"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.)