Today, May 1, is a day of hope for my second cousin, Mark (age 55), who is having a kidney transplant. I usually don't talk about prayer on this blog, but today I'm breaking my rule.
       Please pray for Mark and his donor, and for Kyllee and the young boy who will be receiving the kidney that she is donating on May 2. 
This isn't a simple procedure; it simply give Mark life.
 
Here is what Mark wrote on Face Book
 
April 4, 2018: I already shared this on the kidney page, but thought I’d share here for people who aren’t connected to that.
We have a transplant date!
Well, two dates actually. Since we are not doing a direct donation (Kyllee to me) but rather a paired exchange (where we swap donors around so everybody gets the best match they can find), my surgery and Kyllee's won't be on the same day. My surgery will be on May 1, and hers will be May 2.
We are not told a whole lot about the rest of the exchange chain, but it must be at least 3 donor/recipient pairs. The kidney I will get will be coming from a 27 year old male who is doing his surgery at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. That's about an hour from here, so the kidney will be in transit only a short time, which is a good thing. So we're very excited to know that.
The real news, at least in my mind, is that Kyllee's recipient will be a 14 year old boy who will be at Cornell for his transplant. The fact that a kid will be able to benefit from this is really moving for me and for Kyllee.
In fact, the longer I've had to think about paired exchange donation, the more I'm convinced it's actually better for the world as a whole than direct donation. Obviously, if a direct donation works, then great. And I understand that some people feel more comfortable with knowing their recipient.
But it seems to me that, if the Kidney Registry is able to match us up with an uknown number of people in a chain, all in a couple of weeks, there must be a large number of mismatched donor/recipient pairs out there who are stuck, waiting only for someone to come along and start the chain that breaks them free. So I encourage everyone, the next time you know about someone who needs a kidney donor, to think about (and more importantly promote) the idea of paired exchange--of being the someone who becomes the key to saving several lives.
In our case, Kyllee was that someone, and now we know that at least one person in the chain is a young person with a long future yet to be decided, who now gets a shot at that future. To think about that kid (and all the other people in the chain and all their loved ones) who will be helped makes my struggles seem less like a burden and more like a gift. Though I could never donate a kidney for obvious reasons, the fact that I'm a part of this chain means that I get to feel at least a part of what that would be like.
So once again, thank you Kyllee for your generosity and selflessness. Thank you also to all our friends and family who have stood by us and encouraged us. And thank you universe for forcing me to reach out for help that is ultimately going to help others as well.
 
 
April 21, 2018 I went yesterday for pre-surgical testing and a meeting with the surgeon, and I thought I'd post a bit about what they're planning to do and what I can expect recovery-wise, for those who are interested. I don't expect I'll be doing a lot more posts on this page, seeing as I'll be getting my transplant done a week from Tuesday.
They are not only going to give me a new kidney, they are going to take the old ones out (this is not standard procedure). My kidneys are really big (imagine swallowing a couple of Nerf footballs) and riddled with cysts that sometimes burst and cause me a lot of pain. Getting rid of them will get rid of the gut that I have (I'm vain enough to admit it's troubled me for years that I look much fatter than I am), and will also eliminate problems with bursting cysts. It means I'll be able to return to bicycling once I'm recovered, which has been one of the most disappointing of the things I've had to give up in the last few years (and as a hidden bonus, they will wind up incidentally fixing my umbilical hernia in the process).
But of course this gain does not come without a cost. Because the old kidneys are so big, they're gonna open me up from the bottom of my sternum to just below my belly button, which is a much larger incision than they'd make for just a transplant, and they'll have to jostle more of my insides around. That means that instead of 3-5 days in the hospital I can expect 5-7 days. Not a huge amount longer, but let's face it--any time in the hospital is longer than you want. I'm hoping that because I'm healthy going in my hospital time will be more on the 5 day side, but there's no guarantee.
After I get home, recovery is much like if I'd only done the transplant: No heavy lifting for 4 weeks, no driving until I'm off pain medications, lots of pills, lots of return visits to the hospital for tests (like twice a week for the first couple of weeks, then once a week, then once a month, etc.). With luck, I'll be back to something approximating normal in a couple of months.
It's hard to believe this has all come together, and that we're about to go through yet another life-changing experience. We remain extremely thankful for the generosity of Kyllee, and for the caring of our friends and family. Thank you all so much.

     I was glued to the TV on Saturday, riveted by the speeches of those under-age-18 young people. They are going to do it! They are changing the narrative.
      Four major shifts were apparent, although let’s face it, these truths are not new ideas. The difference is that these young people spoke with conviction, and yet, within these non-negotiable truths, they are willing to negotiate the details.
     1) People are people, all are equal, regardless of race, class or sexual orientation. They expressed the theological truth that God loves everyone; they just did so in secular terms.
    2) Gun control is the best way to save people from gun violence. Although they advocate for no guns in schools, they are not anti-gun, nor anti-first amendment.
     3) The power of a democracy get expressed at the ballot box. They are committed to voting and to helping others register and get to the polls on election day.
     4) Young people don’t want to die; they fear being killed at school or on the street. The March for Life moment is not about pro-choice but about pro-living.

     A friend’s daughter-in-law recently received a kidney from her sister. As they say, it was the perfect match. This woman, who spent most of her time in bed before the transplant, is now up and about, walking five miles a day with her new puppy.
     For sure, this is a feel-good story, and we can leave it at that. But think about it! For years there was no time for silence, solitude or simplicity, and yet now she can simply embrace silence and solitude, not just physically but mentally and spiritually.
     Problems, such as this one, can become all consuming and drown our very being. However, this woman, so I understand, didn’t let that happen to her. Rather than wallowing in self-pity she remained upbeat, allowing hope to flourish and physical healing to occur. Mind/body/spirit in concert. The lesson for us is not rocket science.

     My Reading for Compassion project is taking on new titles: Reading for Humility, Reading for Gratitude, Reading as Prayer. How can I not feel compassion, humility, gratitude and prayerful when I read about the poverty and sexism in India or Appalachia?
     I am surprise, however, by how centered I feel while reading about these challenging life situations. Sometimes I pause to feel the presence of the Holy, the ineffable. In part, my gratitude is for the grace-filled life I have been given, but it is also for the hope lived out by the protagonists in the stories. That is what humbles me.
     To date I’m averaging a book every three days—I have given myself permission to read during the day. In some inexplicable way, I believe I am offering hope to a world fraught with anger, jealousy, bigotry, poverty, and mistrust.

I heard a bird sing
   In the dark of December
A magical thing
   And sweet to remember.
“We are nearer to Spring
   Than we were in September,”
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.
Oliver Herford
 

I have been sharing this poem for close to forty years. First with my kindergarten and first grade students, and then with the adults in my life. Lately it has been my Christmas card, primarily sent over the internet. For me, it is a poem of hope; my hope this December is that it is one of hope for you, too. It is truly ecumenical, speaking all spiritual languages and for all religions.

      As I refrain from watching the news or reading the paper, I continue to be amazed at the physical and psychic time I have to be positive. My head isn’t in the sand, nor the murky waters of current politics; rather it is in the sky of thankfulness. Last Sunday I attended an ecumenical Thanksgiving service at the Islamic Center of Boston, located in the town next to me. On a more practical level, I feel less pressed for time.
     I am not suggesting that everyone follow my news blackout. It’s right for me; it doesn’t mean I don’t care. On January 21, 2017 my daughter, granddaughter, sister, niece and her children are participating in the Women’s March on Washington. We care for women, for the LGBTQ community, and for immigrants. They are not other; they are us.
     P.S. If I couldn’t make it to Washington, I’d go to Boston. If I didn’t live in Massachusetts, I go to the event in my state capitol.

      With all the shootings, killings and suicide attacks going on in the world, solitude becomes hard to grasp. Much of the time it can’t be observed on the outside, making it more essential that we feel it on the inside. Turning off the TV can help keep positive energy flowing into the universe, but it can also be a way of putting on blinders to keep out what we don’t want to deal with. Where’s the balance? We have to find our own.
     Because I am an optimist and see the cup half full, I accept as true that I am to use my solitude to send out positive possibilities. If I don’t hold onto my believe that good wins over bad and love over evil, I have no hope. That’s my message.

Leap year, February 29th, a free day, a bonus. A friend’s mother was a leap year baby, Winnie was a very special lady, who lived a few weeks short of her 96th birthday. I have vivid, inspiring and joyful memories of birthday celebrations with her in her later years.
     “Why am I writing this?” I ask myself. It feels important but I don’t know why. The best I can come up with is that February 29th gives hope. Here in New England the temperature is above 50, the sun is out, and the ground is snowless. We have been given an extra day in which to be very grateful.

This poem of hope has been part of my life since my early teaching days. I would share it with kindergartners and first graders as we gathered together after the Thanksgiving break. Now I send it out to family, and to friends, old new and in between, and post it on Facebook.
What strikes me this year, besides the hope, is that we can’t have the light of spring without the dark of winter. That dark includes sadness, such as the death of a dear friend, but it also brings forth memories of caring and loving, which carry is forward into the light.
 
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.
“We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,”
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.
 
Oliver Hereford

Hope, the second on Martin Dugard’s list of traits (curiosity, hope, passion, courage, independence, self-discipline, and perseverance) necessary to meet the challenges of life (see previous posts), may well be my strongest. Things will work out, that is what I hope for, and they do. My hopes aren’t specific. As Paul suggests in his letter to the Romans, “Hope that is seen is not hope.”  Those specific ‘hopes’ so easily visualized, I consider wishes… I wish the weather would improve… I wish I could find dishes to match those blue napkins… I wish my car would pass inspection for another year. Really, wishes, not hope? Hope is singular.

      Hope, which has to do with the big picture that I long for, always includes mystery. Hope is believing in the good. Hope is already present, its form yet to be revealed. It has to do with optimism and faith, not in figuring out a good plan. Things will work out for the best, we optimistic people say, and with that, we move forward. Things are working out for the best, we hopeful people say, and with that live in the present. Hope is timeless.