It Was a Miracle

Daddy Freeman and Mama Bea had daily rituals that began with the rise of the sun each day. Daddy Freeman was the first to clamor out of bed and begin his morning chores. If it was winter, he would fire up the heater so that the house could warm a bit before Mama Bea got up. He then set about feeding the chickens their corn, the quail their mix, and the hogs that one day would be in the freezer or hanging in the smoke house. Lastly the dogs would get the leftover cornbread from the day before and whatever else wasn’t suitable for the table any longer. Mama Bea would soon be out of bed and making breakfast. Breakfast always included eggs that had a distinct flavor that I have never found anywhere else. The yolks were a dark yellow and were no doubt the product of what the chickens fed on. We call them “free range” chickens today. They called them breakfast or dinner. Soon the smell of home ground sausage would wind its way around the house and cause me to get up. It seems city folks need more sleep than country folks. Add to this the scratch biscuits, homemade butter, fig preserves and percolated coffee, well, let’s just say that IHOP couldn’t hold a candle to it. Also part of Daddy Freeman’s morning routine was milking the cow. Usually I only saw the milk when Daddy Freeman would bring it in to the kitchen in a tin bucket. Bits of this and that would be floating in the milk and Mama Bea would take a piece of cheese cloth and strain the milk into a gallon pickle jar and put it in the icebox. That’s as close to pasteurization as that milk ever got. However, on occasion, I would get up early enough to follow Daddy Freeman out to the barn to milk. This was no Norman Rockwell barn. It was mostly a giant tin shed held together with bailing wire and dirt dauber nests. A big gust of wind would one day take its toll making way for a bigger and better tin barn. On one particular morning I was trailing Daddy Freeman step for step out to the barn, at least as step for step as any seven year old can follow an adult. When we entered the barn we saw the milk cow lying down, which I had never seen before. Daddy Freeman quickly got me out of the barn. I was quite certain that she was about to give up the bovine ghost and Daddy Freeman was sparing me the ugly scene. I waited impatiently outside the barn – forever. Eventually a grinning grandfather invited me in. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. When we arrived at the barn there was only what appeared to be a sick milk cow. Now, right in front of me, were a recovering milk cow and a brand new calf. My eyes betrayed my bewilderment as they were, no doubt, bigger than saucers. “Where did that come from?” I blurted out. First there was one. Now there were two. It was a mystery. No, it was a miracle. Daddy Freeman didn’t explain things to me that day. He left it to the hallways of elementary school for me to decipher the miracle of how births come about. That day I witnessed only one of the daily miracles there on the farm. From the first ray of light that finds its way into an egg that has a chick pecking its way to freedom to calves being born to a kernel of corn yielding its produce in the fall, it is all just the everyday occurrences of life on the farm. But each one is a miracle. The often quoted words of Elizabeth Barrett Browning are true: “Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God; But only he who sees, takes off his shoes - The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.” Miracles are as common in each of our lives as they were at Shake Rag. We find them in the mundane and in the explosive excitement of a baby being born. They are brought to us through messengers, doctors, grief counselors, and loving family and friends, even strangers at times. We only need to watch and listen. Simply pay attention and see God at work all around us, everyday. If you do, your eyes may get as big as saucers and find yourself exclaiming, “Where did that come from?” This time, you will know the answer.

News from Howard's Big Adventure

“The results were ideal.” What does that mean? “The tumor is dead.” Hearing those words were akin to discovering the elusive Fountain of Youth. It had been 30 days since the chemo had been administered directly into the tumor. By all medical accounts, the hope was to shrink the cancer down by 1 centimeter, at minimum. There was almost an offhand comment made that someone once had the entire tumor destroyed with the procedure. They didn’t dwell on that, but I did. Not to mention the 100’s of people around the country who had been praying. And, it happened. Somehow between the chemo and the prayers, all that remained was the carcass of a creature that had invaded my body. Why it happened for me and not one of the others who remain on our prayer list is a mystery. I will never understand. I can only be grateful for my results and continue to pray for the others. The next step now is to really kill the tumor. On February 25 I will return for a specialized radiation treatment to pummel what remains. Talk about beating a dead horse! They want to make absolutely certain that not a single cell remains. This particular tumor has a high incidence of returning. I will receive two or three treatments that week and be done, at least for that stage. Those treatments will carry me to March 1 and a ticking clock. I must go 3 months without a recurrence or a new tumor. Assuming that happens, A CT scan will verify it and on June 4 I can officially be put on the transplant list. During those three months, the radiation remains in my body and continues to work. That will help carry me right up to the day that I can be put on the list. As a reminder, I have to have a transplant because my disease is genetically based. The day they remove my current liver, they will also remove the defective gene. The new organ will heal me completely. That has been our goal now for two years but the cancer put me on a fast track for that to happen sooner than expected. Over the last three weeks I have been very sick because of some creepy crawly that is yet to be diagnosed. I have been assured that this plague is completely unrelated to my liver. I have lost a lot of weight because I am not getting the nourishment I need, despite having a good appetite. While it is nice to eat ice cream and cake in abundance, I would much rather be well. Hopefully my doctor will be able to help when I see him this week. We continue to thank God for your many prayers. We ask that you continue. Each stage is critical. Howard and Jana