Yesterday I did not feel well most of the day, 12th day post treatment. The recovery period has gotten longer with each chemotherapy session and the depth of my fatigue has grown with each treatment as well. I am glad that I get an additional week of recovery prior to my final chemotherapy infusion on June 7. I need it.

But later in the day, I felt better. The pool temperature was 78 and I wanted to vacuum the final last portion of dead algae from the bottom of the pool. So I did. I even got in the water, and by 5 pm, the temperature had increased to 79. And I swam from one end to the other. A remarkable change from Wednesday when I got winded just trying to trim the weeds around one of the flower beds. Better each day. I am blessed. 

Judy's straw hat and Hideaway apron hang on the stair post. Each day we are moving closer to having company and saying good-by to Covid and Cancer. I am more than ready for visitors. Tourist season is year-round, every day, in Nashville. The Hartleroads and the Hideaway are nearly ready.

Today felt like summer. Windy, warm. 88 degrees and the pool has warmed to 77. Swimming temperature for me, but not yet for Judy.

It's the kind of day that you search for shade. Several years ago we planted a Forest Pansy Redbud tree at the corner of the house where one of the large Bradford trees had crashed down in a spring storm. It's a beautiful replacement. 

And this afternoon as I ventured out of the house, I noticed the shade that tree provided and looked up to the sky through the underside of those glorious leaves. I've been writing so much about green lately, and our yard has abundant green. So I laughed when I looked up through the shade of this tree and thought how wonderful it was to have colorful shade. 

I'm an ordinary guy, but I love color. (Except maybe on my plate). Unfortunately, that affection for color has sometimes drawn unwanted attention, like the green-and-orange plaid bell-bottomed suit I wore for Easter (when I had hair) or the red and yellow Hawaiian jammers I wore on campus (when I used to wear swimsuits) or madras shirts and striped pants and lots of other clothing choices.

I mean if you have to choose, you might as well go for bold. Maybe I'm not so ordinary after all!

I missed blogging yesterday. I was empty, exhausted.

But I have been invaded with hope, embraced with hope, saturated with hope.

This hope did not come from within me. 

The hope came as a wave from a chorus of encouragers. The hope came as a lifeline from cancer survivors. The hope came listening to Dr. Thompson review the recent PET scan. The hope came from the scriptural affirmation of divine love for all of God's family, no one is excluded.

Whenever we need it most, we are baptized with hope, invited to feast at hope's table.

Not only does green grow in the cracks, hope blooms there too. 

I'm caught in the fatigue. My strength seems not to have diminished. But I have virtually no energy. The last three days have been the most challenging. Don't get me wrong, I'm doing "mostly good". I don't mean to complain.

I know it's just the chemicals that are creating my physical reaction to the treatment. And it will pass with time.

I'm glad there is only one more infusion treatment, and it is three weeks away.

But each recovery period seems to get longer and deeper. Nothing to do but wait it out. 

But it steals my ability to focus, and imagine, and plan, and do. Caught.

Saturday morning I awoke to see two moving vans parked in front of my house. The neighbors across the street were moving. They had a lease to purchase arrangement that apparently didn't work out for either party. Still, it was surprising to see the moving vans because I thought they intended to stay. The effects of the coronavirus has made getting acquainted with the neighbors challenging. We've had very few conversations. We did take cookies over for Christmas. The husband worked on swimming pools and replaced my circulating pump this winter, and I had other pool projects in mind with warmer temperatures. But they are gone, and left the welcome sign behind. The high school senior who lived here is supposed to graduate next Friday. I grieve for their changes.

I moved a lot growing up. And shortly, also, after my graduation from high school. And I spent too many Mays packing to move to a new pastoral appointment in June. I think of all those who have transitions approaching.

I'm reminded too of all those around the world on the move, escaping war, and famine, and disease, and oppression. So much is left behind. I grieve for all I left behind. But I treasure the memories of friends, and shared meals, and laughter. I would have taken the welcome sign with me!

It may just be chemo weariness. But I don't think so.

I am tired of war, and lying, and hatred, and prejudice, and greed, and injustice, and poverty, and hunger, and arrogance, and intolerance.

Jesus' followers are in the world, but not of this world. To be in the world is to be concerned that all of God's people are harmed by the powers of this world and that awareness defines the mission. To not be in this world is to not be seduced by the false ethics and selfish pettiness that surround us.

And some in the church get distracted by made-up culture wars, when the real evil is so damned blatant.

Eugene Peterson renders one of Jesus's last prayers for his disciples in John 17:15-17, "I'm not asking that you take them out of the world But that you guard them from the Evil One. They are no more defined by the world. Make them holy--consecrated--with the truth."

Carmelo Alvarez, in 2011, wrote, "In preaching on the truth of the gospel, there are some challenging ethical questions that might be considered. First, when the Gospel stresses "live by the truth" (3:21 NIV), it means to accept the ethical demand that leads to the doing of the truth in concrete actions. Second, it requires a faithful people to "tell the truth" (Dietrich Bonhoeffer), as a consequence of a conduct and a testimony (15:26) that witnesses to that truth. Third, it calls to a discipleship in solidarity and the promotion of true reconciliation. Today, more than ever, reclaiming the centrality of the truth of the gospel and living the gospel in truth are daring tasks. (Daily Feast, Year B)

As a teenager, I imagined a career as an architect. I was, still am, fascinated with design and construction. And so now, with my camera, I notice those details that add to structures. I love visiting the Frist Art Center in downtown Nashville. The building was previously the main post office, built during the Depression with an Art-Deco style. There are wonderful, eye-catching details everywhere. 

Today, not unexpectedly so, is a low-energy day. Dr. Thompson advised me early on that this first week after chemotherapy I can expect a substantial reduction in energy and then my energy will begin to rebuild after the weekend. It has become a familiar pattern, not one that I enjoy. 

So I decided to share a pattern I do enjoy.

I've noticed today that there is a difference in how I feel compared to my previous experiences after chemotherapy. Fatigue is the primary result of the medications I received. That fatigue is most evident physically. I can do do a few things but I rapidly tire. I have not lost strength, just energy. I know through the rhythm of recovery that my energy will eventually return.

The good news, as my wife likes to say, is that I do not have emotional fatigue. I am more aware of what is happening to my body. My anxiety is less because I know more about the treatment and the response of my body. I have evidence that the treatment is working. I do not feel like I am surrounded by mystery. Knowledge is power.

And today has been another day of watching Judy garden. I think she is having creative fun. I know we are both anticipating the beauty that will soon appear in color and form. She even bought me a Japanese Red Maple today that we need to think about where it could be planted. Put our imagination to work. Good days ahead.