Pastor Timothy Herron

I contacted Pastor Tim when Donna was first diagnosed, now over 5 years ago! His story and words of encouragement gave me something to hold onto at a time when my world was crumbling all around me. His testimony gave me the hope I needed at a time when I needed it most! If you would like to contact Pastor Tim, you can email him by clicking here. Below is a book that he has written and has recently emailed me. Please note that this material is copyrighted and is used by permission. Posted 11-27-05.

It is always too early to quit!
A compelling case from one who knows.

By REVEREND TIM HERRON BS, ThM.

Preface

Introduction

Chapter One - Who signed up for this, anyway?

Chapter Two – The Making of a Pastor

Chapter Three - Preparing for a Trial

Chapter Four - Don’t Write the Script

Chapter Five - Another Treatment, Another Place

Chapter Six- It’s not just about me!

Chapter Seven - Moving to Houston

Chapter Eight - "It’s Never Really Finished. You just run out of Time."

Chapter Nine - Thorny Issues

Chapter Ten - Overcoming, you can do it too!

Suggested Reading

 Preface.

When God wants to drill a man[1]

And thrill a man,

And skill a man

To play the noblest part;

When He yearns with all His heart

To create so great and bold a man

That all the world will be amazed,

Watch His methods, watch His ways!

How He ruthlessly perfects

Whom He royally elects!

How He hammers him and hurts him,

And with mighty blows converts him

Into trial shapes of clay which

Only God understands;

While his tortured heart is crying

And he lifts his beseeching hands!

How He bends but never breaks

When his good he undertakes;

How He uses whom He chooses,

And with every purpose fuses him;

By every act induces him

To try his splendor out –

God knows what He's about.

Introduction

Wherein ye greatly rejoice, though now for a season, if need be,

ye are in heaviness through manifold temptations: That the trial of

your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though

it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory

at the appearing of Jesus Christ: Whom having not seen, ye love; in

whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy

unspeakable and full of glory: Receiving the end of your faith, even the

salvation of your souls.[2]

This book tells the story of God’s intervention, in a most outrageous

fashion, in the life of the most improbable candidate - the author of

this book. I will not be relating the story of a saccharine creator,

there to gratify our whims and grant grace when, where and how He chooses,

because that would not represent reality. God can seem harsh and

severe, even as He blesses us with His mercy, and one of the great challenges

that facesface every one of His sons and daughters is that of learning

how to see His grace in the midst of the darkest moment. I will show

you a God who comforts and perplexes at one and the same time – a

Savior who sometimes delivers through adversity rather than through trials.

Reading these pages will challenge both reason and emotion to the point

where you may wonder if you are reading a work of fantasy. Believe me,

the story that lies ahead is very, very real, and the scars on my head

are testimony to it.

In these pages, I share with you some of the most beautiful and most

terrifying moments of my life, and the insights and lessons that I

learned as I lived through them. Together, we will grapple with those most

difficult of all questions: If God loves us, why does He let us suffer?

Why does He allow terrible things to happen to good people? How can we

learn to submit to His will, even when it seems horrendously unjust? How

can we, apparent victims, transform ourselves into Overcomers, and join

the ranks of those who have, throughout the centuries, struggled with

God’s challenges, and succeeded in becoming better servants of the Lord?

At a stage in my life when everything seemed to be going swimmingly, I

developed a malignant tumor in my brain, and was told that I most

probably had only weeks to live. At that time, I was a young pastor, with a

wonderful wife and a healthy, growing family of five children, one of

whom was just a newborn. I was noted for my ambition in ministry, and my

ability to handle complex theological arguments. I had every reason to

think that I would be able to take my calling to where I thought it

should go. But God had other plans for the Herron family. The effect that

this life-threatening illness had on me and on my wife, my children and

everyone around me was incalculable. One doesn’t not have to be a

Christian to understand the anguish of a family told that it is facing

the loss of its father. The language of tragedy is a universal one,

cutting through differences of culture, faith and race. Families can be

devastated when a parent dies; some never recover at all.

Despite the dismal prognoses we received from experts in the field of

brain cancer, I recovered. In many ways, however, my life had changed

completely. One thing was perfectly clear – from the years of anxiety,

pain and fear that I experienced, I became equipped to offer a very

special ministry. Since then, my life’s calling has been to share my

experience and knowledge of serious trials and the conquering of fear with

those offered the greatest challenges that God can put in their path. I

don’tdo not claim to have all the answers, but in this book, I will take

you on a journey through doubt and trepidation to acceptance,

resignation and joy.

We turn to God for help when our foundations are shaking only to learn

that

it is God shaking them.

--Charles West

To a Christian, a fearsome trial is an opportunity to rise above pain

and insecurity and embrace God with an open heart. Throughout this book,

I’veI have scattered some of the wisdom that has been most valuable to

me over the years during and after my trial. I hope that it will be

similarly insightful for you, and a tool that you can use to

transform yourself into a true Overcomer.

This book is dedicated to all of those who overcome – those who have

taken on the trials of life and won. By doing so, they join the ranks of

those Overcomers recorded in Scripture:

Revelation 2:7 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith

unto the churches; to him that overcometh will I give to eat of the

tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God.

Revelation 2:11 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith

unto the churches; he that overcometh shall not be hurt of the second

death.

Revelation 2:17 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith

unto the churches; to him that overcometh will I give to eat of the

hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name

written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it.

Revelation 2:26 And he that overcometh, and keepeth My works unto the

end, to him will I give power over the nations:

Revelation 3:5 He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white

raiment; and I will not blot out his name out of the book of life, but I

will confess his name before my Father, and before his angels.

Revelation 3:12 Him that overcometh will I make a pillar in the temple

of my God, and he shall go no more out: and I will write upon him the

name of my God, and the name of the city of my God, which is new

Jerusalem, which cometh down out of heaven from my God: and I will write upon

him my new name.

Revelation 3:21 To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with Me in

My throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with My Father in

His throne.

Revelation 21:7 He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will

be his God, and he shall be my son.

Tim Herron.

Chapter One - Who signed up for this, anyway?

If you wear out a pair of shoes in East Texas, you’ve found a

home for life - friendly advice to a pastor’s family before moving house.

Deep in the woods of East Texas, the small city of Longview is

nestled, home to a community of 70,000 people. Longview is located halfway

between Dallas and Shreveport, and the first time we saw it was in

April, when the landscape of that part of the world is at its lushest and

greenest. In Spring in Texas, you can almost watch the grass

grow before your eyes. Texas is a state notorious for the flatness of

its terrain, and in that level context, Longview almost qualifies as a

mountain town - hence the name. Even from its modest height, it commands

a view of the surrounding countryside. The city developed during the

first half of the twentieth century, and main-street buildings from that

period testify to its history. During the Second World War, Longview

was the site of a camp for German prisoners of war, and one of the

legacies of that time is an airport far from commensurate with the town’s

modest size. Although quite a variety of religious denominations is

represented, most of the inhabitants share a family-oriented view of life and

a resistance to the globalization and corporatization that threaten to

engulf contemporary American society and replace godly standards with

secular ones. All in all, Longview certainly is an excellent home

for a young couple and their growing family. We were confident that we

would be happy there.

Leaving my first pastorship at Cypress near the Texan city of Houston,

I first came to the Fellowship Bible Church in Longview as an ordained

pastor in 1984.In one of the first messages I received from God after

my arrival, I had a vision for the church. At that time, it was meeting

in a facility that had previously been a nightclub, perched on a hill

above the city. Although the congregation was enthusiastic and committed

to growth, membership was still low. The vision I cast was that the

day would come when Fellowship Bible Church would be so dynamic that

one of the major news stations would be drawn, not by the scandals so

beloved of journalism, but because the love and power emanating from the

church was so strong that the news people just had to come and find

out all about it. This prayer was revealed to be prophetic.

Many different people have played important roles in the events that

unfolded over the years following my arrival in the city. They contributed

to the services offered by the church, and the lives of the people who

worshipped there. They also helped to turn a potential tragedy in the

life of a young pastor and his family into an experience, which, although

difficult, was enriching for everybody involved.

Back on that very first day in 1984, we had three small children

snoozing in the back seat of the car. When we left, nine years later, our

family had been blessed by another, and we certainly had a story to tell!

The 1980s were happy days for us – Kathy, me, and our growing family.

We moved into an old house in a pleasant, tree-filled neighborhood,

remodeled the bathroom, knocked down walls, built closets, buffed the oak

wood floors and installed a fort over a sandbox in the yard. Our home

was seated on almost an acre of property, with enough creeks and trees

and wildlife to keep the children entertained for hours. They rode their

bicycles, had adventures along the banks of the creek, and made dozens

of friends among the neighbors’ kids. I used to ride a mower around our

ample grounds, and the children loved to "help", riding along with me.

One of our elderly neighbors, a Mr. Gilgowat, was regularly banished to

the front porch of his house by his wife, who did not share his love of

pungent cigars - but our five children weren’t not put off, and

they loved to visit with him. All the kids still cherish fond memories of

that house and garden and the many happy years that we spent living in

Longview. At that time, those of school age were taught at home by

Kathy, giving us the freedom to travel with them when the opportunity

arose, and to ensure that the values instilled by their education were

compatible with those held by Kathy and me. I think Kathy still misses our

home in Longview at times - including all the closet space we built in

to fill with toys and clothes! Our house in Longview wasn’t not our

first family home, but it was the homeliest.

As our children grew and flourished, so did the church, growing quickly

from just 60 members at the outset to 250. Our emphasis as a church was

always to put people before programs. This was an approach that

enabled us to thrive as a community. Together, never forgetting that

Christ is more important than theology, we all worked to build a church

family that supported its members in times of need, rejoiced with them

in times of happiness and supported them through the ups and downs of

everyday existence. Above all, we always put families and their

relationships with God before practical issues, before ambition, and before the

personal aspirations of any single church member. We also strove to

share our joy with the world, in maintaining a strong emphasis on

missionary activities. The role of the pastor in all of this was not so much to

lead, as to help church members to enable themselves to develop

healthful relationships with Christ and with their families and communities.

The process of achieving our goals drew us all very close together. I

remember standing in the kitchen one evening with Kathy as we embraced

and agreed that these really were the good old days! Everything seemed to

be taken care of. I had a loving personal relationship, wonderful,

healthy children and the pastorship of a growing church. We had so much to

be thankful for, and the future was bright. What could possibly go

wrong? Well …

Christmas fell on Sunday in 1988. I had been suffering from the stress

that the Christmas holiday brings to all pastors, and so the headaches

I experienced that morning did little more than annoy me. I felt sure

that I would be better once the holidays were over. I preached that

morning, and was relieved when I came to an end (as was everybody else),

since I had spoken for over an hour on a day when most pastors are wise

enough to let their congregations get home to their holiday meals and

families. Although I was still unaware of it, a tumor inside my brain was

causing me to lose my mental capacities. In fact, several people had

already noted my increasingly dangerous driving during the months prior

to the onset of the symptoms. My co-pastor, Jim Johnson remembers:

"I was doing a whole lot more driving than usual because I was

reluctant to have Tim behind the wheel. I’d noticed that he was zoning out and

going through lights and things like that, although none of us knew

why. It was a time of grave concern. We knew that something bad was

happening, but we didn’t know what it was."

I had no idea that there was anything wrong either, although Kathy had

also become privately concerned about the strange behavior I’d been

displaying recently. The same failure to connect that was affecting me

while driving also translated to behaving in a peculiar manner at home.

Still, there was nothing concrete, nothing that we could "put a finger

on" and besides, we were both looking forward to the imminent birth of

our fifth child.

Kathy and I had first noticed that my headaches were getting more

severe and frequent around the end of October, when we organized a Farm Fair

for the children of the parish, but they weren’t bad enough to cause

serious concern. I’d always been inclined to suffer from allergies and

from minor sinus problems, and we probably assumed that these were behind

the problem. However, by the time our daughter Ginger was born on

December 14th, I was really worrying poor Kathy. Around that time, we went

to the Longview neighborhood of Wildwood to admire the locally famous

Christmas lights display. Instead of taking pleasure in them, the bright

lights confused and disorientated me, and we had to return home. On one

of the children’s visits to our family physician, Kathy mentioned the

recent problems I’d been experiencing, especially with orientation and

following directions. Without me there Dr. Marshall really couldn’t give

an informed opinion, so he said that he would pursue the issue with me

if it became more problematic and less vague. There was no reason to

suppose that the problems were caused by something serious. Even though

it was hard to put a finger on exactly what was going wrong, Kathy was

actually concerned about leaving the other children in my care when she

went into hospital to give birth, and in the weeks that followed, my

increasingly dangerous driving and unusual general behavior gave more

cause for anxiety. Fortunately, considering the months that lay ahead,

Ginger was a particularly placid baby. A little sister for our other four

children, John who was eight, Joseph, seven, Crystal, four and David,

still a baby himself at one year old, she never cried more than was

strictly necessary, and was easy to love and take care of.

A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a

thunderstorm, and we all go through it together.

- - - Garrison Keillor

Looking back it still seems crazy that we did not detect my tumor

earlier. Our memories only take us back to an Halloween substitute at our

church where I went all out and made animals for the children out of

balloons that were very hard to inflate. This alone would account for a

headache, but on top of it I was asked to play my bagpipes. Now bagpipes

don’t take much air but what you deliver has to be under a great deal of

pressure. So between this and the balloons and all the noise and

demands on a pastor, we thought it understandable that I had a headache and

that it last for more than a day or two. The headache never went away

but could be controlled with aspirin, so we wrote it off as seasonal

stress and not anything serious.

On the day before Christmas Eve, I went out with Crystal to buy a new

television and Nintendo system - our annual gift to ourselves as a

family. Kathy was terrified that I’d have an accident and worried and prayed

as she waited for us to get home, which we managed to do. In fact,

although I managed not to crash the car, later that evening I dropped

Crystal while we played amid the excitement of setting up the new system.

The indentation caused by hitting her head cheek against the hard edge of

the sofa can still be seen on her face today, as a rather becoming

dimple. Christmas Eve saw a further deterioration of my condition and

behavior. Our family tradition had always been to gather around a manger

scene to recount the story of Christmas with the children, but this year I

wasn’t able to participate properly, and I found myself staggering from

the bedroom to the couch while I apologized for holding everybody up.

God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience,

but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world. -

Søren Aabye Kierkegaard (1813-1855).

What more eloquent way of expressing why a just God allows His

people to suffer! Often, it is not until something goes wrong that we

realize that God is with us always. Then, we understand that apparent

hardships are really blessings in disguise.

The next day - Christmas day - saw things come to a head. I walked from

the church into the bright sunshine and towards the car, wishing

everyone a happy New Year. Then I climbed into the car and started for home.

Or so I intended.

"Are you OK, Pastor?" one of the congregation called over with a note

of concern in his voice. His anxiety stemmed from the fact that I had

backed the car out, put it into drive, and brought it slowly forward into

the corner of a house that sat on the edge of the church lot. The

astonished, horrified gaze of the young couple who lived there brought home

what had happened. Their property jutted out and members of the

congregation often joked about the inevitability of someone bumping into it

one day, never thinking that that person would be the pastor, who used

the parking lot more than anybody.

"I’m fine," I assured the anxious church member, as I apologized to the

couple, "I just need to get these kids home and have a rest."

"That’s good," he said, continuing to look at me with a worried

expression on his face. Saying goodbye, I drove my family home. In retrospect,

the fact that I have no memory of the trip from the church to our home

is terrifying. All I can really recall is collapsing into our warm,

soft bed while the children, eager to open their gifts, protested. Poor

kids! I stayed in bed all day, trying to sleep despite my pain. It wasn’t

until that evening that I managed to stagger out of bed and into the

living room where my family was trying to be festive. I recall taking

some pride in the fact that the kids all knew the Christmas story so well,

while regretting that, for some reason, I just wasn’t able to join in.

I knew that there was something wrong with me, but I didn’t know what

it was.

I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me

at once.

--Jennifer Unlimited

I remember little of the two days that followed, until Tuesday when I

took our newborn daughter, Ginger, for her two week checkup. It wasn’t

until after she’d been examined that I mentioned my own headaches. From

the symptoms I described, Dr. Marshall thought it likely that I was

suffering from a severe sinus infection, as so many people do in East

Texas, and he prescribed a strong antibiotic which he expected would have a

rapid effect on the symptoms.

The next morning, however, my headache was worse. The intensity of the

pain caused me to vomit and any medication taken by mouth was quickly

rejected by my stomach. I tossed and turned, and tried lying in

different places – the bed, the living room couch – but nothing helped.

Thatnight day, my head hurt so much that I could not stop myself from

screaming with pain and begging the Lord for help. Kathy poured me a

scaldinghot bath, a measure which had often soothed me in the past. I crawled

into it, but to no avail. There didn’t seem to be anything that could make

me feel better.

There are no words capable of describing the pain I endured. If, at

that moment, I had been given the choice between ending my life and

enduring the torture, I would certainly have chosen the former. It felt as

though Satan himself had reached through my skull with his clawed hand,

grabbed a fistful of my brain, and squeezed, twisted and pulled it

without mercy. To anyone who has never had a brain tumor, that might sound

melodramatic. Believe me when I tell you that it is not. And because the

pain was in my head – the center of all thought and feeling – there was

no way to escape, beyond submitting to unconsciousness.

1 Cor. 10:13 "No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to

man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond

what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of

escape also, so that you will be able to endure it."

This passage came to my mind when I was in the deepest despair before

the first surgery. I could scarcely imagine brain tumor being something

common to man, but far be it from me to disagree with the passage. I

wrote this one up to something I would ask God when I saw Him face to

face. However, knowing that there was a way of escape was very important

when the pain was the greatest. In time God proved faithful and He

graciously provided a medical way of escape. Had that not been possible,

death itself would have been blessed relief!

While all of this was going on, Kathy had bhustled the children into

the front of the house to keep them out of my way. Over the next hours,

she monitored me, called the available physician for a prescription for

the vomiting and waited for the pharmacy to deliver the medication to

our door. She didn’tdid not feel that she could leave me, even for a

short trip to the drug store. All the while she ministered to my needs,

she managed to keep the kids quiet and entertained with videos and games.

They were young enough not to be too frightened by my cries for relief,

although both John and Joseph do remember that horrible day, and their

childish prayers to God, that He help me to be better soon.

I tried to endure things as they were until a more convenient time to

seek medical help, but that proved to be impossible. At 10 that evening,

our family physician came back on call and Kathy rang him. He suggested

that we wait until regular office hours the following morning, but

Kathy insisted that I’dI had been suffering all day long and just

couldn’tcould not wait. In fact, the excruciating pain hadn’thad not left me,

even for a moment. Kathy’s urgency communicated itself to Dr. Marshall,

and he told us that he’dhe would call the emergency room at the local

hospital, and alert the staff to the fact that I was coming in. A CAT

scan was going to be necessary.

We felt that the children would be frightened to see an ambulance

pulling up outside, so Kathy contacted my associate pastor, Jim Johnson, who

came immediately in his family station wagon, and helped me into the

car. I collapsed into the passenger seat, my head falling onto his lap,

while he drove to the emergency room. Shortly afterwards, I was inside a

CAT scan machine, trying to stay immobile while the medical staff took

images of my brain. Wave after wave of unspeakable pain made keeping

still difficult, despite the morphinemorphine, I’dI had been given. When

the scan was over, I was taken to the emergency room where Kathy was

waiting for me. The pain-killing drugs began to give me some relief, and

I was able to talk with Jim and Kathy, although I have no memory of

what we said. All I can recall is the agony and the relief that followed

when the morphine finally began to take effect.

At that point, Kathy received a call at the nurses’ station from our

family physician, Dr. Marshall. That was the moment, sitting alone at the

station at 11.30, that she received the devastating news that the scan

had revealed an extremely large mass in my brain. Dr. Marshall tried to

be reassuring, telling her that for the moment there was no way of

knowing what the mass was - perhaps it would turn out to be benign. Surgery

would have to be performed, and a biopsy taken to determine the nature

of the tumor before a diagnosis could be made. Somehow, Kathy found the

strength to deliver the news to Jim and me. It was too late to start

asking questions and making decisions, so the three of us prayed

together, and Kathy and Jim left me, as I was wheeled down the hall to my room.

A restful night was not meant for me that night, and at some point the

nurses had to restrain me to preventprevent, me from thrashing around -

behavior that they later informed me was an effect of the medication.

When Kathy came to see me in the morning, she was alarmed to find that I

had been stripped of my clothes - my underwear had even been cut off.

All I was wearing was a hospital gown, and the marks of the restraints

that had held me in place the night before were still visible as weals

cut into my flesh. Despite all that, she was initially relieved to see

that, although I was groggy, I was calm. Her relief began to fade when

she saw me struggle to move the left side of my body. I was barely able

to walk from my bed to the bathroom without support and guidance. My

left arm seemed to have a will of its own and moved unexpectedly and

erratically.

Our morning was punctuated by the visit of Dr. Guierra, the

neurologist, who ran me through a series of elementary neurological tests. These

included such simple actions as touching my nose with my left finger (I

failed), walking toe to heel (I almost fell over) and alternately

raising my knees while in a standing position (I fell over onto the bed).

The doctor informed us that Tthe brain scan had revealedthe culprit to be

a large, invasive tumor, and it was immediately apparent that I would

have to have surgery. It appeared that a cyst was rapidly growing around

the tumor, and this was the factor that was causing the rapid

deterioration of my coordination, the pain and the many other symptoms that I

was displaying; my erratic behavior, severe headaches, and tendency to

respond irrationally to irritants. The right ventricle in my brain was

almost completely blocked and the midline of the brain was pushed way off

center. All of this indicated more than clearly that my case was an

emergency, and surgery could not be delayed. Dr. Guierra . left to make

the necessary preparations.

Kathy stayed with me through lunch, watching as I vainly tried to

wrestle some lime jello into my mouth. After I’dI had eaten, she left me in

the care of others and went home to take care of Ginger, who was

dependent on her for nursing, to call family and friends and to prepare her

for my probable surgery the following day. She promised to return that

afternoon with news. My doctor, Dr. Marshall, broke the news after

speaking to the radiologist

While I waited in the hospital some of our friends lovingly stood guard

at the door of my room. Among them was Bart, a former navy man with a

heart as caring as his exterior was gruff. He’dHe had brought a long

extension cord for the phone so it could be answered by whoever was at the

door - and there was always someone there, watching and waiting,

regardless of the time of day or night. One of the newer additions to the

congregation, a gentlemanman called Lawson Younger, came and sat by my bed

and read Scripture to calm me while I drifted in and out of

consciousness. In fact, all of the church members showed their love and support

without ceasing during those difficult days. Although Kathy and I were

facing the greatest trial of our married lives to date, the knowledge

that members of our church were in the waiting room, praying and

encouraging Kathy and one another gave me some peace. When I was able for it,

small groups were ushered into my room to encourage me with their words

of comfort and cheer. Some popped in briefly to greet me, while others

stayed, offering soothing words. Even though I’veI have forgotten the

details of those comments, I can still feel the care that they conveyed.

Physically, I was cycling in and out of pain according to when my last

dose of morphine had been, or whether or not I had Ginger in my arms.

Holding that tiny little bundle of life and promise was better and

sometimes more effective than any drug.

Get Real, Not Religious

Piety will not help you through a crisis. "Religion" is man’s

attempt to appease God on His own terms, but Christianity is a

relationship. It is about God inviting you to know, in person, the one who made

you. It is about God inviting you to receive the free gift of eternal

fellowship with Him. A relationship with God takes you through the valley

of truth. Religion leaves you in the wastelands of self, guilt and

fear.

Among the first peoplepeople, Kathy contacted were two physician

friends of ours, Mark and Dwight. They promised that they would begin to pray

immediately, and start making their own inquiries as to the best course

of action. One of them lived and worked on the west coast, and one on

the east. Between them, they would be able to find out the best

treatments available in every part of the country. Because of family and

practice responsibilities Mark was unable to leave his home but Dwight, who

was unmarried, said that he would do all he could to be on the next

flight to Longview to be with me. The fact that my friend of a lifetime

would put everything on hold for us was tremendously encouraging.

So far, Kathy had been unable to contact my parents, who had forgone

their usual Christmas with us to spend their holidays in sunny California

with thousands and thousands of RV’ers at the Rose Parade in Pasadena.

They’dThey would come to see each new grandchild shortly after birth,

but this time, they planned to come a little bit later. Remember that

this was before the days of ubiquitous cell phones, so it seemed likely

that finding them would prove impossible. The daunting task was left in

the hands of my two sisters, Lynda and Julie.

The hospital staff at the Good Shepherd hospital tried to postpone

surgery until after the holiday season, but I was quickly losing my

faculties and power of reason. The surgeon and oncologist urged us to operate

immediately – there wasn’twas not even time to have me flown to the

nearest major cancer center in Houston. As I was wheeled to the operating

room, I drew strength from the words of a hymn that is very dear to me:

"If ever I love Thee, Lord Jesus, ‘tis now."

My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine;

For Thee all the follies of sin I resign.

My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou;

If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I love Thee because Thou has first loved me,

And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree.

I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;

If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I’ll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death,

And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;

And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,

If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

In mansions of glory and endless delight,

I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;

I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow;

If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.[3]

Aware of the dangers I was facing, I focused especially on the verse

that says: "I love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death … " This hymn

was the perfect expression of my commitment to live for Jesus Christ,

regardless of what happened. To die for Him, if that was His will.

Although I was drugged and confused, I thought about the possibility that I

would perish while undergoing surgery, and wondered what it would feel

like. The image of a roller-coasterroller coaster, with all kinds of

folk waiting to ride, while others stepped on, occurred to me. I was

waiting in line to ride! The happy faces of the people stepping off the

ride in my vision were a comfort.

Forasmuch then as Christ hath suffered for us in the flesh, arm

yourselves likewise with the same mind: for he that hath suffered in the

flesh hath ceased from sin; That he no longer should live the rest of

his time in the flesh to the lusts of men, but to the will of God.[4]

These were my thoughts as I looked up at the face of the

anesthesiologist, who was also a friend of ours. I could see the conflict in his eyes

as he administered the drugs, and the sober expression on the face of

Dr. Marshall, who stood beside him. With that, I drifted into

unconsciousness, all the while singing my song to the Lord, and to myself.

Thanks to the efforts of the anesthiologist I remained blissfully

unaware of what was going on throughout the course of the operation. Later,

I learned that the pressure inside my skull was so strong that as soon

as a piece of the cranium was removed, my brain sought relief from the

pressure by expanding through the opening and onto the operating table.

The surgical team realized the extent of the problem immediately and,

unable to do more, they lanced the large cyst that had formed as a

result of the tumor, took a sample for a biopsy, and sewed me back together

again. Later, the doctors working on my case told me that the

atmosphere in the operating room, not optimistic to begin with, dropped when

they saw how serious the tumor was. One of those doctors was Jim Maudlin,

who had delivered Ginger just weeks before. Although his specialty is

gynecology, Jim oversaw the operation so as to be able to provide an

extra witness to the procedure, and report back to Kathy and our family

and friends.

"Although it was clear from the scan that the tumor was probably

cancerous," he recalls, "nothing could be confirmed until after the

operation. Once they went in, it was obvious that they were dealing with cancer,

and that the situation was grave."

While I was undergoing surgery there were about twenty people in the

hospital waiting room at any given time, sharing the tasks of

telephoning, playing with the baby and keeping up to date. Not long into the

operation, Ginger needed to be fed, so Kathy took her to a quiet spot and

waited with Bart and Irene, two of our closest friends from Longview.

They all knew that things were not going well when it was clear that the

surgical intervention had ended after less than half an hour. (is this

right?) If the doctors had felt that there was a chance to help me by

operating, they would have done so. Instead, they patched me up, sent me

to Intensive Care and went to break the news to Kathy and our friends.

"I’m thankful that Bart and Irene were with me," Kathy remembers, "not

just because of their support and love, but also because it’s always

important that more than just one person hear what doctors have to say at

moments like this. As Tim’s wife, I was too close to him, and too

involved with my emotions to listen properly to what the surgeon had to

say."

Both of the doctors who had performed the surgery sat with Kathy and

explained how the procedure had gone. Although I was doing well, and the

pressure had been removed, they had been unable to deal with the tumor.

That would have to come later.

Later that day, Kathy was able to come and visit me in Intensive Care.

It’sIt is surprising how quickly you come around after brain surgery!

I spent the night after surgery in the dismal, windowless cellar that

was the Intensive Care Unit at the Good Shepherd Hospital. Coming to

after the anesthesia, I felt myself to be in complete control of my

senses. That’sThat is why the extraordinary behavior of some of the people in

the room was so confusing. I was sitting in front of the nurses’

station when I saw an orderly enter the room, carrying an empty plastic milk

jug. As I watched, he took out some glue, smeared it around the inside

of the container, and started to sniff, all the while bragging to the

nurses that this was the best way to sniff glue. The nurses seemed quite

unconcerned. Why should they care? They were all busy painting silver

face masks with paints of many colors … they were only disturbed from

this strange activity when more orderlies entered, put the man in the bed

next to mine in a body bag and left.

I had no idea that the strange people I was watching were all

manifestations of my befuddled mind. When my friend Dwight and the doctor on

charge came to see me in the morning, I had prepared a few stern words

about the inappropriate behavior of the hospital staff. The two men

exchanged a knowing look, and the penny dropped … "Don’t tell me I’ve been

hallucinating!"

Don't Panic.

Even if your world seems to be falling apart, God is still in

charge, and He knows what to do. Don’t forget that God led you through

rough patches in the past – He’ll do it again. Give Him a chance to prove

that He loves you and knows what He is doing. Cast your fears on him.

Fear is what we feel when the demands of life seem greater than

our resources. Never forget that God’s resources are unlimited – but we

must be prepared to outstretch lifted hands to reach them! Throughout

the Bible, God tells us not to be afraid. The reason is always the same

– His protective presence is always with us. As the psalmist said: "If

God be for us, who can prevail against us?" But God can’t help us if we

don’t take our troubles to Him; "[cast] all your anxieties upon Him,

because He cares for you."[5]

I was allowed home a few days after the operation, while the tissue

that had been removed from my brain during surgery was sent to pathology

for examination, and Kathy and I waited for the news. At last, relief

from waiting came in the form of a telephone call from Dr. Marshall’s

office, summoning us to hear the verdict. We left straight away. It was a

cold, January day, and there were still patches of snow on the ground

from a rare East Texas snowfall. After parking in the lot of the

doctor’s surgery, we sat for a while and talked about the news that we were

likely to hear from the physician. Our pattern for dealing with crises

has always been to consider the worst that could possibly happen, so we

shared our deepest fears of the news that we were about to hear. The

scenario that frightened us most was the prospect of a short life riddled

with physical and mental deficiencies, followed by a painful death.

Then, as always when facing a trial, we visually imagined the strong hands

of a loving God bearing us through the worst fate we could imagine. I

think that it was Corrie Ten Boom who said that there is no pit so deep

that God’s presence does not reach, and exceed its depth. This proved

to be very much the case for Kathy and me.

The operative staff had been unable to remove the bulk of the tumor, so

most of it was still inside my head while pathology inspected the

sample that had been taken. An examination of the excised tissue had

revealed it to be an example of Glioblastona Multiformae, of fourth degree

malignancy – the deadliest of brain cancers. At that time, less than one

in a thousand Glioblastona Multiformae victims survived the first year

of the disease, and beyond that, there were no statistics. This was the

news that Dr. Marshall had to break.

When Kathy and I entered the doctor’s office, it seemed to us that the

staff were averting their eyes, and in fact we were already resigned to

hearing bad news. When a doctor calls you in for a meeting, the

prognosis is rarely good.

"I told you when I discharged you from the hospital that I felt that it

was likely that the tumor was cancerous," Dr. Marshall told us gently,

"but that we should wait for laboratory reports before making a

definitive diagnosis. I also expected the tumor to be low grade and slow

growing, because your scan showed evidence of calcium deposits in the area

of the tumor. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It’s a malignant,

rapid-growing tumor called Glioblastona Multiforme, or GBM." He paused, and then

added, "I wish there were a cure."

This wasn’t the first brain tumor that Dr. Marshall had treated, but it

was one of the worst. There are different types of tumors, with

different types of predicted outcomes and responses to treatment, and mine was

in the category of "almost impossible to treat".

I met Dr. Marshall recently, many years after my last doctor’s

appointment with him, and we spoke of how very difficult it is for doctors to

break bad news to their patients. When I became ill, Dr. Marshall and I

were much the same age, and we were both fathers of growing families.

He had successfully treated my daughter Crystal when she was ill with a

potentially fatal condition, and had been our doctor for several years.

When he looked at me, and thought about the five children I had at

home, it was easy for him to empathize, and extremely difficult to be the

one to have to alert a young family to a tragic situation.

"It’s one of those situations that every doctor hopes he’ll never have

to deal with," Dr. Marshall recalled, "but you just know that sooner or

later you will. Inevitably, every doctor has to break the news of a

serious diagnosis and a bad prognosis. The hardest challenge to cope with

is that of telling parents that their child is gravely ill. Tim’s case

was hard, too. He had five kids, including a new-born daughter. His

wife was still recovering from her delivery. It didn’t take much to

realize what sort of impact the illness was going to have on the Herrons. It

wasn’t easy."

Dr. Marshall was the first to admit that he was not an expert in

neuro-surgery, and together we perused his journals of medicine for any

information we could find about my particular type of brain cancer. What we

uncovered was far from reassuring. According to the somewhat outdated

publications on his shelves, I had a 0.04% chance of survival. Kathy and

I both protested that I was a child of God, not a statistic.

The Lord was working through Dr. Marshall as he was through us.

Fortunately, our family physician was comfortable with acknowledging the

importance of spiritual health in a clinical context. He believes that God

works through him, and recognizes that there have been times when his

diagnoses and treatment decisions have been inspired by a force much more

significant than all his years of medical training. He’s also had many

opportunities to see how a healthful relationship with God helps

patients to deal with illness and treatment. Those who love God and know that

He loves them show higher levels of recovery, greater stamina and

forbearance in pain, and greater calm and acceptance when things do not work

out as they had hoped.

But despite the fact that Kathy and I knew that God was acting through

me, and that everything would ultimately be for the best, despondency

was an unwelcome guest hovering on the fringes of our every thought. We

struggled not to loose our grip on hope.

The hard thing about trials is that life is lived forward and

understood backward.

When someone is undergoing a trial, it’s important for them to

keep their eyes focussed on the future: "Why has God chosen me for this

challenge? How will this make me a better person, a better Christian?"

In order to be hopeful, it’s important to be able to think of the good

things to come, rather than dwelling on the past. It’s not easy. Of

course it’s not. But don’t forget that, as difficult as it may be at times

to understand why God does the things He does, hindsight is always

clearer. Some day, when all of this is behind you - regardless of the

outcome - you’ll understand why it happened with wonderful clarity!

Chapter Two – The making of a pastor

Blessed is the man who finds out which way God is moving and then

gets going in the same direction. -- Source Unknown

Have I grabbed your attention yet? I guess now it’s time to introduce

myself properly, and tell you a little about who I am, where I come

from, and what I’m all about. My name is Tim Herron, and together with my

wife, Kathy, I have been called by God to minister in a number of very

special ways.

Although my life’s calling has been to work for God, I was not raised

in a particularly religious household. My parents, to whom I was born on

February 27th, 1953 in Washington, D.C., were irreligious - an

agnostic, engineer father married to a Christian Scientist mother. When it came

to rearing their children, they compromised. I remember being taken as

a small boy to Sunday School and the usual Easter and Christmas

services, but little more.

During the Summer vacation, I was sent to camp Oceola, a summer camp

sponsored by the YMCA. We were there to have fun, but the leaders did

speak about Jesus sometimes, and even at the age of 10, I found this

intriguing. As soon as I left the mountain location of the camp, however,

all thoughts of Jesus and traces of spirituality evaporated as quickly as

did the rain from the streets of southern California, where we lived.

Little changed until I reached adulthood and left home for college.

Although I never imagined that I would become severely ill while still

young, I was familiar with chronic, severe pain from childhood. My

mother was born without a hip socket before anything could be done about

the condition, and she suffered constantly with what I perceived as

senseless, excruciating pain. In the 1970s, she was among the first to have

an artificial hip socket implanted. Sadly, it didn’t repair well, and

caused her pelvis to twist, which in turn led to the slow deterioration

of the disks in her spine, making the pain even worse. In retrospect, I

have to acknowledge her as a real "Overcomer", although with the

selfishness of childhood, I could only see how her problems restricted my

adventurous spirit. I remember once complaining to my father about Mom’s

apparently constant state of anger. He cut me off in mid-sentence, and

told me with great emphasis that, despite the difficulties that her

illness had brought to the family, he had never regretted marrying her. My

eldest sister Lynda also suffered throughout her life with both

physical and emotional pain. Born 13 years before me, she had a condition

called Turner’s syndrome[6], and was ill throughout much of her childhood.

I was my parents’ fourth child, and the only boy in a family of

daughters. My reaction to a potentially stifling family situation was to

strive to achieve. In every field – academic subjects, marching band,

athletics – I just had to be the best. I had to show the world that I could

conquer anything and everything. Eventually, this drive propelled me

towards a position in the United States Air Force Academy, which I

experienced as a great honor – I acquired quite a high opinion of myself,

considering myself to be hot stuff, at the top of my "groove". I wasn’t

really all that interested in the Air Force per se, but I wanted to show

the world, and myself, that I could be accepted by a notoriously elitist

organization.

Entering the military was the beginning of a new way of living - a new

understanding of the world far different to anything I had ever

imagined. At the academy, I was assigned to a dormitory room with two other

young men who happened to be nominal Christians. Although they attended

church no more than I and seemed to live lives no better or more

spiritual than mine, I was impressed when they spoke of Bible verses with some

familiarity, and about God as if they really knew Him. One of the Bible

passages they showed me related that, in order to see the kingdom of

Heaven, one must be born again. The concept was completely new to me, and

the idea that two of my peers - who were obviously not ministers -

could open their Bibles and find help was very novel. My roommates were

unable to answer any of my questions about rebirth, although they did try.

Their responses were not easy for me to understand, but my interest had

been very much aroused. I wanted to find out more, and was unsure of

where to look. As irreligious as my family background was, I felt,

nonetheless, that I might discover some answers in the church and so, when I

read a notice that the cadet choir was seeking new members, I put my

name down.

My first discovery was that my talents did not lie in singing! The

Bible was never opened during choir practice, and no one mentioned anything

about being born again. Not until one of my upper classmen broke

protocol to "fraternize" with me - a lowly "dooly" - in order to fan the

smoldering fire in my heart, or perhaps because God moved Him to seek me

out when he found out about my questions. Using his Bible, he explained

that religiosity is not helpful in terms of seeking for God. God, he

told me, is by His very nature holy and perfect, a reality that is

difficult for human beings to grasp in its entirety. Some days later, my new

friend approached the topic of spiritual rebirth. The explanation, which

came from a passage in the Bible, was straightforward. It demonstrated

that whoever believes in God and His only begotten son will not perish,

but have eternal life. Good works, no matter how earnestly fulfilled,

were not enough. I was excited to hear this, and to find that it made

perfect sense. This knowledge was a gift. Shortly afterwards, the

opportunity arose to attend a retreat organized by the Baptist Student Union

in Colorado. Cadets were encouraged to attend with promises that we

would have a chance to spend some days out of uniform, and to meet some

attractive girls. I don’t know why the others went, but my mission was to

find out more about Jesus and His gift to humankind. There, I was moved

to stand up and, with great determination, placed my faith in Jesus

Christ as my savior. The other people at the retreat told me that I had

done something wonderful, something that I would never forget. They

crowded round me, but all I wanted at that moment was to speak with God on

my own, so I hurried outside, kneeled beside a great pine tree and

stayed alone and quiet for a long time.

The vast expanse that was the Colorado sky was bright with stars. Who

can gaze at the night sky without a sense of his own smallness and the

immensity that is God? These were my thoughts, and now I received Jesus

as my savior, concluding that, if He was the Lord of the universe, He

must also be the Lord of my life. It was at that moment that I committed

myself to giving everything to following Jesus Christ, telling the Lord

that, whatever challenges He chose to send me, I was prepared to stand

firm. I was confident that He would listen to my prayer, but never

imagined that this might take the form of brain cancer, many years later.

On returning to my dorm, I rang my parents in southern California to

tell them about the wonderful revelation that I had just had. I had

expected that they would be overjoyed to hear of my newly discovered faith,

but their response was rather muted, to say the least. This was

disappointing, but I had hopes of the second call, to my girlfriend of four

years. I was very much in love with her, and sure that my feelings were

reciprocated, so I had no doubt that she would understand and be excited

when I told her that she, too, could have a personal relationship with

Christ and be reborn. Again, I was let down. She seemed less than

impressed, and I had the feeling that she was dismissing my sincerity as

homesickness.

More disappointments awaited me on my arrival home. I had believed my

girlfriend’s line about waiting for me to get home from my tour of duty,

and expected to be able to return to my old life. Instead, I found that

she had replaced me with another young man and a much racier lifestyle.

Faced with a choice between a newly religious old boyfriend and a

flashier new contender for her heart, she made her decision, and it did not

involve me. This was hard, but it was for the best. We no longer had

anything in common, not least our disparate views on faith and

Christianity.

What to do? I was secure in my newfound faith in Jesus Christ, and knew

that I had to grow spiritually, but I had no idea how. For the want of

another plan, I found an old house in the roughest part of Los Angeles,

and rented it with another young man on a month by month basis. At this

time, I was studying for a degree in engineering at the University of

California, following in my father’s professional footsteps. Our

arrangement lasted for four weeks before we realized that it just wasn’t

working out. My roommate was a former Mormon, and was interested in no

spiritual exploration beyond the restraints of the religious tradition he

knew. Shortly after our household broke up, a group called The

Navigators[7] discovered that I was in town, and came to look me up. The fact

that they sought me out was impressive, as I was living in the very

roughest of neighborhoods! In fact, when Jerry, the member who had been sent

to meet me, knocked on the door, I almost didn’t answer. In an area

like that, one couldn’t be too careful.

Without even knowing the number of the house that I lived in, The

Navigators had done their utmost to seek me out, so when Jerry suggested

that I move to share an apartment with him and three other men, I didn’t

hesitate. Later I discovered that, on learning of my Christian faith and

of my situation, they had been worried that I might get sucked into the

Mormon church, being as yet ungrounded in the Scriptures. I lived in

this household – a "training apartment" of the type where men or women

lived communally, learning to be Christians – for two years. It was here

that I learned to lead a devotional life, which provided an environment

in which I could develop my personal relationship with Jesus. One of my

new friends and spiritual advisors taught me how to memorize Scripture,

a skill that was to be invaluable later, when I became ill with cancer

of the brain. Another helped me to understand that differences are

valuable and appreciated. To these men I owe my grounding in the basics of

the Christian faith.

God prepares us for challenges long before we have to face them.

I’ve already mentioned the fact that many of God’s interventions

in our life can be hard to understand when they happen, but marvelously

clear later on. During my early days as a new Christian, I memorized

countless passages from Scripture. At the time, my motivation was simply

to know God better. In retrospect, I can see that He was also preparing

me for the challenge that I would later face. Even when I was at my

most confused and ill, God’s word, as revealed in Scripture, never left

me. What a wonderful gift I had been given by Him years before I became

ill!

Rebirth as a Christian changed my life utterly, but it took some time

before I began to consider becoming a pastor. Although I was deeply

involved in ministry during my university days, it was not with a church

organization per se. In fact, there was an ongoing joke among The

Navigators that pastors were good because they were paid to be, while the lay

ministers were good for free! Many felt that the ministry of a lay

person was at least as valid – if not more so – than that of a pastor.

However, as my desire to teach the word of God grew, so did the

recognition that I lacked the tools and learning to study His teachings

properly, and the realization that it was time to enter a seminary for some

formal training. In my mentors, Joe Aldrich and Chuck Swindol, I found

the models I needed. They knew the word of God inside out and could even

read the Bible in its original languages, Greek and Hebrew. These

academic achievements leant a great deal of credibility to their teachings.

I was already blessed with some teaching ability, but lacked their

intellectual training, so when I heard that both were graduates of the

theological seminary of Dallas, it seemed inevitable that I should study

there too. Despite my deficiencies in history and languages, my

application was accepted. I would be lying, though, if I did not admit that I

still harbored some residual doubts about my calling. Because I had not

grown up in a religious family, I was unfamiliar with the concept of a

call to ministry, and I was unsure of what God wanted for me. In short,

I entered the ministry with little or no idea of what was in store for

me. All I was certain of was my need for further training. Joe’s advice

was that "the church is a lot like Noah’s ark. If it were not for the

storm outside, the stench inside would be unbearable." His message to me

was that it is not always easy to be in the church. Another mentor

added, even more prosaically, "If you can’t stand the smell of sheep, you

shouldn’t be a shepherd." Like any organization, the church sometimes

falls prey to the all-too-human flaws of quarrelsomeness, pettiness and

excessive bureaucracy. One of a pastor’s many tasks is to negotiate all

of these problems while holding on to the real light of faith and the

truth and beauty of the church as a spiritual and community entity.

As well as discovering my love for Jesus, I had recently discovered my

love for the woman who was to become my wife, Kathy Tarczynski. I was

living in the dormitory at the University of California at Urbine, part

of a brand-new complex where nobody knew anybody. More or less by

default, I became the leader of the Christian students in the complex, and

one of the things that we did each year was to reach out to the entering

students, especially those who were Christians, to encourage them to

join the Christian organizations on campus. Kathy was one of these new

students, and she was assigned to my dorm complex by accident - a good

accident! We lived in the same building, so I initially met her just as

one of my fellow residents, finding out soon thereafter that she shared

my beliefs.

I was one of the few car-owners of the dorm, and I used my vehicle on

Sundays to take as many students as would cram in to church. I invited

Kathy, and she accepted. But when I opened the door of the car for her,

she responded by saying, "My arm isn’t broken!" I was quite taken

aback, because I’d always felt that men should be courteous to women, in the

old-fashioned sense of the word. And I have to be honest - I was

slightly chauvinistic back then, too. This was not love at first sight. Kathy

was from a feminist background, and felt that she had to demonstrate

her strength at every opportunity. Each of us realized that we were on

different wavelengths, but over time we came to appreciate each other. I

became less chauvinistic, and she became more accepting of

old-fashioned manners.

The ice began to melt when I began a series of early morning prayer

meetings, and Kathy attended. All of the students would pray for this or

that, but Kathy’s prayers were truly intriguing and obviously heartfelt.

As time went on, the attendance of the prayer group shrank, and

eventually it grew so small that sometimes just Kathy and me turned up. I

think it was in listening to each other’s hearts through prayer that we

fell in love. Despite my feelings, I made no overtures towards her beyond

making myself available to take her, along with other students, to

different events. One Thanksgiving, I invited Kathy and a bunch of other

students to my home. Kathy had a good time, and so did everybody else.

After the party, my grandmother announced that she could see that Kathy

and I were in love! I don’t know how she knew, because we certainly

didn’t. We hadn’t even been on a proper date. In fact, I wasn’t looking for

a girlfriend - I and several other fellows had dubbed ourselves

"Bachelors till the Rapture!"

As my contact with Kathy grew, my admiration for her became stronger.

We talked about her parents’ divorce, which was affecting her at that

time, and talking about her difficulties gave us the opportunity to

become closer. Now, the young men in the ministry were committed to

accompanying the young women across the campus after dark, and I always went

out of my way to be the one to take Kathy back to the dorm. Kathy’s

girlfriends, like my Grandmother, felt that we were right for each other,

and kept insisting to her that we belonged together. At the end of my

senior year, I made appointments to say goodbye to various students who

were special to the ministry. Kathy and I arranged a breakfast date. That

morning, we walked to the university restaurant, and ordered our food.

I prayed before eating as usual, but our conversation was stilted.

Kathy was probably surprised when I stopped to pray again, for help in

finding the right words. I told Kathy, "I don’t know what to say, because

I’ve pledged not to tell any woman that I love her until I’m able to

marry her." Kathy said nothing, but her smile told me that she understood

that, in my own way, I was telling her that I loved her and was asking

her to be my wife.

Despite my misgivings, I left for the Dallas Theological Seminary the

very next day. Kathy and I continued our relationship on the telephone

and by writing letters. At Christmas of the next year, we met up in

southern California and I took Kathy to Disneyland, planning to propose to

her while the mass choir sang Hallelujah. It didn’t work out, not least

because my parents were also there. Later, we went to the coast where I

intended to make a second attempt. The picturesque spot I’d chosen

wasn’t available, so we huddled in the cold on a bench and I handed her the

letter I’d received from her father, granting me permission to ask her

to marry me. An old-fashioned approach, perhaps, but I wanted

everything to be just right.

"Kathy, I wanted to grow old with you," I told her, "and I want you to

have my children." She shivered for a moment, in the cold winter wind,

and then sealed my happiness by saying, "yes". We agreed that Kathy

would stay at university to finish her degree, and marry only then. It was

important to us both that she achieve the goal she’d set herself. When

she graduated with a degree in Computer Science from the University of

California she wore a sign pinned to her back that read, "Just

Married". Our wedding had taken place the day before. Kathy was beautiful in

white, and I wore a shirt embroidered with flowers! Surrounded by our

family and closest friends, our wedding was perfect, as was our honeymoon,

which we spent hiking through the mountains.

During my four years of training at the Dallas Theological Seminary I

worked hard and succeeded both academically and socially while Kathy

labored in a computer firm and I put in nights as a waiter. I didn’t want

Kathy to have to be the sole breadwinner while I studied. On completing

my studies, I was still unsure as to the form that my calling to

ministry would take. God’s answer did not take long to arrive. Just days

before graduation, a pastor from Houston came to the seminary. He was

looking for a co-pastor to help him minister to Cypress, a northern suburb

of the sprawling Texan city. When my fellow students heard that he was

interviewing me, they didn’t hesitate to tell me how lucky I was to be

able to serve him. When we met, we were both tired, and knew little of

each other – we didn’t particularly take to each other. It can only have

been the hand of God that brought us together and lead me to serve with

him in Houston. Kathy and I had decided to have a child as I approached

the end of my studies and our son John was born shortly after my

graduation, and just before moving to the city.

I went to work with Cypress Bible Church in 1980. One great – and

unforeseen - source of joy during these years had been my father’s blessing.

As you know, my family background was far from religious. My father’s

early reaction to my new priorities was ambivalent, to say the least,

and he had been openly suspicious of The Navigators – accusing them at

one point of being "a cross between Billy Graham and the CIA." When I

entered the seminary, however, he told me that, while he had several

friends who had entered the ministry, none had seemed as devoted as I. This

meant a great deal to me, and may have been the first step he took

towards his own rebirth as a Christian.

I spent four years at the Cypress Bible Church, with the official title

of "grow co-pastor with an emphasis in Christian education." In short,

I was effectively the chief cook and bottle washer, there to do

whatever was needed. I was delighted to find that I loved being pastor! But

not everything was easy from the very beginning. First of all, the

congregation did not always respond so well to my messages as had my seminary

professors. This was frustrating at first, as I felt that I was being

judged lacking. It took some time to learn how to speak to a very

different audience than that of the highly specialized environment of the

seminary. Fortunately, God arranged for me to attend a counselor training

week, allowing me to leave my office and go to where the people were.

During this time, I learned a lot about hunting, fishing, tennis and

other everyday activities of my congregation, allowing me some insight

into their world. At the same time, I was given an opportunity to reveal

myself as a real person and not just a pastor.

The first year of pastorship was an opportunity for growth. The second

began with a crisis for the church. My co-pastor became involved with a

member of the congregation who was not his wife. Both were married, and

each had four children. When they parted together, they left

destruction in their wake. Suddenly, I was the senior pastor of a disillusioned,

hurting church. This was a real challenge to my abilities, and

confirmation that I was really living my vocation. Fatherhood was a constant,

joyous challenge during these years too, as our eldest son John was

followed by Joseph and later by a beautiful daughter, Crystal.

My second pastorship was in a small city called Longview in northeast

Texas - the city you were introduced to in the first chapter of this

book. We spent nine years there, and they were wonderful. The ministry was

challenging and fruitful, and the church group open, and rich in

numbers and maturity. After the first two years of my pastorship had been

completed, I was hired as a full-time associate pastor, working with Jim

Johnson. Our partnership was to last for five years.

Jim and I were very different. He was always very preoccupied with

details, and was extremely conscientious and diligent. Despite my

philosophy of determination, I was not – not because of laziness, but because I

believed that one of the most important tasks a pastor has is to lead

the church to be the church. By this I mean that, while the church was

composed of many fine, responsible people, they didn’t have the chance

to function well as a church family if they were too strictly

administrated by their spiritual leader. Many pastors, by becoming bogged down in

details, can unwittingly hold the church back from maturing as the body

of Christ. To my way of thinking, Jim took care of his congregation too

well, doing things for them that they could and should have done for

themselves. I was not present at every meeting, or a member of every

board. While there were many practical things that I could have done, I

chose not to. Later my approach paid off as, when I became ill, I was

often unable to attend to my duties for weeks at a time, and my future in

the church seemed uncertain. Because members had learned how to take

care of themselves, the church did splendidly, with or without me.

Jim remembers the differences in our approaches to pastorship with a

similar frankness. On a recent visit to Fellowship Bible Church, he said

of me:

"One of the things that always struck me about Tim was his academic

ability, and his memory. I remember sitting with him in the office

talking, and he suddenly quoted a paragraph or two from a book he’d read five

years later. When he gave his messages from the pulpit, he usually just

carried notes, and was able to build a message spontaneously, from the

reservoir of learning he’d accumulated. His flaw, if we can call it

that, was that he was probably too academic for a lot of people. Lots of

the references he made went right over their heads. He was pulling out

Greek terms, together with the lexicon explanation! A lot of people just

didn’t know what he was talking about."

Jim also comments that I gained a more acute sense of empathy only

after being ill. Before that trial, I was known as a good speaker and

communicator of the Lord’s Word, but less of a "people person". This is

something of which I am also very aware, and I can see that suffering has

taught me how to comfort people on a very human level, as well as a

spiritual one. Back in 1993, I was quoted in the Houston Chronicle as

saying:

"The power of my ministry is greater [since being ill]. Before, I was a

very good academic preacher. Now, I am more compassionate. Now, I want

to love the people before me and minister to them. If the cancer means

I have less years, so be it. It has made my ministry so much deeper,

and it’s why I’m able to say I am glad I had this tumor."

These are words I stand by today.

So far as our mutual pastorship was concerned, it suffices to say that

at our best, Jim and I were a wonderful complement to each other, each

bringing out the other’s strengths, and compensating for his

weaknesses. My illness gave us both the opportunity to develop our skills, and

deepen our relationship with God. I have often had the honor of

counseling sufferers who were referred to me by Jim and by members of Fellowship

Bible Church. Jim is still senior pastor at Longview, and presides over

a thriving, healthy church with a strong missionary program. He also

sings and records music, and Kathy and I love to listen to his work!

Chapter Three - Preparing for a trial

A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected

without trials - Chinese proverb.

Life is not always easy. We all know that there are trials in our

future – but how few of us stop and prepare for them. Why is this? Do we

suffer from a kind of fatalism that trumpets "Che sarà, sarà, whatever

will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see …."

From the evidence given to us in Scripture, and from my own experience

of being suddenly afflicted with brain cancer, I believe that we can

prepare ourselves for trials as yet unimagined in many ways, ranging from

the spiritual to the physical and the practical. Let’s examine some of

the important things we can do to make future difficulties as

manageable as possible.

Don’t be afraid to ask God to help.

Thou art coming to a king.

Large petitions to him bring

For his grace and power are such

none can ever ask too much.

I’m often asked by people how they should pray to God during

their trial, or during their day-to-day existence. While there isn’t one

"right" way to do it, I often quote the above. God made the universe and

everything in it - don’t be afraid to approach Him with what seem to be

momentous requests. Do you think that a God capable of making this

world, and of sending His son to die for our sons, is unable to deal with

your prayers? Don’t offend God by underestimating Him! Whether or not

your prayers are answered the way you initially hoped, He knows what is

best for you, and will see that His will is done!

Preparing spiritually

Major difficulties often make us cry out in anger and wave our fist at

God. The impetus behind the rage isn’t hard to understand. If God is

sovereign, or in charge of all things, and omniscient, or knowing all

things, then, we think: "He must share some responsibility for my plight!

How can He let this happen to me?" Any major trial predisposes us

towards spiritual crisis.

"Can I really trust God, who is in control of all things – including

what is happening to me – to be good, and to care for my well-being?" is

the question of sufferer. Theologians have wrestled with the same

thorny issue for millennia. It’s all too tempting to throw up our hands and

wait for God to "ambush" us with a trial. However, if we have already

built a relationship with Him on the basis of His great grace, rather

than our works, we have come to understand the full extent to which He

can be trusted. We are able to accept trials as examples of His blessing

- perplexing examples, perhaps, but blessings all the same.

When I was diagnosed as having a hopeless case of brain cancer, many

cried out that God did not know what He was doing. In all honesty, I can

say that I never joined that particular cry. God’s grace in allowing me

to be a pastor for nine years before becoming ill had given me the

opportunity to develop a relationship with Him and the promises in His

word. So as to present God’s word to others, I had already explored the

most difficult issues that life can present. I never imagined that my

ministry to others would serve me so well when I found myself in need of

comfort!

In the earliest days of my new life as a Christian, I became sure that,

in order for God to use a man greatly, He must first hurt him deeply –

not because God derives any joy from our pain, but because we simply do

not understand the deepest issues of life, and our relationship with

Him until we have suffered. In fact, at that time, I offered myself to

God for whatever trial or difficulty He felt would make a better

Christian of me. This belief was of great service when doctors told me that I

was probably terminally ill. I realized that God had sent me this great

trial so that I could minister more effectively to others. Even though

I was prepared to die at any moment, I somehow knew that it was too

early to give up, because God was using me in the lives of my family –

which included a new baby, and a wife who threatened to kill me if I died

on her!

The knowledge that there is a God-given purpose to our suffering, and

that our pain is never dealt out by a capricious creator is a wonderful

source of hope. Developing this understanding, and level of confidence

in God – found in prayer and the study of His word – even before a

challenge is thrown in our path is one of the most important steps we can

take. Never forget that God will not subject you to more than you are

capable of handling. When trials are harsh, understand that God knows

that you are strong enough for the ordeal, and that you can, and will,

emerge stronger, wiser, and closer to Him.

Preparing socially

Eccl. 4:9-10 "Two are better than one, because they have a good

reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his

companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help

him up."

True friendship matters. When one is going through a trial, it is

more important than ever before to have someone you trust. Someone who

will support you spiritually and emotionally, and is strong enough to

remind you that God is there for you when your hope starts to falter.

Too many of us see relationship building as an optional aspect of

Christian living – something that we can always get around to later.

However, the type of relationship described in the passage above takes time to

grow and flourish. If you wait until the night before your "test",

you’ll discover just how limited cramming is. If it didn’t work for you

back when you were in school it’s not going to work for the really big

examinations of life! True friendship, to the full extent of the meaning

of the word, develops and matures over time.

When I was ill, and facing the likelihood of my imminent death, I knew

straight away that I would need extra help and emotional support..

Although I depended on my wife Kathy for much of this, I alsoSo, contacted

four men with whom I enjoyed a close, long-term relationship and whose

wisdom I greatly respected. I asked them to meet me once a week for the

first few years of the trial, to help me to think through decisions

that would have to be made for myself, my family and the church that I was

still pastoring. Because of the trust developed between us over the

course of many years of friendship, they all accepted, and our weekly

meetings in a little diner over coffee and bagels became precious to us

all. In the fullness of time, we ceased to meet every week, but the

experience had drawn us closer, and that closeness will be with us always.

In the words of the poet, no man is an island. Severe trials prove this

to be true. Understand the importance of developing intimate

relationships with people of like hearts and minds, long before the trials even

glower on the horizon.

Preparing mentally

If there is one thing I’ve learned through my ordeal and

counseling hundreds of others is that God is to be trusted in all things. His

provisions are rarely early but they are never late! Try to reach an

understanding and acceptance of this now - even if you have not yet been

presented with a challenge.

Because we have not thoughtoften just don’t think through the basic

issues in advance, few of us are mentally prepared for severe trials. It

always seems that bad things – car accidents, destroyed homes – happen

to other people, but not us. Many of us feel ourselves to be

invulnerable. Manyalso, are Christian "couch potatoes", thinking that life should

be like a vacation on the beach, and that eternal life is simply an

extension of that. Wrong! We need to approach life proactively – not watch

from the sidelines. To be forewarned is only to be forearmed when we

take the warning seriously – and do something about it.

The reason why so many of us are allowed to live for many years before

facing terrible trials is to allow us time to prepare. How do we do

this? By making the foundation of our houses the truth of

scriptureScripture, and not the whims of our culture or our personal inclinations.

Didn’t we learn at our mothers’ knees that we should build our homes of

solid brick, just like the three little pigs? from the three little pigs,

at our mother’s knee, to built homes of solid brick? Haven’t we

understood the lesson of the man who built his house on sand, only to see it

washed away, as opposed to the man who built his house on rock, and saw

it stand?

"Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them

into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The

rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against

that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the

rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them

into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain

came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that

house, and it fell with a great crash."[8]

Now is the time to garrison our minds with truth, and to live according

to it, with ruthless honesty. Let’s be realistic – the statistics

suggest rather overwhelmingly that all of us will die of something! The time

to prepare for that eventuality, and the suffering that will precede

it, is already upon us. Never forget that the time we spend on earth is

brief, compared to the vastness of eternity.

Preparing physically

The earthly bodies that God has provided us with are the only ones

we’ll have during this lifetime, and it behooves us all to take care of

them. I have a friend who had been a state champion weightlifter, and

developed severe back problems. However, because of his training before the

problem developed, and his determination throughout the trial, he built

up his back to the point whereby today he earns a living taking

businessmen on moose hunts. Their job is to pull the trigger, his to fling the

moose over his shoulder and carry it back to the truck. Now, we can’t

all be champion weight-lifters or strong enough to carry an adult moose,

but making sure that we are as physically fit and healthy as we can

possibly be is a great asset during trials.

By getting rid of clutter

Everyone knows how quickly life can be subsumed beneath a mound of

clutter, both physical and spiritual. There’s nothing quite like facing a

crisis to make one realize what truly matters. But don’t wait until

you’re ill, or dealing with another serious challenge, before setting

yourself the task of sorting out your life. Simplicity is the key to a

healthful relationship with God and with those you care about. In the course

of everyday living, you may be asked to participate in any number of

activities, from PTA to environmental work. Before committing yourself,

take time to pray and discover if this is what God really wants you to

do. The amount of time that you have free to give is finite, so allot

your hours carefully. If you don’t respect your own time, who will? Don’t

be afraid to say "no" when necessary.

Sit down and think carefully about what your priorities are. Do you

need a home full of purchases? Do you really care about catching every

episode of your favorite soap opera or watching every single ball game of

the season? When facing a crisis, many people regret not having spent

more time with their families and the people they love, or not having

invested enough of themselves in cultivating a healthy relationship with

God. Very few sigh: "If only I’d caught every episode of ER …" or, "if

only I’d spent more time reading the funnies …" or, "if only I’d spent

more money on brand-name clothes …" Remember: it’s better to work

towards a good family and spiritual life than to answer every single email,

surf all the chat rooms, and collect all the collectibles. Decide what

matters, and concentrate on that. The time will come when you are glad

that you did.

Preparing financially

In short, get insured. The term "life insurance" is a misnomer. It

should be called "income insurance" because no amount of money can replace

a human being. However, loss of income, especially if you are the

primary caretaker of the family, can be devastating. Don’t let this happen.

Term life insurance is relatively inexpensive, especially while we’re

young and don’t think we need it. And it’s the most effective way to

give you and your family some peace of mind before and during a trial. Of

course, the edge is the place to live for a vibrant spiritual life, and

putting one’s sole trust in earthly securities can only disappoint and

lead to apathy of the soul. He who puts his total confidence in the

Lord will be strong and fruitful regardless of what happens, but insurance

is a good investment for those we love.

Find Things To Laugh About

As a pastor and public speaker, I knew I needed to put people at

ease by finding things in life to laugh about! When I returned to the

pulpit shortly after receiving radioactive implants, I looked out over

my beloved congregation and saw the concern on all their faces. They

knew that a massive amount of radiation had been implanted in their

pastor's already chewed up, radiated-to-the-max, chemo-soaked brain, and they

couldn't fathom my having much more left to work with. So I sat on a

stool behind the pulpit and gave them all a good eye to eye work over.

Then I broke the silence by saying "Folks, I have good news and bad news.

The good news is you won't have trouble finding me in the dark. The bad

news is that I'm killing all the plants in the church as I pass by

them." The belly laugh was good for us all!

Never forget, though – ultimately, it is God who will take care of you.

The best preparation you can make is to start working at building an

honest, worshipful relationship with Him.

Chapter Four - Don’t write the script

Celebrate the joys and victories of others

A week after my first surgery, and the grim diagnosis, I was well

enough to go shopping with my wife Kathy. The Christmas season was

ending, and to me, everyone seemed young, beautiful and carefree. I started

resenting them, one and all, for having everything that I was losing.

But I did realize that I had a choice. I could either wallow in

self-pity and allow myself to grow bitter – and bitterness is the cancer of the

soul – or I could learn to celebrate the joy of others, and of life.

The more attractive option wasn’t hard to pick! We all hold invitations

to the joyous party that God is throwing all around us – but sometimes

it takes a hopeless prognosis to make this clear!

On hearing of my dismal prognosis, the congregation at Fellowship Bible

Church was not prepared to accept my imminent death, so they gave

themselves to praying for healing, and for grace so that our family would be

victorious, regardless of the outcome. The response was overwhelming.

Cards and telephone calls flooded in from individuals, families,

churches and Christian schools, all promising to pray for me. A large map of

the United States was posted in the foyer of the church. Soon, it was

covered with thousands of tiny pins, each of which represented an

individual or church which was praying for my recovery. Churches even urged

their congregations to donate towards my medical expenses. Although my

daughter Crystal was still tiny at the time, the image of that pin-filled

map, representing the thousands of people who were praying for us,

remains one of her most vivid memories of those difficult days, and a

vibrant demonstration of the power of faith and prayer. Joe shares her

memories, although he expresses his enthusiasm more prosaically: "The map

was really cool! Knowing that there were people all over America praying

for Dad and for us made me feel really special." Co-pastor Jim also

remembers that time, and the way in which members of the church rallied to

support us:

"Tim and Kathy were very loved. People were constantly coming to them,

and to me, and saying, ‘what can we do?’ ‘how can we help?’ It seems

that, when there was a need, it was catered for."

Within our own community of Longview, the various denominations present

in the town all showed their support by praying, and by offering

spiritual and practical support. In a society in which those who worship

differently all too often find reasons for discord rather than harmony,

this was a wonderful example of how the whole Church - the whole body of

Christ - was able to transcend difference, forget disagreements and

political allegiances, and unite in prayer for one of its own. Even today,

when I visit Longview, I run into members of the different churches who

recall being told of the young pastor whose life was threatened by

brain cancer. "But I remember praying for you!" they tell me, looking at me

as though they were looking at a ghost. Jim tells me that pastors and

members of other churches still ask him what happened. In most cases,

they assume that I died long ago and find in me a living example of the

efficacy of prayer. This is just one more example of how the trial

inflicted on just one of God’s servants can bring light and hope to many,

many more.

During the stressful period immediately after my diagnosis, practical

advice was on hand as well as spiritual support, and life-long medical

friends helped me to identify the best physician and institution for my

case. There was no time to waste, and we didn’t delay in boarding a

plane from Longview to Houston, ready to face a second operation. Kathy,

Ginger and I, together with our friend Barbara packed our bags and

embarked on the trip. Barbara and Kathy had grown close through their mutual

involvement in Bible Study. Barbara is a mathematics lecturer at the

LeTourneau University, but she took time out to accompany us to the

hospital in Houston. The pilot of the small plane was also a member of our

church. By this time, my parents and my sister Julie had managed to make

it to the city to comfort Kathy.

Before long, I was seen by a world-renowned neuro-oncologist at the

prestigious MD Anderson Medical Center, which sprawls across many blocks

of downtown Houston, and attracts sufferers from all over the world,

desperate for a cure. The Center was founded in the 1950s, and has become

one of the most important - if not the most important - hospitals for

the research and treatment of cancer in the world. Knowing its

reputation, Kathy and I expected it to be a gloomy, overbearing establishment,

full of long, dark corridors and grim medical staff. Nothing could be

further from the truth. Alongside cancer sufferers from all over the

world, I was treated in a bright, colorful environment, peopled by smiling

faces and an atmosphere of optimism. Here, one can see the most

incongruous combinations of people - a Muslim girl in a veil alongside an

African-American youth in a tank-top; an elderly European gentleman in a

waistcoat exchanging views with a young Mid-Western wife and mother. All

are bound together by the struggle they share, the treatments they

undergo and the hope they reach towards. The Texans are proud people, and

they make sure that theirs is one of the best hospitals in the world by

never letting it run low in funds. Very Texan in spirit, this complex

of hospitals is a real gift to the world.

We all hoped that the consultant would be able to encourage us with

news of the latest medical advances. Instead, Dr. Levin doubted that I

would survive even the first six weeks of radiation, and he made it clear

that he believed that there was little hope beyond that period. This

was our lowest point. The heavens seemed to be brass, and our prayers

were bouncing off! When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping, and

that’s what Kathy I did that afternoon! At least we managed to make grim

jokes about whether or not it would be worth investing in a pair of

shoes for me, considering that I might not be around for long enough to

break them in.

That evening some friends came to spend the evening with us in our

hotel room in Houston. Kathy and I had met and grown close to Mike, Rowena

and Dave during our time at Cypress Bible Church. Now we prayed

together, and asked God for His grace in dealing with the challenge that faced

us. The proximity of true friends, and our joy at being able to pray

together in these difficult times relieved the tension and we all vowed

to do our best to put our faith in God and not man.

God listened to our prayers, and provided a supremely self-assured

neuro-surgeon who persuaded the tumor board that another craniotomy, under

more controlled circumstances, could remove the bulk of the tumor. A

stocky, bearded man whose incipient baldness did nothing to detract from

his powerful image, the first thing we noticed was the aura of

confidence, bordering on arrogance, that Dr. Moser brings with him. On entering

the room, he made everybody else seem suddenly more subdued. His

approach was best summed up by the words, "I can do that."

We knew, even at this early point, that the surgery was not going to be

enough to kill the cancer, necessary as it was. This would be just

another step in the process of fighting the disease. But it would be an

important one.

Despite everything, Kathy and I were confident that God would not

subject us to more than we were capable of, and we fought our feelings of

desperation and fear with prayer. The comments I made to one of the local

newspapers after surgery sum up my feelings at that time:

"Satan’s purpose is to destroy. I think Satan wanted to destroy me, the

church, the hope and faith of many … a brain tumor is about the only

thing that can knock a pastor down and keep him down. I think that is the

nature of Satan - he knows where we fear and that’s where he attacks.

His whole aim is to prove that we will abandon the Lord if enough is

taken away. [We] have to say: "Lord, if that’s what you have for me, I

will not surrender to the Enemy."

Satan doesn't work for God; he's self employed. But God has him

on a short leash!

The surgery seemed to be endless for those who were waiting. Kathy

probably measured it in terms of Ginger’s feeds. At just a month old, she

still needed nursing every few hours. From time to time, news from the

operating theatre was fed to the nurse in the waiting room, so that she

could keep family and friends up to date. Kathy and the others knew the

exact moment when surgery began, and updates came in every half hour or

so, even when there wasn’t necessarily all that much to tell. When the

procedure was finally over, Dr. Moser came out, still wearing surgical

scrubs.

"We got it all," he told Kathy.

"What do you mean by that exactly?" Kathy wanted to know.

Dr. Moser informed her that every piece of tumor, both those parts

visible to the naked eye and those only visible microscopically, had been

excised. I was awake and able to receive visitors within three quarters

of an hour. I greeted them from my ICU bed with my head swathed in

bandages, and was as pleased as they were to hear that they "got it all".

"I was with Tim and Kathy in Houston," Jim Johnson remembers, "we were

expecting the doctor to remove part of the tumor - enough so that it

might respond to treatment. Well, when he came out he had a look of

amazement on his face when he said ‘it looks like we got it all’. Tim must

have been in surgery for about seven hours. I recall this as one of

those instances when I had the opportunity to see the grace of God,

something which is always there, if not always immediately evident, in the

course of everyday life."

Be proactive, not passive

Patients always do better when they refuse to give up, and to

become passive. Don’t let everyone else acquire the information and make

the important decisions that affect you. Of course, you should respect

the wisdom of the good people around you, but never lose sight of the

fact that this is your life! You are the one who must decide how – and

even if you are going to live it! Doctors know a lot, but they don’t

always know what’s best for you.

Kathy told me later that, while they waited, they all took turns

holding Ginger, and providing support for each other during the operation.

Kathy even found time to do some needlework while she waited. This was

also an opportunity for friends from the two different churches to meet

and get to know each other, and it must have been comforting for my

elderly parents to see how many good friends their son and daughter in law

had. The hospital stay lasted for just three days, and I was allowed

home to Longview to continue my treatment at the local facilities, which

had been sent instructions from the doctors at MD Anderson.

Although I resumed many of my duties as pastor at this time and worked

as hard as I could in my weakened state, inevitably my co-pastor Jim

had to shoulder extra responsibilities. He was more than able for the

task. Today, he remembers:

"I was very busy, almost too busy to worry. I had to work extremely

hard to keep things under control so that Tim and Kathy could focus on

Tim’s getting better, and on just living. In many ways it was a difficult

experience, for me and for the church too."

But his own experience in the past brought an extra burden to the

equation. Some years before, a close friend of Jim’s had also been diagnosed

as having a brain tumor, and Jim had accompanied him through the

difficult period. While in one way this experience made him hopeful for me,

as his friend had survived, in others it made him dread for the future.

As he perceived it, his friend and singing partner had not been left

unscathed by the treatment. Although perfectly functional, he seemed to

Jim to have lost a lot of his drive, his ambition. Jim recalls being

afraid that this might happen to me, and I think that the experience of

watching his co-pastor go through brain cancer meant that, to some

extent, he relived the trauma that affected him when his friend was ill. By

allowing me to become ill, God was also offering Jim a challenge and the

opportunity to grow.

Insert a relevant reading

The case for real hope

"Other men see only a hopeless end, but the Christian rejoices in

an endless hope." C. S. Lewis.

When one is confronted by one’s own frailty in the form of a

life-threatening illness, it can be difficult to remember what’s most important.

Panic and despair set in, and sufferers become preoccupied with what is

happening to them, and what will happen to family and friends if the

"worst" occurs and they don’t get well. God created us in His image to

love and be loved, but most of us don’t seem to care. Until we need Him,

we devote ourselves to the senseless pleasures of life, and give little

thought to the real purpose of existence. In the Bible, God beseeches

us to come near and know Him better, but few of us lift the book from

the shelf until we have been humbled by circumstances greater than

ourselves. Then, at last recognizing Him for what He is, we call out for Him,

and find Him waiting. God never apologizes, or reprimands, but

accompanies us in our sorrow. In God, we find all our needs. He can be relied

upon to lead us through even the most trying of journeys. I speak from

experience; becoming ill with brain cancer lead me to an even closer

relationship with God. Far from being angry with Him for allowing me to

become ill, I am able to rejoice in the fact that He felt that I was

strong enough for a truly great trial, and worthy to perform the ministry

that this trial equipped me for.

Throughout my years as a pastor and in the ministry I now

practice, the stars have often appealed to me as providing the perfect

metaphor for God’s sometimes puzzling tendency to impose challenges upon us so

as to see how we can rise to meet them. The stars are always there,

although we can only see them when it’s dark. In just the same way, we

cannot always appreciate the many wonderful things that God does for us

until we are subject to trials.

Even the sufferer who welcomes his or her trial must resist giving into

the temptation of egoism. Grave crises don’t just affect the person who

is ill or suffering in some other way. They also change the lives of

everyone around him. When I was diagnosed as having a brain tumor, my

wife, Kathy, had five young children – one a newborn. At a time when I

should have been able to look after her, and help her to care for our

growing family, she was forced to worry about me, fear for the future and

look after our sons and daughters by herself. Instead of becoming angry

with God, or submitting to despair, Kathy put all her faith in Him.

Later, she was to write;

I don’t know how often you’ve heard that God is always with you. This

simple, true saying, which brings comfort in times of need, is worth

saying. But how many of us really believe it?

When Tim’s cancer was first diagnosed, I knew, intellectually, that God

would always be with me. But it wasn’t until I tested the truth of this

saying that I really knew it in my heart.

The moment came when we were on our way to Houston for the first time

to meet with a world renowned brain cancer specialist. Ginger, Tim,

myself and a close friend, Barbara, together with the car seat, stroller,

suitcases, diaper bag and an armful of hope piled onto a private plane.

A chauffeur and limousine met us at the hangar, and as we zoomed to the

Texas Medical Center, Tim carried on an animated conversation with our

driver. Ginger, still a baby, entertained Barbara from her car seat. I

worried: "What are we going to do with all of this stuff when we each

the hospital?" I envisioned us standing on the curb, absolutely alone in

front of a big, busy hospital on a big, busy street in a big, busy

city.

Through the chaos in my mind, I could barely hear God’s still, small

voice, saying; "Haven’t I been with you this far? Hasn’t everything been

taken care of?" These words calmed my thoughts and I relaxed,

peacefully waiting for God to supply what we needed.

We arrived at the curb of the hospital and a tall man in a volunteer

uniform stepped forward, helped pick up all our belongings, and whisked

them off to a storage closet. We were on our way to Tim’s appointment

with no time to spare.

Later when I had time to reflect on this incident, God’s care

overwhelmed me. He was with us just as He promised. He still is with us as He is

with you.

Understanding hope

Hope is some extraordinary spiritual grace that God gives us to

control our fears, not to oust them. ~Vincent McNabb

As someone who has survived a brain tumor, I am often asked to recount

my experience, to tell others what God has done for me, and impart

hope. I sometimes worry about the possible repercussions of this. Might I,

unwittingly, foster false hope? Will others expect a guaranteed

recovery from their illness if they do exactly what I did? How will they

suffer if the outcome of their crisis does not fulfill their expectations?

In preaching hope, do I help those in despair, or could I be making them

vulnerable to disappointment?

Shortly after I was diagnosed as suffering from brain cancer, I was

introduced to a man who had been given the same diagnosis. That was five

years earlier, and he was still alive. This man was sure that his

survival was due to a special cancer-fighting diet, and he urged me to follow

his example. A few years later he died, leaving a young family. I had

allowed myself to place undue hope in his diet, and was also badly

affected by the news of his death. The faith that this man had in his diet

had caused me to trust in it, and use it as a reason for hope.

"With everybody leaning on it so much you might think hope would

be tired but it is OK!

Hope is not a non-renewable resource. You weren’t allotted a

finite amount of that most precious of gifts when you were born. No - God

has provided you with as much hope as you need - an infinite quantity!

But one must never forget that God is the source of true hope. Put your

faith in Him, and He will ensure that you are always hopeful. He knows

what is best for you, and He will make sure that you have everything

you need. Realizing this, how can anyone fail to be hopeful?

Hope is not a cure-all. It should not be based on blind faith, but on

knowledge, experience, and reason. To a Christian, God is hope – but He

does not automatically dispense healing when supplicated with formulae

of faith and prayers. We cannot manipulate Him with words into

providing us with the outcome we desire - and the outcome that we think is the

best one for us may not necessarily be so.

Even the most earnest and well-meaning Overcomer can impart false hope

to someone who is suffering. We must have a firm basis for hopefulness,

focussing on the reality, character and promises of God.

Cursed is the man who trusts in man and makes flesh his strength,

whose heart departs from the Lord. For he shall be like a shrub in the

desert, and shall not see when good comes, but shall inhabit the

parched places in the wilderness, in a salt land which is not inhabited.

Blessed is the man whose trust is in the Lord, and whose hope is in the

Lord. For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, which spreads out

its roots by the river, and will not fear when heat comes; but its leaf

will be green, and will not be anxious in the year of drought, nor will

cease from yielding fruit.[9]

We have learned through the years of walking with God that He is to be

found as much in the little things in life as in the grand, flashy

events. All you have to do is adopt an air of childlike anticipation. Jesus

spoke of this when he reprimanded his disciples for acting like

henchmen, and keeping children away from him instead of recognizing them for

the models of innocence they can be. I’ve urged many an anxious patient

to remember all the wonderful things God has done for then in the past

so as to help them understand that He will do so again!

Chapter Five - Another treatment, another place

Again, I seem to be a bit confused about the order of the treatments -

were there two periods of chemotherapy, one before and one after the

radioactive seed implants? Please check this chapter, and let me know

what needs to be adjusted. The chemo therapy came first, then the

implants.

For Christ also hath once suffered for sins, the just for the

unjust,

that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh,

but

quickened by the Spirit.[10]

If God decides that you are strong enough to face a great

challenge, you should be honored. It won’t be easy, and you will find yourself

tested every step of the way. But in suffering, you share a fraction of

the pain of Jesus when He died on the cross for the sins of the World.

Observe the hands of God as they reach out of give you comfort and hope

- are they not marked by the wounds inflicted when He was nailed to the

cross? Even though you may be in the midst of pain, God can be trusted.

Give yourself to Him.

Even though my surgery went amazingly well, none of us was under the

misconception that the tumor was gone. You might say that cancer is

biological demonic possession, and medicine still an imperfect exorcist! I

was going to have to undergo both radiation and chemotherapy treatments.

We started with the chemicals. For several months, the chemotherapists

administered a cocktail of three drugs that promised the most effective

therapy available at that time. Fortunately, Longview was home to a

center which administered chemotherapy, and I was able to receive

treatment there, rather than having to travel elsewhere.

The medical staff warned me that the chemicals that were being pumped

into my circulatory system were extremely caustic and that under no

circumstance should I allow the substance to come in contact with my skin.

The thought of losing several layers from my arm did not appeal, and I

was always extremely careful to make sure that the needle had been

properly inserted before allowing the care-team to start the flow of

chemicals from the drip. The fact that our veins are able to cope with

substances too aggressive for our skin was a source of some astonishment!

The room in which I was cared for looked out onto a small forest and

although I knew that I would soon be feeling ill as a result of the

strong chemicals being introduced into my system, I always took comfort in

the view. The trees and their wild inhabitants were a reminder of God’s

presence in nature, and how His hands encompass literally even the

smallest of His creations. Such a loving God would never abandon even the

most insignificant of His faithful!

The medical personnel who oversaw my case still recall the highly

aggressive nature of the therapies that I had decided to pursue, noting that

they were much harsher than the treatments usually provided to patients

with brain cancer at that time. I was warned that the side effects of

treatment were likely to be considerable, and very unpleasant. Now,

Kathy and I knew what we were letting ourselves in for, but we felt

strongly that this was in the direction in which God was leading us. Despite

all the treatments, and my generally encouraging response to them, my

care-team was far from convinced that the battle was over. The consensus

was that if we did not do more to fight it, the tumor would recur, and

it was decided that the best way to combat this eventuality was to take

treatment a notch higher. Over time, the void where my tumor had been

had shrunk to the requisite level, making me a candidate for radioactive

seed implants, a relatively new procedure.

By the grace of God, a medical friend of ours alerted us to the fact

that this treatment was offered at the University Hospital in San

Francisco. The procedure required over a week of treatment, during which time

I would be in isolation, so Kathy stayed at home with the kids while I

flew to California. We knew that it was dangerous for family and

friends to visit me, as I would be extremely radioactive while undergoing

therapy, so it was with a heavy heart that Kathy and I accepted that she

would not be able to come. With a father gravely ill, the last thing our

children needed was the exposure of their mother to potentially

dangerous radiation!

As I left, Kathy pressed a cassette tape of Christian songs for fathers

into my hand. She hoped that they would be a comfort to me, but she

hadn’t read the lyrics, which vividly described the importance of a father

in his daughter’s life as she matures. In fact, I can still remember

the awful picture the songs painted of daughters who have to grow up with

no father figures. The thought that I might not be around to watch my

own little girls grow to womanhood was too much for me to bear, and as I

sat beside a sweet little old lady, I began to cry - much to her

dismay!

I was afraid of being lost to my family, but not of the medical

procedure, although if I’d been a little more familiar with the process, I

might have been more concerned. I was going to have what is known as

"brachial therapy". In order to deliver a great amount of radiation to a

very small area inside the brain, I was going to have holes drilled in my

skull, and radioactive isotopes placed in the center of my brain.

As soon as I arrived, the neurosurgical team clamped a "halo" onto my

head – a metal ring screwed into my skull. They quickly attached a

"cage" to the ring, and slapped me down for an extensive series of CAT

scans. The images showed the areas of concern as well as the "cage", to

enable them to trace the site of the tumor. The computer cranked for hours,

analyzing the situation so as to determine exactly how much radioactive

material had to be placed in my brain, and where. When the computations

had finished, I was rushed into the small operating room, dressed in

traditional hospital garb – almost nothing – and placed into what looked

like a dentist’s chair. I couldn’t help but notice, as the staff

attended to me, that they were all dressed in protective garments to prevent

damage to themselves from the radiation, while I shivered in a cotton

robe. Even more alarmingly, a nurse passed me with what seemed to be my

Black-and-Decker drill from home in her hand. Somewhat irreverently, I

wondered if I couldn’t perform the operation by myself! Using the metal

halo as a guide, the team attached devices which would guide the drill

into my skull in the locations and to the depth the computer

prescribed. When the holes were drilled, they placed exactly calibrated shunts

into them. Each of these shunts was to receive a radioactive pellet, and

guide it down into its proper location, deep inside the tissues of my

brain. Here, they would act by subjecting the tumor area to so much

radioactivity that the cancer would be unlikely to reappear - so long as I

survived the treatment, that is.

Before long, the doctor and his assistants fled. At that point, I

noticed that the room had its own small elevator, so that the medical staff

could deliver the radioactive material from the laboratory without

having to pass through the rest of the hospital. This gives some indication

of the extraordinarily high levels of radiation that were being dealt

with! The elevator door opened, and a man dressed in what looked like

astronaut garb walked out, holding a tiny box in his huge, gloved hands.

The new arrival asked me to stay still, and I did my best to do so as,

one by one, he took the little pellets and dropped them into the

shunts. Then he wished me a good day and left. Moments later, the medical

team reentered. The doctor checked that everything was in order, and

sealed the shunts to ensure that they would stay in place for the next few

days. I was going to have to spend that time under close supervision,

as I was now highly radioactive, and a potential risk to others. I was

not to leave the room they had assigned me to, and I was to face a

certain outside wall at all times. I also had to restrict my visitors to a

minimum, and ensure that when they did come, they wore special vests and

hats to protect themselves from the radioactivity. I was a one-man

nuclear hazard. Just before he left, the doctor advised me to relax and let

myself "cook".[11]

It is at times like these that one’s real friends are revealed. During

my stay, I received a number of visitors, each of whom bravely exposed

themselves to me, being possessed of love greater than their fear.

After a week of semi-solitude with little to do other than contemplate soap

operas and wonder why it was that I could feel nothing of the

radioactivity inside my brain, the door to my room opened and in walked a friend

to whom I had grown close in Longview some time before. I had

ministered to his "significant other", an early victim of the AIDS epidemic that

affected the homosexual population so severely at that time. His friend

died, and I had been able to provide a funeral service that encompassed

the disparate needs of the various mourners (perhaps the first time

that a crystal was incorporated into a Christian burial service in

Longview).

Despite our many differences, my new friend and I had grown close.

Perhaps the fact that we both grew up in southern California helped us to

find some common ground. In any case, his stereotypes about Texan

pastors were corrected during our time together, while my preconceptions of

Californian homosexuals were largely confirmed. Still, he was a kind,

caring person and it was a pleasure getting to know him. I was happy to

see him again now, and impressed by his courage in exposing himself to

the hazardous effects of radiation. My only other visitors were two

people whom I had known in college, now living in the area, as well as my

sister Pat, who flew in from Oregon. Again, the fact that they all

risked their health to see me was deeply moving. Their visits were brief,

but they have stayed with me to the present day. Many people called and

asked if they could visit, but I advised everyone to stay away. There

was little point in risking the health of others.

During all this time, I could feel nothing in my head at all. I’d

expected some sensation - perhaps a sensation of heat. I even asked the

doctor if he was completely sure that the pellets were in place. The doctor

assured me that some months would pass before I could feel anything. At

that point, my brain would be scanned again, to see how the site of the

tumor was progressing, and to assess how my brain was managing to

process the dead tissue. The doctor had already informed me that

approximately 35 percent of patients undergoing this process had to have another

surgery to clean out necrotic tissue, and that it was likely that I

would fall within this category.

The next stage of treatment was the medical equivalent of bringing on

the cavalry, in the form of chemo- and radiotherapy. The philosophy of

both treatments is the same; the body is exposed to an agent that

strikes good and cancer cells alike. When this works, the good cells, while

damaged by the treatment, are able to recuperate, while the cancer

cells, equally damaged, are degenerate and thus unable to recover from the

onslaught. My treatment began with radiotherapy. Dr. Ozarda of the

Longview radiotherapy center was a kindly, elderly man in a lab coat, more

than willing to follow the instructions of my doctors at MD Anderson.

The job that he, his staff and facility had to perform was to deliver

7800 rads of radiation to my tumor as best they could, while minimizing

the damage to the healthy brain tissue so far as they were able. He took

the scans of my brain, with indications of where the tumor had been,

and plotted out a way to block the radiation from going elsewhere. Before

letting loose with the radiation, Dr. Ozarda sat me down, and drew

lines and squares on my bald head with a purple pen. This added insult to

injury, in that, like every cancer patient, I felt bad enough anyway,

without having to expose myself in public with dark purple lines etched

all over my head screaming "I’m ill! I’m ill!" to all and sundry. I

pleaded with him, saying that when I was growing up, I lived next to

Disneyland, where customers would have their hands stamped with invisible ink

that only showed up under ultraviolet light. I insisted that this would

be a better technique than these lines. But doctors are not always as

sensitive as they might be towards the indignities of being a patient.

For about six weeks, I preached with lines all over my head that were

visible from the back of the auditorium.

Insert reading or quotation here.

Other than having "targets" drawn all over my head, I suffered no

ill-effects until a couple of weeks after the radiation treatment stopped,

making me wonder if they were "shooting blanks", but eventually, while I

was sitting behind my desk in the office one day, the regrown hair

started falling out. I went to the bathroom and dragged a comb across my

head, as handfuls of hair fell into the sink. Hair loss from radiation,

unlike that that can result from chemotherapy, tends to be permanent, or

to grow back in an erratic pattern. My radiation therapy left me with a

large bald patch on each side of my head. "At least I know they’re

hitting the target," was my attempt to be jovial, when I made a comment to

my secretary. By now, the scar left by surgery was horribly visible on

my largely bald head, and like most cancer patients, my struggle with

the indignities of the treatment was almost as hard as my battle with

the treatment itself.

Pretty soon, I had a collection of at least half a dozen hats. I was

particularly fond of a leather hat which I fancied made me look like

Indiana Jones, if not feel like him. Although radiation made me feel

slightly tired and left me very hairless, I continued to minister as a pastor

and counselor on a full-time basis, doing my best not to let the

situation slow me down. At this point, no cancer was apparent on my scan. The

purpose of the radiation therapy was to kill any residual cells that

might have survived the surgeries, although there was no way to confirm

what was happening. After radiation, we progressed to the chemicals.

Chemotherapy was relatively benign when compared to the other

procedures I underwent. I would be taking a "cocktail" of three different drugs,

procarbazine, vincristine and CCNU. Each was delivered in six week

cycles, with recuperative time in between. The first cycle was the CCNU.

When I arrived home, I looked at the large, brown bottle of pills,

knowing that they were essentially poison, and that we had just spent 100

dollars on them, and I thought about how incredible it was that I was

voluntarily going to take them, especially as I had also been given

prescription pills to counter the nausea that I was bound to suffer. I took

them both, went to bed, and to my delight woke up in the morning feeling

well. This continued to be the pattern. With each dose of "chemo" I

escaped secondary effects other than experiencing a profound loss of

appetite. I was blessed in managing to avoid nausea and vomiting, but I just

didn’t want to eat, and my weight fell to an all-time low of 145

pounds. Kathy tried to help by experimenting with my diet. She joined an

organic food co-op and tried to cook with as little meat protein as

possible, providing me with a modified macrobiotic diet with lots of fresh

vegetables and soy products. Don’t think me melodramatic when I tell you

that there were times when I felt that it would be better to die than to

have to spend the rest of my life eating like that! Everything I liked

was out of the question. Even after abandoning the macrobiotic diet, I

continued to shrink, until two men in the church kidnapped me for lunch

and a visit to the local haberdashery, where they bought me a suit more

appropriate to my dwindling size. I would wear suspenders to keep my

pants up but I felt like a clown because I could pull the waist band 3

inches away from my body. Once, I’d admitted to the congregation that I

was fond of chocolate milkshakes, and, to my delight, parishioners often

stopped by the office to keep me supplied. I only called this off when,

one day, I found three on my desk at once! Sadly, when the chemotherapy

stopped, the milkshakes did too (not only for me, but also for the

kids, who’d joined me on many trips to McDonald’s for delicious,

calorie-laden shakes). Eventually, I returned to normal.

Remembering that Scripture tells us about the wide range of foods,

including meats, which God has created for us to eat, nowadays I am an

unashamed omnivore.

Insert reading or quotation here

In September of the same year, I developed an infection at the surgical

site. The repeated surgeries and the regime of radiation therapy had

left the skin on top of my head stretched and fragile, and it was into

this skin that the incision for the implants and drill holes for the

shunts had been made. After the first few surgical interventions, my skin

had been held in place with staples, but as time went on it grew

progressively thinner and more delicate and the closures had to become smaller

and smaller. The infection started to fester under my skull at the

point of one of these small incisions, and was exacerbated by the fact that

the skin had been exposed to external radiation, too. Antibiotics were

ineffective in treating the problem, because no blood vessels led

directly to the area of infection. As the sore on my head oozed with pus, I

became increasingly ill with what seemed like a dreadful case of flu.

When I acquired a high fever, and just didn’t respond to anything, I

went to MD Anderson again, and was immediately hospitalized for two days

while the medical staff struggled to get the infection under control

with intravenous antibiotics. This was followed by yet another surgical

intervention. My scalp was opened, the bone plate removed and the

infection flushed out, while the site was treated with topical antibiotics. To

allow the area to heal, my head was sewn back up without the bone

plate. The plate was sent to the dental lab, where a replica was made in

acrylic, for insertion later. I emerged from this intervention feeling

absolutely dreadful, and was not comforted by the burly nurse on duty, who

tried to push an anti-seizure drug into my vein with hearty enthusiasm.

I’d been through that before, and had no intention of letting her do it

again. Kathy and our friend Lee sat at my bedside. They tried to be

comforting, but their empathy for my pain had them in tears. Later, Kathy

told Lee that this had been the most painful episode of that whole

awful year. The stress that had been accumulating since I started suffering

from severe headaches had built up to the point whereby it just had to

seek some release.

The rest of the hospital stay - at nine days, the longest of all -

continued to be dreadful. I was sent for a spinal x-ray known as a

myleogram, but what really got me down was the fact that, because the bone

plate had been left out, I had a large sunken cavity on the side of my

head, through which my brain could be seen pulsing, rather like an

oversized baby’s fontanel. I was not a pretty sight. To have a semblance of

normality, I needed something to cover up my deformed head - not so much

for the sake of my wounded vanity, as for the comfort of those around

me. A lot of people seemed too uncomfortable to look at me in the face

when we met. Children would stare, only to be reprimanded by their

parents. At that point, a friend arrived from Cypress, kidnapped me from my

hospital bed, and took me and Kathy to shop for a wig. A nice thought -

but not a great idea. I’d underestimated how miserable I was going to

feel when I got up on my feet. After the first trying session, I felt

that I couldn’t cope, and begged Kathy to take me back to the hospital

even though the trip had had my full approval. My concern with obtaining

an appearance as normal as possible had caused me to minimize the

reality of my misery.

Once I was stronger, Kathy and I did go shopping for a wig, and I grew

to cordially detest the hairpiece after wearing it just a few times. It

was hot and itchy and made me feel like someone other than myself. My

opinion was shared by at least one very special person. On one of the

first occasions on which I wore it, I came downstairs and kissed Kathy,

who was giving a tiny Ginger her breakfast. Ginger, who’d never seen her

father with hair, shot her mother an indignant look, as if to say:

"Who’s this stranger kissing you, and where’s Daddy?"

Since the days of surgery, I’ve undergone regular scans to check for a

re- growth of the tumor. We had one scare when a significant shadow

appeared on a follow-up scan. Was it a recurrence, or necrotic tissue? The

doctors tried to answer the question with a PET scan, which displays

metabolic activity in tissue, hoping that the surgery could be avoided if

the scan could lead us to conclude that the area of concern was either

"cool", indicating normal tissue, or "hot", indicating a tumor. The

test was inconclusive, requiring surgery to biopsy the tissue. The sample

indicated no malignancy.

During the period of treatment, I began taking a drug called Delantin -

which I still use today - to combat seizures. After each surgery I

underwent, I also took Decadrom, a steroid that helps to keep down swelling

following an operation. This is especially important in the case of

brain surgery, as there is no room for expansion within the bony confines

of the skull. I had to take the steroid for about a month, with a

gradually reducing dosage, following each surgery. As with many steroid

drugs, a secondary effect was swelling of the face - I looked a lot like a

squirrel gathering nuts for winter. Compared to a lot of the things I

was putting up with, this was almost a bit of light relief!

"Radiation or radishes"?

Determine to trust God, not Man

Society tends to look up towards doctors as if they were

omnipotent. Perhaps this is where they got their god-complex from! But

Scripture warns us against making gods of men:

Thus says the Lord, "Cursed is the man who trusts in mankind and

makes flesh his strength, and whose heart turns away from the Lord. For

he will be like a bush in the desert and will not see when prosperity

comes, but will live in stony wastes in the wilderness, a land of salt

without inhabitant. Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord and whose

trust is the Lord. For he will be like a tree planted by the water,

that extends its roots by a stream and will not fear when the heat comes;

but its leaves will be green, and it will not be anxious in a year of

drought nor cease to yield fruit.[12]

There are dozens of different approaches to cancer treatments, and

patients who are told that they have this terrifying disease can find it

too overwhelming to process all the information that is thrown at them.

One of the biggest problems is that experts in the various fields of

health care tend to be antagonistic towards each other, and there is

little or no cooperation between them. Making an educated decision about

which course to take is almost impossible, especially for those who are

ill, and have little time to spend prevaricating.

It seems as though no cancer patient manages to avoid what I call the

‘Great Dilemma’ - namely: "Should I submit to conventional cancer

treatment such as surgery, radiation and chemotherapy, or is there a better

way? Specifically, can I really build up my immune system to fight off

the cancer naturally? What approach is closest to what God wants for

me?"

The battle rages. In one corner, we find the physicians and their army

of lab technicians, oncologists, surgeons, pathologists and more. On

the other, the naturalists, who somehow find ‘Biblical’ justification for

their return-to-nature approach. Neither side has much respect for the

other, and each promises to provide an exclusive approach to health,

while condemning alternatives as futile. Between the two, we find the

cancer patient who, despite feeling unwell, has to make the all-important

decision about what sort of treatment to opt for. And he has to make it

quickly. It’s a cruel situation to be in.

Initially, I decided to opt for the ‘natural’ approach. Early in my

trial, a friend of mine informed us that he knew someone else who had been

diagnosed with the same time of cancer as me. This guy had been

diagnosed five years earlier, and he was doing very well - he might even be

completely cured. Now, I’d been told I had only weeks to live, so the

thought of still being around in five years without having to undergo

painful, invasive medical procedures was very attractive. I wanted to meet

this survivor, very much. After speaking with him on the phone, my

optimism was even greater. I pumped my new friend for details about his

treatment. He spoke briefly about chemotherapy and radiation, but was most

enthusiastic about the cancer-fighting diet he was on. He managed to

persuade me that the key to his survival was his diet, and urged me to

meet with his nutrition guru in Dallas. Soon after, my family and I went

to Dallas to meet the nutritionist, who spoke to us with evangelical

fervor about the ignorance of the medical establishment and its sinister

agenda to monopolize the money from the cancer industry by suppressing

the facts about the role of nutrition in fighting disease. Now, what he

didn’t know was that my two best friends, neither of whom was ignorant

or greedy, were a physician and a chief of pharmacy at an important

cancer hospital. With this in mind, the nutritionist’s argument was hard

to swallow. Nonetheless, I decided to follow his regime. Soon, I was

eating nothing I liked, and learning how to swallow 20 or more pills at a

time. Pork chops, milkshakes, pizza and all the other things that make

life worth living were definitely out of the question. I’m no doctor,

and so I’m unqualified to comment on the efficacy of diet in fighting

cancer. In my particular situation, however, it didn’t seem that there

was time to take risks. The nutritionist spoke about reintroducing

certain foods to my diet in a year’s time - and I had been told that my fate

would be sealed within a matter of weeks!

Like most cancer sufferers, the very thought of aggressive treatment

frightened me. Chemotherapy, radiation, surgery … even the words were

alarming, summoning up images of pallid, feeble sufferers being subjected

to who knows what sort of torture in the name of treatment. On the

other hand, well intentioned people try to assure you that if you are

careful to live and eat properly, your cancer can be reversed and even

cured. So far as naturopaths are concerned, nothing is worse than taking

poison (chemotherapy), cutting open the body (surgery) or radiation

treatment, which seems to have overtones of Chernobyl and nuclear warfare. To

them, these are not treatments, but interventions to be shunned. On the

other hand, the medically trained find the idea of treating cancer with

something as simple as a diet quite ridiculous. The messages coming

from these two opposing camps are, by definition, in conflict. The medical

world, with its studies, its experts in dazzling white coats and its

technology is persuasive - but the fruits-and-vegetables people point out

that few medical schools train their students about the importance of

vitamins, diets and natural health. They indicate the huge sums of money

maintaining the drug and medical technology fields, and the hefty

salaries paid to doctors. Even if they don’t go so far as to say it, they

suggest that there are underhand dealings afoot. Finally, many

naturopaths believe that they have the Bible on their side. At least, that’s how

they prefer to interpret it. They point out that God created a garden

first, not a butcher-shop. Because of my theological background, I was

attracted to this argument and decided to at least incorporate some of

the teachings of the naturopaths in my battle with the disease.

But what does the medical establishment have to say of the natural

approach? First, they point to the absence of rigorous scientific controls

and suggest that naturopaths are motivated by uniformed zeal and

anecdotal evidence. There’s very little science behind the claims that

healthy eating actually fights cancer. When I sought affirmation from my

neurosurgeon for my decision to eat healthful food, he only smirked and

informed me that "cancer cells like vitamins too."

It seemed that instead of taking advantage of the expertise of both the

medical and the naturopathic schools, I was torn between the two

schools of thought. I was living on the sort of diet no man should have to

endure, while still not managing to avoid surgery.

Things don’t seem to have improved much with respect to finding some

common ground between the nutritionists and the medical industry, and

cancer patients and their families still find themselves caught in the

middle. It’s important for both camps to remember that compassion is more

important than pride.

It is seemingly unavoidable that any person diagnosed with cancer

suffers a dilemma caused by well-intentioned doctors who, on the basis of

scientific research, have discovered that a variety of aggressive medical

techniques fight cancer. They don’t always expand on the many obvious

drawbacks, even when the cancer is successfully conquered. Equally well

intentioned, fervent naturopaths are convinced that the problem of

cancer is the result of a compromised immune system. In other words, they

are sure that if your body is given half a chance, it’s able to fight

off cancer without recourse to destructive medical treatments. And where

does the truth lie? In all likelihood, both holistic and surgical

approaches to cancer have something to offer the patient. That one should

eat healthfully in order to be well makes perfect sense, and God has told

us that we should avail ourselves of all that He has provided for us.

On the other hand, He has also awarded human beings with brains capable

of investigating the natural realms, and identifying manmade ways to

conquer disease. One can only hope that, in the future, practitioners of

the various treatments on offer will lay down their ideological weapons

and agree to work together for what is, after all, a common cause.

Take one day at a time

God dispenses His grace for living in 24-hour increments, as He

did with the Hebrew children in the wilderness. For 40 years, He fed

them Manna from the sky, directing them to take only enough for one day at

a time, thus learning to rely upon Him for the future. Even today, God

dispenses His grace one day at time. The same message is clear when

Jesus tells us:

For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life,

as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as

to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more

than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor

reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are

you not worth much more than they? And who of you by being worried can

add a single hour to his life? And why are you worried about clothing?

Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they

spin, yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed

himself like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field,

which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He

not much more clothe you? You of little faith! Do not worry then,

saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear

for clothing?’ For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things; for your

heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first His

kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to

you. So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself.

Each day has enough trouble of its own. Give no thought for tomorrow,

what you shall eat or what you should wear if you try to solve tomorrow's

problems with only today's grace you will crater! Yes, make necessary

plans but don't take them seriously for only God knows the incredible

future He has for you and He isn't going to share it with you lest you

crater in fear or get puffed up with premature pride.[13]

If you are ever called upon to make a decision about an approach to

treatment, remember that your input will affect the outcome. Always ask

for a second opinion. Always research all of the options available. When

I was ill, Kathy and I felt that God wanted us to pursue an extremely

aggressive approach to the disease - literally, a "kill or cure"

attitude. Not everyone was convinced that this was the right way forward, and

our then doctor, Dr. Marshall, still remembers the exceptionally firm

line we took. There is no one "right" way to deal with disease, so don’t

let yourself feel pressured or bullied into one approach or another.

The decision you take must be both yours and God’s. God’s leadership and

your own research will show you the way. You must never forget that

while both chemical and natural approaches to the treatment of disease may

help, there is one type of "medicine" that helps more than either;

prayer. I’ve always known that prayer not only strengthens our relationship

with God and our spiritual well-being, but also makes an active

difference in determining the outcome of problems. Some members of the medical

profession are reluctant to admit the truth of this, but not all. Dr.

Maudlin, who is familiar with all of the twists and turns of my disease

and the treatment process, is very willing to recognize the importance

of prayer, saying:

"It’s well known, and scientific studies have proven, that [sick]

people of faith do better. People that are being prayed for do better.

People who have faith and trust in God stay in hospital for less time, they

have better outcomes and suffer less complications. It’s very clear

that God works through prayer. He works through our lives, and we as

doctors should be more willing to recognize and work with this."

As a pastor, and as someone who has returned from serious illness to

living a full life, I have to agree.

The day the Lord created hope was probably the same day he created

Spring.

--Bern Williams

Looking "normal"

Because of the radiation treatment, and the multiple occasions on which

my head was opened to allow the doctors access to the tumor site, the

skin on my head is extremely thin and delicate. Exposure to the sun

risks serious burning, while every gust of wind or tap to the head causes

pain. Because my baldness made me particularly vulnerable, Kathy and I

decided that it would be valuable to visit the reconstructive surgery

unit at the MD Anderson center as soon as it was clear that I was

unlikely to need further surgery. One of the members of my congregation had a

brother employed there as a plastic surgeon, offering reconstructive

interventions to people who’ve undergone radical surgery because of

cancer. One should never underestimate how important it is to many people to

feel that they can return to living and looking as they did before.

Dr. Miller inspected my scalp, and felt that there was a good chance

that he’d be able to extend my hair growth to cover most, if not all, of

the bald areas. The treatment involved the insertion of balloon-like

objects beneath those parts of the scalp that still had hair-growth.

These objects were expanded until I could stand the tension no more, and I

was allowed home for a period of some weeks, to allow the skin to

stretch so that it could be pulled across the bald areas. We achieved

partial success with the treatment, and the conviction that it’s definitely

not worth embarking on another series of skin-stretching treatments!

However, many patients enjoy much more successful outcomes with cosmetic

surgery. In the past, many interventions resulted in people spending

years of their lives living with a very visible symbol of their former

status as a cancer patient. Breasts, limbs, even jaws had to be removed,

and prostheses were not then available. No one was able to forget, even

for a moment, that they had once been ill with cancer.

Because the reconstructive procedure I underwent was only partially

successful, my hair still grows in irregular patches on my head. I’ve

dealt with this my allowing my remaining hair to grow long, and every day I

pull it back to form a very bohemian ponytail - not a common look for a

Texan pastor, but it does the job! Fortunately, the hair that I do have

is thick and full. And of course no one is quite as adept with a can of

hair-spray as a teenaged daughter, so I’m lucky to have two young

ladies answering to that description in my house!

Chapter Six- It’s not just about me!

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of

the continent, a part of the main .. (John Donne, 1624)

Serious illness is not just about the person who is sick. In the case

of the Herron family, Kathy and the children also had to struggle with

my illness and with the uncertainty of the future. All of those who were

involved with us, whether professionally or personally, had to go

through a struggle too. The challenge that God gave me the opportunity to

overcome was also theirs. My cancer was not just "mine", for it affected

the entire family as well as those who cared about us. If I were to

die, Kathy would have to take over the role of both father and mother, and

my two youngest children would grow up without even vague memories of

their Dad. The older kids had to be told that there was a very real

possibility that I would not survive, and had to learn to cope with this at

an age when most children are still struggling to understand death as a

mere concept. Kathy had to ask herself difficult questions that must

have seemed almost impossible to answer at times. Her faith, and trust in

God’s grace brought her through. But although she seemed very much at

peace with God’s plan for us - and was, to a large extent - she’s also a

human being, with all the doubts, fears and anxiety that the condition

entails. After the most difficult years of the trial were over, Kathy

put pen to paper and wrote the following piece about some of the issues

that she struggled with during those difficult days:

"What on earth is God doing!?" The answer is that God is doing His will

in the lives of all the Herrons, including me.

Was Tim's illness God’s will? Everything that happens is the will of

God. If it is not, then our God is impotent when faced with the struggles

of our lives.

Was a sudden career change for Tim part of God's will? If God uses all

things to work for good, the answer is yes!

Does Kathy believe this wholly? No. I struggle daily with God over

these very issues. And these very struggles bring me nearer to the One who

loves me most.

Will there be the power, strength, and wisdom to handle God’s will? The

answer is another resounding yes. God will not lead me where He has not

already gone.

The absolute thrill is that now I have the privilege of sharing this

with others who are struggling too. I have seen that God wants us to know

Him. In the center of the trial, struggle, pain, sorrow, or illness, He

desires us to know Him better. He is always there waiting for me and

you.

As I’ve said, the children had their own battles to fight too. John,

now an adult, recalls the period as one of confusion and fear. Medical

terms he didn’t understand were bandied about, and the kids found

themselves being babysat by different people every day, moving from house to

house as Katy and I traveled in seek of a cure. Children need stability,

and this constant movement would have been difficult even at the best

of times. And these were not the best of times, even though we knew -

and tried to explain to the kids - that God’s hand was still on us.

"The most frightening moments," John remembers, "were when Dad was

having headaches. He would go to lie down, and even though the bedroom door

was closed, we could hear him crying out in pain. For me, this was

scary, because it was so unlike him." Joseph, the second oldest of the

children, recalls sitting in the bath while I howled in pain in another

room. "I was frightened," he admits, "and there didn’t seem to be anything

I could do other than just pray."

John remembers seeing the stress that his mother, Kathy, was

experiencing. She spent hours talking on the phone, and was constantly surrounded

by friends and neighbors who wanted to help; "I remember eating all the

casseroles that were brought over - boy, did we eat some strange food

when Dad was ill!" As a small boy, there was little he could do, beyond

keeping up with his chores, and out of his mother’s way. As the eldest

child, John also felt responsible for his younger sisters and brothers

and he tried to concentrate on their needs, encouraging them, and

letting them know what was happening. All of the children, however,

recognized that the situation was difficult for their parents, and they did

their best to behave as positively as they could, eating foods they hated

because they knew that they’d been lovingly prepared by friends, and

accepting regular disturbances in their routine. Now that I was ill,

Kathy didn’t have time to teach them herself, and they started to attend

public school for the first time. While Kathy and I were occupied with my

illness, we tried to give the kids as much attention as we could, and

they all came through. As young adults, I’m proud to say that they

display great maturity (yes, I’m being completely objective!) and I’m sure

that our experience with cancer, as a family, has contributed to that.

Although the children had been told by Kathy, myself and my co-pastor

Jim Johnson that there was a very real chance that I might not survive,

not one of the three elder kids ever felt that I was really going to

die. Joseph says that he knew it was serious, "… but for me it was a bit

like having a broken leg. It hurt, but you just prayed to God, and

eventually it would be cured."

Although the time of their Dad’s illness must be remembered as a dark,

difficult period, John is now able to see the wisdom behind it, and the

benefits it has ultimately brought to me, his father, himself, and

others:

"The illness gave my father a powerful tool for ministry, which is

wonderful to see. I can’t even imagine what my life would have been like if

he had not become ill with cancer, either. The episode taught me a lot

about faith and power of prayer. If Dad had never become sick, I might

never have gone to camp and dedicated my life to Christ. His cancer has

put me where I am today." John is in the process of forming his own

ministry, Consuming Fire – a performing arts ministry that uses juggling

and fire performing to bring the good news to the public.

It is often said that the most difficult challenge that can face any

parent is to watch their child die. This is true even when the child is a

mature adult. When I became ill, my parents were already elderly, and

the news that I was likely to perish was devastating. The weekend of the

initial diagnosis – Christmas weekend – was supposed to have been a

great event for Mom and Dad. At that time, they had a large recreational

vehicle which they drove to Pasadena, California to see the Tournament

of Roses, a huge parade of music, floats and more. Their vehicle was

crammed into a parking lot along with hundreds of others, and we had no

apparent way of getting in touch with them, as they carried no phone. A

miraculous series of events enabled my sisters to contact them, and they

received the horrifying news of their son’s imminent surgery for brain

cancer. But how could they get out of the parking lot, when they were

jammed in on either side by a hundred recreational vehicles? This was

one of those faith-affirming occasions when the best in people came to

the fore. Word of the dilemma spread throughout the crowd, and everyone

was galvanized into action, getting into their vehicles and inching back

to allow space for Mom and Dad to get through. Later, the memory of so

many people’s unselfish efforts brought tears to my parents’ eyes.

Within an hour of receiving our message, they were on the road to the

nearest airport, where they picked up the first available tickets to

Longview, Texas. They were not on time for the actual surgery but, with God’s

help, arrived shortly afterwards and were there to support Kathy and

the children.

Insert quotation here

I think that the experience of seeing me after my first surgery was

even more difficult for my mother than my father. No matter how mature and

responsible one grows, a Mom can always see her little boy or girl.

When I came home from the hospital and removed the turban of bandages from

my head, Mom couldn’t bring herself to look at the track of staples

that held my skull together. She cried, apologized and fled to a back

room. I kept my head covered in front of her from then on. Dad was rendered

speechless, but his emotion was more than evident.

The arrival of our baby daughter, Ginger, just two weeks before I

became ill, was far from a burden. The timing of her birth must have been

part of the Lord’s plan for us, because she was an easy, placid baby from

the start, and a wonderful comfort to us all. Her presence on her

Grandma’s lap seemed to calm fears and foster hope. For me, holding Ginger

provided more relief from pain than morphine, even though I was unable

to hold her properly. My left arm had become paralyzed, and she had to

be propped against my side. Ginger also became the focus of many

people’s prayers, as they beseeched God to spare me so that I would be able to

see her graduate from high school, and walk her down the aisle when her

time came to be married. What prayer could be more beautiful? Today, of

course, I’d like to apply for an extension! Ginger is now a young lady

in her teens, and her adulthood is no longer a remote eventuality.

A profound crisis can have the affect of drawing the sufferer close to

others, often in ways that he or she never imagined. As I’ve already

mentioned, I contacted four of the men I esteemed most highly, and asked

them to be there for me throughout the crisis. One of these four was

Birne Wiley, whom I had known since before becoming ill. My sickness gave

us all the opportunity to become close friends, and their prayers

offered the support I needed at the most difficult of times. Birne and his

wife Lynella, also a good friend, were already familiar with the trauma

caused by illness, but this was the first time they’d gone through it

with the Herron family, and there were days when our decisions seemed

strange to them.

"At times," Birne remembers, "the actions chosen by Tim and Kathy

seemed to be contrary to all logic or reason. Yet to them, they were founded

upon an absolute confidence in the sovereignty of God in their lives,

to the point that one almost felt "unspiritual" if the action was

questioned. Undoubtedly, this was a growing time for Tim and Kathy – and for

those of us who were privileged enough to go through it with them.

Those were very special times in each of our lives."

I’ve talked a bit about the challenges that my illness brought to my

co-pastor and the church. Jim Johnson remembers that period as being a

time that was "bright" as well as difficult:

"I think we came to really meet the Lord intimately at that time, as a

consequence of the struggle. Of course, the struggle was principally

Tim and Kathy’s, but because he was pastor, he took the whole church with

him. I remember one night in the Herron’s house when the elders came

together and everybody prayed. We anointed Tim with oil, according to

James 5.[14] "

Another family that was positively affected by my illness was that of

Dr. Maudlin. Although we had already become friendly before I grew ill,

our relationship became much closer throughout the course of my

treatment. Partly because they witnessed how the members of Fellowship Bible

Church worked and prayed together to make a real contribution towards my

recovery, Jim and his wife became members of the church and they remain

so today.

Do we need trials?

I had always thought of hurricanes as something mankind could do

without. But recently I learned that they are necessary to maintain a

balance in nature. These tropical storms, with winds of up to 150 miles

an hour are accompanied by torrential rains, glaring lightning, and

rumbling thunder, and they can be devastating. Yet scientists tell us they

are tremendously valuable. They dissipate a large percentage of the

oppressive heat which builds up at the equator, and they are indirectly

responsible for much of the rainfall in North and South America.

Meteorologists, therefore, no longer use cloud-seeding techniques to prevent

them from being formed. They are convinced that hurricanes actually do

more good than harm. The Bible teaches us that the afflictions of God's

people are like that. Though they bring temporary pain and grief, they

can produce eternal dividends. (Psalm 119:75) This is certainly the

thrust of our life testimony!

We are told that pearls are the product of pain. When the shell

of an oyster is chipped or pierced by a worm or a boring parasite, a

foreign substance, usually a grain of sand, gets in. The inside of an

oyster's shell is composed of a lustrous substance called nacre. When a

grain of sand gets into a shell, the nacre cells get busy. They cover the

grain of sand with layer after layer of nacre in order to protect the

soft body of the oyster. The result is that a beautiful pearl is formed.

An oyster which has not been hurt does not grow a pearl, for a pearl is

a healed wound.

Have you been hurt by an unkind word of a friend? Have you been

accused of saying that which you have not said? Have you worked hard in

the church and had no one expresses appreciation? Have your ideas been

rebuffed? Then grow a pearl. Cover your hurts and your rebuffs with

layer after layer of love. Just remember that an oyster which has not been

hurt does not grow a pearl -- for a pearl is a healed wound.

Some of the greatest difficulties surrounding the period of my illness

related to issues other than the strictly medical. One of the outcomes

was that I had to leave Fellowship Bible Church and, for me, this was

one of the most difficult issues of all.

Shortly after I received my diagnosis, I met the leadership of the

church, and asked them for their support. I beseeched them to continue to

be completely honest with me, and to let me know if I became ineffective

as a pastor in any way. My fear was that I would damage the church by

holding on to my position in it after being disabled in some way by the

tumor. I may have been in error in using the word "effective" as it is,

at best, a subjective term – even when there is no brain tumor

involved!

My fears were not without foundation. Even when the immediate crisis

had passed, I was a changed man. My short-term memory had been damaged,

making it difficult for me to remember people’s names, or details about

them – and any good pastor should be able to call his flock by their

names! People tried to comfort me by saying that they, too, had

difficulties remembering names, but I knew that in my case, the situation was

bad. Even now, I still have difficulty remembering past events and future

plans as I used to. Shortly after surgery, I seemed particularly prone

to become confused and forgetful about the most important appointments

and assignments. These problems meant that the other pastors and

members of the congregation had to be patient with me, and compensate when

necessary. My co-pastor Jim Johnson had to bear much of my load, and I

will always respect him for doing so. With characteristic modesty, he

shrugs off comments about all the extra work he did at that time, pointing

to the many godly men in the congregation who were ready and able to

step into the pulpit when I was unwell. Indeed there were many such men -

but Jim was still more than busy. There were a number of very painful

episodes when, because of my problems with short-term memory loss, I

disappointed people who needed my support. On one occasion, I was supposed

to attend to the spiritual needs of a family who were saying "good-bye"

to a loved one in a funeral home. I never showed, and my absence must

have hurt them badly. When one enters the seminary, one often doesn’t

realize how much of being a pastor involves the daily grind;

administration, organization, all the nitty gritty of running an organization

involving lots of people. The details of these everyday responsibilities

tended to elude me.

Recognizing all my problems for what they were, I was still reluctant

to resign. I felt that there was every reason to believe that God’s hand

was on me and, by association, on the church which continued to grow

despite my illness and reduced ministerial capacity. The congregation was

bigger than ever and bills were being paid. When it seemed likely that

I would not recover, a member of the congregation was inspired by God

to give an anonymous donation of a substantial sum of money, intended to

pay for my treatment and funeral expenses, and perhaps to help Kathy

and the children when I died. Fortunately, there was a proviso that the

money could be used for the church if the unlikely happened and I became

well. When my recovery was evident, these funds were given to the

church building fund and used to purchase 12 beautiful acres with existing

church buildings and room for more. Without my tumor, in fact, there

would have been no money to buy this property! This is just one more

example of how, in God’s hands, incidents which seem irredeemably dreadful

can lead to wonder. For this reason, and many more, I did not feel that

my term as pastor should come to an end. As time passed, however, it

seemed that God was calling on me to change direction. It was time to

develop a new ministry - one that reflected the new talents that God had

given me through the experience of suffering with brain cancer. These

talents lay in my newly acquired ability to relate to people in pain. I’d

walked through the valley of the shadow of death. Those who suffered

seemed to be attracted to me for exactly this reason. They knew that I

understood them and they realized that I had some insights that might

help. Several people, including Jim, commented that my struggles with

short term memory loss were compensated by a heightened sense of empathy.

In meeting with the elders of the church, it was suggested that I

investigate the possibility of becoming a hospital chaplain.

It was still unclear in which direction God was going to lead me, but

with some reluctance I recognized that He was calling on me to leave

Fellowship Bible Church. With heavy, but accepting hearts, Kathy and I

accepted His decision. It wasn’t easy. No one likes to have to admit that

they are no longer able to perform as well as before, and even though I

was being shown a new path for which I had only recently become

qualified, these were testing times, involving a brief period in which Kathy

and I continued to live in Longview, but felt it necessary to attend

other churches in order to avoid causing dissension in Fellowship Bible

Church.

In the years that followed, the wisdom of my decision to leave seems to

have been vindicated. Fellowship Bible Church has continued to grow

strong and unified and my associate pastor became senior pastor in my

place. I take great comfort in the fact that now, Fellowship Bible Church

in Longview is a thriving, unified church in the charge of my former

co-pastor and brother in Christ, Jim Johnson. It remains located on the

beautiful plot of land located in the hills near Longview, and Kathy and

I visit regularly.

God never wastes our sorrows

The early Christian leader and martyr, Steven, was a man with

great potential for God. He was gifted, educated, bold and committed. All

of this seemingly went to waste before he started. They stoned him to

death after he preached before a crowd of antagonists. They responded to

the altar call by killing him (Acts 7).

What a waste of potential! Or could it be that our dying rather

than our living can sometimes serve God more?

In Steven’s case, the way he died so infuriated one Saul of

Tarsus that he redoubled efforts to single handedly eradicate the Christian

faith. This reaction caused the early church to scatter all over the

known world, resulting in almost complete world evangelism in one

generation.

You know not for whom you suffer and what you and God might be

accomplishing through your trial!

How to help

When someone is gravely ill, or undergoing another type of

despair-inducing crisis, it can be heart-wrenchingly difficult for those who care

about them. What can family and friends do to help? Let’s explore the

role of the second parties to a crisis.

When it comes to helping people who are hurting, we all have ideas. But

what can one do when faced with abject despair? For example, how can

one comfort someone whose child has just been killed in a car accident?

This tragedy occurred in the family of one of my deacons, when his

daughter was attending her first prom. That dreaded call came at midnight:

"Mr. Collins, this is Lt. Jones of the Houston Police Department. I

regret to inform you that your daughter has been in a terrible accident. In

front of your house an officer and a chaplain are waiting to speak to

you."

Sweat broke on his brow as he opened the door, and his wife crouched on

the stairwell in her robe, listening. The chaplain spoke simply and to

the point. Their beautiful daughter was dead. The mother groaned and

retreated upstairs. The father, in a state of shock, managed to ask about

how it happened. But he was unable to hear the explanation – his mind

raced with incoherent thoughts. The chaplain called me and asked me to

come over straight away.

What can one do in such a situation? I have served three years as a

hospital chaplain, four years as a police chaplain, and thirteen years as

a senior pastor. And now, through the ministry of Overcomers, I deal

with even more of these heart-breaking situations. Over the years, the

following guidelines have served me well:

à Satan will try to convince you that you are not equipped to be at the

side of someone in crisis, but you are! People need each other,

especially at times like these. Most people retreat and hope that somebody

else, like the pastor, will jump in. The pastor’s presence may be

perceived to be powerful, but what is needed is simply a listening ear. Those

enduring great suffering need someone to show compassion, and help them

keep their eyes focussed on eternal matters.

à Remind sufferers of crises they have survived in the past. They need

to grasp onto the resources that will help them through each day.

Ã. If you feel you have nothing to say, that’s just fine. Words rarely

penetrate into the heart or mind of a hurting person. What you say will

be forgotten, but the memory of your presence will endure.

ÃLeave a gift behind - even something as simple as a card, newspaper or

magazine. A token, reminding the sufferer of your visit, will be a

source of comfort and encouragement long after you have left.

In order to have the utopia we all desire, God would have to do a

free will recall![15]

It’s not always easy to know what is the right thing to do in the

many difficult situations that life prevents us with. Perhaps you think

that, in an ideal world, we’d all know what to do, all the time. Not

so. As sentient human beings, each of us is possessed of a wonderful

quality - the quality of free will. We are free to decide how to react -

all the time. This is a big responsibility, it’s true, but it’s also a

great honor. God knows that you have the capacity to look inside your

heart and understand the best way forward. Trust yourself, and learn how

to let God work through you.

Helping the terminally ill

Many of us are frightened by thoughts of the terminally ill, confused

by questions such as; What should I say? What should I do? How can I

help? Should I go or do anything at all?

The answers to these understandable misgivings are simple:

Don’t let nervousness take the upper hand!

Your friend needs you more than ever. Dying is a lonely experience.

Even if you say nothing at all, the fact that you are present is a

wonderful ministry. A few comforting words, or the simple act of touching the

arm of the person who is hurting reminds him or her that God is there,

and is acting through His people. I’ll never forget ministering to a

young man dying of AIDS in the early 1980s. I entered his hospital room,

walked over to his bed and shook his hand. "Aren’t you afraid to touch

me?" he asked, "most people just won’t do it." (Back in the early 80s,

there was a lot of confusion about how AIDS is spread, and many people

suspected that infection could be caused by casual contact.) I know

that that simple act made his day easier to bear.

You are not alone

Trust in the Holy Spirit to be with you, and give you the words you

need. Training and preparation give you nothing in comparison to the

insight that the Spirit has, and can lend you. Go with a pure heart, and

watch him work through you. Don’t worry that your words of comfort may

seem empty or lacking in profundity. What your friend needs at this time

is love and comfort, not profundity.

Be reassuring

Many of the terminally ill have ceased to focus on themselves, to worry

about the loved ones they are leaving. Reassure them that their

survivors will be able to cope. Remind them that God does not give people

trials that they are unable to handle. If God has seen fit to send your

friend’s family this challenge, it is because He knows that their faith is

strong enough to be tested. Perhaps the time has come for your friend

to die, but God will not abandon those left behind.

Don’t try to be profound or sophisticated!

This is not the moment for expounding deep thoughts. At this point in a

person’s life, the basics are best! A great theologian was asked on his

death bed which of the many magnificent truths he expounded during his

life was most important to him now. His reply startled his disciples:

"Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so!" I can

empathize. When I was bleeding to death from inside my brain, I didn’t want to

hear subtle arguments about the hypostatic union or transdusionism. I

just wanted godly people to quietly remind me of the ABCs of faith. For

all my sophisticated knowledge of theology and holy writs, I rarely get

beyond Psalm 23 with a dying person. Keep it simple, straightforward,

and full of love.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside

the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness

for His name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I

will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they

comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:

Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my

life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Be explicit about showing that you care.

Part of being human is wanting to matter to others. Although we all

grow up and become adults, no one ever completely ceases to be a child in

need of reassurance and comfort. This is especially true in times of

crisis, when one can all too easily succumb to feelings of unworthiness.

When you go to visit someone in need of help, express your concern and

affection clearly. Remember that we cannot see the true value of a

person from their outward appearance. All people are fashioned by God, each

with his or her own intrinsic worth. God smiles when we find the

treasure that He has hidden within a special person. When you talk to someone

in need, look them in the eyes. The eyes are the window of the soul,

and to look into another’s eyes is to acknowledge them fully, and a gift

that anyone can freely give.

Fix Your Eyes on the Greater Goal and the Joy of Reaching it

What is the purpose of life? Consider what God says to a

persecuted people in Hebrews:

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses

surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so

easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set

before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author of faith, who for the joy

set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down

at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider Him who has

endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow

weary and lose heart.[16]

Don’t forget to listen

Ministering to someone is just as much about listening as it is about

talking. And listening is about not talking when it’s time to be quiet.

Don’t just sit through what the other person is saying, waiting for the

moment to interject with your own thoughts. Don’t let your mind wander.

Don’t analyze what they are saying, looking for the "right" moment to

say your piece. Listen.

Leave them wanting more

Don’t try to wrap up your visit neatly, and leave feeling that you’ve

provided answers to all the questions. It’s wiser and more honest to

admit that there is a lot you don’t understand, but that you will devote

some time to thinking and praying about them. Snappy answers to

difficult issues are an offence to the sufferer’s concern.

Why overcome?

To those going through a protracted ordeal we must give reason to

persevere. Several compelling incentives are contained in the following

passages:

Suffice to say, God will amply reward any effort or sacrifice

made on His behalf ... He will be a debtor to no man!

"He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the

churches. To him who overcomes I will give to eat from the tree of life,

which is in the midst of the Paradise of God." - Rev 2:7.

"And he who overcomes, and keeps My works until the end, to him I

will give power over the nations..." - Rev 2:26

"He who overcomes shall inherit all things, and I will be his God

and he shall be My son." - Rev 21:7

Don’t try to diminish grief

Some people, with every good intention, try to minimize the grief

experienced by those in pain. It is always hard to process the profound

emotions deriving from bereavement or the likelihood of bereavement and

death, but it is important to remember that grief is not bad or "socially

unacceptable". Grieving is a part of living. Of course time will help,

and pain will recede as those left behind, or the person who has

reached acceptance, become able to concentrate on happy memories. But now is

not the time to insist that the sufferer set aside his or her grief.

Respect their emotions as valid. Hold them, pray with them, comfort them

and help them to remember to take care of their physical well-being.

Gently remind them that God is watching over them, and that He has not

caused them to suffer needlessly. Respect the fact that there is no fixed

time period within which grief should end, while understanding that

indulging in self-pity is not a positive response to pain.

What not to say to someone suffering

People often wonder what they should say to those who are suffering –

and lose sight of that fact that what they should not say is just as

important! Let’s examine some phrases to avoid.

"I know exactly what you are going through"

You don’t. Regardless of what your experience is, you can’t know what

someone else is going through. Claiming that you do diminishes the

uniqueness of their personal struggle. Instead, try to communicate your

understanding by asking honest questions and by listening carefully and

actively to their answer, rambles, or silence.

"I’m so, so, so, so sorry!"

Those in pain may crave pity. Usually, however, they don’t. In any

case, pity is unhelpful and frequently condescending. Let your sorrow be

expressed in tears, and show that you care for the sufferer. We all want

to be loved and to know our lives are meaningful.

"I know someone who had the same problem and they..."

No two experiences are ever the same. Unless you intend to put the

sufferer in touch with the other person, leave another’s struggle and

victory aside. Recounting it can make the person you are trying to counsel

feel discouraged, as they compare themselves unfavorably to the person

in the story.

"All you need to do is trust the Lord!"

Many well-intended – and true – expressions have the opposite of the

desired effect, implying that the sufferer is stupid and dull. The most

frequent response to this counsel is "I’m trying to – tell me how."

Without losing sight of the truth in this statement, keep it to yourself,

unless you can pinpoint a specific way in which the confused sufferer is

not trusting God.

"Maybe God is trying to teach you something"

This was the presumptuous counsel of Job’s friends. It presumes some

deficit or guilt on the part of the sufferer that accounts for the trial;

a deficit or guilt that may not actually be there! Remember, there are

many potential reasons for suffering other than divine discipline; Job

himself suffered not because of his sin but on the contrary – he

suffered as a direct result of his exceeding righteousness! Above all, never,

ever try to suggest to the parents of a grievously ill child that the

sickness may be the result of sin on their part. They are suffering

enough as it is.

Why pray?

He prayed for strength that he might achieve;

He was made weak that he might obey.

He prayed for health that he might do greater things;

He was given infirmity that he might do better things.

He prayed for riches that he might be happy;

He was given poverty that he might be wise.

He prayed for power that he might have the praise of men;

He was given weakness that he might feel the need of God.

He prayed for all things that he might enjoy life;

He was given life that he might enjoy all things.

He received nothing that he asked for, but all that he hoped for.

Prayer does not change God, but changes him who prays.

How to help children who hurt

Witnessing children struggling with serious and even fatal illness

causes a very special sort of pain. Why would God allow them to be born,

only to take them so quickly? But who needs support more? Anyone serious

about getting to know God must first learn how to love children. Sick

children face some of the same challenges as sick adults, but their

needs are quite different. A sick child suffers the same symptoms, but has

less understanding of the possibility that he or she might not survive

the trial. More than any grown person, they know the secret of taking

one day at a time. Few children ever reach the point of abandoning hope

- many suffering children see God as a friend, someone who cares for

them and is helping them.

Don’t patronize children. Their still forming brains may not be able to

grasp complex concepts, or look far into the future, but their emotions

are just as real as those of any adult. While you should help a child

to overcome his or her fears, never dismiss them as silly. Feelings of

panic, denial, shock, grief, victimization and rage are all normal

reactions to serious illness. Reassure the child that you will always be

there, try not to display your own fearful emotions and try to cultivate a

positive outlook about the future.

Children who are not ill themselves, but are struggling with the

problems of having a seriously ill parent, also need support. When I was ill,

three of our children were old enough to have some concept of what was

happening, and Kathy and I had to decide what approach to take. Should

we pretend that nothing was wrong, and hope that they wouldn’t notice?

Should we tell them the whole story, even though they might not be able

to understand? It’s important not to underestimate children, and not to

treat them like fools. If there is a crisis in the family, they’ll pick

up on it. Explain the situation to them in terms that they’ll

understand. Tell them that Mom or Dad is very sick, but that God has not stopped

caring. Remember: children can handle anything that adults can;

children are more frightened by the unknown than the known, and one should

explain issues to them in terms that they can understand; children, like

adults, are all different and all respond differently to bad news;

children need to know what to expect, although it’s not necessary to go into

too much detail; children need room to manage their grief; children

must be shielded from toxic adults; children need a firm basis for real

hope.

Helping parents

The parents of sick children also need some very special help. While

they may be suffering, emotionally, even more than the child, they need

to appear strong and in control of their emotions. If they visit when

they feel and look drained, exhausted and stressed, they will communicate

these negative emotions to the child. Help them to keep themselves

fresh by taking care of the details of life - drop over with a cooked meal,

make sure that their lawn is mowed, and offer to take care of other

children in the family when needed.

… and above all

Don’t hesitate to respond when God prompts you to visit a patient. Be

respectful of hospital policies and others around you. If in doubt,

check at the nurse’s station for advice. Don’t do or say anything that

would erode your loved one’s confidence in the doctors or the course of

treatment. But don’t let the Enemy deter you from your mission.

Insert quotation or reading

Chapter Seven - moving to Houston

It wasn’t long after the realization that the time had come to leave

Longview that Kathy and I received a clear indication of how God wanted

us to move forward, at least from the point of view of my ministry. What

could be better than a position has hospital chaplain? I knew that here

I would be able to bring my experience of God’s grace, and my struggle

with pain and suffering, to help those who were just embarking on their

own journeys of pain and loss, as well as those whose trials were

drawing to a close. The church was extremely supportive at this time, as I

attended training and began to shift my pastoral focus. We were given an

extremely generous severance package, to cover the expenses of moving

home and making all the necessary changes. But our concerns were not

about money - at first, we just didn’t know what God wanted us to do. As

you know, Kathy and I were both originally from California, so we toyed

with the idea of moving back there. But there was more than one good

reason not to. First of all, California is a much more expensive state to

live in than Texas, and we would have needed to triple our salary to

support ourselves and the kids. But more importantly, we realized that

our attachment to California was based more on nostalgia and sentiment

than reason. What were we to do? Now, for obvious reasons, it was

important for us to live in a city that had a major cancer center, preferably

one that dealt with brain cancer. For this reason, the idea of moving

to Houston kept cropping up. Some close friends of ours had moved there

recently, and they encouraged us to join them in a satellite city

called - of all unlikely things - Sugarland. Sugarland! How could we even

begin to take a city with a name like that seriously? But, the more we

looked into it, the more apparent it became that this is were we were

being called to live. While I continued to offer a different kind of

ministry in Longview, Kathy began to visit Sugarland, and look into the

logistics of making the big move. As always, we were not alone. God led us

to find the house of our children’s dreams - a substantial, two-storied

home in which the kids have full run of upstairs while Mom and Dad are

out of harm’s way (and earshot) downstairs.

Moving home isn’t easy even for adults, and relocating to Houston was a

difficult time for the kids as, indeed, it was for Kathy and me.

Longview is located in a beautiful part of Texas, full of rolling hills and

forest. There’s more shade there than in the rest of the state put

together! But so much more important than the surroundings were the people.

I loved the church, I loved being a pastor, and as a family we were

blessed with many close friends. The first time we took the children to

look at our new home, they complained that the trees in the neighborhood

were "too straight". Used to the more chaotic, natural environment of a

small provincial city, they were surprised to encounter trees that had

been planted in uniformly straight lines! Even David, who was just

seven when we left, has fond memories of playing in the creek and missed

his old home. Crystal was older, and she was more upset about the change.

Life in Longview was a lot simpler in many ways than life in the big

city, and she was used to meeting and getting to know people from a wide

variety of backgrounds. There are more materialistic pressures in a

city suburb, where priorities often seem to be focussed on property and

possessions. As she faces adulthood, however, she’s grown to accept and

even welcome the change. The opportunity to study Japanese is one of the

perks of living in Houston that pleases her! Crystal, John and Joe are

all still in touch with friends in Longview.

Making our own mark on our new home helped us all to feel that it was

really ours. When we moved in, the floors were covered in a tatty old

carpet. We didn’t delay in pulling it up and replacing it with tiles. The

whole downstairs area became one open-plan living and dining space

which pretty much embodies our spirit as a family - all for one and one for

all. Something else that helped the kids feel that they had found a

home was not exactly welcomed by Kathy and me. On one of the first

evenings in the new house, Kathy saw something moving in the fireplace. I

dived in and pulled out a 16 inch rat snake. Now, this delighted the boys,

who were sure that were there’s one rat snake, there are plenty more.

They had dreams of pet snakes, although to our relief, most of the

wildlife of Texas has stayed outside. Our two boisterous dogs more than

fulfill the role of pet.

As a former patient at the Anderson Medical Center, I was now in quite

a unique position as a hospital chaplain. Not only had I grown used to

providing ministry for the seriously ill, I was more than used to being

seriously ill. People who are facing the possibility that their disease

might kill them often find it easier to confide their fears - and their

anger - to someone who really understands.

After some years, Kathy and I recognized that it was time to take our

ministry to another level. The term "Overcomers", suggested by the

Bible, presented itself as the perfect name.

Chapter Eight - "It’s never really finished. You just run out of time."

Of movie-making, Whoopi Goldberg once said that you never really

finish, you just run out of time. When Kathy and I heard that particular

interview, we had to laugh, because those words also sum up the experience

of anyone going through a trial, including a bout with serious illness.

Now, many years have passed since my initial diagnosis, and I’m still

here, still sustained by the Lord and those who love me and rarely out

of the pulpit. I still suffer from slight neurological problems but,

considering the dismal prognosis I was given at the onset of the disease,

these are negligible. As for the "hole in my head", Kathy says it’s

extra space wherein the Holy Spirit can reside!

Walking the walk

"It’s always too early to quit" is my battle-cry, and the title of this

book. But do I believe and practice this today? You can be the judge of

that! Just recently, I became a first-time student of martial arts. How

did this come about? Well, when I accompanied my then 16 year old

daughter, Crystal, to her first Karate class, I met one very persuasive

instructor. As Crystal paid and registered, I took the opportunity to chat

with the owner and main instructor and find out a little about his

values, and whether Crystal might expect to be exposed to Eastern

philosophy or religion during the course. I was comfortable with his answers,

and before long, he began challenging me to join too! Well, I wasn’t

expecting that, and I began to protest, using my loss of memory, left side

weakness, poor balance and so on as excuses. But I’d chosen the wrong

instructor. This guy was not about to give me up as a lost cause - he

must have been a used car salesman in another life, because he answered

each of my objections persuasively. I joined a week later.

Has studying martial arts been a happy experience for me? I can’t say

that it has. In fact, I would have quit long ago if I weren’t so

desperate to get rid of the cane I had recently started to use. By now, I’ve

stuck it out for six whole months. In the beginning, I wasn’t even able

to tie my own belt because of my numbness, and other students had to

help me. And then when it came to leaping and kicking, I learned that I

was fat, dumb, slow and way out of my league. Let me tell you, the

temptation to give up has been immense. But I’ve hung in there and am on my

way, with the help of my children and the wonderful instructors, to

earning the dubious honor of being the world’s oldest living white belt.

And even if I’ll never be a karate star, I am already much stronger and

more balanced than I was six months ago. I’ve tossed aside the cane,

and am actually spinning and kicking as I never thought I would again.

I’ve lost 20 pounds, and gained the motivation to let God prove His power

and grace through my struggles.

The best thing about the future is that it comes only one day at a

time.

--Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865)

So much for my physical development – what about the intellect? Well,

shortly before becoming ill, I had enrolled in the Doctor of Ministry

Program at the Dallas Theological Seminary. The first course was well

underway when the headaches began. I was supposed to complete a paper

after the course, but this dropped on my list of priorities when the tumor

struck, and family and ministry absorbed all my attention. For years, I

assumed that my doctorate was a lost cause. However, encouraged by

others in academia, I have returned to the program. Now – will Dallas

Seminary award a degree to someone who’s not in his right mind?

When I’m not wearing my "student" hat, I don my professorial one. Soon

after arriving in Houston, the College of Biblical Studies approached

me to see if I would be interested in teaching Bible Study methods in

their degree program. Was I? You bet I was! This gave me the opportunity

to teach the class things that they would need for their lives and

ministry, and also mentor them in the process. Even though instructing is

not directly related to Overcomers, it has been a wonderfully enriching

experience so far, and a great outlet for my teaching skills. Twice a

week, I face 20 or 30 eager adult students, and provide them with the

tools they’ll need for a lifetime of ministry. I don’t tell them that

they’ve been taught by a person "not in his right mind" until the end of

the course!

Not least of all my roles – pastor, teacher, student, - is that of

father. Having five children, ranging in age from 13 to 21, would be a

challenge to the sanity of any parent, and in this respect I’m no

different. My wife and children always try to be gracious to me when they come

across my struggles, but with the best will in the world, they don’t

always succeed. There are times when it’s clear that they experience me as

a nuisance, and probably wish I were more like James Bond than Clem

Kaddidlehopper. They chauffeur me about instead of the other way around.

As for me, my personal struggles and even anger with God and myself

sometimes spill out in the form of a short temper. I’m assured that they

all love and respect me, but there are times when I can’t help imagining

how difficult it must be to have a father like me. You can imagine how

grateful I have that all five of my kids are doing well, and that I

enjoy a rich relationship with each of them.

Life is good, but there are a few things I’ll never be able to do

again. During the early years of my struggle with cancer I continued to

drive a car, finding an excuse for every close call or bent fender.

Increasingly, I found myself, white knuckled, hanging over the wheel and

trying to drive safely. I had to struggle with both my memory loss and my

inability to scan quickly. Finally, I missed a red stoplight and plunged

my Chevy Suburban into the side of a mini van. Both cars were

destroyed, although both drivers escaped serious injury. I haven’t driven since.

In a society in which it seems that everybody – and especially the man

of the family – drives – it was difficult to stop, even though the need

to do so was compelling. There is some hope that I would benefit from

special therapy directed at getting people who’ve had brain injuries

back behind the steering wheel. But until or unless I’m sure I won’t be a

danger on the road, I won’t be driving. After all, recognizing one’s

weaknesses is a part of being strong.

I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me

at once.

--Jennifer Unlimited

So, Tim … was it a miracle?

In 1993, I visited a neuropsychologist, Dr. Barry Rath, for assessment.

After putting me through as series of tests, his formal statement about

my condition reads as follows:

"In 1988, the patient suffered a glioblastoma of the right parietal

lobe and has had extensive surgery and radiation treatment. The patient

indicates that he has been in remission for a number of years. The

patient’s neuropsychological performance is truly remarkable given his

medical history. I have had an opportunity to look at the patient’s MRI

films, and the magnitude of the lesion in the right hemisphere is

extraordinary. Despite this, the patient maintains excellent verbal intellectual

abilities and seems to compensate for his visual-spatial deficits

admirably."

The dry language of medicine almost distracts one from marveling, but

my firm belief is that my delivery from brain cancer was a miracle.

God’s print can be seen on every decision that Kathy and I made. We felt

called to pursue the most aggressive course of action then available, and

it worked out. God was behind us every step of the way, in providing

friends in the medical profession, access to the best surgeons of the

day, and ensuring that at all times we were surrounded by people we loved,

and who loved us back. God was also behind the decisions of many of the

people who were involved in our case.

Not everyone is comfortable with the term "miracle". For many within

the medical profession, the word seems to suggest a slight on their

professionalism: "Miracle nothing! It was my surgery that cured this man!"

The strongest statement that my surgeon at MD Anderson, Dr. Levin, has

made was, "The case of Tim Herron resulted in a happy outcome." To

understand the nature of miracles, we have to recognize that ordinary men

and women, simply doing the jobs that they were put on earth to do to the

best of their ability, can be agents of God’s miracle-working on earth.

Not all medical professionals share Dr. Levin’s skepticism.

Three of the doctors who were involved in my case, Dr. Marshall, Dr.

Maudlin and Dr. Miller, don’t hesitate to classify my recovery from brain

cancer as miraculous.

"If we define a miracle as being any supernatural

intervention in what would normally happen in the physical realm," says Dr.

Marshall, "then Tim definitely represents a miracle. You can have responses

to medical processes. Our expectations of Tim doing well were low to

start with, and he’s far exceeded even our most optimistic projections,

that he might still be alive in three or four years. Perhaps he falls

within the statistics, but I don’t think so. Everyone is delighted that

he’s doing so well. Now, I’m not saying that he could have done this

well without the medical intervention, but God is definitely behind Tim’s

cure. No one could have imagined that he’d escape as free from

complications as he is."

Kathy’s obstetrician Dr. Maudlin had been given the

opportunity to witness my initial surgery, and even though he was not directly

involved in my case, he did accompany us as a friend throughout the

process. He largely concurs with the views held by Dr. Maudlin:

"My view of Tim’s cure is that we all did see God at work.

Whether you see this as a supernatural process, or as an example of His

leading Tim and Kathy to make the right decision, the end result is the

same. They were certainly lead to seek out certain doctors and to

undergo certain very aggressive procedures - much more aggressive than those

usually recommended at that time. In the process, Tim was healed of his

tumor. Was this supernatural, or was it because God helped the doctors

to undertake treatments that they normally would not? Perhaps it

doesn’t matter. The bottom line is that God was behind the process, He was

with the Herrons, and He led both them and their doctors to follow

certain directions."

Tim, I don’t want to head off on my own here, but this would seem a

good point for a discussion of the concept of miracle from a more

theological point of view, perhaps with some extracts from scripture? I think

that this subsection warrants expansion.

Is Tim’s Healing a Miracle?

A miracle is God’s special intervention in the affairs of earth for the

purpose of authenticating His message to those who are seeking Him.

A while back I was with three pastors and a dentist playing golf. The

whole was a par 3 and we all watched in amazement as John Fite hit the

ball with a wonderful high arch and it struck the green and disappeared.

We all concluded it either hit a rock somehow and bounced off the

green, or it was in the hole, and my friend had just hit the first

hole-in-one I his life. Now in golf no hole-in-one matters unless there are

witnesses. In this case he had himself three ordained pastors as

eyewitnesses. The question might be asked, was his hole-in-one a miracle? He

wasn’t that great a golfer, so that would figure in, but still a

hole-in-one is remarkable. Is it a miracle? Does an event that is very unlikely

make that into a miracle? If so, what if he had hit two holes-in-one in

a row? or maybe eighteen? When does it become a miracle? So defining a

miracle just as an exceptional event is problematic. Tim’s recovery

from his cancer is extremely rare, but few of his physicians get

themselves to call it a miracle. Even thinking theologians might question it.

What else does it take to make something else a miracle? How about if

my dentist friend had told us the day before that he would hit all

eighteen holes-in-one. Would the fact that he predicted it make it a

miracle? As you can see, even defining a miracle is difficult. We know all

miracles are exceptional events, meaning that God has interrupted the

normal flow of cause and effect events. But does it have to be a special

event to be a miracle? To put it simply, I think a miracle has to be an

exceptional event with god’s fingerprints on it. In other words,

miracles don’t happen haphazardly but always have purpose, at least in

scripture. God uses miracles to endorse His message or His messenger. They are

never there to entertain us or satisfy our whims.

Another part of God’s miracles is that they are generally

instantaneous, indisputable, complete, and permanent. When God heals a person they

stay healed. When God heals a terrible malady it takes no more time than

to speak the words. When God does a miracle, even critics are forced to

take notice. Now given all of this, is Tim Herron a miracle?

Was it just a coincidence that…

1. God chose a pastor of a reasonably well-known church to take

through this ordeal? Or was this part of God’s fingerprints who endorsed

the future ministry of this man? Is it only coincidental that all the

details make for a very dramatic story, or was this God’s plan to win

hearts? …

2. Tim’s church was trying to get out of a store-front location

into a permanent building with land to expand and that out of the

abundance given to Tim’s certain demise the excess would buy 12 acres of the

finest church property that could be imagined in the city with a

building already on it and paid cash? …

3. At 17 years old as a brand new Christian Tim prayed for God to

use him greatly and even urged God to hurt him deeply if that was what

it took? …

4. Tim cast a vision when he first came to FBC that included a

major network coming to the church to film what was happening not because

it was scandal but because of God doing a very unique thing? … ABC sent

a reporter and a full camera crew to record Tim preaching and the whole

service for an expose on miracles! Wasn’t this what Tim prayed for? …

5. Tim’s tumor was in the right perital lobe which could take

tremendous abuse and keep ticking? …

6. That two of Tim’s life-long friends had become physicians

practicing on opposite coastlines, yet agreeing where and whom Tim should go

to for treatment?

7. That when Tim was diagnosed with such a dismal prognosis that a

friend of a friend of a friend knew of a five-year survivor for Tim to

speak with and get encouragement?

8. That the Herrons had just delivered their fifth child such that

she could be a tremendous encouragemeant to them, motivating Tim to

face whatever procedures that were reasonable without a second thought?

9. That Tim had been the pastor of literally thousands of

Christians before the tumor hit, giving him a tremendous base of prayer and

support?

10. That Tim’s associate pastor was already experienced and sensitive

to brain tumors because of his best friend in earlier years having had

the same type of tumor?

11. Was it merely a coincidence that at a cancer conference of a

thousand people Tim should be selected by a newspaper to interview and

publish an article that the next day would be read by Charles Hadlock, a TV

reporter for a major network and that that should inspire him to come

to Longview and film the church?

12. Was it merely a coincidence that Tim and Kathy should become

pregnant while covered by a flimsy insurance policy, one that was ultimately

to fail and leave them with $6000 worth of bills, because that failure

was to cause them to buy a major medical policy, one that did handle

all Tim’s medical bills?

Critics could be dubious saying I am just the results of modern

medicine or even very lucky, but how could anyone take these coincidences in

account and not conclude that what happened to Tim was absolutely a

miracle, despite his reticence to accept that title?

Chapter Nine - Thorny issues

Serious illness raises many difficult philosophical and spiritual

issues. People who are suffering great pain and anguish, for example, often

consider suicide as a way of ending it all. Increasingly, this is a

view that is supported by the public and even by some members of the

medical profession. In the United States, assisted suicide is already

permitted under some circumstances in the state of Oregon. Several European

nations have also recently legislated for legal suicide when patients

are terminally ill. But is euthanasia really the dignified answer to

suffering?

From my personal experience, and from my many years of ministering to

people who are going through great physical or mental pain, I’ve

observed that one of the most compelling factors that attracts sufferers to

thoughts of suicide is the idea that their pain is without purpose. As

death looms, their despair and suffering grow.

However, those who see great significance in their suffering - even if

relief seems impossible – are not drawn to thoughts of "ending it all".

They live longer, suffer less, and change the lives of those around

them.

What is the vital factor that makes the difference? In my experience,

it is the degree of intimacy with the Lord, and faith in His promises.

Recent advances in medicine have been tremendous – but science doesn’t

provide enduring hope! For this reason, Christians who know the Lord and

the Word of God must carry themselves with confidence and poise. They

must not allow themselves to be intimidated by medical professionals and

their magnificent machines. The simple believer armed with the Word of

God has more life-giving power than a whole hospital.

Doctors in favor of euthanasia have received more than a little media

attention in recent years, and I’m sure that at least some of them

sincerely feel that they are doing the right thing. We all know how

difficult it is to watch someone suffer in an apparently needless way. But even

in the medical professional, opinions are very divided on this

contentious topic. Fortunately, the doctors who worked on my case share my

views.

"Life is sacred. It’s a gift from God," was the recent comment of my

former doctor, Dr. Marshall, "and it’s our responsibility to always

regard it as such. To extend life without a person’s permission is wrong,

but unless a person is dying by natural means, shortening a life - even

with the intention of releasing them from pain - is also very wrong.

Deciding who can live and who can die is not the responsibility of a

doctor or any other human being. Where there is life, there is always hope."

Five excellent reasons not to kill yourself

Each of these reasons might benefit from the exclusion of some

appropriate short quotation or reading

How will it impact on my family and friends?

Every person’s death affects many other people, especially those

closest to the one who has died. When someone kills themselves, the pain they

leave behind is a thousand times worse. Family members and friends of

suicide victims suffer terrible feelings of guilt, from which they often

never recover. They ask themselves whether they did something wrong,

something that prompted the dead person to make that fatal decision to

end it all. If you are ever in a situation whereby you feel tempted to

"end your suffering", stop and think. Many families live out their lives

without ever recovering from the effect of a suicide. If you make that

decision, you might be destroying a whole family, not just yourself.

Remember the past

When you are depressed, it is hard to remember the past, when things

were better and you were much happier, healthier and more fulfilled.

Don’t lose sight of the fact that if life was worth living once, it can be

worth living again.

What is on the other side of death?

Christians know that after death, there is eternal life.

Those who subscribe to other beliefs generally know the same thing. And

most of these people will agree that there are plenty of bad things that

can happen after death, especially if the soul in question belonged to

someone who was not at peace with God.

You have a purpose

You may feel at times that your life has no meaning. That is

emphatically not the case. All of us are placed on this earth for a reason, even

if we don’t know what that reason may be. To walk away from our

potential is a horrible waste.

The most important reason of all

God made you, loves you and understands how you feel. Even

when no one else understands you, He does. He sent Jesus to die for

you. He created you for a reason. If you allow Him, He will lead you

through depression, or whatever other problem you may have. There is no need

for you to be alone, because He can heal your loneliness.

But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who

loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels,

nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers,

nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to

separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.[17]

Chapter Ten - Overcoming, you can do it too

God had one son on earth without sin, but never one without suffering.

-- Augustine of Hippo

An Overcomer’s Love Letter

In 1912, a group of disoriented and exhausted Englishmen

abandoned all hope of rescue and settled down, waiting for death in an ice-hut

in the wild Antarctic. One of them, the doctor (Edward Wilson) of the

party, was writing home to his wife. This is what he said:

Don't be unhappy ... We are playing a good part in a great scheme

arranged by God Himself, and all is well ... We will all meet after

death, and death has no terrors... All is for the best to those who love

God, and ... we have both loved Him with all our lives ...

Life itself is a small thing to me now, but my love for you is

forever and part of our love for God. All the things I had hoped to do

with you after this Expedition are as nothing now, but there are greater

things for us in the world to come... all is well.

My struggle with brain cancer left me with partial paralysis on one

side and other physical and mental challenges, but it also left me with a

gift – the ability to help others who are going through similar trials.

In 1990, I founded Overcomers, a non-profit Christian ministry which

offers a solid basis of hope to those who need it. Even before the

organization came into being, Kathy and I had become aware of the strength of

our testimony regarding the Lord’s deliverance of me from a supposedly

hopeless case of brain cancer. Thus from the awfulness of brain cancer

was born the Overcomer ministry. You see, God had not just thrown me a

challenge – he had given me the opportunity to make of myself a better

pastor, and one with a special insight into the issues facing those in

crisis!

We – the founders and coordinators of Overcomers - believe that even

the most tragic of ordeals brings with it the opportunity to enhance

life, by overcoming the obstacles thrown in our path. Some of us may face

more dramatic trials than others, but nobody escapes severe difficulty

during their lifetime, be it physical, emotional, spiritual, or derived

from relationships. Often, these trials seem way beyond anybody’s

ability to cope – but they are not. God has offered us Himself as traveling

companion down the same winding path. He is also embodied in those

people who act as His ambassadors on earth in bringing hope and faith to

those who need it. Overcomers connects those entering trials with those

who have already lived through them, and are on hand to comfort others.

An Overcomer hymn, by William W. How

Thou waste their rock, their fortress, and their might, Thou,

Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight; Thou in the darkness drear

their one true light O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true and bold,

Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old and win with them the

victors crown of gold!

O blest communion, fellowship divine! We feebly struggle, they in

glory shine. Yet all are one in Thee for all are Thine.

But lo! There breaks a yet more glorious day; The saints

triumphant rise in bright array; The King of Glory passes on His Way!

From earth's wide bounds from ocean's farthest coast, Through

gates of pearl streams in the countless host, Singing to Father, Son, and

Holy Ghost... Alleluia!

God's plan is clearly communicated in Scripture:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of

mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation,

that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the

comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.[18]

But what is an Overcomer?

Is every true Christian an Overcomer, or only some? There’s a lot of

confusion about this issue, arising from varying interpretations of the

following passage:

For whatever is born of God overcomes the world. And this is the

victory that has overcome the world - our faith. Who is he who overcomes the

world, but he who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?[19]

In properly understanding the idea of overcoming and being an

Overcomer, one must approach this verse carefully. The passage begins with the

assertion that whatever is born from God overcomes the world, not that

whoever is born from God overcomes. If the former were the case, no true

Christian could fail to overcome. With this interpretation, the term

"Overcomer" becomes, simply, a synonym for "Christian". If only things

were so simple! Some, although they are genuinely born of God, will not

avail of the spiritual resources that He has provided. Under trial,

their faith fails, and they do not emerge victorious. The verse, instead,

promises that whatever is generated by God overcomes. Specifically, it

points to our faith.

During any period of intense difficulty, Satan hopes that our faith

will fail, causing us to lose confidence in God. When that happens, it is

only a matter of time before we curse God and die. God, instead, is

using the trial in order to test, perfect and display our faith. Our faith

will not fail, because the object of it will not fail! Overcomers,

then, are those people who persist in believing that God is still there –

loving, saving and keeping us, even when life is at its bleakest. They

may seem to all intents and purposes to be "ordinary" people, but there

is nothing ordinary at all about being an Overcomer. Chapter eleven in

the book of Hebrews, often referred to as the "roll call of faith"

might be called the "roll call of Overcomers". Hebrews 11:4-35 talks about

the heavyweights that we all know; Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Jacob,

Sarah, Joseph, Moses, Rahab and David. But continue reading and you’ll

find God’s everyday Overcomers:

… and others experienced mockings and scourgings, yes, also chains and

imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were

tempted, they were put to death with the sword; they went about in

sheepskins, in goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, ill-treated (men of whom

the world was not worthy), wandering in deserts and mountains and caves

and holes in the ground. And all these, having gained approval through

their faith, did not receive what was promised, because God had

provided something better for us, so that apart from us they would not be made

perfect.[20]

In God’s kingdom there are no "ordinary Christians" and no "ordinary

ministries". Instead, each of us has unfathomable significance. You, too,

may feel like an ordinary Christian struggling to stay alive, much less

receive heavenly accolade. But nothing could be further from the truth.

Try to remember that Overcomers are defined not by the end result of

their deeds, but by the process. They walk humbly in faith one day at a

time and trust in God to provide the best results. Ultimately, we do not

control the end result. However, we can walk humbly in faith, one day

at a time, and leave the results to God.

God is looking for people who will stubbornly live for Him in the

presence of "undeserved" suffering and in the absence of expected blessing.

Does that describe you? Then you are an Overcomer, whether or not

anybody else ever knows about it.

An Overcomers’ statement of faith

1. We believe that there is one God, eternally existent in three

persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

2. We believe the Bible to be the inspired, the only infallible

authoritative Word of God.

3. We believe in the Deity of our Lord Jesus Christ, in His

virgin birth, in His sinless life, in His miracles, in His vicarious and

atoning death through His shed blood, in His bodily resurrection, in His

ascension to the right hand of the Father, and in His personal return in

power and glory.

4. We believe that regeneration by the Holy Spirit is absolutely

essential for the salvation of lost and sinful men.

5. We believe in the present ministry of the Holy Spirit, by

Whose indwelling the Christian is enabled to live the Godly life.

6. We believe in the resurrection of both the saved and the lost

- those who are saved to the resurrection of life, and those who are

lost to the resurrection of condemnation.

7. We believe in the spiritual unity of believers in Christ, and

the evidence of that unity being shown by how we love one another.

Can one be an Overcomer and fail to conquer the problem?

Of course! God does not have the same plan for everyone, and there are

some people who will become ill and not recover or face bankruptcy

without regaining financial security. This does not mean that their

struggle has been any less meaningful. Scripture tells us that an Overcomer is

someone who has suffered well. Overcomers are ordinary people who do

not lose sight of their calling, regardless of how severely they are

tested. We must never forget that Overcomers are defined, not by the

outcome of the trial, but by their behavior throughout it. The proof of this

is seen in the life of the greatest Overcomer of all – Jesus Christ.

Just hours before He was crucified, He said: "In this life, you will have

tribulation, but take heart – I have overcome the word!". Overcomers

take the worst that Satan can hurl at them, and fling it right back in

his face by demonstrating their stubborn love for their Savior.

Recently, I found myself at the bedside of a man dying from cancer. As

his battle drew to a close, he added false guilt to his torment,

convincing himself that, as I had survived brain cancer, he should be able to

survive lymphona. In the presence of his family and best friend, I took

his hand and said: "My friend, the only person you are going to

disappoint is Satan. You have won! The only thing for you to do now is to

claim your reward. We all will miss you. You've fought the good fight.

You've kept the faith!" That man, too, was a true Overcomer.

Overcomers share their experiences

And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of

their testimony, and they did not love their lives to the death. - Rev

12:11

In Jesus Christ there always good reason to be optimistic! But it’s not

easy to express in words to someone who has just begun to suffer,

unless the bearer of the good news is one who has already borne the weight

of a similar, or even more difficult challenge. Those who overcome the

challenges presented them are Overcomers if, afterwards, they use their

experiences to bring hope and joy to those who need it.

Overcoming when there doesn’t seem to be anything to overcome

When one is going through a crisis, the obstacle that must be overcome

is there for all to see. It would be easy to think that, in order for a

person to become an Overcomer, they must endure a dramatic trial such

as illness, divorce, bereavement, abuse or betrayal. If you have not

suffered, can you really be an Overcomer? Yes! You can steel yourself to

overcome the very real trial that is the monotony of everyday life. Now,

I’ve been through cancer treatments, and I’ve also spent plenty of time

just living, and it’s my experience that living faithfully through a

crisis is less difficult than living faithfully throughout those

uneventful times. When I was ill, I had only the Lord to cling to. As a

"healthy person" I live with daily expectations that are always with me. Being

persistently faithful can seem like a chore that will never be

finished. The answer is to take one day at a time. Loving that which seems

unlovable is a prospect that fills me with horror if I look at the future

expanding before me, but with God’s help, I can love simply and

selflessly today. Thirteen years ago, doctors warned me that my life was likely

to end in a matter of weeks. It did not, and now I live, along with the

rest of humanity, in an apparently endless sea of mundane chores,

choices and chances.

So, don’t forget that no matter how ordinary and uneventful your life

seems to be, and regardless of how trivial your trials may look, today

is your day to overcome. Concentrate on the moment, and don’t worry

about tomorrow. God is there to help you overcome whatever obstacle appears

in your path.

Knowing when it’s time to be alone

Be still and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10

Overcomers know that they need to ask for help sometimes,

and accept the support of family and friends throughout a trial. They

also know that there are times during a challenge when it’s better to be

alone with God. Take time out to spend some quiet time with the Lord.

If possible, go somewhere where you can relax, without having to stop to

answer the phone or attend to any of the duties of everyday life. God

is with you throughout your trial, but sometimes He is speaking very

quietly, and you won’t hear Him unless you listen!

It is always too soon to give up on God!

Some say, that for Christians, trials are merely blessings

disguised as problems! My study of Scripture, and personal experience with

trials confirm this for me. In 1984, I signed my family up for a health

insurance policy tailored for pastors. It offered wonderful benefits

designed for this very specialized group. Apparently, the insurance

company felt that pastors were an exceptional bunch, on the basis of their

particular lifestyles, and reputation for integrity.

In any case, when we needed reimbursement of $6000 for the birth

of one of our children, the company refused to pay! As we discovered,

it was going bankrupt, and leaving thousands of pastors’ families

without coverage. Our health expenses quickly exhausted our savings, and we

took the experience as a lesson on not relying overmuch on any man (Cf.

Jeremiah 17) and bought a new policy with a large, reputable company.

Shortly afterwards, I became ill with brain cancer and our

earlier experience, which had seemed so unfortunate, suddenly made perfect

sense. As unlucky as we had felt ourselves to be, God’s hand had been

behind it all! Those who keep their trust in God, and their hearts held

high will always be rewarded – often in surprising, unimaginable ways. I

have heard of so many cases of help coming when it was least expected.

Let me digress, to tell you a story! In Enterprise, Alabama, one can

see an truly extraordinary monument, built in honor of the boll weevil.

This little insect almost destroyed the cotton on which the economy of

the town depended.

"Why, then, would they build a monument?" I hear you ask. Well,

before the weevil struck, all of the local families depended on cotton

for their livelihoods. Afterwards, they realized the wisdom of

diversifying, and began to plant peanuts. Their new crop was a great success.

The inscription on the monument reads:

"In profound appreciation of the boll weevil and of what it has

done as the herald of prosperity, this monument is erected by the

citizens of Enterprise, Coffee County, Alabama." [21]

Suggested reading

Are there any more books you’d like to add here?

Suffering is often a deeply lonely process, and one can

feel isolated and unattached to the world. Reading is one way to learn

that others have gone through similar ordeals, and succeeded to win the

battle against despair. Some readings that you may find inspirational and

helpful are listed below.

Allender, Dan. The Wounded Heart.

With professional skill and spiritual insight, The Wounded Heart will

help you explore the secret lament of the soul damaged by sexual

abuse-and uncover the hope buried there by the One whose unstained image you

bear.

Anderson, Greg. The Triumphant Patient.

A reviewer from Rochester, Minnesota says: When I was diagnosed with

Grade 3 Pancreatic Cancer in 1993 I felt that I was a 'dead man' with a

life expectancy of six months. "The Triumphant Patient" became my game

plan of coping and survival. Five years later I still use, recommend and

gift this book to other Cancer 'Survivors'. If you are in a

'Life-Death' struggle with Cancer and want a book to help you 'fight' and live

your remaining life with "The Triumphant Patient" by Greg Anderson.

Billheimer, Paul. Don't Waste Your Sorrows.

Good book from a pastor's heart on the biblical purposes of suffering

and how to cooperate with them.

Boom, Corrie Ten & Sherrill, John, The Hiding Place.

Here is a book aglow with the glory of God and the courage of a quiet

Christian spinster whose life was transformed by it. A story of Christ's

message and the courageous woman who listened and lived... The true

story of two sisters sent to a Nazi concentration camp for helping Jews,

and how they survived.

Brant, Paul MD, & Yancy, Phillip. The Gift of Pain.

Pain is nothing that most of us would count as a blessing, but what it

is and why we need it if we're to live life fully, is brought to light

in this book.

Bunyan, John. The Pilgrim’s Progress.

Here is John Bunyan's timeless classic, an allegory of man's walk with

God. Join Christian and his companions on their journey to the

Celestial City, as they pass through many experiences common to us all and

travel in triumph with the King.

Chapin, Shelly. Counselors, Comforters & Friends

This is a book for those who want to be truly helpful to those in

distress by a single woman who overcame divorce and cancer and learned what

helps and what doesn't.

Within the Shadow.

A biblical look at suffering, death, and the process of grieving.

Lewis, C. S., A Grief Observed.

The intimate reflections of a new widower after his wife's death. Good

for giving permission to grieve! This is the book that inspired the

film Shadowlands, but it is more wrenching, more revelatory, and more real

than the movie. It is a beautiful and unflinchingly honest record of

how even a stalwart believer can lose all sense of meaning in the

universe, and how he can gradually regain his bearings.

The Problem of Pain.

C.S. Lewis, the master apologist, tackles the question that has plagued

humanity for centuries. If God is both omnipotent and good, how can we

explain the pain and suffering that people experience daily? And what

of the suffering of animals, who neither deserve pain nor can be

improved by it? With compassion and insight, C.S. Lewis proposes reasonable

answers to these critical theological problems, sharing his wisdom with

those who seek true understanding.

Mason, Mike, The Gospel According to Job.

Through this devotional study, the reader discovers that it is all

right to doubt, be confused, get angry--in short, to be completely human.

From Job we learn that the mark of true faith is not happiness; rather

that one's deepest passions are being engaged by the enormity of God.

And through Job, we learn the secret of the gospel: "mercy is the

permission to be human."

Schaefferi, Edith. Affliction.

This book is for those ready to be ruthlessly honest about life and

suffering. It gives good answers to the hard issues but not easy answers.

The author has a great illustration that can be used to communicate

God's plan for seemingly senseless suffering. Edith's Christian

philosopher husband, Francis Schaeffer, died of cancer.

Tada, Joni Eareckson. An Unforgettable Story.

The unforgettable autobiography of Joni Eareckson Tada and her

struggles to adjust after a diving accident leaves her paralyzed from the neck

down. This story has encouraged and inspired millions of readers.

Yancy, Phillip. Disappointment with God.

Yancy is a superb Christian thinker and writer. In this book he deals

with the issues of Is God there? Is He silent? Is he hidden? His

thoughts are thoroughly Biblical and relevant.

Where is God When it Hurts?

Why, in a world of love, is there so much pain? Is pain God's big

mistake? Is there a message behind the suffering? "Where is God When it

Hurts" is a true inspirational classic, a revealing, loving, and powerful

book that deals realistically with crises of pain and suffering in all

our lives. Philip Yancy takes us into his own life and others' lives to

witness what few of us have ever seen: the true purpose of pain.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] By Angela Morgan, as adopted by Paul Billheimer.

[2]Holy Bible, King James Version, 1 Peter 1. 1995 Electronic edition

of the 1769 edition of the 1611 Authorized Version.) (1 Peter 4:1-2).

Oak Harbor, WA, Logos Research Systems, Inc.

[3] Words by William R. Featherston, 1864.

[4] The Holy Bible : King James Version. 1995 (Electronic edition of

the 1769 edition of the 1611 Authorized Version.) (1 Peter 4:1-2). Oak

Harbor, WA.,Logos Research Systems, Inc.

[5] 1 Peter 5:7 (NASV).

[6] Turner’s syndrome is a congenital condition which causes sufferers

to have a disproportionately large trunk, and shortened limbs as well

as a number of other problems.

[7] The Navigators are a nondenominational Christian ministry that

focusses on leading people to Jesus Christ as savior, and helping them to

follow Him as Lord by becoming disciples, or learners. In Jesus’ time

learners followed their master around, gaining everything they could get

from him, rather than studying his words in a classroom setting. The

modern Navigators were founded on ships in Long Beach Harbor, when a

sailor called Dawson Trotman became discouraged by seeing so many people

accepting Jesus Christ as their savior, and then, apparently, doing

nothing about it. Trotman felt that a Christian should grow in his

relationship with Christ and other people, helping them to come to Christ. In

the early days, the Navigators worked mostly on military ships, but after

the Second World War they spread throughout the world, largely through

their activities on college campuses. I had encountered them at the Air

Force academy, but was initially unimpressed. Later, at UCLA, they gave

me the grounding I needed.

[8] Matthew 7, verses 24-7, King James version.

[9] Jeremiah 17: 5-8.

[10] The Holy Bible, King James Version. 1995 (Electronic edition of

the 1769 edition of the 1611 Authorized Version.) (1 Peter 3:18-20). Oak

Harbor, WA.Logos Research Systems, Inc.

[11] This is not a medical term!

[12] Jeremiah 17:5-8 (NASV)

[13] Matthew 6 (NASV)

[14]"Is any one of you in trouble? He should pray. Is anyone happy? Let

him sing songs of praise. Is any one of you sick? He should call the

elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name

of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person

well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be

forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so

that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and

effective." James 5, verses 5-13.

[15] Finding God When Life's not Fair; Lee Ezell, Reevel publishers,

2001.

[16] Hebrews 11:1-3 (NASV)

[17] Romans, chapter 8, verses 37-9.

[18] (2 Cor. 1:3-4)

[19] 1 John 5:4;5 (NKJ)

[20] Heb. 11:36-40. Emphasis added. Taken from the NASV, Lockman

Foundation, 1995

[21] -- Robert C. Shannon, 1000 Windows, (Cincinnati, Ohio: Standard

Publishing Company, 1997).

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