I used to make fun of bird nerds. Okay, honestly, I still think bird nerds are pretty funny. I’m talking about the people who head out into the woods with binoculars around their necks, wearing special birding clothes and carrying bird guide books in their pockets. They subscribe to text message “bird alerts” like I subscribe to baseball scores. “Look Helen! It’s a Fork-tailed Flycatcher!” Bird nerds are peculiar people.

I’m not a bird nerd but today I sat in the adirondack chairs on my front lawn trying to write while tilting my laptop trying to see through the glare. Finally I gave up and set my computer aside waiting for the next cloud bank. It was then that I noticed how noisy my neighborhood is. We’ve got some loud and animated birds around here.

I heard this bird talking back and forth from one corner to the other. One would call and then a few seconds later the answer would come. It went on back and forth. Added to it was this call and this call. It was downright loud but sort of like a jazz symphony with the familiar chickadee added to the bright yellow finches that come to our tree in groups.

I know, most of you reading this didn’t click the links or maybe clicked one and said, “Got it. Bird.” I totally get that because that was me before my transplant. I know we’re supposed to stop and smell the roses but I hardly ever did. Hey, we’re all busy, right?

But I also know that some of you are probably “bird nerds” and recognized those calls immediately. Go, you!

But for me, it was the first time I sat and truly listened to the symphony. I started recognizing patterns in their music. I began picking out calls and listening for responses. I must have sat and listened for at least a half an hour. It feels weird even admitting that. Everything in the old me wants to scream, “what an incredibly boring waste of time!” But, the post-transplant me liked it a lot and is embarrased to admit I’ve gone through 50 years without truly appreciating God’s symphony.

My transplant friends tell me that what I am experiencing is common. I remember my pal Bill telling me I would smell smells I had never smelled and see things I never noticed before my transplant. I listened politely and said, “Uh huh.” I didn’t believe him. Bill went through his transplant a year before me and he kept me going and looking forward while I waited for mine.

While I sat listening on my lawn, my neighbor came out and sat in the chair next to me. She told me that her son had an apparent heart attack this morning and is in a hospital in Georgia. We talked about how tough it is for a mom to be so far away when her child is in crisis. She asked me if I could pray so I did, right there, while God’s symphony surrounded us.

The old me wouldn’t have been out there listening. I was always on the way to the next thing. The old me didn’t stop and smell the roses and wouldn’t have been there for my neighbor. The old me was so busy attending church “love your neighbor” talks and classes that I had little time left to love my neighbor.

Bill was right. I see things differently now. I hear things, notice things and appreciate the common beauties of life in a much different way.  I very rarely rush now. But what I appreciate most? I think I see people differently now. Somehow I feel like I have more of a connection, more compassion and recognize the image of my Creator in them much better than I ever did before. I like that.

I remember singing Brandon Heath’s song Give Me Your Eyes as a prayer years before my transplant.

All those people goin’ somewhere
Why have I never cared?
Give me Your eyes for just one second
Give me Your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me Your love for humanity

It seems to me that my God is answering that prayer.

Life is a symphony. Slow down. Don’t miss it.

“Here’s what I want you to do: Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace.” Matthew 6:6 –  The Message

Wait! Before you’re out quicker than a one-legged man in a butt kicking contest, please read at least the next paragraph.

I’m hoping you might root for the underdog, help the runt of the litter or be the type of person who gives a kid on a swing a push to get started. The reality is that the liver never gets any attention. Poor livers just hang out filtering every drop of blood getting no credit at all. No one ever thinks of them … until they stop. Compare that to boobs.

Most of the population thinks about boobs several times a day. Men and women notice boobs everywhere. Advertisers use boobs to sell their products and clothing manufacturers design clothes to show off boobs. None of that is true of livers.

Breast cancer is a huge, well-funded concern, as it should be. Hey, I’m a fan of breasts. I’ve got nothing against them and I hate breast cancer. I hate ALL cancer! My oldest son is a direct beneficiary of cancer research funding since he is doing research at Sloan Kettering.. I’m not say we should fund cancer research less. I’m just asking if we could show the liver a little more love?

So, yeah, I’m doing another cause walk. I know, I know, there are walks for everything. I’ve seen fundraising walks for pets, walks for colons, walks for homeless people, CF, MS, ALS and ADHD. I’ve even seen a walk raising money for air conditioning units. You would think with all the walks we do that we’d be a lot skinnier as a nation, but I digress.

But I want to ask you to show some love for my liver. C’mon now. He’s a cute organ who has grown big and strong. He just had his one-year-old birthday. I wish I could send you a picture of him but, unlike boobs, he’s pretty camera shy.

You know me. You know that if I didn’t get a liver transplant last year I wouldn’t be here today. I’d be pushing up daisies. You might even know that I was one of only 246 Americans last year to get a living donor transplant. But, did you know that if the ALF didn’t exist and wasn’t able to fund the research it does that I would not have this anniversary with my wife?

I’ve got some big hopes for liver research. I’d like to see advances in surgical techniques. Did you know researchers are working on splitting donor livers in half to save twice as many lives? Never thought about it? It’s my life now. There’s lots of promising research needing funding. Personally, I’m hoping for better anti-rejection drugs with less side effects.

So, here’s “the ask,” direct and clear. Will you click the link below and support Robin and I in the walk by giving a donation of $25 or more? Honestly, my liver was a little upset that you didn’t send a gift, or even a card for his birthday.  You forgot. Your gift would totally make it up to him and put a smile on his lobe. (He only has one lobe. Shhh… he’s sensitive about it.)

Click here to give a gift.

**************************************************
Are you an organ donor? Please register now at http://www.DonateLife.net

We walked into the transplant wing reception area to smiles and welcoming hellos. We saw Evelyn and then Maria came rushing out to give us each a hug and a kiss. We chatted like family with Maria asking Josh about his upcoming wedding and medical school.

I am always amazed at how unhospitalish it feels. I know that’s not a word but I think it should be. I think you should be able to look up “unhospitalish” on Wikipedea and see a picture of my Lahey family there with a description.

Next we took a trip to the blood lab where I had my blood drawn by my favorite phlebotomist, Kimmy. I always joke with her and call her “Hello Kitty” because of her pins, bracelets and even a Hello Kitty top she has worn at past appointments.  I also said hello to George, another phlebotomist I got to know when hospitalized after my transplant. Even the fact that I know the names of my phlebotomists is different. Do you know yours? Most people don’t,w but we transplant recipients often do.

A CT scan showed Josh’s fully regenerated liver and then we met with our docs for our one-year check. Dr. Pompaselli was out for his birthday (I left him a card) so I met with Dr. Lewis and my favorite RN, Pauline. He told me my numbers were perfect and “rock solid.” As always, he took his time answering my questions in a way that made sense.

And then he looked at Pauline and said, “Should we keep dragging this guy down here so often?” Pauline laughed and looked at me and said, “He’s doing great. I don’t know.”

Doc Lewis looked at me and gave me the green light. “I don’t see any reason we need to see you for another six months. And you don’t have to go get labs every month anymore either. Let’s say every other month.”

Those of you reading this who are transplant recipients know what a big deal this is. Some of you have told me you’re a little envious but happy for me. One of my friends even told me she is 4 and a half years out and still has to check in every three months and get to the blood lab monthly. I’m pumped!

Yeah, sure, Dr. Lewis gave me the cautions I will hear for the rest of my life and made me promise to call quick with any new pains, issues or fevers. We talked about the sun and my increased odds of skin cancer and we talked about hand sanitizing and being careful. I heard all that and will certainly follow his counsel but what I heard most was “rock solid” and “six months.”

Josh left his appointment with rave reviews as well. He’s perfect too. I am so thankful.

I have a little girl who prays for me every night. Her name is Coco. Her mom tells me that every night she remembers, “Lord, please heal Scott.”

Well Coco, your prayers have been answered. I am rock solid and riding my bike 40 plus miles a week. My body is doing great with my new liver and I feel awesome most of the time. The Lord has made it possible for me to thrive again and has provided the medicines that keep my new liver happy. Thank you for praying for me, Coco.

I’ve got the green light and am charging forward praying that I will be able to return to the workforce. I’m praying that the side effects from my medicines will continue to become less and less of an issue and allow me to work full time. I’m praying that the little aches and pains from lying on a surgeon’s table for 6-8 hours with my ribs compressed and my arms secured above my head will soon be a thing of the past. I’m praying that my upper body strength keeps building.

I can’t believe that today, after 2 years, I am again writing with excitement about what God has in store. Pinch me! Something is stirring within me and it is a familiar feeling. I can feel my God starting to put together new directions, opportunities and possibilities as he lifts limits.

I’ve got some ideas of what might be next but nothing is clear yet. Will you pray that things become more clear?

Some Possibilities:

1) A new ministry in the transplant community? As Robin and I navigated these transplant waters we never came across a coordinated Christian ministry to offer support, resources, counsel or prayer. I am wondering if the Lord wants me to build something new to meet this need. I know we are now uniquely qualified.

2) Church planting? The vision I had before transplant is still intact and our hearts still are heavy to connect with people not attracted by the average church formula.

3) The secular workforce? I intend to continue with my photography (http://linscottphoto.com) but we Maine photographers struggle to make a living November through April. Maybe we’re supposed to stay the course and keep serving in the local church for awhile? Please think of me the next time you need a photographer? Portraits, weddings, etc…

I will keep writing my book and blog but I sense there is more right around the corner. I’d love to hear your thoughts and ideas.

Trust God from the bottom of your heart;
don’t try to figure out everything on your own.
Listen for God’s voice in everything you do, everywhere you go;
he’s the one who will keep you on track.
Don’t assume that you know it all.
Run to God! Run from evil!
Your body will glow with health,
your very bones will vibrate with life!
Honor God with everything you own;
give him the first and the best…
Proverbs 3

My friend Jim sums up some of my feelings perfectly. I think you’ll enjoy his blog.

Yesterday I got news of a liver transplant friend who passed away. You would think I’d get use to it, right? Eighteen people die every day waiting for transplants. That’s 6500 people a year. It’s just a part of the world I live in now, right? But I can’t get used to it. I can’t.

Maybe it’s because I saw the pain in my wife’s eyes while she watched me dying. Maybe the memory of my mom’s tears and the look on her face when she looked at me will never fade. I hated seeing them hurting so … because of me. I bet it is the same regardless of the fight: liver disease, cancer, ALS, COPD.

The first sack of cement hit me with yesterday’s news that Jessi Hillborn died. Jessi was an young wife and mother with an infectious positive outlook and welcoming smile. Jessi was a fighter who already got her transplant just a handful of weeks ago. She did so well she was released from the hospital just 4 days later! She started asking our support group about the normal aches and pains following surgery but as she did she always laughed and joked. But then fevers started coming. Fevers are not good for transplant recipients. We told her to check with her team.

Jessi posted that she was admitted to the hospital with GVHD (Graft vs Host Disease). GVHD is when the cells of the transplanted liver attack the host. Even though Jessi’s posts were positive I knew she was in grave danger.  Upwards of 75% never leave the hospital with a diagnosis of GVHD. I prayed and hoped as best I could. If anyone could beat it it would have to be this energetic, warrior mom. I was wrong. The news of her death and the mourning of her family now sits on my chest.

And then, this afternoon while I was watching my Red Sox battle the Rangers, I took out my phone to glance at Facebook and read a post that a young husband should never have to write.

To all my friends and family. This morning, Rachelle had a major bleed out. The cause unknown. Her heart stopped for a bit, but they got her working again. However, given her volatile state, they would never determine that she would be strong enough to survive a transplant. As her husband, this duty came to be the hardest choice I have ever had to make in my life. So, on May 5th, I had to let her suffering end and let her go. To all of you who were blessed to know her in life, thank you for sharing our moments of joy and sadness. But it is over now. Rachelle Passmore, my wife, is dead. – Alan

Rachelle and Alan

I couldn’t breathe. The second bag of emotional cement landed on top of Jessi’s. Rachelle died waiting for a liver. Waiting. She died while hundreds of life-saving, usable organs were tragically buried in the ground today. Hundreds yesterday. Hundreds the day before.

We’re not talking about a terminal situation here. Rachelle did not have to die. If she had received a liver she might be living and enjoying life soon just like I do today. I think wasting usable organs is like having cancer and watching the cure washed down the drain. Could you handle that if a loved one was dying of cancer while their chance at life was just thrown away over and over again?

These two bags of emotional cement will sit here for awhile even though I never met Rachelle or Jessi. My disease connects me to them and to their families. Either of their stories could have been my story. Thankfully Jessi’s story is no longer common in the transplant world. Sadly, Rachelle’s is.

What can I say to get you to register as an organ donor? What can I do to persuade you to join our cause of registering so many donors that we will end the wait here in the United States?

Every person I convince to take 5-10 minutes to register takes weight of my chest.

Please? Now? http://www.donatelife.net 

New liver? Awesome! Medicine side effects? Not so much…

Dear God,

Don’t get me wrong, Lord. Not a day goes by when I do not thank you for sparing my life and giving me a new liver. I am so very grateful for your intervention in my life. I don’t dwell on the things lost. I see them now as just things. I can’t even believe how important I made them.

I almost don’t even want to bother you with another request but I know you like to be “bothered.” That’s a mystery I cannot fathom. You, the very creator of the universe, are also the lover of my soul who wants me to bring my needs before you. So here I am again. We’ve literally spent thousands of hours together over these past two years. I talk. You listen. We move.

Lord, I remember the night lying on the cold bathroom floor crying out in pain asking you to end my life. I begged you to end the pain. The image of you, faceless, sitting on the floor next to me with your back leaning against the wall is etched in my mind. I heard your whisper and then a supernatural warmth went through my body like the warmth of a  wood stove and then the pain was gone. I remember pulling myself up off the floor by using the toilet bowl for support. I remember climbing into bed and pulling the covers up over my shoulders. I remember falling asleep without pain. I was unnerved by your presence. Who am I?

Tonight I am back on the couch where we spent so much time together. It was here that I cried more tears than I thought humanly possible. It was here where I begged for the first light of morning night after sleepless night. It is here where I talked and you listened and sent your peace time after time.

Lord, I am asking for relief again. They tell me my anti-rejection medicine is causing these headaches. I have advice coming from every angle from people I call my “liver friends” who started walking the transplant road before me. I’ve tried drinking more water, I’ve fiddled with the times I take my meds and I’ve tried taking them with food. Still the bass drum resounds in my head.

It seems silly to me. I mean, I had my old liver cut out of me and a new one put in and I can’t handle headaches now and then? But Lord, they are limiting. They put me back on this couch in the middle of the night. Tonight I missed Skyping with my son because I could not handle the noise and light. Even now I type this with my screen brightness down as far as it will go. I write hoping to take my mind off the throbbing.

So Lord, I’m asking you to intervene again. I’m asking with a grateful heart because you raised me up off this couch before. I’m asking with total confidence in your healing power because you have worked miracles in my life before. This pain is not at all like the pain I had. I am not begging you to end my life. I’m asking you to remove the limits that these headaches bring.

Lord, mentally I am ready to work again. Physically, I am ready for your next assignment. Emotionally, I ache to make a difference in peoples’ lives. Spiritually, you have given me a heart that is much more like Jesus than it was before. I feel ready. Am I?

Pain makes us consider weird things. As I lay here writing this, I am drawn to go into the bathroom and curl up on the floor to see if you are there. But that’s silly. I know you are not limited to bathrooms.

Heal me? Bring relief?

I heard one of my friends ask that question this morning. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it asked. In fact, I think I hear it asked every time something tragic happens at the hands of someone bent on causing harm. It’s not a new question. It’s been around for years.

It seems to me, regardless who you ask, the world is on a path of destruction. I mean, I’ve been watching film makers weave tales of a coming apocalypse my entire life. In my lifetime I’ve been warned of another ice age and later, global flooding caused by warming. Neither scenario gave mankind much hope. I’ve grown up with the threat of the coming nuclear apocalypse hanging over my head. In fact, I can’t think of any scenarios, except one, which hold out any hope for the future and even that one talks about horrific events before the calm.

Songwriters have written about it and singers in all genres have given the doomsday message voice:

“Team by team, reporters baffled, trumped, tethered, cropped
Look at that low plane, fine, then
Uh-oh, overflow, population, common group
But it’ll do, save yourself, serve yourself…

It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine”
R.E.M.

Readers who know my faith are probably expecting me to add to the chatter with talk of the Rapture right now when Jesus returns to spare those who follow him and usher them into an awesome new world. Nope, I’m not going there right now.

Why is it that most every culture and religion has an end of the world story? We just made it through 2012 to learn that we misread the Mayan calendar and the end is not yet. Muslims and Christians are in agreement that the world will end and no one knows when. Is it that mankind innately knows that there must be an end?

What is the world coming to? Public opinion seems to be pretty strong that “the world is going to hell in a hand-basket,” as my dad says. So what do we do? How do we live?

First, I’m not all that worried about it because my faith tells me that my God is going to take care of me. I believe it stronger than ever because of the way He has taken care of me these last two years. Like R.E.M., I feel fine.

Yes, two men, I call them “evil”, set bombs and killed innocents in Boston. Yes, one sick man entered a school and killed children not long ago. I call him “evil” too even if his mental illness caused him to be that way. Last night’s newscast here in Kissimmee paraded video after video showing selfish people doing whatever they wanted at the expense of others. When we are bombarded by evil images and headlines, we begin to think that there is no good or that evil is winning.

Please don’t believe it. I believe with all my heart that evil has already lost. I see so much good around me. I see neighbors helping neighbors, I see people putting others first and I see good overcoming evil every single day. Even when the media chooses to show the shocking, I know that behind the shocking and even in response to the shocking there is always a wave of good.

Evil verses good. What compels one man to be evil and another to be good? I think R.E.M. nailed it with “save yourself, serve yourself.” Selfishness, self-centeredness, hedonism tells me that I have the right to do whatever makes me happy, whatever I want, even if it causes discomfort to others. Good says, “save others, serve others” and finds fulfillment and purpose in lifting up its fellow man. Good thinks of others while evil thinks only of self.

On May 7, 2012 I saw good lie on a surgeon’s table and give me half of its liver so that I might live. Two weeks ago I saw good, in the midst of saying goodbye to a precious child, sign an organ donation form so that others might live. I’ve seen good put a new heart in 5 year-old Katy and I’ve seen Britt go sledding with her new liver because of good. I’ve seen a lot of good during these last two years of my transplant journey.

This week I’ve watched good race into plumes of smoke and debris to care for the injured. I’ve seen good in people banding together to help police apprehend evil. I’ve taken the advice of good Mr. Rogers’ mother who told him, ’Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” There are so many helpers. There is so much good.

My mother taught me that good gives up its seat on the train, turns down the music if it might be bothering neighbors and turns in the jewelry mistakenly left behind in a public restroom. My father taught me that good lends a hand, volunteers, opens doors for men and women and is willing to work for the common good. My parents taught me that good does what is right even when no one is watching.

What can we do to combat the evil in our days? I heard the simple answer every time I left my parents’ presence when they told me, “be good.”

Be good.

Jesus said, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and intelligence. ‘This is the most important, the first on any list. But there is a second to set alongside it: ‘Love others as well as you love yourself.’ These two commands are pegs; everything in God’s Law and the Prophets hangs from them.” Matthew 22:37-40

One of my favorite places.

Think of a favorite place; a place where you feel peace saturate your soul. Do you have such a place? I have friends who will think of the vast view at the top of a mountain trail while others will speak of whispy first-light smoke floating on a river surface where they stand waist deep with fly fishing rod in hand.

It’s that place where you leave the pressures and struggles of the world behind and feel an uncanny calm as though everything is alright and life is good. Do you find it standing on the 17th tee, lying on white beach sand, swaying on the porch swing watching an approaching thunder storm?

Peace. Do you find it in opening a brand new book and hearing the binding crackle as you settle into your favorite spot on the couch? Is there a fresh cup of coffee sitting on the end table? Are you alone for an entire afternoon free from demands? Is that your place?

When is the last time you went to your place? I hope it wasn’t long ago or is coming up on your calendar soon. We all need a regular peace soaking. One of my favorite peaceful places is beside my sister’s pool in Central Florida.

I remember aching for peace when I was so sick before my transplant. I wanted so badly to be sitting by my sister’s pool where the problems and stresses of life just melt away. Some of the happiest times of my life have included that green, plastic lounger in the corner of her screen house. We’ve had several family vacations here. I’ve been here when Josh’s college baseball team was playing its Spring training ball and I’ve enjoyed times with just my sisters and dad. Robin and I have spent a couple vacations with just the two of us here. Good things and good memories, for me, have come in abundance here until my last visit in May of 2011 when I began my spiral into chronic illness.

Do you realize that your chronically ill friends and family are desperate for peace? I remember my sister Gail posting a question on her Facebook status asking her friends what they thought heaven was like. I described her poolside.

When you’re chronically ill you cannot find an escape. Well, I couldn’t anyway. When I tried changing my surroundings, my disease came with me with all of its reminders. I carried two bags with machinery in them to help me breathe. I had to make sure my bag of prescriptions was always accessible. Going to bed was a process, waking up was a process and showering was a process. When you are chronically ill, nothing is easy. You can’t just “go for a drive.”

How can you help your chronically ill friend? For me, it was a gift when friends would treat me like I was just a normal guy and talk to me about normal things. Friends who let me talk about my illness if and when I wanted refreshed me. I remember when my friend Peter invited me to go to a movie, picked me up and laughed with me even when I had to leave to go to the bathroom several times during the show. Even though I think I fell asleep for part of it, it meant the world to me to be included. I don’t think he even mentioned my illness.

I also liked it when friends didn’t try to protect me from problems they were having but shared them with me like they did before I was sick. I know they didn’t want to burden me further with their challenges but I truly wanted to be there for them. One of the only things I could do was pray … and I prayed a lot.

Last year on this date, I doubted I would ever make it back to my chair in the corner of my sister’s screen house, poolside. This morning I returned to my spot with not a breathing machine in sight and my new liver functioning perfectly. By the grace of God and the gift of my donor, I sat soaking in peace once again.

If you are chronically ill, please don’t give up. I totally understand when you feel like you’ll never return to that place of normalcy. I get it. Please don’t give up. Please call or email if you need someone to talk to or pray with.

If you love someone who is chronically ill, please don’t let their disease define them in your mind and behavior. Beyond the machines, the medicines and changes in appearance, is the same person you love.

Finally, if you are fortunate enough to be healthy, I beg you to visit your peace place regularly. Trust me, you need a regular dose of peace.

Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Phil 4:4-7

Some ironies make me tilt my head. Why do we park on driveways and drive on parkways? Why do they call them apartments when they are so close together? Shouldn’t they be closements? Iceland is green and Greenland is ice. “Abbreviated” is a very long word. “Monosyllabic” has five syllables.

Some ironies are more subtle than others. I have close to 700 friends on my Facebook page so I see lots of pictures. A lot of them make me chuckle.

Obvious ironies make me go, “hmm” but the strange ironies of life intrigue me. For example, tomorrow afternoon I will board a JetBlue flight bound for Orlando to spend a couple weeks with my dad at my sister’s house. There’s nothing ironic about that. The irony will come Friday morning when I walk through the front doors of Florida Hospital in Celebration to meet with a group of Rotary members.

I’ve been to that hospital before. It was almost exactly 2 years ago when I walked through the doors of the emergency department to discover that I would not survive unless I got a liver transplant. My transplant journey started at Florida Hospital in Celebration.

How weird is it that the first non-church civic group that I get to share my transplant story with is at the same hospital where I was diagnosed, 1400 miles from home? I think it’s pretty ironic and kinda cool. I get to tell my story and talk about organ donation at the same place where organ donation became the top priority in my life.

For me, walking through those doors will signal a huge victory and a tremendous testimony to the power of prayer. Two years ago I was a patient here begging God to spare my life and use me to His glory. Now, I will be returning only because of His hand on my life. Only 246 people received livers from living donors in 2012. I was one of them. Wow.

The irony of this opportunity is not lost on me. Two years ago I faced death at this place and now I return having the opportunity to share life; abundant life. No, I cannot preach to this civic group, but I cannot tell my story without telling of God’s goodness, His provision and His presence during my darkest days.  His Grace is my story.

I know a number of my readers don’t buy into this God stuff. I know they believe Jesus was just a man. I’m not going to argue. All I can tell you is what I’ve lived, what I’ve experienced and why I believe. All I can tell you is that my faith defines me, shapes me, empowers me and has never let me down. If you ever want to try to understand where I’m coming from and why, or want the peace that I have for yourself, I’d love to talk with you. If you want to fight … I’ve got no stones to throw.

Friday will be a great day for me and a demonstration of God’s power and glory. He is taking me back to the place where I felt the greatest defeat in my life to remind me just how almighty He is. My God likes irony.

Walking down the street, Jesus saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked, “Rabbi, who sinned: this man or his parents, causing him to be born blind?”  Jesus said, “You’re asking the wrong question. You’re looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do.  John 9:1-3 (The Message)

Why am i so thankful? Well, first, it means I am nearing the one year mark and have had zero rejection scares. That is a big deal. Apart from an E-coli infection early on, I have stayed out of the hospital. Second, the side-effects I experience from my medication should be less bothersome on a lower dose.

I always used to laugh at the televisions commercials that list all the side effects of the drugs they are pushing. After hearing them I would ask, “Who the heck would take that?” I mean, seriously, the “may cause” section recited in high speed in that low-toned voice can be downright scary! I can handle a little rapid heartbeat and dry mouth warnings but anal leakage and even death? Holy moly! Who rushes to the doctor for those?

But now I take what I call my “keep me alive medicine” with its long list of possible side effects. My phone alarm  makes a doorbell sound every day at 8:30 AM and 8:30 PM reminding me to go into the bathroom to dig out my pill organizer. Until yesterday, 4 of the pills taken every 12 hours were Prograf, my anti-rejection medicine. But now, I only take 3 every 12 hours. That means my docs are less worried about rejection.

Rejection fears never completely go away. I will take Prograf, or some form of anti-rejection medicine, for the rest of my life. It tricks my body into being less vigilant in attacking foreign things. That’s good because my liver is not my own. It’s a foreigner in my body. But, it’s also bad because viruses and bugs are foreign bodies too. I don’t fight them off like other people do. The fact that my docs are comfortable reducing my medicine means they are confident that my body is accepting my new liver well. That’s really good news!

Prograf has a long list of side-effects. Thankfully, the worst ones haven’t been a problem for me. It just gives me a near-constant headache, shaky hands and problems sleeping. I wake up about every two hours. But  now I can take 2 milligrams less. I’m hoping it will make a big difference.

I am very thankful that we have medicines that make rejection much less common than it used to be.  It is amazing to me to see how far medicine has progressed in my lifetime. Liver transplants started gaining ground in the 1980′s and became more and more successful each year. The first “successful” liver transplant was in 1967 and the recipient only lived for a year. Back then, that was success! The first successful living-donor liver transplant was in November of 1989, only 23 years ago. Lahey Hospital outside of Boston was the first New England Hospital to do living donor transplants in 1999, just 13 years ago. Today, it is the largest Living Donor to Adult Recipient transplant center in the United States having completed more than 200 such surgeries to date. That makes me thankful that I live in New England!

Less than 5% of the liver transplants performed in the United States each year are living donor transplants. Josh’s lying on that surgeon’s table was not a common or easy thing without risk. There were only 246 living liver donor transplants in the entire United States in 2012. I am so thankful to have been one of them. In comparison, 40% of kidney transplants are provided by living donors; 5618 in 2012.

The more I learn about statistics and regions and centers and transplants, the more I am convinced that my God has had his hand on me throughout this whole journey. I see how He has prepared me for a new work and a new ministry.

I thank Him for my son Josh matching as my living donor so that I did not have to wait for a cadaver donor. As sick as I was, I would have had to have been much worse to be at the top of the list in New England to get a cadaver liver.  I thank God that I live in New England and was able to have my living donor transplant done by the team with the most experience in the United States.

I’ve learned so much about liver disease, transplants, complications, medicines and organ donation. I’ve now know so many families who have faced or are facing transplant. I know people who have gone through rejection, infection and alternative treatments. I know caregivers, spouses, adults and children who have been impacted. I know recent transplant recipients and people who had their transplants 5, 10, 20 and 25 years ago.

What that means is that I’ve been equipped to do what now gives me great joy. I talk to people about all sorts or things. I get to speak to groups about having hope during chronic illness. I get to encourage people to become organ donors. I get to talk with people who are nervous or scared about transplant and people who are recovering. I get to share our story of God’s faithfulness.

I’m excited to be heading to Florida on Tuesday with my dad. While we are there staying with my sister, I am scheduled to speak to a group of Rotarians and a church group. I will also meet with a gentleman who is filming a documentary and wants to tell our story to encourage organ donation. I am also scheduled to have lunch with several close friends whom I have never met in person but have shared so much with online in our transplant support group. I’m looking forward to a great time.

One cool coincidence is that the Rotarians meet at the very same hospital I was admitted to in May of 2011 where I learned of my need for a liver transplant! Now, two years later I am returning to that very same hospital to tell my story and encourage them to register as organ donors and promote organ donation in other clubs. That’s so cool.

I remember telling my deacon friends from First Baptist Church in Portland my greatest desire when they came to pray for me months before transplant. When they asked what I wanted them to pray, I asked that I would be able to bring glory to God through this whole situation no matter the outcome. He is allowing me to do just that.

Pulpit supply, clubs, schools, church groups, bridge clubs … whatever the event, I count it an honor to be able to tell my story to encourage others, give hope, inspire or educate. I’m closing in on my one year anniversary and feel better than I have in more than a decade. It’s awesome!

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.  I can do all this through him who gives me strength. Phil. 4:12-13

Some helpful liver transplant information links:

Selecting a Transplant Center

Liver Transplant Information from Mayo Clinic

Preparing for a Liver Transplant

OPTN data and reports by state and region

I feel like I’m holding my heart in my hands.

I just don’t get it. I want life to be fair but I don’t worry about “fair” when things are going great. Who does? Have you ever seen a lottery winner shake her head and say, “I don’t know. Life’s not fair.” No? Me neither.

My world used to be full of teenagers. They were my calling more than my career. I took them canoeing down rivers, snow tubing, hiking, biking and camping. We went to concerts, we listened to speakers and we talked about life and what type of people they wanted to be. I took them to foreign countries to serve the poor and American cities to help rebuild after disasters. I watched them discover Jesus and grow in faith. I helped them achieve dreams. The teenage years are a rough time but they are also an exciting time. There are no people more full of life and energy than teenagers.

Now my world is focused on people who are struggling to hold on to life. They are every age from infants to elderly. All they know is that tomorrow is not guaranteed. They see today as a gift and hope for more days ahead. It’s a major change for me. I am adjusting, I guess.

I used to get sad when I’d see students make poor choices and now I get sad wishing my new friends had options to choose from. I get really sad. Truthfully, I don’t know how I’m doing mentally or emotionally with the change. I wonder how I can possibly continue with this new “ministry” long term. Some days it hurts. A lot.

Today, I have three people in my world who are close to death. I’m not talking about being sick and waiting for a transplant. I’m talking about being too sick for an answer and too weak to even attempt surgery or further treatment. I’m talking about being at the end of their rope where every treatment has failed and no more options exist. Apart from a miracle, everyone in their world is starting to accept the fact that the end is here.

And here I am wondering why the Lord brought me to this place. I feel like a bumbling idiot. Am I supposed to have answers? If I am, why has God not given them to me? Are there even answers to be had? The words I do have seem hollow. I hear them come out my mouth and fall to the floor with a thud. Or maybe they help? I really don’t know. I pray they do.

What I do have now is understanding. I understand what it feels like to lose hope. I know what it’s like to go to the hospital and know staff people by name. I know the reality of being able to explain an illness in medical terms. I know what it’s like to help a nurse find my best vein and telling a new third year medical student which treatments bring relief. I have a new ministry skill set that I earned the hard way.

I see people who never before gave God a second thought become suddenly angry at Him. How can you be angry at someone you don’t believe in?  I don’t get it at all but I see it pretty regularly. A lot of stuff makes no sense to me in this end-of-life zone. I see other people who never before considered God find Him with unshakable certainty and start openly thanking Him.

Why do some praise and others curse? What is inside them that makes them react differently? I find myself asking God a lot of questions lately.

One of the things troubling me most is what the mental health pros call “survivor’s guilt.” It’s “why me and not him?” Many transplant recipients who receive organs from deceased donors wrestle with the fact that saving their life was dependent on someone else losing theirs. That’s not my case though. My donor is still alive and doing great.

Sometimes I lie awake and wonder, “Why me? Why did I get to live?” I am watching two little guys, both under 5 years old clinging to life with tubes and wires attached to their little bodies, machines beeping in rhythm. Both need miracles to make it. I’m in touch with two teenagers, both in hospital more than out, hoping that treatments will work to get them strong enough to get the transplants they need.

Last month I witnessed panic in a 54 year old man who received a liver transplant just over two years ago. Things were going fine until he woke up on a Tuesday morning with that horrific yellow tint in his eyes that we liver patients know so well. Tests showed that his liver went into full rejection. Four days later his family stood together at his bedside as he passed away.

I really don’t get it. I don’t know why I got to live while others die. All I can do is be thankful for each day I have.  I shrug my shoulders when people ask why these things happen. I mean, I have the theological answers and rationales. I’ve got a Masters Degree in theology that gives me the academic answers. I can go into explaining man’s fallen condition and the origin of pain and disease. I can assure people that God doesn’t give people disease and can explain why he allows it. I can talk about His glory, His faithfulness and His love. I can talk a lot.

The academic answers make sense in our heads but when our hearts are being torn to shreds we don’t really want the answers. The answers don’t make anything easier. When your kid is dying it doesn’t matter that mankind chose sin rather than obedience. Rationales don’t dull the pain.

So, I stand in doorways or hold the phone to my ear hoping to help somehow. I weep over tear-filled e-mails and agonize about my response. I literally can feel an ache in my chest. Their ache.

Words don’t matter much. Presence is what matters. When I was at my lowest I was so fortunate to have people who would just come and be with me. They knew I knew all the head stuff. They knew I had faith. They just came and stayed with me.

I remember my friend Jay Reilly coming into my hospital room at Maine Medical Center. Jay and I are the type of solid friends who are confident in our love for each other even though we don’t see each other much. We’ve shared some tough stuff during many hours on the road driving our boys to concerts. I had been holding things together pretty well until Jay arrived. The floodgates opened and my emotions spilled out in tears. Why? I had total confidence that I was safe with Jay. I knew I could be transparent. Jay had no words but his presence meant everything to me.

I guess that’s what I want to be for the hurting people the Lord has put in my life. I want to be present for them. Fully present. If people need words, all I can do is trust God to give me the right ones. If they need someone to pray with, I want to meet that need. When their families need support, I think God has brought me here to support.

I just wonder if I can do it. And I wonder if it ever gets easier holding my heart in my hands.

February 16, 2012

I’ve tried to write this blog entry several times but have not been able to find the words to accurately express what I’m feeling. Let’s see if attempt number 5 is any different.

To catch new readers up, a quick summary. In May 2011 a doctor surprised me by telling me my liver was useless and I was going to die unless I got a transplant. June 2011 – April 2012 handfuls of pills and needles draining fluids kept me alive as I was hospitalized 11 times. May 7, 2012 my oldest son offered himself up to save my life. He laid on a surgeon’s table and allowed them to cut out almost 60 percent of his healthy liver to replace my diseased, scarred liver. He became weak so I might grow strong.

First, how would you feel if your only chance to live required risking the life of your son? Would you let him do it? It was one of the hardest aspects of my liver transplant journey. We as parents would give up our lives to save the life of one of our children but that’s how it’s supposed to work, right? But if the tables are turned? I remember driving back from Lahey Hospital in Burlington, Massachusetts after Dr. Amy Tien, told Robin and I that a living donor transplant would be the best option for me. She mentioned our children as possible donors. I sat silently staring out the passenger side window while Robin drove. Finally, through tears, I said, “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want one of my kids to have to do this for me.” But my son would not accept that.

I remember praying the night before the surgery. I begged God to preserve Josh. I pleaded with Him to guide the surgeons’ hands. I told God that if He was only going to allow one of us to live through surgery that it had to be Josh. I don’t remember praying much for myself. I prayed that Robin would find love again if I did not make it. I prayed that my children and family would not lose their faith. I prayed that my mom and dad would be able to hold it together. But, I didn’t pray that I would make it. I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe I had spent so much time being self-absorbed in the months before surgery that I figured God already knew my desire to live.

Now, let’s jump to the evening of February 16,2013 with me healthy and happy. My phone chirped a little birdie sound and I read the accompanying text message from Josh, “She said YES!” The emotion choked up in my throat. I was happy for two reasons: Josh was happy and I was alive to share his joy.

On a beautiful Fort Myers, Florida beach, on July 28, while the sun is setting into the ocean, Josh and Kristen will stand before me staring into each others eyes when I pronounce them husband and wife.

How do I convey to you how this makes me feel? Is it even possible? I am alive today because of the sacrifice of my son. I will be able to share in the joy of his wedding because of what he did for me. Not only will I be able to be there, he and Kristen have asked me to perform the ceremony. I get to be the one who prays for their new marriage. I get to be the one who hands each of them a ring signifying an unbroken circle of love so that they can place it on the finger of the other and proclaim their vows before God. I don’t just get to have a front row seat, I get to join my son who saved my life with the beautiful woman God has given him.

I love performing wedding ceremonies. I love watching the bridegroom come for his bride. I love looking at his face when he sees her coming up the aisle. I love the smile, the tear in his eye and the joy in his heart. I love seeing her walk forward with her eye on him, her smile stretching wide. I love the atmosphere and excitement over the day that is finally here. It’s not a coincidence that the bible calls the church the bride of Christ. It’s not meaningless that Jesus is called the bridegroom. I believe the wedding ceremony is a picture of God’s love and desire for his people. It is a beautiful portrayal of us being joined with God to live with him. I see a picture of God’s love in every wedding ceremony I officiate.

This one has an added dynamic. In this wedding I am reminded that the Bridegroom laid down his life willingly so that I might live. My Josh knew the risks of being a living liver donor. He knew the pain, the ugly forever scar and he still was willing. And now I am alive to share one of the happiest days of his life.

Robin and I met Kristen, Josh’s bride, over the Christmas holiday. She fit into our family like she has grown up with us. I teased her and she gave it right back to me. Her beauty radiates. I’m not talking about the beauty that fades, though she certainly is not hard on the eyes. Kristen’s beauty radiates from within. We’ve been praying for her since Josh was born and now we know her name. We prayed that Josh would find a woman who loves Jesus and orders her life and values on His teachings. We prayed for her family and her upbringing. Over Christmas we finally met this girl we’ve been praying for for 25 years.

Her mom and dad have modeled a strong marriage and, like Robin and I, still love each other like crazy. I was so psyched to see a Facebook post where Kristen put up a romantic note her dad left for her mom. It made me know her dad has taught her what a loving husband looks like. It also told me she has grown up with a mom who knows how to make her husband still leave her mushy notes after 30 years. Kristen has grown up in a family like ours.

On July 28, I will be in one of the most beautiful settings in the world watching my creator paint another gorgeous sunset. I will breath deep and smell the salty ocean air. I will hear birds calling and feel warm sand between my toes. And, as though that were not enough, I will introduce Mr. and Mrs. Joshua and Kristen Linscott to 50 of their family and closest friends assembled to share their joy.

In June of 2011 my goal was to survive long enough to officiate my daughter Shara’s wedding on July 2. God granted me that goal and blessed me with life, health and a future. Now I get to officiate Josh’s wedding and fully expect to live long enough to spoil my grandchildren.

If Grace is an ocean, I’m drowning.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

I sent Ron the first 45 pages to say, “Hey, thanks for the nudge.” He told me it was good but not enough. He, and a few other pre-readers told me I needed to let readers get to know me before just jumping in with, “Hi, I was dying. I got a transplant and now I’m living.” They told me to start at the beginning.

Frankly, I’m still wondering who would want to read my story and why. I guess inspirational stories are in. They tell me my story is inspirational. Other than Corrie Ten Boom, who I called “Corrie Nine Bang,” I haven’t read many inspirational works. It’s not my preferred genre. I usually read books that promise to make me better or smarter. I want seven habits to make me more effective and I want to know how to motivate people, meet needs and grow groups. I mix in a novel for pleasure now and then but only because Steven Covey told me to in The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. And now I’m writing an “inspirational” book with no idea what I’m doing.

At the moment I’m writing about growing up and memories are flooding back. Reflecting on my life is giving me answers for why I am the way I am. It’s explaining why I like what I like and giving me an understanding of why I get mad at things that make me mad. It’s making me love my family more as well as understand why some of my personal baggage is as heavy as it is. It’s making me understand why I have such a heart for the underdog. It’s making me remember times when I was left out and times I left others out. I remember times I bullied and times I was bullied.

Thankfully, mom and dad and my sisters, nurtured me into a child and teenager who could walk the middle of the road. I was able to be with the popular kids and cross over into the misfit world. My sense of humor allowed me into both worlds. While fat jokes and labels stuck, I used self-deprecating humor to laugh along with those who made me the joke. I hid the hurt with humor and put myself on stage to get laughs and attention pretending I was not wounded. But, I was.

Until about 7th grade I was an obese kid. I was “Moose, Lumplump, Tubby.” Mom bought my clothes in the “Huskies” department. I had crooked, home-cut bangs, a bowl cut, high water pants and knockoff everything except for dad-bought sports equipment. I remember going to the YMCA to try out for a basketball league wearing cutoff jeans, tennis shoes, colored socks and a white undershirt. Having a hoop in my yard, I had some skills but I definitely did not look like it. The other boys were wearing their cool shorts and jerseys, headbands, tube socks (cool then) and basketball sneakers. I remember kids laughing at me, refusing to pass the ball to me and judging me. I left after about 20 minutes saying I was sick. My dad drove me home knowing exactly what happened. I think he was embarrassed for me and hurting too. The next time I played I felt like a pro. Dad made sure I was equipped. The other guys passed me the ball and I remember their sudden acceptance when I was one of the top scorers. From outcast to inner circle thanks to a Dave Cowens jersey? What a stupid world we live in.

Thankfully, I experienced both rejection and acceptance growing up. I experienced both worlds. Why is it that we remember the emotion of harsh words more than the accolades? Why can I write today and feel the same pain I felt at that first tryout but not really remember the emotion of dressing the part and gaining acceptance?

Some never experienced the accolades. Some never gained entrance into the popular club. Some lived life as the targets of most everyone else. Because I experienced some of their hurt and still carry an emotional scar or two, I ache for them and understand. I want to erase their pain but I can’t.

I want to tell you something if you were one of those kids. I want to tell you that they were wrong! The ones who called you names, stuck labels to your back, picked you last or not at all and told you you are worthless? THEY WERE WRONG!

My God made you beautiful. My God gave his most precious for you. My God knows your potential and your worth. (Psalm 139) My Jesus is a rescuer and a lover of your soul. You are the apple of his eye (Psalm 17:8). They were wrong.

Writing this book has brought some of my pain back to the surface. If no one reads it, writing will have been therapy for me because each time I unearth painful memories and allow the toxic material to come to the surface I am able to face it with the truth. I am able to stare it in the eye with my Jesus at my side and let it go knowing that they were wrong. My worth, though I had given them input, is not at all based on the bullies. They deserve no input at all. My worth comes from my creator. Your worth comes from your creator.

I know many of you reading this today are in the throws of struggle. I know you are being bullied by disease. I know your disease is telling you things about your worth. You know I am fighting the same messages and trying my hardest to stand up and say, “You are wrong!” I am on the other side of transplant but I remember the messages of my liver disease before the surgery. I remember it telling me I was a burden, that I ruined everything and that it would just be better if I were dead. It was wrong! You, my friend, are worth so much. The people who love you can’t imagine life without you. Your creator made you priceless. I pray that you will stand up and tell that cancer, tell that kidney disease, lung disease, liver disease, “You are wrong! I have worth and I will not allow you to defeat my spirit!” You are not your disease. You are not what the bullies in your life told you are.

I hope you will watch this 7-minute video I found thanks to one of the blogs I follow (http://bolstablog.wordpress.com/) . It’s powerful.

“I call on you, O God, for you will answer me; give ear to me and hear my prayer. Show the wonder of your great love, you who save by your right hand those who take refuge in you from their foes. Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings.” Psalm 17:6-8

Because we closed on both houses in January but our new house was not up to snuff for a handicapped resident, me, we were lived at a charming little Maine cabin on Sebago Lake thanks to the Whitten family. Our new floors were installed and Robin worked with friends to repaint everything to make it move-in ready. Because I was operating on about 60% lung capacity, I could not handle the fumes and had to stay away until February 13.

My liver disease was working hard to defeat me. I wanted to make a Valentine’s dinner for Robin but lacked the strength to pull it off. I laid in the living room while my sister Gloria “helped” me put it together. I have no memory of the day at all. The toxins in my blood robbed me of a lot of memories from that weekend.

Emotionally I was very down. I was starting to lose hope that I would live to see transplant. The search for a matching donor was dragging along much too slowly for our liking.

What a difference a year makes! In February of 2011 I was excitedly training and preparing to be a church planter. In February of 2012 I was facing death and moving about with a mobility scooter. In February 2013, with a healthy new liver, I get up every morning, walk my dog, clean house, ride on my bike trainer, work on rebuilding lost muscle with resistance bands, run errands and write. In February of 2010 my ministry was with teenagers and I was in a sea of their boundless energy. Three years later my ministry is with people living with chronic illness who feel like life is over.

There’s a passage of scripture that says:

“Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” James 8:13-15

I think I’ve read that passage a few thousand times during my life. Now I understand it. We all know life can change in an instant and everything we’ve worked for, all our earthly gains can disappear overnight but none of us think it will happen to us.

We read other Scriptures telling us to “store up treasures in heaven” instead of busting our butts for things that are going to rust, bust, turn to dust or break up in the end. We hang framed decorative needle-point quotes on our walls that speak the things we want to value and say we value but how many of us are cashing in those values so that everyone in the family can have smart phones or  watch the Super Bowl on a 60 inch crystal clear screen? How many of us are accumulating stuff at the expense of the true treasures in our lives?

Believe me, your true treasures move immediately to the forefront when you face your own mortality. You do not waste an ounce of thought or worry on cars and gadgets. When you say, “All I want for Christmas is for all of us to be together,” you mean it with a depth you have never known before.

This week I learned of a 42 year old local man who dropped with a massive heart attack. His family gathered in hospital waiting rooms while he laid in a medically induced coma with doctors working frantically to monitor his brain after they got his heart beating again. With machines making him breath and IVs keeping him hydrated, they hoped and prayed that the brain wave monitor would show some activity. His two small children had no idea what was happening and his wife tried to fathom life without him. She’d try to push those thoughts out of her mind to stay positive. “No! He is going to come out of this. My babies will not grow up without their father!” she would declare with as much determination as she could muster.

A young man. A young, healthy man. On Monday he got up, ate some healthy fiber-filled cereal, glanced through the headlines, put his lunch in a sack, kissed his wife and children and then headed for work. On Tuesday morning he was unconscious in a hospital bed showing no brain activity while his stunned family huddled in a nearby waiting room grasping for hope.

On Thursday his family had to make the toughest decision of their lives and let him go. I don’t know if he was a registered organ donor. I don’t know if his family was able to bring hope and life to others but I hope so. If not, this tragedy just multiplied. I don’t know if this man had invested in his true lasting treasures or if he had put them on hold while he built what he thought was their future together. I don’t know.

We hear about stories like this pretty regularly. Many of us have lived these same types of stories. But most of us go on day after day investing too much of our time and effort building things that aren’t going to last.

I got a second chance. I am so thankful for organ donors. So many people get no second chance. My experience makes me understand this truth with a new depth. I always knew my true treasures but if I could do it all over again, knowing what I know now, I’m confident I would have lived life differently.

“And I loved deeper
And I spoke sweeter
And I gave forgiveness I’d been denying”
And he said
“Someday I hope you get the chance
To live like you were dying”
-Tim McGraw

Today I find joy in things I hardly noticed before my transplant. Now I see people differently. I fight less, judge less and forgive much more quickly. I spend a lot less time trying to build my kingdom and more time helping others build their dreams. I pause more, pray more and read my bible with new eyes.

I wish there was something I could do to get you to pause and consider your true treasures to the point of action. I wish I could make you see that your new hybrid, awesome Coach bag and 3,000 square foot home are worth far less than camping under the stars with your family, taking a long road trip and using all of your vacation days. I wish I could convince you that someday you’ll wish you had put your butt on hard bleachers to cheer on your cheerleader rather than in board room chairs.

I wish I could make it so you aren’t too exhausted or starved for free time to make it to church regularly to find true community and friendship. I wish your kids could hear the character-shaping stories of bible heroes and grow unshakable faith for the years ahead. “They say stories like that make a boy grow bold . Stories like that make a man walk straight.” (Rich Mullins)

I wish I could give you the lessons I’ve learned without the path I’ve walked.

I wish.

Outside the wind is howling and snow is piling up by the foot. Blizzard warnings scroll across my muted TV screen while a parade of news people battle wind and waves one after another. I don’t need the sound to know what they are saying. They’ve been excitedly talking about the devastation of winter storm Nemo for a few days now. Now it’s here and they can feed on the destruction and capture images to beam around the world. They’ll show stranded drivers, highway accidents, collapsed buildings and hope for footage of a house being claimed by the astronomical high tide. They think of the story. I think of the people.

I pray for my friend John battling ALS. Lord, please keep their power on tonight. I know that loss of electricity is an annoyance to most of us but for John, who needs power to help him move and sleep and communicate, it’s a much bigger deal. John’s faith and positive attitude inspire me.

It’s ironic that I’ve awakened during a giant snowstorm to pray for people weathering storms that have nothing to do with wind, snow or rain. As I pray I talk to God knowing their thoughts, their fears, their dreams and their struggles. I know the storm of liver disease and transplant in my own life.

I remember how Robin and I decided early into our storm that we would work to stay positive and praise our God no matter what. Today, nine months after my transplant, I know so many suffering people. Today, God has given me people to pray for, people to encourage and people to push onward. I know some who can’t see over the waves. I listen to others who can only see their troubles piling up. I do my best to try to get them to find the positive but some are determined to let their storm swallow them up.

In the last 18 months I have celebrated with a dozen or so who had life-saving transplant surgeries. During that same time I have said goodbye to almost as many who never got that gift. Some lost a hard-fought battle and others simply refused to fight it; they just gave up. I have seen faith-fueled positive attitudes sustain people and negative attitudes drain the life out of others.

If you are facing a storm in your life – health, financial, relational – I beg you to determine right now that you WILL look for the positive in every single day. I know there were numerous days while I walked in the “valley of the shadow” that it was difficult not to be consumed by the letdowns and bad news. I also know that our determination to find the positive, no matter how small,  played a large role in helping us ride out our storm.

Please watch this video and hear this song that I replayed often during the worst of our storm. Please don’t give up.