Death is a Refining Process

  Cancer is an ugly word often associated with pain and suffering. I cannot refute that in the least. However, I have learned that suffering, in its own way, can be merciful, and that death is a refining process.
     I learned this from my mother-in-law. “Kids are for goats” or “I am NOT a guy,” she would blast with her big voice that she would use like a fog horn. My mother-in-law’s voice was big; I mean it was quiet-a-crowd-at-the-Marriot-Center-from-the-middle-of-the-arena-no-megaphone-needed big. It took me a long time to figure out that she was using her voice to hide her pain.  
     Her life was filled with emotional turmoil. Her mother had been married and divorced or widowed several times. Along the way, she had endured unspeakable abuses at the hands of the men whom her mother had exposed her to. Because of her dysfunctional childhood, she had promised herself that she would not put her children through the same suffering that she went through. When she married it was eternally, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She was going to provide a stable foundation for her children.
However, due to the abuse, unresolved emotional issues plagued their marriage. Neither she nor my father-in-law were the type to share these struggles with their children, but as they got older they could observe these things without a lot of words being exchanged. Little Ben, their first child, went full term, but somewhere in the process of childbirth his cord became prolapsed; he suffocated and died in the process of being born. This sent both of my in-laws’ world into a tailspin from which they never fully recovered. It was just too much for my mother-in-law to handle emotionally, and she slipped into a behavioral pattern that isolated her from the broader spectrum of society.
Her stubborn, no guff, say-it-like-she-sees-it personality came over as harsh and sometimes obnoxious to others. She was either loved or despised; she left little room for neutrality. Even among her children there were many hard feelings due to her hardline, old school, literal interpretations of words and phrases. This was especially so when their friends were the recipients of her corrections. Nevertheless, I loved her, probably because I could see the pain and perceive her determination to see things through no matter how tough things got. Looking back, her dry sense of humor was probably a coping mechanism that helped her deal with her physical and emotional pains. For me, it was always good for a smile, an eye roll, or a shake of the head.
For months, even years, we had noticed that her health was in decline, but she was not one to show her pain, or even acknowledge it. In fact, we came to realize that her mind probably did not even compute what pain was because it was such a constant in her life. In January 2013, we became very concerned about her breathing. Each time she took a breath she sounded like a train climbing up a hill. Whenever we mentioned it to her, she would snap back, “It’s just the weather.” Finally, in July of 2013, she couldn’t breathe, she was in pain, and she was scared; a trip to the hospital led to an immediate prognosis that her right lung had collapsed. When the doctors investigated to see how bad it was, they said that they could not even stitch the hole in her lung; the flesh was so thin that it was like trying to sew wet toilet paper.
It took another three weeks for the full diagnosis to come back…Mesothelioma, a horrible form of lung cancer that attacks the inner lining of the lungs. It has no cure and very little treatment options, even if it is caught early. She was already at stage four, so there was nothing they could do. She was given six to eight weeks to live.
      She made it past the eight-week mark, in fact, she made it past Thanksgiving. Her will to live was strong. As she became less and less able to take care of her own needs, we offered my in-laws a room in our home. They agreed, but up until December they wouldn’t commit to coming. It was not until mid-December before she finally decided that she was ready to spend her final days on this earth in our home.
     In my ignorance, I thought that I was being generous by opening up my home to my in-laws. I was impressed with myself and my “righteous” offer. How arrogant I was. How wrong I was. Thank goodness I did eventually recognize that she was giving us her final gift. I am glad that humility is not always a bitter bite.
     I quickly learned that in her suffering, my mother-in-law had humbled herself. She had, without declaring it to the world, begun a process of repentance that was as real as any that I have ever witnessed. Not the kind of repentance you normally think of when it comes to sin, but the kind of repentance that refines one’s soul, and sets one on the path toward perfection-the kind of repentance that prepares one to enter the presence of God.

     The next four weeks would become one spiritual experience followed by another as my mother-in-law completed her transition. It became apparent to us, in those final days, that the veil had become very thin to her. She had several conversations with individuals that we could not see. One particular incident occurred, just days before she slipped into unconsciousness. I was entering her room. Her eyes were closed. She had a very calm yet intense look on her face, as though she was listening carefully to someone. After this conversation I heard her clearly say, “I forgive you.”  It was as if the purifying process of repentance was coming to a close and in forgiving she found forgiveness herself. She was at peace.
      I cannot say for sure who it was that was addressing her that evening, but I had the distinct impression that it was her mother. It was humbling to realize that while my mother-in-law was suffering through this process, she was being refined. The hard edges of her life were sluffing off her ever-shrinking physical frame. As I witnessed her suffering, I found myself being refined in my own way. My own ability to love was increased, and my understanding of the role of forgiveness was solidified. It wasn’t until then that I realized that death can be a refining process; suffering, in its own way, can be merciful. In her final days, she shared with us the peace that she found in that painful transition as her body became too hostile an environment for her spirit and she let go of her imperfect, worn-out body, and entered into the presence of her loving Heavenly Father.

Reflections of This Writer's Process

Reflections of This Writer's Process
I hesitate in sharing this paper I wrote as a final Essay in Engish class back in 2008, but I had fun and thought someone might find it amusing.


    Reflecting upon my writing process is an adventure in and of itself. As I at first, find myself somewhat a negative starter. I tend to stew and brew over the subject in the front of my mind. I moan and groan to my wife, my family, and my friends about how mentally anguishing every paper is. But in the back of my mind the wheels are whirling, the gears are churning and questions begin to move back and forth, up and down, like an old movie projector that takes a little bit of time to get up to speed. Most of the time, I have not even written anything down at this point, but thoughts begin to form into ideas. Ideas become a picture in my mind and when the picture is clear enough I begin to write.
    As I write, I try to feel the words as they appear on my screen, if they feel good, I keep them, if they don’t, I delete them. This process can be time consuming, but it is the only way I know how to write. Planning is a weakness for me. I am A.D.D. and easily distracted. Setting up an outline detracts from my flow and often I feel rushed and insincere in my approach to a subject. Outlines are one technique that would cause my phobic tensions to rise beyond healthy levels when I was in High School. So, instead I rely upon voices that speak in my head. Sometimes those voices are teachers, relatives, parents, and friends. I even hear dead people! I know this may sound weird, but I did say that my writing process was an adventure. These voices, memories, thoughts, and ideas give me my “call to write.” I have always struggled to read books, I have had to grasp concepts, and think ahead of others in order to survive. By imagining my mentors antagonists, and protagonist reactions, attitudes, beliefs, and understandings I increased my knowledge through them. In this way I call upon their advice and opinions to help me to express my thoughts on paper.
    I have always had a tendency to try to get into peoples heads, and try to figure out what they are thinking and feeling. This helps me to find the voice which I choose to use in writing my papers. If I know the person I am writing to I will often bring phrases or words that mean something to them that may not mean anything to anyone else. Depending on the purpose, I may even attempt to use their own voice and tones in my own writing. If I don’t know the person or audience that I am writing to I gather as many clues as possible to find out what their opinions and feelings are on the given subject as well as subjects that may indirectly or directly be related to the subject that we are addressing. Once I have determined what they believe I look at what I believe, and I seek some sort of common ground. This often requires some research. Ah, that dreaded reading thing again. However, I found that while researching requires reading, it is a focused reading, and it tends not to intimidate me quite as much as sitting down and reading a novel. If I have no common ground then I call upon the wisdom and expressions of those voices in my head to help me express myself using a logical, non-judgmental voice. And so, the adventure continues.
    When I am writing a research paper my process is very similar to other papers however, I find that in order for me to have confidence in my argument I have to create a picture of a conclusion in my mind. Once I have a conclusion then I hash out why that conclusion would or would not work, using the voices of protagonists and antagonists to help me push the theory along. Once I have created this solution in my mind, I test it on people who may or may not have an interest in the subject. I seek out their opinions or ideas, there concerns, their feelings, or any obstacles that they may see in the conclusion. These become some of the voices that I listen to throughout the writing process. I add these to my thoughts, and at this point I may even change my opinion on a given subject; however, I try to leave myself open to new ideas through out the process. I try not to rely upon theories, or opinions alone. But I have often found that when researching a subject there are more theories and opinions out there than actual facts. The same statistics are often used to prove both sides of an issue, and whenever I think of statistics I hear my statistics teacher say, “… there are lies, damn lies, and then there are statistics!” So, when I do use statistics I try to use them in context, to the best of my ability. I personally feel a responsibility to make my reader a better person for reading what I have researched. I like to do this by simplifying the complex, giving more people an opportunity to share a deeper understanding of the world around them.
    Well, as I said understanding my writing process is an adventure. I actually did not realize what my “call to write” meant, until I began to reflect upon the processes that I use to write my papers. It may not be conventional, but it works for me, and each class that I have taken I have learned a little more how to free the voices that paint my mind with word pictures that bring me and hopefully others valued entertainment, as well as a deeper understanding of issues that drive us as individuals, as a community, and as members of the human race. 

A Love Letter

Just a little fun. It has been awhile since I have posted and my son keeps asking me to post something new. This was an assignment that I had in my writing class this semester. I thought that I would write a letter that could have been just as easily given to my wife, but that letter was not an option for the class.
   

  My most beloved Camera, 

     I remember the first time that I saw you. I had searched the technological world from one end to the other, looking and longing for you; and finally I found you. I remember the feeling of excitement that I had as my wife and I drove to the house where I would meet you for the first time. I remember removing you from the box in which you were placed and attaching the lens I had previously selected just for you. That first click of your shutter filled my mind with visions of places we would visit, and things we would see, the memories that we might share…
   
    Since that day, we have become very close, at times inseparable. You have given me great pleasure as we visited the grand panoramas of this state, from the majestic green mountains of Northern Utah, to the royal red cliffs of Zions National Park, Capitol Reef National Monument, Bryce Canyon, and beyond. We have captured many sunsets with their brilliant orange, reds, and pinks. We have inspired many with the wonders of God’s gift to mankind, even the world and its raw beauties.

     We have recorded miracles from our adventure in Capitol Reef. There we learned the power of
God to deliver us from a near “Man vs. Wild” experience, to the morning we took a walk in search of a tender mercy from our Heavenly Father; our prayer was answered with the silhouette of a beautiful buck at sunrise.

     We have also had our fair share of expeditions as well, such as our first time in Yellowstone. Our first “bear jam” was exhilarating; I foolishly leaped from the van and headed in direction of the bear, you in my hand. As the dark chocolate creature with the humped shoulders lumbered closer we scrambled back to the van and jumped in. You captured that magnificent omnivore and kept it safe in your memory card.  You and I have been on many hikes, our latest through the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon. We have recorded many incredible picturesque scenes all in an effort to show others this great creation that our Heavenly Father has given us. I think we make a great team.

     I do have to admit when I walk with you I see others give me that jealous eye. Your lines, your curves, and your accessories are just plain sexy. And it’s not just that I want you for your body; you have beautiful software inside as well. When I take you in my hands and look deep into your view finder…Well, I sometimes get lost in your world of bells and whistles, your fisheye effect, your scene settings, and those special effects settings all enhance my emotional attachment to you. Many have dreamed of holding you, but I have reminded them that you are mine and mine alone to turn on.
   

     You are my beloved camera and though we have established that I love you; you are much more than a camera to me. You are an opportunity to express my testimony. You have brought me closer to God’s creations; you have increased my awareness of the details that enhance this mortal existence. You have helped me to not only see the beauty in every individual, but to capture it in such a manner that they too cannot deny their own beauty.  I look forward to deepening our relationship as we expose the gifts of life and beauty that our Heavenly Father has given us, that others may also recognize the beauties of this world and exclaim, “How great thou art...My God, how great thou art.”
Love,
Your one and Only