I found myself 1 hour into the race. Shoulders burning but my will stronger than the pain. It was the summer of 1988. On the Kansas River; about 40 miles from where it converged with the Missouri River. Again the river was making me a man. It was as if I woke up in a dream, or maybe a nightmare. I was in a kayak I had bought only the week before. I knew nothing of flatwater kayak racing.

In fact I knew nothing of this race. At the beginning of the race, the announcer said over the speaker, “The river is a bit low so you will have to follow the channel to not bottom out. This will add a few miles to the race.” Miles? Oh yeah, I forgot to find out how long this race was. I asked the guy next to me just seconds before the start, “How long is this race exactly?” “Well it was 15 miles, but now it looks more like 17.” Big gulp. “How long does that typically take?” “Oh, about 3 hours.” “Boaters ready!” “Go!”

I paddled to stay with the pack of experienced racers. At first my arms were tired. Then they got dumb. They just did the motions that they were supposed to without asking questions. Three hours passed and soon after that, the finish line. My legs were numb. My arms, shoulders and back totally worthless. They summoned the racers over to a shallow place where we were supposed to get out out of our boats. I couldn’t feel my legs and had no strength in my arms and was too proud to ask for help. But the helpers knew and they grabbed under my arms and lifted me to the bank, pulled my kayak up beside me and gave me some water.

I think I am dumb now. We pushed through the burn of the first part of the race and now we are just going through the motions, day after day, not really having the strength, just the motor muscle memory to keep going. That is likely a good thing since it helps us to function. But if we have to stop for some reason, I don’t know if we’ll get back going again. Then I suppose someone will grab us under the arms and lift us up, and set us on the bank.

Tara is hanging in there. I hate to keep talking about the fluid, but that is the bane of her existence. We wonder when we should get it drained again. The doctors are of the opinion that we shouldn’t do it unless we have to. Well what is “have to”? Do you have to stay up all night to warrant “have to”? Do you have to stop often to fight off the pain? I don’t know. So we take it day by day.

Now we rest. We pray that God will again sustain us tomorrow like he did today. He will, I am certain.

I found myself 1 hour into the race. Shoulders burning but my will stronger than the pain. It was the summer of 1988. On the Kansas River; about 40 miles from where it converged with the Missouri River. Again the river was making me a man. It was as if I woke up in a dream, or maybe a nightmare. I was in a kayak I had bought only the week before. I knew nothing of flatwater kayak racing.

In fact I knew nothing of this race. At the beginning of the race, the announcer said over the speaker, “The river is a bit low so you will have to follow the channel to not bottom out. This will add a few miles to the race.” Miles? Oh yeah, I forgot to find out how long this race was. I asked the guy next to me just seconds before the start, “How long is this race exactly?” “Well it was 15 miles, but now it looks more like 17.” Big gulp. “How long does that typically take?” “Oh, about 3 hours.” “Boaters ready!” “Go!”

I paddled to stay with the pack of experienced racers. At first my arms were tired. Then they got dumb. They just did the motions that they were supposed to without asking questions. Three hours passed and soon after that, the finish line. My legs were numb. My arms, shoulders and back totally worthless. They summoned the racers over to a shallow place where we were supposed to get out out of our boats. I couldn’t feel my legs and had no strength in my arms and was too proud to ask for help. But the helpers knew and they grabbed under my arms and lifted me to the bank, pulled my kayak up beside me and gave me some water.

I think I am dumb now. We pushed through the burn of the first part of the race and now we are just going through the motions, day after day, not really having the strength, just the motor muscle memory to keep going. That is likely a good thing since it helps us to function. But if we have to stop for some reason, I don’t know if we’ll get back going again. Then I suppose someone will grab us under the arms and lift us up, and set us on the bank.

Tara is hanging in there. I hate to keep talking about the fluid, but that is the bane of her existence. We wonder when we should get it drained again. The doctors are of the opinion that we shouldn’t do it unless we have to. Well what is “have to”? Do you have to stay up all night to warrant “have to”? Do you have to stop often to fight off the pain? I don’t know. So we take it day by day.

Now we rest. We pray that God will again sustain us tomorrow like he did today. He will, I am certain.

I was at the top of the lifeguard chair looking over the moonlit lake. We weren’t supposed to be there. But we were and I had a great idea. Someone tossed the life saver ring buoy into the water about 8 feet out. I sprung from the stand into a dive, hands aimed toward the ring. It was a perfect shot.

I didn’t realize I would go as deep into the ring as I did, up to my elbows. My arms were pressed now against my head and the ring buoy was wedged firmly on. As I came up I had no arms to swim with and my only floatation was above my head. I kicked up to say help but my friends were laughing so hard they couldn’t hear me. I kept going under, my arms useless and the ring stuck. Finally someone realized I was really in trouble, reached down to grab my arms which were stuck straight up and pulled me to safety and pried the buoy off of my head. It was the closest I have ever been to drowning.

Once drained, the lymphatic fluid re-accumulates over a period of about three weeks and compresses everything inside of her. When she lays down it hurts up under her ribs. When she stands up it presses down on something that causes her leg to swell. The pocket that was drained a few weeks ago was the infected one, a little higher in her abdomen and smaller. Once the infection was treated it quit producing fluid. But this lower one keeps going.

It is not the cancer causing the fluid. In fact it is likely not related to the cancer. It is from the surgery, where the lymph nodes were removed. It could take months or years for it to stop. We hope months.

Tara’s jump was not intentional like mine was, but the ring buoy is still firmly stuck around her head and sometimes it is a helpless feeling. For days she is above water feeling good, and then she goes back under. Then the cycle repeats.

But up or down she is grateful for life and knows that God is good and is in control of the situation. That is better than I can say for myself somedays. The grind goes on. The summer schedule begins. It is an exciting time and a busy one. When we make it, we will look back and know that God sustained us through this summer. He will have reached down and grabbed our flailing hands, pulled us to safety and pried the buoy off of our heads, like he has done before. And it will be good.

The glow of the fire kept my eyes unadjusted to my surroundings despite the bright night sky. By 9 pm we had been through 2 hours of contemplative talk while staring at features in the flames. Orange, yellow, blue, red, green, purple; all colors found in flames. The conversation just as colorful. The crackle of the fire eventually lulled me to that point just before sleep. But the chill of the night was just a bit too much. I sat up, added some wood, then turned to warm my other side. The cycle repeated. Within hours, I was wishing for the sun to rise, but there were still 5 hours of night to fill.

Hollywood romanticizes cowboys sleeping out on the range. I’ve done it dozens of times and have never felt great the next morning. In fact, usually terrible. The only good parts are what happens before you fall asleep. It is nearly perfect; sitting around a campfire sharing the night with friends. The flames still mesmerize, just like they did then. The conversations colorful. The chairs comfortable.

The kids organized a bonfire tonight with some friends. Tara and I were the lucky recipients of a few of their parents, also our friends, who found time to share with us, around the fire. We sat and discussed life; parenting, cancer, hope, work and more. The flames were beautiful and the smell brought back so many memories. It was a great time.

Tara is doing good. Swelling is the main issue right now. It will likely be the main issue for a long time. Chemo was earlier today, just Taxol. Seems pretty regular, right? The week was good. The weekend is here. God was good to us tonight.

We put in early. The water like glass. Gear for 4, well packed. Our paddles made the first ripples on the lake that day. With a big day ahead of us, we didn’t waste time. Steady strokes from fresh arms, 8 in total, all eager to make progress. We sat in one 23′ behemoth of a canoe, one that I would carry at each portage over the next 4 days.

After about 400 yards of paddling I decided to check the map and compass to make sure we were starting out on track. Somehow I totally missed. What I thought was north was almost due west. From the first stroke of a paddle, I was taking us the wrong way. Tara and the 2 kids were gracious toward my mistake. I was careful to keep the map and compass close at hand from then on and we made it to our desired spot without any other mis-steps.

The days keep ticking by. One after the next. Weeks. Months. And before long we’ll be talking about a year. We just keep paddling. We have been paddling so long that I’ve forgotten where we are supposed to be going. Where the heck are we going? I can’t really find a destination on the map to shoot for any more.

Tara told me many times on the trip to just relax and enjoy the scenery. But I wanted to get there. It didn’t matter where. Just there. To accomplish the paddling goal of achieving the destination.

She tells me the same thing now. Relax. Enjoy the scenery. It was so much easier at first when the shock of cancer slowed our world down for us. We couldn’t do much except enjoy the things around us. So we must fall back on the things that sustained us then, knowing they will now. God is good. He is faithful. He loves us. He sees where we cannot. He will not let things happen to us that we cannot handle. He will give us strength. He will give us wisdom. He loves our children more than we do. He values our years on earth but eternal is His perspective. He will comfort us. He will show us our destination when the time is right. And he will navigate us to get there.

God, you are what we need. Sustain us with your goodness and your mercy.

I remember back to the days when I was in school. Without a doubt the best day of the year was the day before summer break. I barely remember it; signing yearbooks, talking to friends about summer plans and eating sweets, I think. Tomorrow is that day for my kids. They are so excited.

We don’t have plans for big trips this year but there is a lot of fun planned for the family. Things like a membership at the pool, summer camp for the youngest, archery lessons for Lewis, play dates with friends, camping on a few Friday nights, and more. Tara should be done with chemo sometime in early July and will hopefully begin to feel better soon after. This has the makings for a good summer. And it all starts at the end of the school day tomorrow.

In the meantime Tara will continue with chemo and recovery. Her body is tired but her attitude is positive. She is the one keeping me going these days when I come home at times feeling down. That just seems wrong that it would be that way, but I thank God right now she is up for it.

We have been overwhelmed by the help we continue to get. We feel loved by a number of things, including the encouraging texts and emails of friends just reaching out to see how we are doing. Life if pretty good. God has been faithful again to take care of us.

One late Friday night about 7 years ago, I decided to cut my hair. I had been growing it out for 7-8 months, taking on a new look. Now my hair decisions typically aren’t well thought out. It is usually after the clippers are going that I decide which attachment to use. This time I decided not to use an attachment at all; just shave it. The next morning I woke to Esther standing by our door staring at me. I had forgotten about my newly shaved head. And when I sat up to invite her over to cuddle, her cautious look turned to a smile of relief, realizing it was me. She said, “When I saw your head Dad, I thought you were a giant.”

Esther would now be correct, the baldest head laying in our bed IS a giant. She is larger than life when she wears that bald head of hers proudly, using it to start conversations about her story of cancer and faith in God. When she went to school to pick up the kids, two fifth grade girls stared at her. She smiled and engaged them. Time after time people notice her with a glance, then a second, then a prolonged third, as if to say “When I saw your head, I thought you were a giant.” And each time she gently smiles back as if to say, “It is okay to stare, as long as you ask me about my story.”

Tara is having a good week. Although her belly is still accumulating fluid and is slightly uncomfortable, her days have been filled with activity. They are getting back to what they used to be; wake up, get kids up, do bible study, fix breakfast, clean a little, take kids places, pay bills, etc. This is incredibly encouraging in light of where she was just 2-3 months ago. At that time she was doing good just to be upright.

This week, chemotherapy is on Friday. That is the only medical appointment of the week. The drugs are continuing to show effect on her body. She is just now getting over the mild nausea of last Friday’s treatment. Also her eyebrows and eyelashes are falling out. It actually looks kind of cool. She is more of a giant than Esther could have imagined.

My parents instilled in me a love for marriage. As a young boy, I remember thinking about being married one day. I longed for it. I wanted to share my life with someone that I loved. As a middle schooler, I began praying for my wife. I strived for purity for my wife. I learned to work hard so I could provide for my wife. As I hear myself say all this, it seems so old fashioned. But I don’t care. Tara doesn’t either.

When I met Tara in college, The boyhood longing I had for a wife seemed to get lost, and all I felt was love. I wanted to spend time with her; to talk to her; to get to know her. Getting married was the furthest thing from my mind. I remember the day that I connected the dots. She could be the one. The one I had prayed for; the one I wanted to provide for; the one I saved myself for. It was an amazing day and life got richer.

I looked Tara in the eyes tonight and I reminded her again about all of this. She was silent. Not cold and emotionless. But not mushy with tears either. She heard it and understood it, but chose not to engage the conversation further. That is okay. I didn’t say it to evoke an emotion or response; simply to tell her how I still feel about her. It is hard for her right now to fully grasp how much I still love her; everything about her. She doesn’t feel lovable.

The beautiful weather today was really good for Tara. She sat outside much of the day, soaking in the sun. She cheerfully greeted several friends who stopped by to pick up or drop off kids. She interacted joyfully with kids. We got out early in the day together for a car ride. But she fought nausea again today. Especially later in the day, food didn’t sound too great, and laying in bed seemed to be the best relief. So she did exactly that from about 6 pm on.

Tomorrow begins a new week. Just like I looked forward to Tara as a middle schooler, before I knew her, I also look forward to her this week. I look forward to sharing my life with her, I pray for her, I want to provide for her, and so on. So this is my thought this evening as I lay beside the love of my life. She doesn’t feel lovable, but oh my is she wrong.

Saturday. Tara has been nauseous most of the day and now is no exception. The chemo must be getting to her. Her abdomen is noticeably swollen. Fluid? Again? Also her left leg is still swollen. Yesterday they checked it out to make sure there was no blood clot. All clear. But still uncomfortable.

I asked Tara if anything was on her heart tonight that I should write about. She said, “I don’t care.” Then after some silence, I thought she had dozed off. But instead she muttered a verse that I looked up, and it dealt with peace. We need peace from God. Peace that it will be okay. Peace that we are right in the middle of his will. Peace that he will work this together for good. And he will.

I keep hoping that we will get through this. But rather I should be thinking how can we function well in it. I hope to be able to look back on this as a hard time in life. But it simply is our life. And that is okay. We cannot wait for things to normalize to make the most of it. This is it. So pray that our outlook stays positive; our focus is on God, not ourselves; and that we can continue to appreciate the little things so we live grateful lives.

The Missouri and the Kansas Rivers converge near downtown Kansas City. About a mile up the Kansas River from the convergence there was a natural dam that spanned the 200-yards that the river was wide. During normal water levels only a little water crested the boulders and began the 40 yard descent dropping a total of about 15 feet. In high water there were no rocks to be seen. On the south side of the river was a spillway of sorts, where water rushed through over large boulders and rapidly reached the lower level.

Several times each week we passed over the bridge above looking down on that dam. One day in the summer of 1987 we decided to scout the area to see what it looked like up close. From about 100 feet away the roar of the water was intimidating and the swells were huge. And there were snakes everywhere. Water moccasins mostly. Some were on the concrete perch and others on the exposed boulders gathering warm sun to their bodies. We kept our distance.

But the lure was too great for two 16 year old boys. The challenge was as plain as day. We had to run the gauntlet, and we would do it with dad’s aluminum canoe. So the very next day we put in about a mile up the river and started paddling. I suspect he wanted to quit too, but of course neither of us would say it. About a half mile out, we could see the water’s horizon just end. That was the drop off. The plan was to stay on the south side and hit the roughest water.

The last 300 feet seemed to take an eternity. The swells were much bigger than they appeared from shore. But now only 50 feet out there was no turning back. Silently we entered, facing our biggest fears (drowning, snakes, failure), not knowing the outcome.

Tara is still in the middle of her battle. Today was chemo and meeting with the Oncologist. For the most part things are looking good. We both would love to quit, and we are not afraid to say it. But that just isn’t one of the options. In the meantime, God will continue to sustain us.