I have practiced and read and studied. Somewhere before or just after dinner, I wander out and gaze at the great depths, drinking in its beauty.

Today, I went early because they are predicting a tremendous storm complete with violent winds, hail, the whole bit. I expect this evening I may have to spend quality time in the tunnels. So I left around 4 from the entrance to Regents Hall, the dorm I stay in. They are working on installing city water and sewer pipes, so the road is all torn up, but at least it wasn't muddy. I wandered to the right towards the bluffs, realizing how pleasant the day still is in spite of the hot wind blowing against my face like some vapid dragon intent of roasting my skin and distracting me from realizing how much sun I am getting. There are a dozen kinds of grass strewn capelike across the shoulder of the bluff - clovers in three varities, quag grass, fauxwheat, piggrass, tall grass, short grass, dark grass, cropped grass where the deer have nibbled - all interwoven carelessly, dancing around the bald spots with no concern. I watch hummingbirds, monarch butterflies, dragonflies, and a zillion species of birds flit past me as I wend my way slowly down the sidewalks towards the water.

The lake is a rainbow of hues. Tan and muddy near the shoreline, whitish blending into the most gorgeous light turquoise, darkening to match the decor on the vintage sixties buildings, turn gradually into a cobalt blue, edging away into infinity. Down below, a steamroller is roaring back and forth on the dirt, disturbing the sea gulls and misting the air with dust.

I sit with my face to the sky, kissed by the sun, wishing I could get to the water and knowing I cannot. I am struck by how alike this is with my situation in life. When I was so close to dying last time with the cancer, I could see how wonderful it would be to be in heaven, away from the pain, the exhaustion, the treatments. Yet I could not just go. I could only sit on the shore and see the joy to come and wish I were there. Yet in the end, just as I did this afternoon, I tore myself away and walked back to the practice rooms, the library, my dorm to take up the work so in need of doing.

Perhaps next year I will be able to reach the lake. Perhaps next year the construction will be done. And perhaps it will be many years before I sit on the shore of eternity again, looking over. For now, there is work needful to be done, and I must get to it!

Chapel and beyond

I look forward to Wednesdays - we get to attend a simple yet significant chapel service in the morning. It was everything I remembered it to be. The organ prelude is such a treat since I don't often get to hear such excellent organ playing. These are often played by master's students as part of their program. The repertoire is always excellent. There is a welcome, a blessing, a reading of scripture, the singing of a hymn with all the decorum of a Lutheran service, a short meditation (always thought provoking), a prayer, a benediction.

The space is pretty amazing. How can you not know that this a a place dedicated to sacredness? Between the stained glass windows, the icons, the massive cross complete with sculpted body of Christ, the huge circle light crown of thorns, the mosaics, the candles, the altar with its acoutrements, the organ, the kneelers - you would have to be an alien to miss the fact that this space is dedicated to meeting with and worshiping God. Not totally Lutheran either since there are everywhere vestiges of the Catholic nuns and Mary graces still the places where she could not be conveniently converted.

It was a short step from entering to being in the presence of God. I found tears sliding down my cheeks - both relief to be there again, and touched by the grace and love of Christ. I knew then that the offhand idea of somehow asking for a prayer service for healing needed to be solidified. I sought Pastor Smith afterwards and made my hesitant request. Would he anoint me for healing in some sort of little service of healing?

Not just for myself do I ask, though of course, I want that. But I want to know the impact of such a time so that I can share it with others who are battling cancer and need the same thing. I want to know how it hits me, what has meaning, what irritates, how to organize it, who to include, who not to. The healing service I had with Pastor Faircloth before my initial surgery was so significant for me and has stayed with me for a very long time - carrying me through the hard parts for sure with a sense of God. This is a piece the church needs to put in place better. We are missing a chance to serve where it is desperately needed.

So we tentatively agreed on next Wednesday at noon in Rogate Chapel (pronounced ro - gat- tey), an intimate holy space that will be just right. He invited me to see if any of the students here would like to participate and I agreed that was a good idea, so I will ask. Its hard to describe how important it is to me to prepare for this special time. Not only my heart and my mind, but how can I say this? It is sort of like a bride preparing for her wedding or a communicant for her first communion. There is a specialness about this. It is a life event, no doubt about that. But not the usual birth/dedication of a baby joy or the finality of facing death. It is an inbetween state; serious, death on one side of you, life on the other, reaching out your hand to God to lift you and set you on a better path.

I look forward to this service of anointing and healing. I know I will carry it with me into the future. The doctors may not know what and how to help me, but God does. So I mark my turning to Him with this prayer service, knowing He will meet me there. If you are so inclined, I invite you to join me then from where ever you are. There is no distance in prayer. Thanks.