Waving Goodbye

How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.  ~Carol Sobieski and Thomas Meehan, Annie

A couple of weeks ago Lori and I came to the end of some vacation time in So. California. We were at our daughter’s home saying our “Goodbyes” and steeling ourselves for the drive back to Colorado. Pulling out of their driveway we wave, give the traditional 3 quick honks of the horn, yell “Goodbye” and began to weep.

I allow my internal world to breach and a wave of emotions follow. I’m a bit caught off guard by the fervor of my tears. They were new, not the familiar tears from the historic taps of my soul/wounds. These were fresh as if from a newly uncovered spring.

We’re zipping up the interstate just south of Barstow and the “spring” now feels like the seepage of a dam beginning to crack.

Our emotions have been compared to the “idiot” light on a car’s dashboard. When it goes off it’s always good to check under the hood to determine what’s going on. To ignore it is to court with much bigger issues down the road.

Lori and I ask/invite God to help us interpret the tears and the energy behind them. And then, rather quickly, a question comes to me from God.

So much of my interaction with God comes in the form of questions. I ask a question, He answers with a question. It’s truly conversational. It’s a Socratic dialog with a sagely loving father who happens to be the Holy and Magnificent Triune Creator God of Angel Armies who sovereignly rules over all of Heaven and Earth. His questions always cause me to pause, ponder, reorient and eventually offer a response that then becomes the subject of a deeper discussion. The discussion may be a brief moment or unfold over weeks.

With the diagnosis of malignant melanoma* and my bout with mortality as the back story, I hear God ask,

“Craig, if you were to die sooner than you’d like/planned, am I sufficient for Lori?  Do you trust that I, as her God, her Father and Lover would care for her, “be there” for her, protect and provide for her? Could I make her laugh and fill her with joy; bless her life and give her a rich full life all of her days?”

And in His next breath He asks, “How about your girls, your daughters and grandchildren? Am I enough for Lindsey, Meagan, Jacqueline and Annie? Do you trust that I, their Father, Friend, Lover and God would care for them; guide them; and fill their hearts and lives with joy? Would my “Being there” for holidays, anniversaries, family vacations, graduations and weddings bring them joy, love, hope, faith and life?” “Am I enough for those you love?”

(I’m not trying to be sappy, honest…for if I were I’d suggest you put on “Butterfly Kisses” as you read this).

My first reaction was to His question was … “What?”

I think I felt like the Rich Young Ruler may have, when he asks Christ, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life”, and Christ responds with, what seems to me, to be an odd question, “Why do you call me good?” Huh… what’s Christ’s question got to do with the rich guys question?

Something inside was responding, “Why of course You’re sufficient and enough… I’ve professed and taught that for years! What does that have to do with these tears?”

God will often use a question to redirect the issue we’re bringing to him to a more pivotal issue of the heart. 

Now, let me say, I think each of us has a number of voids/needs/yearnings that if filled bring us life in a deeper richer more textured way. Each of us has a star shaped hole only a loving spouse can fill. A friend doesn’t fill it, a pet cannot and God will not. A round peg will not fit or fill it. If that hole/void/need/yearning remains unfilled we legitimately ache, serverely at times and we bear the scar or grief that emptiness in our soul brings.
There’s a round hole only a father fills, a diamond shaped hole a mother fills… and there’s a God shaped void no spouse, child, success,amount of money or religion can touch… We’ve got a bunch of holes, voids and yearnings, and it’s critical that they be filled. But they’re not all filled all the time.

The God-hole is the mondo-bolardo of holes/needs/voids we have as humans. Our yearning/need for intimacy with God is crucial and though we try to fill it with all kinds of stuff… it’s only the One True God peg that fits.

To know God is to have life whether or not the other holes are filled. When the God-hole is filled we have all we need to worship, follow, live loving lives and taste heaven here and now no matter what our circumstances or hardships are. God alone is sufficient. He is enough.

So, “Yes”, my “premature” death would have an impact upon those closest to me, to varying degrees they would ache, grieve, go “without” some pretty significant stuff for the rest of their lives.  

And there is God whois sufficient, enough, plenty, all-they-need in some deep governing true way to live life fully, richly and meaningfully. He is they’re Father, Lord, Lover, Companion, Friend, Guide, Counselor, Comforter, Provider…

While I have believed all that I just said for decades the answer to God’s question, “Am I sufficient, am I enough for your wife and family?” that surfaced in a mile or two was actually, “No. I don’t think you’re sufficient to cover the gaping hole my death would bring.”  

There was about five miles of stillness as my response soaked in… deeply. I don’t think God is enough. I’m not certain, when it comes down to the most important issues of my life, that I can trust Him!?#%&*?! 

Whoa! That’s new, big, important, deep… surprising!

Another 6 miles of stillness/silence passed.

No wonder I’m crying as I leave my family! They’re facing an emotional, relational destitution without me! A sparse, cold, long winter. Without my strength, love, godliness and selfless presence the family tree, once so verdant and promising, will wilt like a cursed fig tree with future generations looking back and citing my early demise as the tragic end of the McConnell Spirit.

I began to connect a few dots.

If I do not trust God for my posterity, do I trust him with my life?

If He is not enough for them is He for me?

If He is not a good hearted strong Lover and Father for Lori, Lindsey, Meagan and the kids, is he for me?

Every core issue and all the behaviors and attitudes we hate most in our lives have some root in the idea that God isn’t good.

What was springing from my soul was a profound need to know God far more intimately than I currently do. My tears were the expression of the deepest longing of my heart… to know God so well that I find myself smiling about the future and the great, great love The Father will lavish upon me and the family that follows. – Craig

 *see previous blog for more on the melanoma issue, which, God willing, has been resolved.

Tomato

I’m not suffering with a horrible body awareness issue (see photo), but there are a few small features I wish were different about my tabernacle.*

(For the record, that is my face and fishing hat!)

I’ll restrain myself from disclosing the 23 adjustments I’m hoping for in my glorified body but I will own the vanity of wishing that my skin could take a little more sun than it does. Tan I am not! My Scot-Irish ancestry is seen in my ruddy freckled complexion. “Ruddy” of course meaning “red”, as in, “He’s as red as a tomato.” “Tomato” being a short lived nickname a couple of 9th grade knucklehead best friends gave me because of my regular second-degree sunburn from surfing and beach life.

Note: Growing up in So. Cal the only lotion I ever saw anyone but on their body was baby oil… sunscreen was practically unheard of.

So, over the decades I’ve grilled my epidermis like a cheap steak a zillion times. Somewhere along the way the concept of skin damage popped onto my radar with my first, “Hey, this mole looks a little funky” moment being circa 1988. That began my pilgrimages to a dermatologist for an annual pruning/zapping/frying of sundry oddities. One Doc examining my back compared it to a pier piling covered with barnacles! The visits have simply become a part of life, like getting an oil change, paying your taxes or having corn beef on St. Patrick’s Day… the pathology reports always came in “negative” a week or two later.

So this June I trot in to the dermatology office for the usual examination. A dozen spots are frozen, a couple of blots/weird-pigment-smudges removed and a little something new... a prescription for a topical cream (fluorouracil) that destroys precancerous cells. In the ten days you’re applying this stuff you become a living scab, lichen with personality, a Star War “bar scene” character. I looked so bad I considered wearing a Phantom of the Opera mask or withdrawing from civilization for 10 days. The directions warn you: Do Not get this in your eyes or upon your lips, to wash your hands thoroughly after applying and then suggest you wear rubber gloves when touching it… I’m thinking, “And I’M PUTTING THIS ON MY FACE?!?

Deciding not to take my “sick days” I show up at work as usual with most of my 30-something knucklehead best friends calling me Freddie Krueger!

My favorite moment was when sweet and kind Amanda, seeing my face for the first time, simply said, “It must hurt”. It wasn’t a question.

My treatment ends none-to-soon and the family and I take off for a little R&R at Lake Havasu. It’s a great vacation aided by the fact that we were mercifully cut off from the known world having no cell phone coverage or email access.

At vacations end, driving back towards LA my phone gets coverage and starts picking up a number of messages. There are three that catch my interest, each along the lines of:

“Hello Craig, this is Doctor Jones**, I’m trying to reach you to go over your pathology report. Would you give me a call so we can set up a time to talk.”

Huh… I have never had the doctor call to give me a pathology report… it’s always been a nurse. The standard line is, “Mr. McConnell the removed tissue was Basal cell carcinoma, “no problem… wear sunscreen… we’ll see you at your annual checkup. Oh, and wear sunscreen!” 

I’m thinking this isn’t good. For a variety of almost comedic reasons it takes me 4 days to finally reach my doctor. I’m toast…
 
My doctor confirms that the tissue was a melanoma and that I need to set up an appointment with a surgeon to have the whole tumor removed… soon.

Melanoma?

Cancer?

Me?

It was then that everything went into slow motion. Voices were muffled and I felt like I was viewing the world through tunnel vision.The big  soggy wet cold blanket of my mortality had been thrown over me. Some of you have been there. Some of you are there now. It was startling; I was knocked off center. Stunned!

At some point in all of this God intrudes asking, “What’s changed with this diagnosis… really?”

My knee jerk immediate reaction was: “E v e r y t h i n g!”

Looking back it was surprisingly quick that I found some solid ground and perspective.

That I am mortal isn’t new? That has always been true from the moment I was conceived. We all die. Some in the womb, some at 23 yrs. old in combat (like my father), some in an accident at 36 or in bed at 92. That I’ll die isn’t new… it just feels like it.

That I could die sooner than later feels new? But in truth the gift of life is so very fragile and precious…we are dependent upon God for our every breath. I began to face the godless assumption that I would live to a “ripe old age” (James 4:13–15), when, in truth, there have never been any guarantees that tomorrow will come. This led to some necessary repentance. So… that my days are numbered isn’t new either. Nothing has changed, it just seems like it.

Whether or not it’s a change I found myself craving life… to possess it, live in it, share it, fondle it and celebrate it. With no sluggish assumptions about the length of my life, I found myself diving into the depths of life; wanting to love and live with Lori, Lindsey, Meagan and the sacred circle of family and friends I enjoy. It feels like a change wrought by my diagnosis… and maybe it is. But I’ve always wanted to live passionately for God  about God, sucking the marrow out of life regardless of the circumstances I find myself in. If this is a change… it’s for the better and I’ll take it! 

So there I was… realizing that very little has actually changed and all that has shifted seems pretty good at the moment! 

The life I want is forever and always rooted in Christ... nothing else. Not my health, not my circumstances. And the words of an old sage come to mind, to live is Christ.

In July the Melanoma was surgically removed and my prognosis is life!

Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom. - Psalm 90:12 NLT

– Craig

 

(There is so much more to say about all of this, and the truth is that I’m still processing my mortality with God. If interested, John and I recorded and posted on our web site a podcast in which I share another part of this story. The podcast title is: God In Our Summer Part 2) 

* I always smile when I read Old King James refer to our body as a “tabernacle” in 2 Corinthians 5:4; thus I had to use it here! The passage:  For we that are in this tabernacle do groan, being burdened: not for that we would be unclothed, but clothed upon, that mortality might be swallowed up of life.

** Though he’s an incredible doctor that I would highly recommend and continues to be my dermatologist it seems best not to share his real name.

*** Abraham breathed his last and died in a ripe old age, an old man and satisfied with life; and he was gathered to his people. – Genesis 25:8 NASB