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Month: September 2017

Pulmonary Fibrosis, A Little Bird Told Me

Pulmonary Fibrosis, A Little Bird Told Me

It’s Pulmonary Fibrosis Awareness Month.

And even though it’s the last day of Pulmonary Fibrosis Awareness Month I still think it’s important to mention that it’s Pulmonary Fibrosis Awareness Month.

Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis or IPF is: a rare disease characterized by progressive replacement of normal lung tissue with scar tissue. The scarred tissue becomes thick and stiff making it harder for the lungs to exchange oxygen.  Idiopathic means there is no known cause of the disease, pulmonary refers to the lungs, and the scarring is called fibrosis…At this time there is no cure or treatment to reverse the scarring in the lungs.

 

I spent a little time with a friend of mine the other day.

I had been watching Ken Burn’s The Vietnam War on PBS so I asked him,

“Have you been watching PBS?”

“No,” he said.  “I was there, I don’t need to watch it on TV.”

My friend flew a Cobra helicopter in Vietnam.

One day a bullet came through the bottom of his helicopter and traveled through his foot and into his lower leg.   The surgeon warned him before surgery that he may lose the leg, but thankfully when he woke up it was still there.

During my visit he told me the story of comrades returning to the US on a civilian airliner and having people spit on them at the airport.

He however didn’t have to worry about that, because that bullet that went through his foot had him coming home in blue pajamas on a stretcher in the back of a Military Airlift Command C-141.

Once home though, he told me about his first contact with the public; he and his wife attended a church service in Maryland. Now in civilian clothes,  before the service,  he and his wife stood with a crowd of people outside the church waiting.  Someone asked my friend how he had broken his leg.

“I didn’t break it,” he responded.  “I got shot in Vietnam.”

After hearing my friend’s response, the crowd parted.  It wasn’t out of respect or patriotism.

When he and his wife entered the church and sat down, they were the only ones in their pew that otherwise would have sat about 20 people.

No one else in the church that morning chose to sit with my friend and his wife and his Vietnam shot up leg.

They sat all by themselves.

 

The other night I had this dream.

I dreamed I was holding a little bird in my hand.  After holding on to the bird for a while I passed it off to an older man, my father I think.

I don’t remember much else about it but the next morning while having coffee,  my wife shared with me the daily Bible verse she receives via text each day.  It was a photo of a hand holding a bird with  Matthew 25:21  as the overlay.

I told her about my dream and holding this little bird in my hand.  Hey, maybe this was a sign for me, I thought.  And maybe not.

But maybe…

 

But even if this scripture had no relevance to me, it had great relevance to my friend.

My friend now sits at home connected to machines that provide him additional oxygen to breath.  He monitors his oxygen saturation frequently.  Yet in spite of the two machines making oxygen and the 50 foot of oxygen tubing he drags around with him; simple activities like going to a different room, taking the stairs, going to the bathroom are major undertakings.  It’s not that he is unable to leave his home, it’s just that now the effort required to make such a move seems not worth it.

My friend; a decorated national hero in my opinion, a writer, a historian, engineer, a pillar of his church, a father, and a husband…has IPF.

In his lifetime he was shot and wounded and ostracized; but just like the scripture said, he was a good and faithful servant and he overcame.  And he was set over many things.

He entered into the joy of the Lord.

And he has shared that to the benefit of many of us since.

 

Many of us Americans behaved badly and did stupid things during the Vietnam War.  Many are regrettable now looking back.

Maybe twenty years from now we will look back on this time of “taking a knee” or hiding in the tunnel during the National Anthem and regret those actions too.  But then maybe not.  Maybe the hatred of this President will trump reasonable decision making like it did forty five or fifty years ago.

I am not a political person and this is not a political commentary.

But we do have many national treasures like my friend out there.

They are all around us. We see them in church, we see them at work, we see them on motorcycles, we see them in wheelchairs parading down the airport terminal as they come off their Honor Flights.

They fill our cemeteries.

Then there are those, like my friend, who in spite of being good and faithful servants and after all the sacrifice they have been through, end up with IPF or something else that limits their ability to live normal lives.

But still, if we are lucky we can sit with them, talk to them, and learn from them.

 

I hope we learned something from our experience in Vietnam.  We may have also hated that President at the time and we may have hated the war.

But we have to remember who it really affected, who it was who took the spit, the  proverbial bullet and for some, the actual bullet in those causes.

Those folks still bear the scars.

We have to remember as we protest today’s causes, the spit doesn’t always land on those who it was intended to hit.

And it opens old wounds.

But I digress.

This concept for me started out being about pulmonary fibrosis; a dream about having a  bird in my hand  that came to some clarity with scripture the next morning: and,  associating all of that with living a life of service.

But I hope I was able to bring some awareness to you about IPF.  I hope you click a link and read about it and think about providing some support to find a solution, other than a lung transplant, that will allow people like my friend to be out mentoring others and not sitting in his living room.

And as for my dream and that scripture,  I hope it means that I have been faithful over a few things, and as a result will be set over many things myself.   If I can ever impact half as many lives as my friend has, I know I will experience joy too.

 

If you would like to support Pulmonary Fibrosis research, visit Angela and Alicia Snyder-Miller’ s team Run (for) Forrest Run! page of the Pulmonary Fibrosis Foundation. They have a goal to reach that should easily be exceeded as they run to raise awareness of IPF.

 

Ethan, Christian, and Irma

Ethan, Christian, and Irma

Ethan, my littlest guy, safe and asleep somewhere in north Florida

Just five days ago I was joining many others and praying for the survivors and the first responders in Texas and Louisiana after Hurricane Harvey made landfall and continued to rain and flood for days.   For me, mostly faceless and nameless people, known to me only by images on my TV.

But to many others these folks most certainly had names and faces, some were family like my friend Drew whose brother lives in Houston; others friends and colleagues.  For them their prayers were more specific, their anxiety more real, their concern hitting home beyond CNN or The Weather Channel.

This week I understand.

Yesterday, in the early hours of the morning, members of my immediate family; my daughter, son-in-law, and their two sons fled Broward County and began to head north.  Their sons, two of my three grandchildren, are just babies.  One is two years old, the other less than two months old.  Yesterday morning they became part of the Irma refugee movement north.

Later in the day they found shelter in northern Florida; far enough north where, though they may not avoid a hurricane, they should be safe to ride out a much lesser storm.

Though I find some comfort in a weaker threat, I am not comfortable.

As I sit now and watch CNN, detail after detail, listening to the interview of the mayor of Hollywood Florida, the town where my kids live; watching the storm track and those spinning 5’s and 4’s go up the Florida peninsula I am relieved my daughter, my son-in-law, and those babies are not in south Florida.

But I am not without great concern.

I have a lot of extended family and some very good friends in Florida.

If you are from Jersey, you have family and friends in Florida.

I am concerned for all of them.

I am safe many miles away.

My biggest weather related concern this summer has been how the rain has forced me to have to cut my grass every six days and still my mower sputters and stalls. What an inconvenience.

There are people in Texas and in the Caribbean tonight who don’t have lawns to cut anymore, some don’t have houses, some worse than that.

I am safe far away from the chaos, but I am also helpless to those that I love who may be close to danger.

All I can do now is pray.

And like last Sunday I will pray for the safety of all those in harm’s way as residents, visitors, and those responding to the call for help.

But in addition to that, for me this week I will pray in greater detail.  This week I have names, and faces, and memories, and futures to prayer for.

So for now I will watch the storm projections and listen to the countless interviews. I will act cool and supportive on the phone and in the text messages.

But I will continue to worry about my littlest Irma refugees and my family and friends.

And I will pray.

Ten o’clock update.  A little more shift to the west.  I think it’s working…

The Houston Kid

The Houston Kid

The Houston Kid, album by Rodney Crowell

“I pray that the benevolent God from whom I draw strength brings, with ever increasing speed, the peace, comfort, healing and resource so badly needed by our brothers and sisters whose lives have been so drastically altered by Hurricane Harvey. Since Friday, in my mind’s eye and heart, the streets, houses, alleys, bayous, gulleys (sic), plant life (elephant ears, and chinaberry trees) and people of my youth have been vividly alive. These are the souls and images I’ve mined in search of song for forty-plus years. In childhood I knew floods, Audrey’s and Carla’s, intimately. Today, their memory seems tame compared to the images on my current living room screen. If there’s a silver lining—and I believe there will be—may it find us fast. We are all in this together.”

Yours as ever,

Rodney

It’s National Day of Prayer.

This prayer was posted on Facebook by my friend Rodney Crowell the other day.  Well, he is not really my friend, I like him on Facebook.  I mean I don’t only just like him on Facebook, I like him.  Actually I don’t really know him so I don’t really know if I would like him or not.  I guess I like his music.

If you don’t know who Rodney Crowell is, he is an American musician, singer, and songwriter mostly known for country music but you may recognize one of his more successful popular songs  “Shame on the Moon” which was recorded on the 1982 album “The Distance” by Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band.

In September of 1961 Hurricane Carla, mentioned in Rodney’s prayer, hit the Texas coast. Harvey is said to be the worst storm to hit Texas since Carla.  In his memoir, Chinaberry Sidewalks, Crowell remembers Hurricane Carla and how it affected his family.  The $6,000 “cracker-box palace…essentially a tarpaper shack,” steadily became a wreck when Hurricane Carla thundered through in 1961.  This home was located in Jacinto City a town a few miles east of Houston.

Also in his song Telephone Road from the album The Houston Kid:

Rain came down in endless sheets of thunder
Lightnin’ bolts split pine trees down to the roots
In the shadow of the Astrodome with a hurricane comin’ on strong
We used to hit the streets and go swimming in our birthday suits

 

NOW, THEREFORE, I, DONALD J. TRUMP, President of the United States of America, do hereby proclaim September 3, 2017, as a National Day of Prayer for the Victims of Hurricane Harvey and for our National Response and Recovery Efforts.  We give thanks for the generosity and goodness of all those who have responded to the needs of their fellow Americans.  I urge Americans of all faiths and religious traditions and backgrounds to offer prayers today for all those harmed by Hurricane Harvey, including people who have lost family members or been injured, those who have lost homes or other property, and our first responders, law enforcement officers, military personnel, and medical professionals leading the response and recovery efforts.

(From the President’s Proclamation to make September 3, 2017 National Day of Prayer as a result of Hurricane Harvey)

 

I am not President Donald Trump’s friend.  I don’t like him on Facebook. But I don’t know President Donald Trump either, so I don’t know if I would like him or not.

But I do know, those folks in Texas need some prayers.

Barbecue and beer on ice
A salty watermelon slice at the Little Taste of Paradise
On Telephone Road (from Telephone Road, The Houston Kid).

Better days in Houston, let’s pray for that.