It looks like the trip to Chicago is a go. Yankees vs White Sox.
Mike and Jeremy will be sitting 3 rows back from the on-deck circle along first base. They will leave from here around 2...there's the time change in Illinois...and get back late late late.
Zach and I are planning to take Drew and Noah to our city pool, Kokomo Beach, for the annual Samaritan's Caregiver Fund Raiser, the Duck Derby. Quite a few yellow plastic ducks will race down the Lazy River for big prizes. Also, there will be pizza, coke, and inflatable games.
Sounds like a fun day, yes? We love fun here.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
UPdate from today's appointment
I stopped by the local post office this afternoon where I connected with two blog readers. “How did the blood work go?” one asked.
As she may not be the only one who is praying for us and seeks information I'll jot a quick note here.
We met with oncologist this morning and she was very pleased with Mike’s health as displayed in his blood.
“No anemia.” “No nausea.” “No side effect problems.” “We will get the marker numbers later in the week and I will call you but…” and finally, "I knew you’d do well with the chemo and radiation.”
Both doctors agree that the stomach pain Mike is having is surgery related and is not cancer related. To the oncology radiation doctor, Mike has said, “If I knew I had a year, I’d buy FILL IN BLANK WITH TOY. Actually, he wouldn’t but he always likes to dream big dreams.
Dr: Go buy it!
To oncologist, Mike said, “If I knew I had some months of good health, I’d go to NAME SOME FAR OFF DESTINATION.
Dr: Get going!
Of course, in the middle of all of this enthusiasm, she also said that the cancer would eventually take Mike’s life...that’s how she put it today. But not today!
It’s easy to slip into the fantasy that Mike will just get well and we’ll be off playing, traveling, and enjoying life for a long, long time. The doctors don’t want to snuff out enthusiasm for life but their carefully chosen words keep the reality in sight.
One of our pastors asked Mike to teach a class this fall. Mike had said, “I don’t think I’ll be around.” Apparently, he will so he’ll need to get some lessons going.
I trust this is a good update for you all. Thank you for your prayers. The Blues come and go here. Today, the sky is gray and the blues are hanging around.
God is with us. And you. Please keep us in your prayers.
As she may not be the only one who is praying for us and seeks information I'll jot a quick note here.
We met with oncologist this morning and she was very pleased with Mike’s health as displayed in his blood.
“No anemia.” “No nausea.” “No side effect problems.” “We will get the marker numbers later in the week and I will call you but…” and finally, "I knew you’d do well with the chemo and radiation.”
Both doctors agree that the stomach pain Mike is having is surgery related and is not cancer related. To the oncology radiation doctor, Mike has said, “If I knew I had a year, I’d buy FILL IN BLANK WITH TOY. Actually, he wouldn’t but he always likes to dream big dreams.
Dr: Go buy it!
To oncologist, Mike said, “If I knew I had some months of good health, I’d go to NAME SOME FAR OFF DESTINATION.
Dr: Get going!
Of course, in the middle of all of this enthusiasm, she also said that the cancer would eventually take Mike’s life...that’s how she put it today. But not today!
It’s easy to slip into the fantasy that Mike will just get well and we’ll be off playing, traveling, and enjoying life for a long, long time. The doctors don’t want to snuff out enthusiasm for life but their carefully chosen words keep the reality in sight.
One of our pastors asked Mike to teach a class this fall. Mike had said, “I don’t think I’ll be around.” Apparently, he will so he’ll need to get some lessons going.
I trust this is a good update for you all. Thank you for your prayers. The Blues come and go here. Today, the sky is gray and the blues are hanging around.
God is with us. And you. Please keep us in your prayers.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Wholly Cow!
Monday, 12:45 PM EST. We are at Louie's and Lynne is anticipating her first BAKE.After much discussion/disagreement/direct evidence, I can report that a Louie's Bake IS a hamburger. It is baked in a shape that fits on a hot dog bun. It is served on a hot dog bun, covered with 'dog sauce' as well as onions and cheese.
Hmmmmmmm.
Needs some mustard.
Hmmmmmmm.
YUM!
This will NOT be the last.
On a Wing and a Prayer
by Mike Bolinger
I do not consider myself to be a mystic and I certainly hope no one thinks of me as a religious quack, but sometimes weird things happen and I am puzzled by them. So it is now. For those who choose to read on, let me know what you think.
My late father was a naval aviator. I got my love of flying from him for which I shall be forever grateful. My dad flew every fighter the Navy had from 1943 until 1968. He flew radial engine biplanes into the Navy’s jet age. He was a guy who made his living landing high performance aircraft on the pitching and rolling deck of an aircraft carrier on dark and stormy nights. All the rest of us pilots land on the ground which doe not move much, unless you hit it too hard. Naval aviators are simply the best. They have to be.
My dad told me many times that the best airplane he flew was the F8F Bearcat. It was and still is the fastest single-engine fighter ever built. It was so powerful that when you took off, you needed to hold full right rudder and you never used full power, because the airplane would snap roll 360 degrees as soon as it left the ground because of the engines incredible torque. Obviously, you never got a second chance if you were careless.
I have always thought the most beautiful airplane ever built was the Spitfire VII. Its designer feverishly worked to finish the design because he knew England would soon be at war with Germany and he was terminally ill with cancer. He barely finished the design when war broke out between the two countries.
When the test pilot landed the prototype Spitfire, he climbed down and said “Don’t change a thing, it’s perfect.” From then on it was a legend. In it about 3 hundred 20-year-olds saved the entire free world in 1940 in the Battle of Britain. Too many people have forgotten about this. The young pilots were modern day Spartans, willing to hold the aerial pass with their lives.
Several years ago I bought a 1949 Mooney Mite. For those of you who do not know what that is (even most pilots do not know), it is a single seat, retractable gear airplane with a stick and a variable pitch prop. It also has a sliding canopy like a Spitfire. I loved that airplane with a passion exceeded only by my passion for my lovely wife. It was my own fighter plane. It was the closest I could get to a Spitfire. It taught me a lot about flying.
Recently, our pastor gave a message on Heaven. He said that most of us thought of Heaven as a place where Casper-the-Ghost-like spirits floated in space singing praises to the Lord. He was trying to be humorous, but you get the point. Frankly, that does not sound like fun to me. It sounded boring to him. It sounded boring to me, too.
In his message our pastor referred to a book entitled Heaven by Randy Alcorn. Alcorn says that the Bible repeatedly refers to Heaven as being an actual, physical place where we shall be able to continue to do many of the things we do here on Earth. He thinks the Garden of Eden still exists for the simple reason that God made Eden to be a perfect place and God does not make junk, nor would he have any reason to destroy something that is perfect. He suggests that those saints that like to garden or farm could spend their heavenly time working there. He also postulates that everything that has ever been invented originates with God and that God delights in seeing us invent something and perfect it. He even says that those of us who delight in tinkering with old cars might still be able to do so. I know this sounds a little odd, but if you think about it, it makes perfect sense. Each of us would essentially have a piece of Heaven perfectly designed for each of us.
Reacting to the pastor’s message and Alcorn’s book, I sent my pastor an email in which I said that it was my hope that upon drawing my last breath, I would be transported to a grass airstrip, which would be wet with dew on a Saturday morning. A gentle breeze would be blowing straight down the runway. An old hanger with several folding chairs would be out front. My dad, who would be wearing his old Navy flying jacket, would walk out of the hanger and say “Me and the boys have been waiting for you. You’ve got the lead. Let’s fly home”. Someone would push my Mooney Mite out of the hanger and my dad would climb up into his Bearcat and away we would go.
Now I know that this is corny and sentimental. But bear with me.
Since I have been sick, I have read all of Charles Swindoll’s books on the great people of the Bible. One of the excellent points he made in all the books is that God always prepares the person he has chosen to carry out his task. His messengers are always given time to prepare, which gets me to the point.
So there I was at the lake last Saturday night sleeping soundly when I had one of the most vivid dreams I have ever had. I was sitting in the cockpit of a Spitfire with my dad kneeling on the top of the starboard wing. In precise detail, he told me how to switch fuel tanks from the main to aft tanks. He showed me how the fuel gauge would read and how many gallons there were in each tank. It was so real I could smell my dad and the airplane and I remembered how he talked. It was wonderful.
All I can say is that if Heaven is perfect and beyond anything we can imagine, and if it is a place of unimaginable delights, populated by wonderful, healthy people, and if it is going to be tailored to each of us, the Lord is preparing me for my first true flight. To my delight it is going to be with me in a Spitfire with my dad in his Bearcat. Such fun we will have.
Out.
I do not consider myself to be a mystic and I certainly hope no one thinks of me as a religious quack, but sometimes weird things happen and I am puzzled by them. So it is now. For those who choose to read on, let me know what you think.
My late father was a naval aviator. I got my love of flying from him for which I shall be forever grateful. My dad flew every fighter the Navy had from 1943 until 1968. He flew radial engine biplanes into the Navy’s jet age. He was a guy who made his living landing high performance aircraft on the pitching and rolling deck of an aircraft carrier on dark and stormy nights. All the rest of us pilots land on the ground which doe not move much, unless you hit it too hard. Naval aviators are simply the best. They have to be.
My dad told me many times that the best airplane he flew was the F8F Bearcat. It was and still is the fastest single-engine fighter ever built. It was so powerful that when you took off, you needed to hold full right rudder and you never used full power, because the airplane would snap roll 360 degrees as soon as it left the ground because of the engines incredible torque. Obviously, you never got a second chance if you were careless.
I have always thought the most beautiful airplane ever built was the Spitfire VII. Its designer feverishly worked to finish the design because he knew England would soon be at war with Germany and he was terminally ill with cancer. He barely finished the design when war broke out between the two countries.
When the test pilot landed the prototype Spitfire, he climbed down and said “Don’t change a thing, it’s perfect.” From then on it was a legend. In it about 3 hundred 20-year-olds saved the entire free world in 1940 in the Battle of Britain. Too many people have forgotten about this. The young pilots were modern day Spartans, willing to hold the aerial pass with their lives.
Several years ago I bought a 1949 Mooney Mite. For those of you who do not know what that is (even most pilots do not know), it is a single seat, retractable gear airplane with a stick and a variable pitch prop. It also has a sliding canopy like a Spitfire. I loved that airplane with a passion exceeded only by my passion for my lovely wife. It was my own fighter plane. It was the closest I could get to a Spitfire. It taught me a lot about flying.
Recently, our pastor gave a message on Heaven. He said that most of us thought of Heaven as a place where Casper-the-Ghost-like spirits floated in space singing praises to the Lord. He was trying to be humorous, but you get the point. Frankly, that does not sound like fun to me. It sounded boring to him. It sounded boring to me, too.
In his message our pastor referred to a book entitled Heaven by Randy Alcorn. Alcorn says that the Bible repeatedly refers to Heaven as being an actual, physical place where we shall be able to continue to do many of the things we do here on Earth. He thinks the Garden of Eden still exists for the simple reason that God made Eden to be a perfect place and God does not make junk, nor would he have any reason to destroy something that is perfect. He suggests that those saints that like to garden or farm could spend their heavenly time working there. He also postulates that everything that has ever been invented originates with God and that God delights in seeing us invent something and perfect it. He even says that those of us who delight in tinkering with old cars might still be able to do so. I know this sounds a little odd, but if you think about it, it makes perfect sense. Each of us would essentially have a piece of Heaven perfectly designed for each of us.
Reacting to the pastor’s message and Alcorn’s book, I sent my pastor an email in which I said that it was my hope that upon drawing my last breath, I would be transported to a grass airstrip, which would be wet with dew on a Saturday morning. A gentle breeze would be blowing straight down the runway. An old hanger with several folding chairs would be out front. My dad, who would be wearing his old Navy flying jacket, would walk out of the hanger and say “Me and the boys have been waiting for you. You’ve got the lead. Let’s fly home”. Someone would push my Mooney Mite out of the hanger and my dad would climb up into his Bearcat and away we would go.
Now I know that this is corny and sentimental. But bear with me.
Since I have been sick, I have read all of Charles Swindoll’s books on the great people of the Bible. One of the excellent points he made in all the books is that God always prepares the person he has chosen to carry out his task. His messengers are always given time to prepare, which gets me to the point.
So there I was at the lake last Saturday night sleeping soundly when I had one of the most vivid dreams I have ever had. I was sitting in the cockpit of a Spitfire with my dad kneeling on the top of the starboard wing. In precise detail, he told me how to switch fuel tanks from the main to aft tanks. He showed me how the fuel gauge would read and how many gallons there were in each tank. It was so real I could smell my dad and the airplane and I remembered how he talked. It was wonderful.
All I can say is that if Heaven is perfect and beyond anything we can imagine, and if it is a place of unimaginable delights, populated by wonderful, healthy people, and if it is going to be tailored to each of us, the Lord is preparing me for my first true flight. To my delight it is going to be with me in a Spitfire with my dad in his Bearcat. Such fun we will have.
Out.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Another Great Hymn..
Long before I sought peace, when most trials were of my own making, I committed this to memory. Its words serve as a comfort now.
Like a river glorious is God’s perfect peace,
Over all victorious, in its bright increase;
Perfect, yet it floweth fuller every day,
Perfect, yet it groweth deeper all the way.
Hidden in the hollow of His blessed hand,
Never foe can follow, never traitor stand;
Not a surge of worry, not a shade of care,
Not a blast of hurry touch the spirit there.
Every joy or trial falleth from above,
Traced upon our dial by the Sun of Love;
We may trust Him fully all for us to do;
They who trust Him wholly find Him wholly true.
Stayed upon Jehovah, hearts are fully blest
Finding, as He promised, perfect peace and rest.
Like a river glorious is God’s perfect peace,
Over all victorious, in its bright increase;
Perfect, yet it floweth fuller every day,
Perfect, yet it groweth deeper all the way.
Hidden in the hollow of His blessed hand,
Never foe can follow, never traitor stand;
Not a surge of worry, not a shade of care,
Not a blast of hurry touch the spirit there.
Every joy or trial falleth from above,
Traced upon our dial by the Sun of Love;
We may trust Him fully all for us to do;
They who trust Him wholly find Him wholly true.
Stayed upon Jehovah, hearts are fully blest
Finding, as He promised, perfect peace and rest.
Dragging me to church
I’ve read that for a marriage to succeed, it helps if both parties share a similar background. One thing that Mike and I share for sure: both sets of parents dragged us to church regularly.
In my case, that meant every Sunday, for Sunday School and church, and then back at 6 for youth group and on to 7 for the evening service. Then we were back on Wednesday for weekly Prayer Meeting. In addition, as my dad and mom both served on elected committees, our family’s social life often revolved around the church and its members.
I’m not sure but it seems that when I was growing up in the 50s, most people went to church. Certainly all of my friends did. My Catholic friends got to dress up like brides when they were 7 for a special service. Some of my friends went to churches that only had morning services so they got to see The Wizard of Oz and The Ten Commandments and the Beatles debut on television. But church and most biblical allusions were a common thread among my contemporaries.
Then, the 60s happened. Someone declared that God was Dead. Social unrest and spoiled children with too much time on their hands began to shun all manner of parental values and church attendance was the first to go. I did not get away with that until I left for college and then I did.
I attended a Christian liberal arts college where we were required to attend daily chapel. Chapel was a mixed bag…sometimes it was church-like; sometimes it involved a presentation from the Arts Department or ROTC (also required), and always some music major played the big pipe organ and another sang. I’m sure we paid attention; most of my friends learned to knit, also, during chapel. Many a student participated with a TIME magazine was spread across his lap. The music was spectacular and the messages were often interesting so it seemed logical to me, not widely lauded for my logic prowess, that I was getting plenty of church during the week and so chose to skip the weekend ritual.
Now, as a long-time Christian, I know that when I choose to stray from what I know is right, I putty up the guilt gaps with reasons that make sense at the time. As I was not alone in abandoning regular church attendance, I found reasons among my peers and in the media. “I can worship God alone.” “I’ve heard it all before.” “I’m saved so a salvation message is not for me.” “I’m not a drug addict or alcoholic so the addiction message is not for me.” “God loves me and forgives me.”
I could go on and by the time I’d be done, you’d want to smack me. I want to smack me. Oh, the arrogance and false wisdom of the young.
Yes, church attendance can become habitual but there are plenty of reasons the writer of Hebrews told us not to forsake the gathering together. Can you worship God alone? Well, sure. Take a walk in the woods on a misty morning and praise His name. But He wants us to join with others in corporal worship and also to meet needs and care for one another, as a family, as HIS family.
As for the “I’ve heard it all before.” We currently attend a church where it is common after the message for someone to say, “It was like THE SPEAKER was following me around last week.” It’s also common for someone to think, “The message was good but not really for me this week,” while another to hear God’s voice clear and strong within the same message.
But here’s the big thing about regular church attendance. God wants us to meet together. You never know when He will sit you by someone who needs you to be there. You never know when He’s going to speak through the message and give you an answer, or comfort, or admonition, or conviction that will help you, as His child.
Over my many years in a traditional and big Baptist church, I had committed many hymn lyrics to memory. I could blast out the alto without looking at the music. My best friend Margaret and I used to enjoy a special competition when we sang “Like a River Glorious.” If you ever sat in front of us, you were aware of this. As my sister Janis pointed out, "There’s a lot of good theology in those hymns."
Yes, there is. How many times in the last months has God brought a lyric or scripture or truth to mind to chase away fear and give comfort? More times than I can count. And how many times has He led a sister or brother to call, stop by, or in other ways meet our needs? Again, I have lost count.
And when the world does not make sense, when what logic you have is sent spinning into space, what can you cling to? To the eternal truths of the Father.
Thanks, Mom and Dad for dragging me to church. Thanks, all Christian friends and family who have prayed me to this place.
In my case, that meant every Sunday, for Sunday School and church, and then back at 6 for youth group and on to 7 for the evening service. Then we were back on Wednesday for weekly Prayer Meeting. In addition, as my dad and mom both served on elected committees, our family’s social life often revolved around the church and its members.
I’m not sure but it seems that when I was growing up in the 50s, most people went to church. Certainly all of my friends did. My Catholic friends got to dress up like brides when they were 7 for a special service. Some of my friends went to churches that only had morning services so they got to see The Wizard of Oz and The Ten Commandments and the Beatles debut on television. But church and most biblical allusions were a common thread among my contemporaries.
Then, the 60s happened. Someone declared that God was Dead. Social unrest and spoiled children with too much time on their hands began to shun all manner of parental values and church attendance was the first to go. I did not get away with that until I left for college and then I did.
I attended a Christian liberal arts college where we were required to attend daily chapel. Chapel was a mixed bag…sometimes it was church-like; sometimes it involved a presentation from the Arts Department or ROTC (also required), and always some music major played the big pipe organ and another sang. I’m sure we paid attention; most of my friends learned to knit, also, during chapel. Many a student participated with a TIME magazine was spread across his lap. The music was spectacular and the messages were often interesting so it seemed logical to me, not widely lauded for my logic prowess, that I was getting plenty of church during the week and so chose to skip the weekend ritual.
Now, as a long-time Christian, I know that when I choose to stray from what I know is right, I putty up the guilt gaps with reasons that make sense at the time. As I was not alone in abandoning regular church attendance, I found reasons among my peers and in the media. “I can worship God alone.” “I’ve heard it all before.” “I’m saved so a salvation message is not for me.” “I’m not a drug addict or alcoholic so the addiction message is not for me.” “God loves me and forgives me.”
I could go on and by the time I’d be done, you’d want to smack me. I want to smack me. Oh, the arrogance and false wisdom of the young.
Yes, church attendance can become habitual but there are plenty of reasons the writer of Hebrews told us not to forsake the gathering together. Can you worship God alone? Well, sure. Take a walk in the woods on a misty morning and praise His name. But He wants us to join with others in corporal worship and also to meet needs and care for one another, as a family, as HIS family.
As for the “I’ve heard it all before.” We currently attend a church where it is common after the message for someone to say, “It was like THE SPEAKER was following me around last week.” It’s also common for someone to think, “The message was good but not really for me this week,” while another to hear God’s voice clear and strong within the same message.
But here’s the big thing about regular church attendance. God wants us to meet together. You never know when He will sit you by someone who needs you to be there. You never know when He’s going to speak through the message and give you an answer, or comfort, or admonition, or conviction that will help you, as His child.
Over my many years in a traditional and big Baptist church, I had committed many hymn lyrics to memory. I could blast out the alto without looking at the music. My best friend Margaret and I used to enjoy a special competition when we sang “Like a River Glorious.” If you ever sat in front of us, you were aware of this. As my sister Janis pointed out, "There’s a lot of good theology in those hymns."
Yes, there is. How many times in the last months has God brought a lyric or scripture or truth to mind to chase away fear and give comfort? More times than I can count. And how many times has He led a sister or brother to call, stop by, or in other ways meet our needs? Again, I have lost count.
And when the world does not make sense, when what logic you have is sent spinning into space, what can you cling to? To the eternal truths of the Father.
Thanks, Mom and Dad for dragging me to church. Thanks, all Christian friends and family who have prayed me to this place.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Another request, team
Mike had blood work done on Friday and will meet with his doctor on Tuesday at 8:45 EST.
We know the results will be the results. We will need wisdom, insight, protection from fear, and whatever else you can think of.
Thanks. We'll keep you posted.
We know the results will be the results. We will need wisdom, insight, protection from fear, and whatever else you can think of.
Thanks. We'll keep you posted.
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