Health update. Patty and I went to the 8:30 service this morning. It was the service of lessons and carols, with lots of standing up to sing the carols. It was like a physical therapy workout! I was able to stand for the first three or four carols, and then my thighs said to me, "Hey! Give us a break!!" So I sat for the next few stand-up occasions! And I found that I didn't have enough breath to keep up with all the words of the hymns.

I've come a long way! But I'm not there yet.

It will be good for the congregation that Pastor Bob Maier will be Interim Pastor at St. Stephen during January. The consistency will be good. It will also be good for my recovery. Sandy won't have to rely on me to make decisions and give advice, so I'll be able to preserve emotional energy. John and Helen Allen's daughter worshiped at the 8:00 pm service on Christmas Eve and she said to me, "I'm so glad that Pastor Maier will be the Interim! He's wonderful!" (Bob had been her pastor in Richmond.)

At about 10:30 last night, our daughter Emily called (waking me up!) to say she was home safely in her apartment in the City. A few hours earlier, we had walked her to the security screening area in the Richmond airport for her flight back to NYC. Emily was with us for a whole week! Nathan and Renee were with us for three nights, and my mother and brother and his family were here for two nights. It was a wonderful series of Christmas visits; the first time that the extended family gathered at our house. (I've been telling people that I was the attraction: they all wanted to sit there and stare at me, to make sure I'm still breathing!)

As Patty and I walked back through the Richmond airport, towards our car, I said to Patty, "The days have just flown past this week." The visits seemed so short.

But, indeed, every day flies past! Weeks go by, months, years even, and we "don't know where the time has gone" -- unless we pay attention to each day. Actually, I did a good job of that this past week, giving thanks to God for each day that was given, and for the joy of family members who were with us. Still, the days seemed to flash by. Do pay attention to the blessings of God that come to us each day.

Health update: I had a C-T scan of my lungs this morning. Dr. Flenner just called to say that it shows "significant improvement" over the C-T scan I had a month ago! Praise God! The healing continues!

December 28 is the day of The Holy Innocents, Martyrs. It is rooted in a usually-ignored passage in Matthew's Christmas story, in which King Herod attempts to kill the newly-born Christ child by killing "all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under." Joseph, though, has been warned in a dream that this will happen. And so, he takes Mary and the child and they flee to Egypt until Herod's reign is over. (See Matthew 2:13-23.)

Where does this story come from? There are obvious roots in the story in Exodus of Moses. There, the Pharoah finally allowed Moses lead the people of God out of slavery in Egypt because, (according to the story!), God kills all the first born Egyptian children. But the spirit of death passes over the Hebrews' homes (passover), and their children are spared. The gospel of Matthew came out of a community of practicing Jews, people who would have known that story well. And, we see in other places in the gospel of Matthew, that Jesus is presented as the new Moses, sent to deliver God's people, just as Moses delivered the people from slavery in Egypt.

Be that Biblical scholarship as it may, today -- the day of The Holy Innocents, Martyrs -- is a day that yanks us away from the romanticism of the cultural Christmas season, and to center in prayer for children in our world who are in danger or at risk. Once again, as did the theme of two days ago,if we are formed by the Biblical story, our Christian faith does not provide escape from the world, but engagement with the world.

And so, what can we do for children who are endangered in war? What can we do for the children of Iraq and Afghanistan and Palestine and Somalia? What can we do for children in refugee camps? Closer to home, as citizens of Virginia, how does this form our response to Governor Kaine's proposal to provide universal pre-school to all children of the Commonwealth? It costs us nearly $40,000 to imprison each criminal each year. It seems obvious to me that we should try spending a fraction of that to benefit each child during his or her first, formative years. How much stronger we would be, as a state, if even a fraction more children grew to be productive citizens!

God became human, as a helpless child! Today our attention is turned to children who are in danger. Hopefully, our concern is not as fleeting as a single day. What form will your engagement take?

Today is the day in the Church calender to commemorate St. Stephen, Deacon and Martyr. Do you remember the story? According to Acts, the Apostles were being stretched thin by the demands of caring for those in need. They had no time to preach and teach and heal! So, deacons were chosen, Stephen being among the first, to do what we would call today "social ministry," caring for the poor. But, also according to Acts, Stephen became the first Christian killed as a result of confessing the faith. This scene, of course, is depicted in the stained glass of St. Stephen Lutheran Church in Williamsburg.

Does it seem strange, only one day after celebrating the birth of the Christ child, that we turn our attention to the first martyr, the first one who was killed defending the faith? Doesn't that seem jarring?

It is so only if we allow Christmas to be defined by the saccharine, romantic warm fuzzy trappings of the cultural holiday. That Christmas is short-lived and shallow. But, in fact, Christmas means that God was born, a human being, right into violence and evil of our world. God became a human being, in Jesus the Christ, to be intimately present with us, in our flesh, as we live in this world. God became incarnate to save us from evil. "Save us from the time of trial, and deliver us from evil," we pray in the Lord's Prayer, and the Christian gospel is that God saves and delivers us even as God is experiencing our times of trial and our encounters with evil. God is right here, with us. That's what the Incarnation means: God born into human flesh. "Emanuel -- which means, God with us."

That's what Christmas means. It is anything but surgary sweet. It is good that this Second Day of Christmas is also the day we commemorate St. Stephen, victim of the world's evil. It brings us the clear-eyed realism we need before God can open us to receive the incredibly joyous Good News of Christmas.

God our Creator, you have created this new day of life as a gift, which we do not deserve. You have allowed me to wake up this morning. I pray your help, so that I may live during this day in ways that please you.

During these final days of Advent, I pray that you will move among us as Holy Spirit, opening us to see and rejoice at the coming of our Savior. I pray for all who will be gathering with family, that they will enjoy each other with joy magnified by your presence. I pray for those who feel lonely at this time of year, that they will be comforted by your presence. ("Emanuel -- which means, God with us.") I give you thanks for those who have invited friends without family to share Christmas with them.

As we wait and watch for your coming into our lives, I pray for all suffering from physical, emotional and spiritual illness. Bless them with patience and courage, as they watch for the healing that comes from you.

And I give you thanks for the wonderful congregation of St. Stephen. I thank you for the ways you are working through them to sustain me during these weeks, with their prayers and acts of love. I pray that they will continue to be richly nourished during my absence, through worship and preaching and bread and wine. I pray your blessings on your servant, Bob, who is preparing to serve as Interim Pastor during the month January. Continue to bless the staff, Sandy, Robin and Michael, with your guidance during the interim. Continue to give the congregation's leaders good cheer.

All of this I pray in the name of our coming Lord, Jesus the Christ. Amen.

Dr. Flenner (Infectious Disease) called yesterday with disappointing news. According to the latest test result, the histoplasmosis count in my body is up, instead of down! What does that mean? That the drug (Sporanox itraconazole) is not effective? Or that I had been taking it only two weeks when the test was done, and so it had not taken hold?

Meanwhile, I am feeling stronger. My lung capacity and blood oxygen levels are improving. When I'm sitting around or walking around the house, my blood oxygen is above 95%, which is what a healthy person would find if s/he did the measurement. Dr. Donlan (Pulmonary) said that, if my blood oxygen level stays above 90% when I'm walking outside, without oxygen, then I don't need to use the oxygen at night. I think I'm almost there. I walked about two tenths of a mile yesterday with the oxymeter attached to my finger, and my "blood ox" dropped into the upper 80s a couple of times, but was in the 90s most of the time. And I've been building up strength by walking. There's a seven-tenths of a mile loop in my neighborhood that I've been walking once or twice a day.

So, it's a mystery. I'm feeling better as the days go by, with better lung capacity, and yet the latest histo count is up rather than down. What gives? My next appointment with Dr. Flenner is January 2. Stay tuned.

"Be still and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10)

According to my dictionary, "advent" means "1. the coming or arrival, especially of something extremely important. 2. The period beginning the fourth Sunday before Christmas, observed by many Christians as a season of prayer, fasting, and penitence in preparation for Christmas."

At this point, Advent is fast flying away. It gets harder to practice Advent as we get closer to the big day of Christmas, with all the last-minute preparations for gifts or guests or travel or cooking. Even so, I hope you can carve out some time and finding a contemplative space for stillness, so that God can use your prayer and devotional reading to remind you of your need for God's grace and forgiveness. That stillness prepares you for Christmas, the celebration of God entering into our human flesh with that grace and forgiveness. That stillness also trains you to be alert for the multiple ways that God does come into your life every day.

"For God alone my soul waits in silence;
from God comes my salvation." (Psalm 62:1)

There is an aspect of stillness more important than carving out time and spending time in a space that encourages contemplation. Interior stillness is the hardest to experience. Assuming that you're just like me: It is so hard to quiet our minds! We are so full of anxieties that distract us from God's presence!

I have experienced that anew, as I have been practicing Advent during this period of enforced idleness. What is my agenda for each day of my convalescence? All I need to do is to eat and take medication at the proper times, to bathe and dress, to take a walk or two each day, and to rest. Doesn't sound like much, does it? I do a lot of sitting. But it is so hard for me to abandon an accomplishment mindset -- and so I do not have much interior stillness! I worry whether I'm getting dressed too late in the morning, compared to yesterday. I'm reading a lot, but in the back of my mind is the next book waiting in line, wondering when I'll get to it. And I try to measure my physical recovery: how hard to push myself on my walks and how many times to use my breathing machine, wondering when I'll be able to entirely wean myself from the oxygen. And on and on. Not much stillness.

But healing comes according to whose schedule? God's. These weeks of enforced inactivity are a golden opportunity for me to simply be open to God's advent into my life -- if I can only be quiet and still.

I remember that that's true! And so I sit, in a place in the house that encourages contemplation, with a single verse of a single Psalm. "Be still and know that I am God." I allow that to be God's prayer in me and for me, for how long? Thirty minutes? An hour? And, for a while, stillness comes.

So here's how my morning went. The alarm went off at 6:00 AM, waking me from deep sleep. I stumbled into the kitchen to take my medication, and to make a pot of tea. Hot tea seems to settle my stomach, and the medication makes me nauseated. So, I spent the next two hours sitting quietly, sipping tea, praying and reading until. At 8:00 I was free to eat breakfast. Then I rested, marshalling my energy for...

... shaving, bathing and dressing! Then I rested, to recover from that physical activity. Then I walked some in the neighborhood. Then I rested, to recover. Then I paid some bills and then it was time to eat lunch.

Some morning, huh? Indeed, yes!! It was a wonderful, joyous morning -- the gift from God of a new day! Hans Tiefel called at around noon. It was the first time I've talked with him in nearly two months. He started out by asking, "Are you glad to be alive?" I said, "You're going to make me cry!" (Have I written before that my tears always seem to be tears of joy?)

Want to hear some irony? Before I was discharged, the pharmacist at the hospital explained the liquid anti-fungal medication, and how I needed to take it on an empty stomach, and that it is best absorbed into my body if there's an acid environment in my stomach. So, she said to drink Coke after I take the medicine because Coke is the most acid of the soft drinks! The irony? For more than a year, my cough/illness was treated as acid reflux. So, for that long I dutifully stayed away from just about everything I love -- coffee, tomatoes, red wine, jalapenos -- anything that would add acid to my stomach!! Hoo boy.

It's so hard at this time of year to follow the Church Year calendar, to be counter-cultural, and to observe Advent. I hope you're taking a few minutes each day to receive the gifts God offers through Advent observance.

Advent is a time of expectant waiting, of watching, in hopefulness.

That is true, as well, during a period of convalescence. You who have experienced a period of recovery from illness or surgery know of expectant waiting, watching, hopefulness. You're alert to every sign that you're becoming more healthy, that you're becoming stronger.

Of course, during a period of recovery, the patient has work to do! It's the balance: not pushing too hard, but doing as much as s/he can, because that's how s/he becomes stronger. (Today I walked further than I have before, on the streets of my neighborhood! This afternoon, I'll bet, I'll fall deeply asleep in a nap!) Perhaps you have known a period of recovery: expectant waiting, of watching, in hopefulness, and also doing the work!

That's true of these days of Advent, as well. It's back to the point of Luther saying he would plant a tree if he was told that the world would end tomorrow. Advent reminds us to be waiting and watching in hopeful expectation for the coming of Christ into our world. Who knows where and when that is happening, and will happen? Keep alert!

Meanwhile, there is the work that God has given you to do. Keep at it!

Thank you for your love and prayers.

The healing continues. On Monday I had an appointment with Dr. Flenner, who is treating the fungal infection in my lungs. He called today with results of blood work that was done. He's been concerned because previous blood work showed some anemia, but my hemoglobin count is up! He's been concerned about my kidney function (the anti-fungal drugs are hard on the kidneys), but now those organs are functioning in a normal range! His concluding words were, "This all looks pretty darn good!"

Yesterday a visitor said, "You look good!" And, from outward appearance, I'm close to "my old self." My face has filled back in, I've been to the barber shop, I have the energy each day to wash up and put on clothes. The only external clue that I've even been sick is the bandage covering the tracheostomy wound and the fact that I'm moving at about 1/3 speed. (The percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy tube -- or PEG, or feeding tube -- is under my clothes and thus not visible to a visitor. That will be removed on January 2.)

Speaking of visitors, I have gained enough strength to enjoy short visits. Too many, though, would wear me out. So, here is the simple ground rule: Please don't just drop by. Call me up, spur of the moment. I'll be honest enough to tell you if it's a good day/time.

Patty and I went to Norfolk this morning, to meet with Dr. Flenner, who is treating the lung infection. Healing is happening! We'll see him again on January 2, and we'll see the pulmonologist again on January 9. Until then, their instructions are to eat (I've gained five pounds since coming home!) and to push fluids (because the anti-fungal medicine is tough on the kidneys) and to keep moving around to build up strength.

It was awfully good to get out!! Actually, I was also out for a few minutes yesterday afternoon. Patty had to pick up something quick at the church, and I rode along. While I was there, I stuck my head into the College Room and there were five of the students, studying. They were so surprised and happy to see me, and it was a thrill to be able to say hello!

I understand that about 30 of our folks attended one of the two introductory workshops for Evangelical Lutheran Worship, which we will begin using sometime early in 2007. Patty and I were signed up for the Richmond workshop and, of course, couldn't go. However, since that workshop happened at the church our son and daughter-in-law belong to, they picked up our copies of the book and brought them to us this past Saturday. Since then, Patty and I have been looking through it.

What a rich resource is this new worship book! If we use it well, our worship will be always fresh, because there are so many options for liturgical music. Patty and I were going through the hymn section and often saying, "Oh, look! This one is in here!" You see, we've experienced a great variety of worship styles over the past 30 years. For two years, while I was in seminary, we worshiped and worked in an African American congregation in one of Chicago's worst neighborhoods. Patty was the lead musician in the weekly "contemporary" service we did at St. Stephen's in Wilmington, DE. Currently, Patty is the accompanist for all the liturgies at Walsingham Academy, and she's come to be familiar with the Roman Catholic hymn tradition. So -- we've missed the hymns that have NOT been included in the Lutheran Book of Worship and With One Voice. Exploring the hymn section of Evangelical Lutheran Worship reveals a great variety -- from the old chestnuts, to hymns coming from African American and Hispanic traditions, to "contemporary" style worship songs, to brand-new texts and melodies in classical style.

For prayer, let me offer one such text that speaks to me profoundly during this time of recovery, knowing that many of you have been in the same place. This text was composed by Herman Stuemplfle, still living, a long-time professor and presdent at the Lutheran Theological Seminary in Gettysburg. (For those of you who have a copy of ELW, it's hymn 617.)

We come to you for healing, Lord,
of body, mind and soul,
and pray that by your Spirit's touch
we may again be whole.

As once you walked through ancient streets,
and reached toward those in pain,
come, risen Christ, among us still
with pow'r to heal again.

You touch us through physicians' skills,
through nurses' gifts of care,
and through the love of faithful friends
who lift our lives in prayer.

When nights are long with wakefulness,
through days when strength runs low,
grant us your gift of patience Lord,
your calming peace to know.

We come to you, O loving Lord,
in our distress and pain,
in trust that through our nights and days
your grace will heal, sustain.

It is so strange, on Sunday mornings, when Patty says, "Goodbye," and leaves to join you all in worship (at the 8:30 service), because that's where I should be going, and need to be going, too! To use the theological language from my Letter of Call, I am called to be with the congregation of St. Stephen on Sunday mornings. I just cannot get used to it. Perhaps, in a coule of weeks, I'll feel strong enough to sit in the pew. It'll have to be at the 11:00 service, because it takes me until about 10 AM to finally get dressed. (Bathing and dressing takes about an hour!)

We've settled into a schedule, determined by taking my anti-fungal medication, which needs to be taken on an empty stomach. So, I can eat nothing for three hours before taking it, and we need to allow two hours after taking a dose. So, I set the alarm to go off at 6 AM, and take the morning dose then. At 8 AM, then, I'm able to eat breakfast. Beginning at 2 PM is a time of fasting, and I take the afternoon dose at 5 PM. We are able to eat dinner, then, at 7 PM. By about 8:30 PM, I am about to collapse; my endurance is so low. So I can get eight hours of sleep before that alarm goes off, lights off at 10 PM (strictly enforced). (Even with eight hours of sleep, still, that alarm usually wakes me from a dead sleep.)

My biggest problem with the medication is that it makes my stomach upset. So far, I have not vomited within the two-hour period after taking the medication (although I've come real close a couple of times!), so it's all gotten into my system. I do usually have to eat a few saltines and drink a mug of hot tea when my stomach is especially unsettled. I have an appointment with the infectious disease doctor (one of those I talked about in an earlier blog who saved my life). I'll ask him if he has any anti-nausea suggestions!

Yesterday, Nathan and his wife, Renee spent much of the day with us. We put them to work, yet something else that I usually do. They brought in the Christmas tree and set it in its stand. Then Patty, Nathan and Renee decorated it. I sat in an easy chair and watched the first part of the process. But, sometime during the decorating, I fell asleep! I awoke two hours later -- and there was the tree, entirely decorated, all the storage boxes and paper for our ornaments cleaned up and put away! I'll tell you, the Spirit is having to work hard each day, to teach me that it's ok to be dependent on others, and to simply accept that care as a gift from God.

Meanwhile I am making progress day-to-day. I am getting stronger, incrementally.

Blesings to you on your own experiences of hopeful expectation during this Advent season.

Recovery of my strength goes so slowly, day-to-day! Today, I'm really feeling the effort it takes simply to get out of a chair. There's no reason for this being a "down" day; I didn't push myself an unusual amount yesterday. And I keep checing my blood oxygen level, and it's staying above 90%. But I'm listening to my body, and will take plenty of time to rest today. It's just an up and down thing, day-to-day. Patience. Patience.

Meanwhile, here's a wonderful quote to use for Advent prayer, with its references to light. It's from the daily prayer book I use, For All The Saints:

"O eternal God, light surpassing all other light because all light comes forth from you! O fire surpassing every fire, because you alone are the fire that burns without consuming! You consume whatever sin and selfishness you find in the soul. Yet your consuming does not distress the soul but fattens her with insatiable love....The more she possess you the more she seeks you, and the more she seeks and desires you the more she finds and enjoys you, high eternal fire, abyss of charity!

"O supreme eternal Good! What moved you, infinite God, to enlighten me, your finite creature, with the light of your truth? You yourself, the very fire of love, you yourself are the reason. For it always has been and always is love that constrains you to create us in your own image and likeness, and to show us mercy by giving your creatures infinite and immeasurable graces.

"O Goodness surpassing all godness! You alone are supremely good, yet you gave us the Word, your only-begotten Son, to keep company with us, though we are filth and darksomeness. What was the reason for this? Love. For you loved us before we existed. O good, O eternal greatness, you made yourself lowly and small to make us great! No matter where I turn, I find nothing but you deep burning charity."

-- Catherine of Siena (1347-1380)

Blesings on your Advent journey.

I've been thinking about one of the Psalms appointed for Morning Prayer yesterday: Psalm 30. I think this was one of the Psalms used a month ago when the congregation for a prayer service for me. It sure applies to someone who has endured a medical crisis, and who has experienced God's healing.

The Psalms nourish our faith as the words of a Psalm become our prayer. Have you suffered through a diagnosis of cancer? Or known the depression that often comes after major surgery? Or endured a period of depression? What has been your experience, your need for healing? Pray Psalm 30, reading in what you have suffered, and what God has healed. Here's how to do that.

V. 1: "My foes" = histoplasmosis pneumonia for me. What has it been for you?

V. 3: "Sheol" and "the pit" = the days I was kept alive by respirator. What was it for you?

Now, after you have read through the Psalm, inserting your own experience, pray the Psalm. Do that by reading the words slowly, lingering over a phrase or a verse that catches your attention. What is God saying to you in that phrase? How is God bringing you healing?

Thanks be to God, ever-faithful, who is the source of all healing.

"You don't know what you're talking about." A person who says that is dismissing another because of a lack of expertise, or credentials, or some other kind of head knowledge.

Today, I've been thinking about "knowing" in a different way: as an experiential thing. I've been telling people that the past horrible month (plus!) and the coming months are all an intense and difficult Continuing Education event, which will make me a better pastor. I've been thinking about what I know now -- because of what I've experienced.

One of my friends (who I consider to be a spiritual guide) has MS. While I was in the hospital, she wrote,
"Dear Fellow Physically Compromised, but Joyous-None-the-Less Friend (at that point, she was taking much for granted with the joyous bit)
"Isn't it terrifying? Isn't it a desperate struggle for meaning and instant guidance?
"And have you ever before heard the spirit saying with such clarity, 'Let go. It's okay. I got you.'
"And doesn't the love and deeply directed prayer and hope coming from all those who love and support you surround you and lift you above the bed and you body's restraints? Yeah? I've been there too. Still am on occasion."

You see, she KNOWS all of that. She is writing out of her experience. She knows what she's talking about!

So, I've been thinking about how all I'm going through will make me a better pastor to those in ill health. It's not that I've been ineffective. For years people have appreciated how helpful I've been. It's just that, in an experiential sense, I haven't KNOWN what I've been talking about! So --

The terror that comes when confronting a life-threatening disease? Yeah, I know that.

The depression that comes when a person is sick and tired of being sick? Uh huh, I know that.

The courage and determination it takes during those down times? Yup, I know that.

The strength and courage and determination that a person receives when others are praying for him/her? Now I know that.

The comfort that comes from God's physical presence in the hospital bed? I know that.

The joy and elation when there are signs of recovery and returning strength? Yeah, I know that.

The patience required when recovery is long process? Well, I'm coming to know that!

I had planned to take a three-month sabbatical this next summer, as provided in my Letter of Call. Obviously, that will happen another year, in light of this current long absence from you. But I'm hoping that the month of January will be a good one for me. By January, I will have had the PEG (feeding tube) removed from my stomach, and I will no longer be dependent upon oxygen, so I will be able to do strength-building exercises. January will be a month of rest and recovering the balance of my strength and energy. And so (getting back to the missed sabbatical), my daughter, Emily, said something very wise. (Isn't it wonderful when your kids become wise adults?) I was complaining to Emily about how long this recovery process was going to take, and she stopped my whining cold by saying, "Dad. You're always saying you have a stack of books that you don't have time to read. Well, here's your chance!" As the weeks go on, God will nourish me through the reading of fiction and non-fiction, even as God heals me physically and emotionally and spiritually. I'm hoping that will be a source of patience: as if being on sabbatical (without the travel, or the full energy of a healthy person).

Went to the pulmonologist today and had a good report. My blood oxygen level is staying above 90% when I'm sitting still, without oxygen. So, he told me to use the oxygen only at night when I'm sleeping, and when I'm exercising (which, at this point, means walking down the street in front of the house). During much of the day, then, I don't have to be tethered to the oxygen tube! That's progress! (Many thanks to Paul Reier, who has loaned me one of the little devices that measures blood oxygen and pulse rate. Now I can monitor how I'm doing, as I continue this process of being weaned off the oxygen.)

Today is my birthday. I'm 53 today. This is a birthday I will never forget. It is a birthday I almost didn't make.

Yesterday morning we received word that the wife of one of my cousins died on Saturday night. She was suddenly feeling bad, and called her doctor who was alarmed enough to send her to the hospital, where they found a virulent infection, but they didn't have time to treat it before she died. She was a year or two older than me.

We live on the edge of life and death each day, each one of us. How much we take for granted!

There is a story about Luther, that he was asked, "What would you do if you knew the world would end tomorrow?" Luther reportedly said, "I would plant a tree."

I think that points to a faithful response to God, for God's gift of this day of life. We keep high in our consciousness that, for any one of us, the world might indeed end tomorrow -- or today! Meanwhile, we work as if there will be no end to time, doing the work God gives us to do.

Thank God for the gift of this one day of life!

My good friend, Pickett Miles, is leading the St. Stephen congregation in worship this morning. This past week he e-mailed me, "I'm your stand-in this Sunday. That will make your congregation pray more fervently for your recovery."

His humility not withstanding, I was nourished by Pickett a number of times when he was Rector at St. Martin's Episcopal Church. How wonderful to be in the ELCA, with its (our)ecumenical energy -- so that an Episcopal priest can lead worship for a Lutheran congregation!

Yesterday, Randy Punchard and Max Hinders spent the afternoon at our house, cleaning out leaves from the gutters and installing mesh screening that will keep future leaves out of the gutters. I said to Randy, "How can we thank you for this wonderful work?" He said, "Get well. That's all." Once again, the tears came to my eyes. (Tears have come quite often over the past month or so.) I know there's been a crew of you, youth as well as adults, who have been caring for our house and yard during this leaf falling season. What a gracious and generous bunch of people I am privileged to serve as pastor. I too am praying fervently for my recovery, because I miss you all so much. Thank you for your prayers and love.

Yesterday, I walked one driveway farther than I had before on the street in front of our house, before turning back. (That's how I'm measuring my progress these days -- by the number of driveways!) Today, maybe I can get one more driveway further, and take a morning AND an afternoon walk. I'll see what my body is telling me after the first walk. These are days of, on the one hand, pushing as much as I can but, on the other, of listening closely to my body which may be saying, "Hey! Back off! You're doing too much!"

I have an appointment Tuesday with the pulmonologist. A main question I have is how to wean myself off the oxygen. Perhaps he can write a prescription for one of those finger tip pulse oxygen machines, so I can measure my blood oxygen saturation as I use the oxygen less and less in the weeks to come.

How can it be December?!

I feel like Rip Van Winkle. When I went into the hospital, there were green leaves on the trees, the latest poll had George Allen up over Jim Webb by several percentage points, the decorations in the stores had a Hallowe'en theme...

Tomorrow, Advent begins. How I wish I could observe Advent with my worshiping community. I miss you all so much!

These next weeks and months are uncharted waters for me. I'm making it up as I go along, emotionally and physically. I haven't taken time to mourn for my father, because I've been needing to spend so much energy on my own recovery. But there are times when that bubbles to the surface. And I've already learned what one of the Physical Therapists told me in the hospital -- that, physically, my recovery will not be a straight-line progression, with each day better than the first. Two days ago was a good day. Accompanied by my rolling oxygen tank, Patty and I even walked about 200 yards on the street in front of our house. Whoo Hoo!! But then, yesterday I was a limp as a dishrag. I spent all day yesterday in my pajamas, parked in the La-Z-Boy. After that day of rest, I feel more energy today. I'm washed and dressed! (Again, that whole process took about an hour, and feels like a great physical accomplishment!)

I lost 20 pounds during those weeks in the hospital. My waistline is the same -- so those lost pounds were muscle mass. My poor atrophied bicycling calves and thighs!

Some have been asking: was the initial diagnosis of sarcoidosis bad doctoring? Of course, that was a question Patty and I have asked. And we have asked a number of the doctors involved in my case. Here's my conclusion: the pulmonologists here did the best they could with the resources we have here in Williamsburg. At our little community hospital, all they could do was a bronchoscopy (sp?), and that appeared to be all I needed. As it turns out, what I needed was a lung biopsy. In hindsight, it would have been good for me to be referred earlier for that. But at our hospital here, there is no chest surgeon. Thank God the pulmonologist here was open to help when he was contacted by the doctor in Norfolk who was observing the monitor of the Williamsburg ICU. One lesson I have taken for myself from these horrible weeks is that our local hospital is fine for routine maladies, for joint replacements, for cancer treatment. For more difficult cases, we're best taking advantage of the hospitals connected with medical schools -- Sentara Nofolk General or MCV in Richmond. Just my opinion.

I'm going to rest for a few hours. Then maybe I can get out for a little walk! Whoo hoo!