John Stumbo's blog

I had never spent a day in the hospital since birth. I had never broken a bone or had a surgery or had out-patient anything or had any reason to spend time hanging around doctors. I'd get a physical every few years, but other than that, I didn't have any reason to seek the assistance of the medical community. I hardly ever even took a sick day from work. Until age 47 and 11 months, I was as healthy as anyone I knew.

I say all this to admit I had no experience at being a patient. I was a complete novice. However, after a seventy seven day hospitalization, I think I can claim veteran status. And, as you know, these eleven weeks were followed by many more when I needed significant home care and therapy. The patient status didn't end just because I left the hospital.

I'm thinking of two groups of people as I write today. I'm thinking of all the caregivers out there. Day after day, year after year you take care of the likes of me. You're amazing. And, I'm thinking of all of us--everyone who will read these words--because like it or not at some point in your journey you, too, will become a patient. This is pretty much a given. The question is, what kind of patient will you be?

First of all, caregivers--you rock. You have made it your chosen profession to care for those who cannot care for themselves. This is more than a job; it is a calling. This is a high calling. You share with us your healing hands and hope-giving words. You coach us, caution us and call the best out of us. You give your best to us, and then go to the next room or home and do it all over again. Wow. Thank you!

We know you are human and might have to stick us twice (like the phlebotomist did today) when it should have only taken one needle to draw the blood. We know that you won't like all of us patients the same, but respect that you work hard to treat us all with equal respect. We know that you are people, too, with your own world of issues and hurts, but appreciate the way you are able to set them aside to care for our needs.

Please remember that for many of us patients, this is a new experience. You've dealt with our condition a hundred times, but for us this is something very new and different. We're worried and probably scared. We're experiencing discomfort and dealing with pain. We're not at our best. We're usually nicer people than you're meeting right now. It's really good of you when you are willing to give us the benefit of the doubt.

For all the times we were too sick or self-absorbed to thank you, please accept our thanks today. Please know that we really do admire you…even when we don't know how to express it. The world is a better place because of you. Our world--our lives--are better because of you. What you do isn't easy, but we want you to know it's worth it.

And now a word to all of us. My favorite quote of the week becomes a launching pad for some comments, "The challenge of enduring pain is not to become one to everyone around us." Whether our pain is emotional or physical, it can easily spill over into our treatment of others. At our worst, we can fall into a mode of subconsciously thinking, "If I hurt, someone else is going to hurt." This attitude can sneak out in our word choice and tone of voice. We may think we're hiding it, but we're not usually very effective at it. At minimum, our pain can bring out an irritability in us that is a pain to be around. We can easily fall into a demanding, insistent attitude which may get results but doesn't endear us to anyone.

It takes a special grace to suffer well. Few of us have the personality that naturally maintains a good attitude through suffering. But here's the good news, for every Christ-follower, the grace is there when we need it. This is the work of the Spirit of God in our lives--He gives us what we need when we need it. Many of you don't have the grace to suffer well now because you don't need it yet--but when you do need it, the Spirit will have a sufficient portion just waiting for you.

I make no claims of having been the perfect patient. I had to apologize for my attitude more than once. However, I will celebrate that I endured far more than I would have thought possible and want to testify that the grace was not my own. As always, it was a gift from above. It will be there for you, too, when you need it.

Your fellow traveler,
John

Joanna and I had a big outing today: we went to the Portland Airport to pick up her sister who is visiting us from Wisconsin for a week. In the past I never would have considered a run up to PDX to be a "big outing" but my perception of things has changed. What once was routine now feels significant, what once was simple now seems complex.

Take, for example, the routine act of getting out of bed in the morning. Like any healthy person, this once was a simple, one step process. Oh, I'm not denying that sometimes I stalled the process for a good while--I can hit a snooze alarm with the best of them, but once decided it was quite basic: in one motion I'd throw off the covers and sit on the edge of the bed. It was that simple. Now, with my limited mobility and strength, this is a multi-step process involving the following: find a position in bed where I can get a hold of the covers, pull-kick-wiggle-squirm the covers off, roll to my side, try to get my arm in a proper position so I can get a push-off, throw my legs over the edge while thrusting with my arms and hope that I have the momentum to get all the way up. And, oh yes, don't forget the grunt-groan that goes with it. Sometimes it takes a few tries. Usually, to be honest, I just let Joanna help me--yes, I can be a slacker in the morning. I know that there are many with worse conditions than mine who would love to have the ability to get out of bed on their own no matter how many steps it took; but I share this as a simple example of the fact that some of the routines of life have become more complicated.

So today we're at the airport. We found our way into the short term parking garage and I told Joanna to go ahead as I wanted to take my time and meet her at Baggage Claim. We keep some bottles of juice in the van in case I need a little nourishment when we're out. Just before she left, I asked her for a bottle. She kindly handed me one and a syringe so I could pour it into my feeding tube. Then she headed off to find her sister. All was well until I realized I couldn't open the plastic container holding the syringe. Try as I might, I couldn't budge it. I beat it against the dashboard to try to loosen it, but to no avail. I grabbed my cane and found a middle aged guy loading his suitcase into his trunk. "Excuse me sir, but I'm not strong enough to open this. Would you be so kind…?" This isn't the kind of interaction you have with a stranger everyday, but he didn't seem to mind. He took the container from my hand, gave it a simple twist and handed it back to me. I thanked him and headed back to our van.

Next, I discovered that I was also too weak to open the juice bottle--a basic ten ounce plastic bottle with a twist cap. A five year old could do it, but I couldn't. I twisted, I turned, I tried both hands, I covered it with a cloth to try to get a better grip…no luck. "Here we go again," I thought. I wandered back out of the van and intercepted a young man pulling a suitcase. "Excuse me, but I'm too weak to open this. Would you mind…?" Just like the first guy, without a word he took it from my hand, gave it a twist and handed it back. I thanked him and we parted ways. I was two-for-two on finding helpful people--nice folk, these Oregonians. (Of course, there is also the theory that if you give a man an opportunity to show off his strength, he'll take you up on it every time…but I'm not going there tonight.)

I'll spare you other examples of my neediness, but you get the idea: without the help of others, there's a lot that wouldn't get done in my life. I'd be a hungry, housebound, unshowered, barefoot mess.

Asking for help is a skill I've had to learn. I didn't do much of it in my past life. I prided myself in my independence. I was often happy to give help, but didn't want to be in a position where I needed it. But necessity has driven me to learn what I didn't want to learn. As my rookie year of help-asking nears a close, I offer the following lessons:

1) Every time I ask for help is an opportunity to humble myself. Words like "I can't do this by myself" don't flow easily from my lips. How about yours? They are good words, though. They are even words that heaven is waiting to hear. "It's not the healthy who need a doctor," Jesus said. He came for those who knew they were sick and in need of His help. I don't like to be needy, but if I am, I'm a proud fool to not admit it.

2) Every time I ask for help is an opportunity to assess whether I really should be doing this for myself. As I've already confessed, Joanna helps me out of bed in the morning. This is something I could do, but it is oh so much easier with her help. In countless areas of life--most of them more significant than this example--I have to be honest with myself and discern whether I'm hurting myself in the long run by seeking assistance. I want to live out Paul's directive, "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart as working for the Lord, not for men." Sometimes genuine help is needed. Sometimes I've just become accustomed to leaning on someone else.

3) Every time I ask for help I give someone else an opportunity to do a good deed. Good works don't get us to heaven but they should be the common practice of those who are headed there. "Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven," Jesus taught. Us needy folk give other folk lots of opportunities for their light to shine and their Father to be glorified. This can be a very good thing.

4) Every time I ask for help I have the opportunity to express gratitude. Some people in places of need get demanding. They expect and/or insist that others help them. I once judged these people, now I think I understand them. Nevertheless, it does no one any good to be demanding. It is neither helpful nor Christ-like. A healthy dose of gratitude makes any situation better.

Any lessons you'd like to add to the list? I'd love to hear them.

Trying to uncomplicate life,
Your fellow traveler,
John

PS For all those in the Salem area, don't forget about Tuesday night. Feel free to drop in between six and eight. You'll enjoy meeting Joanna's sister, Phoebe, sipping some ice tea and getting to know other people in this blog community.

Okay, here's the deal. The days are slipping by and I haven't been able to post anything. I know I don't have to, but I like to keep in communication with you. It's become part of my weekly routine and daily enjoyment. However, right now I'm in between a lot of stuff. I've begun an honest piece on my battle with depression over the months, I'm 70% done with a not-so-short story I'll probably share with you and I'm completely stuck on the sovereignty of God conversation I began a couple blogs ago--I have more to say but haven't had time to put it in words that I'm ready to share with the world. I've found through the years of preaching that messages have to be given birth and premature deliveries are not always healthy ones. So for tonight I'm letting you know that I'm stalling for a day or two.

I will say that this weekend was really encouraging for me. I thought Steve's message on The Presence was an excellent launch for his new role, setting a great tone for our church. I took pleasure in the fact that it was one of our biggest Sundays of the year (Fall Kick-Off and Installation of our new pastor) and our worship was lead by team members, not our worship pastor. A few years ago we went to great effort to institute a team model for worship and it felt like it had come to full maturity this weekend when we could have a service of that magnitude and our worship pastor felt confident enough to turn the weekend over to others on the team. And, I was encouraged by the energy I felt. In June when I spoke, I had to hide out between the services as I didn't have the strength to speak and meet with people. This weekend I hung around after three of the services and had a great time reconnecting with many of the church family. It felt like I was back for the first time. Hopefully this is a sign of things to come. Many people have asked me if I was wiped out afterwards. I took a good nap on Sunday afternoon--nothing unusual about that--and felt fine Monday. Definitely a sign of progress. The stamina is returning. Thanks for your ongoing prayers.

For those from out of the Salem area or local people who weren't able to make it to this weekend's service, we're working on getting pieces of it available in video form on the Salem Alliance website. I'll let you know when it's up and running.

Meanwhile, Pastor Steve has been great about communicating with me regarding what my future role might look like at Salem Alliance. This still has to be finalized by the Board before I share anything specific, but suffice it to say, I'm encouraged that the church is gracious enough to keep an "ex" like me around and give me a meaningful role to fill. It is a sign of health of Salem Alliance that former senior pastors are accepted in the fellowship and even on the leadership team.

Tomorrow is my first day back as a member of the Pastoral Management Team which I was leading eleven months ago. They've functioned very well in my absence. Now I'm coming back, no longer in charge but as a regular member. This will be an adjustment for all of us, but I trust it will be good. I've been in a support role before (at the C&MA's National Office). I think I can do it again.

Okay, enough of my stall message. I'm hoping to be back in a day or two with a story or some rambling message of profound significance. Ha!

Our appreciation to all of you,
John and Joanna

I'm not ready to continue the conversation I started a few days ago, "Who Is Calling the Shots?" I've got more thinking to do. However, I've enjoyed your feedback. Thanks for the interaction. Tonight I want to continue my pattern of giving you a monthly update on my life, health and church.

A Big Weekend At Salem Alliance this weekend, Steve Fowler is being officially installed as our new lead pastor. (See the August 28 blog, A Story Few Have Heard.) I'm happy for the Fowlers and for our church, although I will admit that I've had to deal with a few other emotions as well. The church leadership gave me the honor of addressing the congregation in regard to this transition so I am speaking for five minutes at each service. It felt good tonight to be back sharing with the church family. And, I was encouraged that they seemed to be better able to understand my speaking as my diction is gradually getting a little better. I'm still far from fluent but it is improving.

Steve will bring us great leadership--just the leadership we need for this season of Salem Alliance. Please support him in your prayers. It's a big job, I know.

An Invitation For all those who live in the Salem area, Joanna and I would like to invite you to stop in on Tuesday evening, September 22 anytime between 6 and 8. So many of you have encouraged us via this blog or cards but we've not been able to see you face to face. Consider this your invitation to come by for a "Stumbo Blog Community Only Drop-In." We're the yellowish house at 2305 Eola Drive in West Salem one-half mile past the Kingwood stop sign. No gifts or cards, please. Just bring your smile and get to know a few other faces that make us this blog community. We wouldn't have had the energy to do this a few months ago, but I'm feeling stronger now which leads to…

Life in This Tent I like what Paul has to say about our earthly bodies, "Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands…For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed (gotta love that word) up by life." (II Cor. 5:1, 4)

Well, my earthly tent that was pretty well destroyed in November and December and suffered more setbacks in months to come now appears to be on the mend. God is answering your prayers. The poles are a little straighter and the pegs a little firmer.

Walking with the cane is going well--2 miles now some days. I'm slow but the stamina is increasing. I still need help standing up from some chairs and with some stairs, but I'm getting stronger. My surgery wound (right leg) is now just covered with a couple ordinary Band-Aids and they'll soon be unnecessary. And, the non-existent, non-functioning muscles in my left leg seem to be gradually coming back. No huge breakthroughs, but progress.

My pain level has gotten much better in recent months. I still have my share of discomfort but it's not half of what it was as recent as June. The overarching feeling of "crud" and mental fog has greatly improved as well. I found myself saying a few times in recent weeks, "I feel almost human again!"

Although my upper body is still very weak, simple daily tasks such as typing and teeth brushing have gotten much easier. Joanna still has to help me with many routine things of life, but again, we're making progress.

Speaking of Joanna--she remains my incredible support and encouragement. Wow, I was a smart guy 26 years ago to marry her. What a gift she is! I do find it amusing that 20 years ago on a hospital visit with me she passed out on the hospital floor. Now she is doing some of the very same things that just watching would have made her queasy in the past (wound care, for example.) It is in the nature of some people to grow, stretch, learn, discover and become. They've determined somewhere along their journey to not allow themselves to become stuck. Joanna is one of those people. Hey, I can't wait to see what she's going to be like in another 20 years.

I'd appreciate it if you would keep my speaking and swallowing ability high on your prayer list. You've already read that my speech is improving but I can't say the same for my swallow. I continue to seek professional assistance and do exercises that are supposed to help, but the disease still seems to have a clutch on my throat. I have begun to do what the speech therapist calls "recreational eating" where I chew on something soft like potato salad, for example. I attempt to swallow it but it gets stuck in my throat and I have to spit it out before I asphyxiate. It is wonderful to get the taste of food back in my mouth--who knew a baked potato could be so flavorful--but it is tiring to do the chew, spit, gag, chew, spit, gag routine. It's pretty gross to watch or hear.

So, thanks again for your prayers. The old tent is getting refurbished and eagerly awaits the day when it gets "swallowed up in life."

Grateful for all of you,
John

Earlier this year I had been asked to write our church Bible Study curriculum for next winter. We will be studying the life and message of Jeremiah for 16 weeks and I had hopes of writing all these lessons. That hope gradually shriveled over the summer as my energy level and thinking clarity stayed frustratingly low. Barb Fletcher, who oversees the studies, was extremely gracious and understanding, and this fall we divided up the work load. I'll still be writing some of the lessons, but the whole effort isn't on my shoulders. Rather, it is shared with Barb and her long-time writing partner, Carol.

This week I'm attempting to write a study on Jeremiah 29--the classic chapter where Jeremiah writes a letter to the exiles who have been hauled 700 miles away to Babylon. False prophets are telling the people that they are going to get to go home soon, but Jeremiah delivers the surprising message that they should unpack, settle in and build homes because they are going to be there for a while--70 years to be exact. The chapter also contains the much loved promise, "I know the plans I have for you…plans to prosper and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future…"

I can't share the whole study with you today, but I had to let you in on a new insight I had into the text. Maybe you saw it years ago, but for me this was new. Verse one reads, "This is the text of the letter that the prophet Jeremiah sent from Jerusalem to the surviving elders among the exiles and to the priests, the prophets and all the other people Nebuchadnezzar had carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon." Straight forward, simple enough. But notice what the text says just three verses later, "This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon."

Who "carried" the people into exile? Verse one says that King Nebuchadnezzar did, but in verse four God claims responsibility. I love this. From a human vantage point, it looked like bad King Nebby was calling the shots. But from the divine view, God is claiming to be fully in charge. God seems to be saying, "What you saw with your eyes was an earthly king marching through your streets taking you captive, but I want you to know I am the one who has done this. I am still in charge."

Throughout my illness, quite a few of you have been kind enough to send me books. I've appreciated this, although I'm not doing too well sending out thank you notes. As I've been reading some of them, it's been interesting to see how respected Christian leaders have polar opposite views on this subject. Lon Solomon, pastor of a large church in Washington D.C., authored Brokenness: How God Redeems Pain and Suffering. He argues very clearly that God brings hardship into our lives to break us in our place of strength because spiritual brokenness is so highly valued by Him. Meanwhile, from the other side of the United States and theological spectrum, Bill Johnson of Redding, CA has written Face to Face with God. In it he debunks such a view stating, "When we allow sickness, torment and poverty to be thought of as God-ordained tools He uses to make us more like Jesus, we have participated in a very shameful act."

Lon teaches, "God orchestrates every circumstance that touches every life to accomplish his perfect purposes. There are no accidents, coincidences, or acts of fate in this world." Meanwhile, Bill writes, "Not everything that happens is God's will. God gets blamed for so much in the name of His sovereignty."

Who's right? Well, maybe they both are--I don't know. The debate is almost as old as our faith and will continue until Christ comes back. I do like the balance brought by another author who said, "Suffering is both our calling and our curse." Hardship is part of our calling as Christ-followers but it's also a part of living on a fallen planet.

Since February I have been saying in regard to my illness, "God is in this and God is good." The timing and nature of my illness were such that I could not believe this sickness is just some random occurrence. Something supernatural is at work. On the surface, it just looks like an evil "Nebuchadnezzar virus" carried me somewhere I didn't want to be; but I seem to keep hearing God say, "I was the one who carried you there."

More on this (I hope) in a few days.

In His Grip,
John

I had to at least give it a try. It's a guy thing and after all, it had been more than ten months since I last had the experience.

Monday was the day. Joanna and I were out running errands when on the way home she pulled the van into the new West Salem LDS Church parking lot--plenty of room and not another vehicle in sight. Perfect. She parked, got out of the van and took the seat I had occupied for all these months. I made my way into the driver's seat, grabbed the steering wheel and breathed a deep sigh; it had been a long time--since October 19, 2008 to be exact.

My mind raced back through the last decade of teaching our own children to drive. We would typically start them in vacant parking lots just like this one so that they could get a feel for the experience without having to deal with real life traffic. Now I was the student driver, needing a traffic-free environment.

I noticed Joanna out of the corner of my eye. She seemed hopeful--she will delight in the day when she no longer has to be my chauffer as driving has never been her love--but apprehensive--perhaps nearly a decade of teaching teens to drive still had her a little jittery. Or maybe it was because her cane-walking, tube-feeding, disease-inflicted, physically-impaired husband now had her life in his hands. Nah, couldn't be. I smiled at her and prepared to head off.

My first indication that this may not go real well was when I couldn't lift my right leg high enough to step on the brake. I had to let go of the steering wheel and lift my leg with my hand. This was not a good sign. With some effort I got the van into gear and backed up. We were on our way.

Using the same hand maneuver I got my foot onto the gas pedal and we headed off at a bold five to seven miles per hour. Even at that speed the corner came up suddenly and I turned as hard and fast as my arm, shoulder and chest muscles would allow. Wow! Who knew it took so much strength to turn a steering wheel? An involuntary sound emitted from Joanna's throat…someone might be tempted to call it a scream. Hope was fading; apprehension was rising as was the blood pressure.

Next we headed down the straight-away--a little faster now, perhaps a death-defying 10mph. Straight-aways are good. Straight-aways are happy. Straight-aways require little effort. All too soon, however, another corner was upon us. This time I tried the hand-lift-the-leg-onto-the-brake procedure while trying to turn the corner. My muscles screamed. Joanna, with great self-control, did not…but I think she might have cheated and closed her eyes. Ha! We made it without hitting the curb. It was ugly. I would have taken out any oncoming traffic, but I was on the straight-away again.

Now it was time to try to park. I didn't admit it to Joanna but I missed the spot I was aiming for. I angled us in three spots down from where I first planned and was taken by surprise by how long it took me to get my leg lifted to the brake. We came to a jerking stop right before driving up onto the curb. I'll admit that an involuntary sound emitted from my throat this time. (We can't call it a scream. Real men don't scream, right?) That was close. It would have been so embarrassing to go to the church and confess that I was the one who defiled their brand new lawn, "Hi, Elder Jones. I'm a pastor here in town and I just ripped up your new sod. Welcome to the neighborhood." It would have made a great headline, though: "Local Pastor Vandalizes Neighboring Church Property" or "Faster Pastor Cuts Ruts in Saint's Sod."

Next I had to put it in reverse, check the mirrors, back up, get the foot back on the brake, get the transmission back into drive and get the foot back on the gas all while cranking on that laborious steering wheel. Hey, that's a lot of work! I completed our parking lot circle, pulling up to the entrance/exit completely exhausted. For the first time Joanna took her eyes off the road. She looked a little white. And, for some reason, she didn't object when I suggested that one lap was enough and that I be done for the day.

"Well," I said, back where I belonged in the passenger's seat. "I guess I'm not road ready yet." Sometimes a guy just has to state the obvious. She agreed in a way that acknowledged the truth without belittling me in the process. And, for some reason, she hasn't seemed to mind being my chauffer the last few days.

A lot of us as parents have told our kids, "You don't know until you try;" I'm glad I tried. Now I know. And, give me a few more months and I'll try again. Until then I've got shotgun.

Maybe you should try something this week that you've been thinking about doing. Just a thought. But you may want to stay off the road until you're sure you're ready for the traffic.

Thanks for following along with our journey,
John and White Knuckle, I mean--Joanna

To start, congratulations to the Stumbo Prayer Warrior Hood to Coast Team for a successful 197 mile run/jog/walk/crawl (?) last weekend. They survived the stomach flu, injuries, countless hills, middle of the night legs through difficult terrain and Erik Williams' humor. They finished in a respectable 30 hours bettering almost 200 other teams and told the Stumbo story as they travelled. They even dialed my cell phone and chanted "Stumbo, Stumbo" as they joined hands and crossed the finish line together. It was really hard for me to not be able to be there but their kindness to me made up for a lot of it. And, besides, as some of you know I was given a new nickname: someone asked the team who St. Umbo was. I've had a lot of things done to "Stumbo" through the years, but this was a first. Thanks, Hood to Coast friends, for all your prayers and love.

On a different note, why did the phrase "empty nest" become the exclusive way that we refer to the stage of life when you've successfully helped your kids grow up and move out of the house? We've officially been "empty nesters" for over two weeks now and are doing quite well, actually. Obviously it helps a great deal that our three kids are in a good place--both in person and location. Obviously it helps a great deal that we have a cell phone/texting plan that allows easy communication. Obviously it helps knowing we should get to see them again during the holidays. But I've found myself chafing a bit under the "empty nest" stigma. Why is this the one and only image we use to describe this phase of life?

First of all, I live in a house not a nest. Call me nuts, but I'd rather not think of myself with the bird metaphor. (We get to choose our metaphors, remember? Go back to the April 23 blog--Powerful Pictures--for a review.) Don't get me wrong. Birds are great, but I'm not personally inspired by thinking of myself in beaky, feathery terms. Meanwhile, I've never heard anyone suggest a different title than the ubiquitous "empty nest."

So, I'll get us started and I challenge you to throw in some alternatives as well. (Feel free to be anonymous if that helps.) We're not empty nesters, we are a "multi-location family:" one family, many locations. We've decentralized. The home office now has satellite sites. We're still one unit; we're just hanging out in different locations for this season.

Or, how about this: why not call it the "clean house" era? Joanna went on a cleaning frenzy (her exact words) when the boys left--not that the house was that dirty but she was experiencing the great pleasure that for the first time in two decades when she cleaned something it stayed that way! I don't live in an empty nest, but I do live in a clean house. What's more, our refrigerator door feels like it has been given a vacation and we're buying milk every two weeks instead of every 12 hours. It's also the "pick my own music, the car is in the garage when I need it, go to bed when I feel like it" era.

Don't get me wrong, I miss our kids greatly. I always will when we are apart. I'm just seeing a lot of positives in their lives and ours. Joanna and I will always be their parents, but we have a sense of fulfillment that we got them this far in one piece. Don't call us "empty nesters", call us "parent veterans" or "parent post-grads."

You may think I'm stretching this a bit, but when the Father sent His only Son into this world, I don't think He spent any energy bemoaning an empty nest. He had sent His Son on a mission to redeem a lost world. We've sent our kids off to make a difference in their world. The "launching pad" was effective; they've taken off. The "sending agency" succeeded in releasing its finest.

Got any other "empty nest" alternatives? If you don't, that's fine. But whatever you do, don't let someone else choose your metaphors for you. Be intentional. Be creative. Be sure your metaphors are empowering not draining. It's your brain; fill it wisely.

Your fellow traveler,
John

A Short Story by
John Stumbo

The trail was new but the sounds were not. Jogging through a forest unknown to me, I quickly relaxed as the sound of my pace and pulse played percussion for the chorus of wind and birds.

I love these moments. The race of my own thoughts are replaced by the rhythm of my relaxed jog. The worry and confusion that often run circles around my mind become quiet. I can’t distinguish if I’m breathing deep to catch the fresh air or sighing. Either way I am renewed.

On this day the very first buds of spring were starting to appear. The trail showed signs of the last grip of winter. Leaves long fallen, now well underway to becoming soil again, were matted along the path. Winter’s winds had left mud splattered and branches down. The wind still had a bite of cold. But the sun was warm and the squirrels were busy and the afternoon was mine.

I didn’t think anything of it at first. I don’t know how long I heard it before I noticed it. A baby’s cry – yes, there it was again, the distinct cry of a baby. Somewhere through that thicket, toward the direction of the sun, a child was in need. I slowed to a walk to listen, hoping I had somehow been wrong. Louder now – still distant and muffled – but steadily came the cry.

“How could … why would … certainly there must be … but I can’t just ignore it,” my mind leapt from thought to thought. I was standing still now. Alone. Listening. A vulnerable child was in the forest crying alone. I must do something.

Grabbing a victim of winter’s wind, I began to slash my way through the brush. At first I could make my way at a decent pace. The woods were thick with shrubs and vines, but passable. Every few steps I would pause to make sure I was progressing toward the cry. It seemed to increase in intensity and so did my determination. I must find this child. I must help this child. She .. he? … must not be alone.

Soon the density of the forest demanded that I stoop low and thrust myself through vines and under low hanging branches. The cry continued – or was it something deep inside of me I was now hearing? Had I not been that child feeling so often alone, wondering why there was no one to help? I wiped my face, not knowing if the moisture was sweat or tears.

On I pushed, deeper into the undergrowth. The cry – so young, so helpless – drove me further. Soon I was on my knees, passionate that this child would not be alone and that the forest would not stop me. I tunneled through ignoring the scratches of thistles and the grab of thorns. I wondered, “What kind of cry is this? A cry of hunger? Pain? Loneliness? Anger? All of the above?” It is difficult to identify one’s own cry, let alone that of another.

I was close now. Very close. The cry was louder and less muffled. By the skyline I could see that a clearing was ahead. The thickest of brambles now blocked me. I forced a trail through as I crawled on my stomach. The thicket suddenly gave way to tall grass. One thrust of my hands and I had a sudden view into the clearing.

There he was – dressed in blue with a little cap pulled over his ears. Nine months perhaps. Red cheeked from the crying.

The trail I had been jogging evidently took its own jog sharply to the West. The child was secure in a stroller being gently rocked back and forth by a father seated on a bench. He never saw me, but I’ll never forget his fatherly look as he quietly spoke loving words to his child.

I silently crept back onto my newly formed trail. The sound was not new to me, but I had not heard it for a very long time – the sound of my own cry.



One of the essentials to running well on the Christian journey is coming to have a deep assurance that God is with us and has been with us every moment of our lives.

I turned him down first.

It was the late 1990's. I was pastor of Smokey Point Community Church in Arlington, WA. We needed an associate pastor so I contacted our district office. Among the resumes I received from them was one from some guy in Hood River, OR named Steve Fowler. He was working for a fishing tackle company but felt like God was calling him to fish for men. We had a good phone interview but in the end I turned him down for someone else.

Roll the clock ahead to 2004. I was pastor of Salem Alliance Church. Once again I needed an associate pastor. Once again I contacted Steve Fowler. This time I offered him the job outright. We had gotten to know each other over the recent years--at conferences and on a fishing boat--and I believed he was the man for the job. I wanted him on my team. He evened the score turning me down this time. He packed up his family and moved to Hong Kong instead.

A year passed. I still hadn't found the person I was looking for to fill the position. I still believed Steve was the man for the role. I contacted him in Hong Kong. This time he expressed interest. A serious conversation developed. At one point we talked so long I missed my flight out of Denver--and didn't care. I knew we were finally going to get to work together.

Steve did join our Salem Alliance team and over the next few years proved to be a loyal, dedicated, godly and effective leader. This did not come as a surprise. Then two years ago something interesting happened. I began to sense a stirring in my spirit and talked to Steve about it. I told him that I believed he was to be the next lead pastor of Salem Alliance Church. I didn't know when it would happen or how it would come about (I didn't have any plans to go anywhere), but this is what I was sensing. This was a strange conversation for a lead pastor to have with one of his associates, but it's what I did.

Well, those of you who were at Salem Alliance this last weekend know that this has become a reality: Steve Fowler has been appointed lead pastor of our church and I celebrate the decision. Steve, Trina and their children are Christ-seeking people. I admire them as individuals and as a family. Steve's heart for people, love for Christ's church, personal integrity and godly leadership are all qualities I can personally vouch for. He's gifted and called to lead our church for such a time as this. His passion for the lost will take us new places. His appreciation for Salem Alliance will keep us connected to long-standing values. His desire to listen to God and lead a people who listen to God will keep us in a place of holy dependence.

Another thing I deeply respect about Steve is that he is not one to seek a position for his personal glory. Loving Christ by serving His church drives Steve; not personal gain.

For seven years I had the privilege of leading one of the finest churches I've ever seen. Now that privilege is Steve's. Please join me in supporting him, praying for him and honoring him.

Together for His Kingdom,
John

Runners have trails and routes they fall in love with. Silver Creek Falls and Minto Brown Park are a couple of my local favorites. Because of its location, I only ran it a few times, but high on the favorites list is Moran State Park on Orcas Island, Washington. In May of 2008 I had the pleasure of a long run through the park and when I got back to my laptop I recorded the following:

What an incredible run: 22 miles, 12 deer, 4 lakes, 2 mountains, one really kind God! On my circuitous route, I happened to pass the same man twice. He was an aging man walking slowly. It was impossible not to notice that he had one fully developed arm and hand but his second arm was a bare stub.

We exchanged a passing greeting on the first pass but the second time he congratulated me with a kind word and a clap.

I was humbled by his applause. I don’t know his story, but I admired his spirit. Did he have a painful story – a normal life that tragically changed in a moment? Or was this a condition from birth? Either way it didn’t stop him from clapping and I was moved. One handed clappers don’t make much noise – but they sure do make an impression.

I don’t know if I would have the character to clap with one hand. I’m afraid that if I couldn’t clap all the way, I wouldn’t clap at all.

But he clapped and my plodding effort was cheered on – spirited on. Somehow a quiet one handed clap meant more than a marathon band.

Percentages are that I’ll end life with both hands. Percentages are that I have a few more years to run – maybe even a few decades if everything falls into place. Eventually I won’t be able to run these trails anymore … but I’m determined to walk when I can’t run. And when you run by as I walk, I promise to clap – one hand or two. And when I can’t walk, I’ll dream. And when I dream no more … as my soul leaves this body … I will no longer need to dream. I will walk and run again.

“I am going ahead of you to prepare a place for you,” Jesus promised. I think He knows me well enough to put my place on the side of a trail.

JPS
May 2008

Well, little did I know that just five short months later I would no longer be running or walking the trails. I thought I had years--even decades--ahead of me, and maybe I still do. But my point tonight is that I want to lift my feeble hands and applaud.

I applaud the Stumbo Prayer Warrior Team as they take on the 197 miles this weekend at Hood to Coast, and I'm humbled that you've named the team in my honor with promises of prayer as well. How cool. I applaud all of you who are doing your best to keep your heart pumping by some regular exercise routine. A thousand things discourage us from staying at it but we know we're mentally and physically better off when we do. And, I applaud all of those, like my one handed friend, who have learned to live with a hardship and not let it stop them from living a full life. The cheer, vitality, faithfulness and grace shown by those in the Salem Alliance wheel chair section amaze me. Others, like them, have modeled for me that the spirit can be more alive than the body. I want to be like them.

You'll have to listen closely; but if you do, you'll hear me clapping.

"Do they do colonoscopies in this room?" I asked.

"Yeah, they do," my friendly male nurse answered.

I thought it looked all too familiar. Tubes, hoses, machines and monitors surrounded me as I stretched out on the hospital bed. And, oh yes, there were those body parts posters again. I had been here before. Maybe I should see if they offer discounts for frequent users: Come back in the next 60 days and receive 25% off the procedure of your choice. I was back at Salem Hospital today as an out-patient to have my feeding tube changed.

As my nurse went through some paperwork, I broke the silence, "Do you do this procedure very often?" I was trying to tactfully approach the subject as to whether he was a veteran at this or not. I had been a live dummy for medical novices before and wasn't in the mood for that today. "We do them all the time," he assured me.

Gerry, another kind male nurse, entered the room and discussion ensued for the next ten minutes as to the oddity of my disease and the uniqueness of my current feeding tube--it didn't have the normal identifying markers typical of tubes. "It's from OHSU," I said, figuring that would explain everything.

They soon decided on what tube they would use and then informed me that they would need to gown up because sometimes stomach fluid comes flying out in the process. I pictured a miniature geyser coming out of the hole in my abdomen dousing us all. My new friend put on a gown, gloves and this nifty mask/face shield combination that made him look more like a welder than a nurse.

"Okay," he explained. "You're going to feel me making it tight and then I'll give it a yank."

"Wait a minute," I objected. "Aren't you going to deflate the balloon?" Somewhere I had picked up the idea that an inflated balloon device held the tube in my stomach.

"Oh, you don't have that kind," he patiently responded. "You have a button that collapses as I pull it out. It's going to hurt but only for a moment."

Well, he was right on the first part anyway. I reclined in the bed, grabbed the handrails and felt the forewarned tightening. Suddenly, WHAM--it felt like it nearly lifted me off the bed as he ripped the button out of my belly. It hurt alright--an inside the body, I'm glad I don't feel this way everyday--kind of hurt.

I leaned forward to see him holding my tube with a rubber disk about the size of a quarter at the end. His mask
and gown were perfectly clean. No geyser. How disappointing. I always have thought my gut was kind of wimpy--getting motion sick on fair rides and boats. Here was its big chance to spout off and it just laid there writhing in pain.

"The bleeding is normal," Gerry assured me as I watched the red pool form in what was now just a hole right under my rib cage. He then pulled out a bottle of liquid and poured it on the area. "This will numb it a little bit," he explained.

"Now you give it to me," I thought but kept my mouth shut. "I could have used a little of that five minutes ago when Captain Yank was doing his work."

Like a worm boring into the ground, a new tube was inserted through the hole with only mild discomfort. "We gave you the balloon kind this time," my nurse announced. "This kind will come out a lot easier when you have to have it replaced again but they tend to wear out faster, too. If it comes out on its own, get to the hospital right away because the hole starts to heal in 12 hours and if it heals they have to start all over and go down through your throat."

My friendly nurse slowly walked me back to the lobby to meet Joanna who had opted out of watching the procedure--believing she had seen enough of the medical world lately. Hopefully the next time I'm back in that room is a day of celebration as one day I'm swallowing and off the tube again. But for today why don't you hum along with Willie Nelson and join me for a chorus of "On the Tube (Road) Again."
On the tube again,
Just can't wait to feed on the tube again,
Though I wish I were eatin' pizza with my friends,
I can't wait to feed on the tube again.

Thank you for your ongoing prayers. We appreciate the blog comments as well. The body of Christ is amazing. I've been pretty brain dead these days for any meditation-type of writing, but I did want to give you an update on our world to let you know that your prayers continue to be answered.

The biopsy-gone-bad wound is now just two little scabs the size of a fingernail. I think it is time to declare that it is healed! It took seven months, but I had no complications or infections. My only disappointment is that my scar isn't as big as the original wound, but I do have pictures. It's a guy thing. I know, men are gross and weird and like to turn their wounds into Show and Tell. Ladies, you would cover a scar like this at any cost while us guys are pulling up our pant leg saying, "Hey, check this out."

Of even greater significance to me is my improved walking. I know that some of you think I'm "off my rocker"--but now I'm officially off my walker! It's been retired—hopefully for good. I've graduated to a cane and it is going well. Psychologically and physically this is big win for me. Joanna and I walk Salem's new pedestrian bridge a few times a week and the treadmill keeps me going when we don't get out. I can do a mile fairly easily now. A friend reminded me this week that just a couple months ago it was a major accomplishment that I walked to our mailbox (50 feet)--now I can do the whole bridge and back. Your prayers have not been in vain. Dare I go public in saying that the dreams are beginning to form of doing a half-marathon next June? It's too early to tell, but I can't help but hope…and hope is a good thing. (I didn't have much for a season.)

On Wednesday our boys leave for Crown College in Minnesota. We are excited for them as we know they will have a great experience. However, we are definitely feeling the sense of loss that empty nest brings and are very disappointed that we can't personally deliver them to school ourselves. For our first two children, dropping them off at college and spending a few days there during that transition time was very memorable and meaningful. Sadly, we won't be doing this for Drew. The most important thing though is that they are fine young men, seeking Christ and making good decisions.

Meanwhile, your continued prayers for my upper body strength, mental clarity, spiritual sensitivity and ability to swallow are appreciated. I've also had quite a few nasty rashes lately--not a major health concern but a definite annoyance.

On Friday I get my feeding tube changed. The nurse assures me that this is a "no big deal" routine procedure but anything that involves invading my stomach leaves me feeling a little unsettled. The first time they put it in at OHSU I was incoherent. This time I'll be a fully awake out-patient. I'll let you know how it goes.

Joanna continues to serve me with strength, patience and grace. Thanks for continuing to uphold her in prayer as well.

Our love to all of you,
John

One of my favorite Bible characters is the Old Testament Joseph--as in "can't keep his coat on" Joey. You'll recall that his brothers' jealousy caused him to lose his first coat and he soon found himself being hauled away as a slave. Eventually he wore the coat of the slave in charge of Potiphar's household, but he couldn't keep that one either. You remember the story, don't you? (You may want to take a moment and read Genesis 39 if you've not done so in a while.)

Joseph, the top slave in the house, attracts the attention of Mrs. Potiphar--a woman who seems to be accustomed to getting what she wants. In her attempts at having an affair with the handsome young man, I find three types of temptations thrown at Joseph.

The first type of temptation is the direct assault, "Come to bed with me," she demands one day. The poor guy was just going about his business when suddenly he is face to face with a temptation. This "direct assault" temptation happened to me in high school when I opened the locker door and someone had hung pornography inside. It's happened to you when you are driving and another motorist suddenly cuts you off. It can happen in a thousand ways--we're just going about our business when suddenly we are face to face with an opportunity to act very poorly. You should read for yourself the wisdom and strength Joseph shows in responding to this temptation.

Mrs. Potiphar isn't deterred that easily however, and Type Two temptation follows. Genesis 39:10 reads, "And though she spoke to Joseph day after day, he refused to go to bed with her or even be with her." Unlike Type One--the one-time in your face direct assault--Type Two temptations just keep coming at you. This is the temptation that doesn't go away. Day after day she is after him, trying to wear him down, pressing her point, flaunting herself, using her most flirtatious tactics. Joseph goes out of his way to stay out of her way.

If Joseph were a lesser man, he would have broken with temptation Type Three. We find it in verse 11, "One day he went into the house to attend to his duties, and none of the household servants was inside." I'm guessing that Mrs. P. has personally dismissed all the other servants, put on her best perfume and donned her most seductive outfit. Joseph enters--just going about his own business. It is strangely quiet. She appears. Wow, does she look good. She grabs him and makes her demand. Type Three is the "no on will ever know, you can get away with this" temptation. You are home alone and the porn site or pantry beckons. You're in a distant city where no one knows you; it can just be your little secret. Type Three temptation is powerful. As her hands clutch him, Joseph doesn't hang around to talk this time. He's out of there faster than you can say, "Better go shopping for another coat." And in her scorned little hands she's left holding all the evidence she needs to have him thrown into prison.

For a long time I felt that Type Three temptations were the most difficult to overcome. The secrecy factor adds a dangerous component for some of us. Adrenaline flows. Reason flees. Trouble awaits.

And, I still believe this to be a powerful form of temptation, but tonight I go on record in saying that in this long term trial in which I find myself, Type Two temptation has become my greatest nemesis. The day-after-day nature of this battle is draining. There is no break, no reprieve, no time-out. Every day I arise to face the same challenges. Perpetual weakness and consistent pain have a way of wearing a person down. Like a stick of butter left out in the hot sun, I hold my form for a while but eventually am diminished to a puddle. God--usually through Joanna--re-gathers me again with encouragement but, outside of a miracle, Type Two temptation reminds me that tomorrow is going to look a whole lot like today.

I share all this with you for two reasons. First, it seems that temptation loses a little of its power when we see it for what it is. I pray that identifying temptations as these three types will be insight-giving and empowering for you. Second, my heart goes out for all those who are in a trial that is not letting up. Day after day you face the same issue. Night after night you pray the same prayer. Tomorrow will likely look a whole lot like today and it is just plain hard. If this is your story, I invite you to join me in my efforts to be one who perseveres. We've been given a challenge; let's rise to it. New mercies await us each morning (Lamentations 3). Let's press on together.

Your sojourner in suffering,
John

"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him." (James 1:12)

In Part One I gave nine statements intended to encourage perseverance in the lives of those going through trials. I'd suggest that if you have not done so you go back and read Part One before proceeding, but here are the main points so far:

Praise.
Elevate suffering.
Rejoice with those who rejoice.
Stamina increases.
Employ every resource.
Validation.
Expect ignorance.
Rely on what you know to be true, not what you feel at the moment.
Every day is one step closer to paradise.

For those who are going through a trial, here are some more tips on persevering.


Humor. It's easy to allow too much "severe" to creep into our "persevere." It's easy for me to have a sour attitude while others around me are finding humor in something. In my healthy era, laughter came naturally for me. Now I have to be intentional about it.

Include someone else in your journey. You can't do this alone. You weren't meant to do this alone. Invite someone into your inner world of struggle. This is risky, I know. Vulnerability is a dangerous place to go; but not as dangerous as isolation. If you don't have anyone right now, pray to God that He will reveal to you who it is with whom you could be transparent without condemnation. For a season, this may need to be a professional Christian counselor.

Never underestimate the scope of the battle. This is big stuff--our trial--don't downplay it. Satan seeks to "steal, kill and destroy" (John 10:10). He wants to rob us of joy, kill our dreams, destroy our reputation and on that nasty list goes. "We wrestle not against flesh and blood" (Ephesians 6:12). There is more going on here than meets the eye. If the enemy can bring us down, it will not only be one more victory for him but also cause a ripple effect of discouragement for the body of Christ. Meanwhile our perseverance has the opposite effect. Press on. This is bigger than you.

Take one day at a time. I know that this is an old adage, but I've felt the necessity of it like never before. In the midst of severe trial, life can be overwhelming. One day is all I'm called to handle. One day is all I can handle. God will give the grace we need for today. The manna will be there again tomorrow. Just live today.

Some days are just going to be tougher than others. In fact, some days all of your best strategies for persevering will feel bogus. It's okay. Accept it. Not all miles on the journey are equal. Not every step will be forward progress. Don't let a bad day or two steal your hope. "Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life" (Ps. 23:6), even the bad ones. You are being pursued by Someone who loves you dearly.

Well, nine months into my journey, these are my "persevere-hints" to date. Perhaps they will mature or change if more months wear on. I'd be curious to hear from you, what tips for persevering would you suggest be added to the list?

Hanging in there with you--Blessed Ones,
John

"And you know that we consider blessed those who have persevered." (James 5:11)

Say it fast five times: persevere-hints, persevere-hints, persevere-hints, persevere-hints, persevere-hints. Yep, perseverance is the subject of the day. Not that I'm an expert by any means. I'm only nine months into this journey--some of you have decades of experience--but I have learned a few things en route that I wanted to record in this manner.

As is common in these blogs, I am thinking about those going through a trial as I write. Some of these trials are physical in nature, many are not. All of them, however, require the increasingly rare quality of perseverance. I've been reflecting in these days on the subject. There is nothing flowery or theoretical in what follows--just very practical tips for learning to persevere through hardship. I hope you'll find this helpful.

Persevere-Hints:

Praise. I start this list with one of the hardest but most essential keys to persevering.
When life is going smoothly, praise to our great God can flow naturally. When life turns hard, praise becomes a conscious decision. Do it. Daily. We have unlimited reasons to praise God for who He is. And, everyday we can think of at least a couple things He has provided that day to thank Him for. Become an intentional "praiser."

Elevate suffering. Get a Bible with a good concordance or cross-references and do a word study on "suffering." (Romans 5:3 would be a good starting place.) In our culture of comfort we view suffering as a complete evil. This discourages us in our need to persevere through our trial. If suffering is all bad then we just want to get out of it, not learn to persevere through it. God's Word actually gives us a different perspective--suffering, although not good in itself, is a powerful tool God uses in our lives. Study the lives of heroes like Joseph, David or Jeremiah and discover how God used hardship to make them the men of greatness they became. Jesus Himself, the "man of sorrows," is a model for us that suffering is one of God's carefully chosen tools (see Hebrews 5:7-9). We will be more likely to persevere through suffering if see some value in it.

Rejoice with those who rejoice. In my trial I've found it far easier to mourn with those who mourn than to rejoice with those who rejoice (see Romans 12:15). In fact, my temptation is to envy those who have reason to rejoice as they go on their cool vacations, celebrate their good news or whatever. Something good happens in my soul, however, when I choose to celebrate with them.

Stamina increases. Be encouraged that we are holding together in the midst of difficulties that would have crushed us some time ago. We're developing a "suffering muscle" that allows us to endure more than we once could. As we continue to exercise this muscle, we'll be even stronger in the future.

Employ every resource. Don't hesitate to use every resource made available to you. Sometimes in our low points we can feel like we're not worthy of assistance. If someone offers help, accept it. If someone attempts to give a word of encouragement, receive it.

Validation. One of the great gifts that Joanna and a few others have given to me is an unsolicited acknowledgement that what I'm going through is really difficult. Try to resist the temptation to manipulate to be validated; but when it legitimately comes, receive it.

Expect ignorance. Well meaning people will say the most unhelpful things. It's okay. People outside of our shoes or wheelchair can't really know what it is like to be in our situation. Their well-intentioned comments will be more encouraging to us if we lower our expectations.

Rely on what you know to be true, not what you feel at the moment. Long term trials become major testing grounds for our faith. Our emotions can make a mess of us if we let them. Tie down some truths about God and yourself and cling to them for all you're worth. Pray them. Write them. Post them. Sing them. Repeat them. Even shout them. Our emotions will scream against this behavior like howling winds. Our soul needs an anchor (Hebrews 6:19). Let the truth sink deep.

Every day is one step closer to paradise. In a marathon, every mile has a marker. Often when I go to bed at night I picture having passed another mile marker. I don't know how many "miles" we will be called to run, but I do know that at the finish line is a God-filled, joyous, pain-free future.

Okay, that's enough for tonight. I'll be back in a couple days with the rest of the list. Meanwhile, I pray that at least one of these points will prompt some healthy thinking and wise behavior as we learn to persevere through trial.

Your Fellow Traveler,
John