Thanksgiving and November . . .

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone, hardly seems possible. Vickie, my lovely wife, who is currently in school learning how to become a pastry chef, treated us to homemade biscuits with homemade butter in addition to the large traditional meal. Needless to say, it was wonderful, nay, miraculous, a little bit of heaven on earth. She will be a very, very, very good chef!

The kids are doing well, thank God. Amazingly Joseph is now as tall (and will no doubt soon exceed) Hannah in height. Joe is only twelve, going on 35, and will be a very tall young man. It is with not a little pride that I acknowledge that all of my children will likely be taller than both mom and me, not a remarkable achievement considering our own diminutive stature!

School continues to be a challenge for me, my only current consolation being that the semester ends in three weeks! Joy! Although, this means, too, that finals are rapidly approaching. More time for stress and study! I know that the end goal is certainly going to be worth all of this effort, time, and money. Until then, I plod on, class-by-class . . .

We have begun a new outreach, a medical mission focused on helping the local downtrodden and disadvantaged. The ministry is called Rapha (the Hebrew word for "healing" or "mending"). We conducted our first outreach in October. As seen in the attached photo, it was a lot of fun and we saw 31 people. The young man sitting at the table with me is Aaron, who is currently training to become Medical Assistant. I think he'll make a good one. This all is a humble start, but exciting nonetheless. Our next outreach is tomorrow. Looking forward to it!

God bless you! Keep the faith!

I'm afraid

As I get older I've begun to notice that life rarely comes at us at an even pace, a smooth series of events that we can handle as they march toward us in orderly succession.  I've learned instead that life seems to happen in chaotic bursts, sudden explosions of reality that, good or bad, rain upon us like machine gun fire interspersed by brief periods of uneasy peace. 

My thirteen year old daughter has suffered from epilepsy for seven years.  After truck-loads of medicine and a small army of doctors from multiple disciplines, we have arrived at the truth that her only natural hope is surgery.  So this coming Tuesday morning, June 14th, my only daughter is going to the local children's hospital to have both sides of her skull cut open and parts of her brain examined, monitered, then excised.

Now I know that thousands of children and parents have walked down this path before and come out far better for it.  I know that I should be grateful that things are not worse than they are.  I know that I should be counting my blessings.  As a rabbi I am reminded, also, that God is near, that we are not going through this alone, and that everything will eventually work out for His higher good purposes and will.  I know all of these things are true.

But I'm still scared.  Is that wrong?

I'm scared that things may not go as smoothly as they should.  I'm scared she may die, or have a stroke, or become profoundly disabled.  I'm scared that the surgery may make her already violent seizures worse.  I'm scared that her follow-up care may be compromised because of our impending move to Kansas.  I'm scared that the cost her care may spiral rapidly out of control and swallow our family financially.

The current religious climate in Western culture often dictates that we should not be people of fear and, to an extant, that is true.  I firmly believe that we should never let fear become either our sole or primary motivation for anything.  I'm also learning, though, that fear is a reality with which we all must cope, a companion that, at inadvertent (and usually inconvenient) times crops up and demands our attention.  I'm learning that God will always help us deal with fear but He may not always take it away.

I must go now.  I'll keep you posted.