Progress/Regress Report

Let me begin by saying that this is my 100th post. I'm so grateful for what has happened with this journal so far, and I'm just getting started. Thanks to everyone who reads this blog. You've made a world of difference in my life.

When I began writing about my cancer, it was in the form of a CaringBridge journal. That's why, if you read older posts, you'll see that I use the word journal more than blog. Back then, it was more about my day-to-day process and progress. Medical updates and issues related to my change of life. I kept my readers updated on our financial situation, application for disability, and what we did over the holidays. My readers were mainly family and friends, so I got pretty intimate.

Since moving to this blog, my audience and focus has expanded. I'm happy that more people are reading this, of course, and I want as many people reading this blog as possible. I think it's important to get this out. It seems to be helping people. My last post, What Not To Say To A Prostate Cancer Patient, has sort of taken on a life of its own, which I'm very grateful for. I feel like that's the sort of posts I should be writing, the kind intended to be applicable to the most people.

Because of that, I'm now going through my older posts and removing some of the more personal stuff, especially names of individuals, unless they're needed for the post. I have many strangers reading this blog now, which is great, but it also makes it necessary to protect myself and those closest to me, especially my wife.

But at the same time, I realize that my original CaringBridge readers still want to know how I'm doing. I don't want to forget that. I haven't done that since All Things New. So that's what this post is about.

My weight is good. My nutritionist's program, which began on March 31st, seems to be working. When I began, my weight was down to 120. This morning, I weighed 128. At my meeting with the nutritionist a few weeks ago, I told her about my world famous homemade dark chocolate ice cream. Come on over and have a bowl. It'll change your life. She thought it sounded really good, so I decided that, if I can maintain at 127-128 by following her program, I'm gonna take some ice cream over to her office. I might be able to do that in just a week or two, depending on how things go. That's encouraging.

My next appointment with my oncologist is not until June 7th. That's when I'll find out if my PSA is lower than before, or higher, or the same. If it's lower or the same, so far so good. If it's higher, we need a new strategy. But that's down the road a ways.

My main struggle right now is with my emotions. It's not just the mood swings. I seem to have some anger issues. I get angry at very small things, mostly just from frustration or a feeling of helplessness when I start to lose energy and hit a wall. When I can feel rubber legs coming on, it's easy for me to lose composure.

It would be easy for me to blame all of this on Lupron. But Lupron doesn't create emotions, it just magnifies them. It brings them to the surface. It removes filters. So that makes me realize that something deep down is bothering me, and it's coming out in outbursts of either yelling or crying. Or one followed by the other.

I had my first session with my new therapist yesterday. I like her, and I'm comfortable with her, so I'm very much hoping that this will help me. I told her about my feeling that I must be angry about something, but I'm not sure what it is. I can't seem to put my finger on it.

As you know if you've been reading this blog, my original purpose for seeking counseling was to remove "blockage" that's making it difficult to focus on anything other than my cancer. As I said a couple of posts ago, I feel like all I am right now is a cancer patient. Many cancer patients I know of refuse to be defined by their cancer, but not me. I've practically hung a sign on the front of my house. It's my identity now. So that has proved a problem in getting music work done. I just don't feel like that much of a musician these days. I feel like a page has been turned, but I still have to go back and read the previous page again, over and over, before I can move on to the next chapter.

While that remains a problem that must be addressed, my anger has pushed itself to the forefront. I've got to figure out what's bothering me. The peace I had not so long ago is being smothered by this feeling that there's something inside me that's not right. I have to figure out what it is.

It's hard for me to believe that there's some suppressed childhood memory that's going to reveal everything and set me free. I'm not Sybil. So what could it be? Am I really angry about something I can't identify, or is it something else that I'm refusing to acknowledge?

There are a couple of possibilities that occur to me, but I'm not sure if it's either of those things or something else. It wouldn't be ethical for me to go into details that I should only share with my therapist, and of course, I will betray no confidences shared with her. But in general, I think it's one of two things. Anger or unforgiveness. I can't think of anything I'm really angry about, but I can think of people I need to forgive right away. Could that be it? It has been in the past for me. It seems all too likely that it's the case now.

A new friend in the online support group that I basically stole my last post from posted the above meme on forgiveness today. I've always believed and preached what it says. I asked him immediately if he had me in mind when he posted it. I asked because I know he read my last post, where I admit that I have cut people off because of what I perceived to be their neglect in my time of need. My attitude has been that if these people who should have been right there with me the way I have been for them want to get back to friend status with me, the door is open, but they have some work to do.

Is that the right attitude for me to have? Probably not. If I could get past that, forgive them, and go back to the way things were with them, would that solve my problem? Maybe not, but it would certainly help.

I just reread my old post on forgiveness from last December, and while I still agree with everything I said, it's really hard for me to get my head there now. I'm sure that God is working on me in that area, and that may very well be what's been bothering me. But it probably isn't what's keeping me from getting work done. I think that has to do with feeling like I have a new identity and calling, and just as I don't want to go back to being the old Mark, I'm also having difficulty thinking of myself in my old career terms.

So if you've been thinking that I don't talk about my treatment as much as I used to, that's my update. My progress/regress report. Physically, I'm doing well. Emotionally, I'm a mess. I don't know how I'm going to get from point A to point B in either of those areas. But I have to. My ability to focus on work is a psychological issue. But unforgiveness is a spiritual issue. I can't deny that. I have to face it. Holding on to past hurts and resentments = bondage. Forgiveness = freedom. That's what I said last December, and what I've always said. I just have to put it into practice. Maybe if I can get to forgiveness, I won't be so angry. It's worth a try.

When I asked my friend if he had me in mind when he posted the meme, he replied that he was not thinking about me when he posted it. But God intended for me to see it.

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. (Matthew 5:7)

For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins. (Matthew 6:14-15)

What Not To Say To A Prostate Cancer Patient

In an online prostate cancer support group in which I've become active recently, a new member asked a sensitive question that, after having been asked, seems so obvious. Yet so few people think to ask it. If a friend or loved one has prostate cancer, what are the right and wrong things to say to him? What does a prostate cancer patient want to hear, and what does he hate to hear?

The answers differ from person to person, I suppose. But there was amazing uniformity in the responses of the group. Many have responded in the first three hours since the post, and the discussion is ongoing. It's an important question, and I'm very glad that it was asked in that forum. The answers are illuminating.

Before I begin, I have to say that participating in this forum has been a wonderful experience for me. The knowledge gained from the experience of so many is invaluable. I've made new friends there already, in just a few weeks. They've welcomed me, along with many others, with open arms.

My intention is not to tell people what they should or shouldn't do or say. I assume that you care about your friend or loved one who has this disease, and only want to help and encourage them. Some things, however well intentioned, do not help. But there are many encouraging and helpful things you can say. I'll talk about both.

I'll start with what not to say.

By far, the #1 answer in the group was the exact topic I wrote about recently in The Easy Cancer... Not! Which is, don't say that at least it's an "easy" or "slow growing" or "easy to treat" cancer. Don't say that it's "just" prostate cancer, like it's no big deal. It's a huge deal. You think it's easy? You try it.

Another version of this comment is that it's the best kind of cancer to have! Unbelievably, people actually say that. There is no good kind of cancer to have.

You'll also hear that you're more likely to die of something else first. At 60 years old, that's not true for me, unless I get hit by a bus or something. Even at 80, if it's caught late and found to be aggressive, doctors will want to treat it.

Part of the problem is that everyone seems to know someone who had prostate cancer and has recovered. Some are lucky enough to recover fully, with minimal or negligible side effects. But many others live with serious, long term side effects from surgery, radiation, and/or chemo for the rest of their lives, and a large percentage have a recurrence at some point. That's the reality.

If you've had prostate cancer, don't assume that your friend's cancer is in the same category as yours was, and since you beat it, they will too. Likewise if this was the case with your uncle or someone else you know. Every guy I've talked to personally who's been there has seemed to have that attitude. But I have yet to meet a man personally whose cancer was discovered at as late a stage as mine was. They want to encourage me, so they say, "I'm still here, you will be too." Not necessarily.

If you and the cancer patient are both religious, (or even worse, if you are and the patient isn't) don't imply, let alone say straight out, that your friend will be healed if they only have enough faith. That's an insult. No one can measure another person's faith, and everyone dies eventually.

It's not helpful to say, "If there's anything I can do, let me know." We know you want to help, and it's very much appreciated, but we're not going to ask you to pay our bills or come and cook for us. Instead, ask how you can help. Ask if there's something specific that's needed. If you know of a need, volunteer to meet that need if you can. That's very helpful, encouraging, and shows how much you care.

And above all, for me at least, never invalidate a cancer patient's feelings. If his outlook is negative that day, just love on him. Don't try to cheer him up by telling him he'll beat this. He might not feel like beating it that day. The fact that he's down may bother you, but don't make it worse by making him feel like he's wrong to feel the way he does.

Don't tell him to keep fighting. Sometimes the fight goes right out of us. 

In general, cheerleading is not appreciated. Empathy is much better.

On the positive side, the consensus answer is to just be there. Be present, not absent. What hurts more than a misguided comment is neglect. Neglect, to your friend with cancer, means you don't really care. You probably won't lose your friend over an insensitive comment, but you may lose him if you fail to reach out. This has happened in my circle.

There are many helpful things you can say. I have heard these things over and over, from many people. I love you. I'm praying for you. Tell me how I can help. I'm here if you want to talk. You're safe with me. Precious words. None of us can hear them enough, especially if you have cancer.

If you have things you normally do with your loved one with cancer, keep doing those things. Give them some normalcy in their suddenly upside down world. And if you haven't connected like you should have before the diagnosis, after it is an excellent time to start. This very thing has made a huge difference for me. Long neglected connections are now alive and thriving. It's a wonderful thing.

Many men with prostate cancer keep the news very private. If you've been included in a small group of people who know, take that as a special responsibility. I went public, and as a result, have support from many places. But you might be one of the few people who is in a position to help someone close to you. Don't shirk that responsibility because you feel uncomfortable or don't know what to say. I've made that mistake myself, and now I realize how wrong I was.

One gentleman in the group said that since his surgery, no one asks how he is doing. People assume you're all done, and they can forget about it. But we never forget. Even if we're pronounced cancer free, we still get tested every three months for the rest of our lives. And every time, we fear that number will rise. We're never truly free of it.

As a Christian, I love being prayed for, but being prayed with is much better. I treasure the times when close friends in Christ prayed with me over the phone, in person, or via FaceTime. I've received greeting cards with written prayers for me. If you've been in a position like this, you know how that feels. It's incredible.

We've all been in situations where someone we love is going through a difficult time, and we don't know what to say or how to help. I've been there many times, and have said and done the wrong thing more often than not, I fear. I've also been guilty of neglect. So this is not judgment or complaint. We know that your heart is in the right place. Most of you, anyway.

And if you care enough to ask, like this newcomer did, and care enough to read this post, like you are, it must mean that you really want to help. I hope this post helps you know how, at least a little.

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity. (Proverbs 17:17)

What Am I?

Throughout my life, I've worn many hats, as we all do. In chronological order, I've been a son, a student, a cornet player, a singer, songwriter, arranger, husband, producer, entrepreneur, and worship leader. I haven't been a student or a cornet player for many years, but all of the other titles still hold true. Or do they?

I'll be a son and a husband for the rest of my life, but the others are all in question now. My last worship leading position ended last May. I expect to retire as a producer and arranger by the end of this year. I'll always sing, but by my definition, I won't always be a singer. The calls to come and sing for people are rarer by the day.

My new hat, which I received last August, is cancer patient. Like many, if not most cancer patients, I feel like that's what I am. That's all I am. It's the entire focus of my life. Everything else fades in comparison.

A friend posted a link to a blog post in The New York Times last month which affected me deeply. I strongly identified with what the author said. A leukemia survivor, the entirety of who she was had been consumed by her cancer and treatment. Now that she was in remission, she struggled to find the person she used to be. This resonates with me in a big way.

One thing I've never been is a fighter. My instinct is to accept rather than fight. In one of the online support groups I frequent, everyone seems to say that what's necessary to survive prostate cancer is a positive, fighting spirit. I think I have the positive part down, but I don't want to fight that hard. I'm getting treatment, and I'll continue to do so for the foreseeable future, but there's a limit to how hard I'll fight.

Remember, for me, quality of life is much more important than quantity. I'll fight as long as I have confidence that I'll have a good quality of life afterward. But a life of long term, serious side effects is not for me. I'm sorry if this disturbs you, but I have to keep it real.

Every day on Facebook I see people talking about how much they hate cancer, but I can't honestly say that about mine. It's resulted in too much positive change in my life. Last Thanksgiving, in a post titled, "Thankfulness," I wrote this:

Are we really supposed to be thankful for the bad times? I honestly don't know if it says that in the Bible anywhere, but as I stand here at my desk on the day before Thanksgiving, I find that I actually am thankful for the cancer. Here's why.

If it wasn't for the cancer, I wouldn't know how loved I am. If it wasn't for the cancer, I would be alarmed at the state of my career. 60 years old with no church that wants to hire me. If it wasn't for the cancer, this holiday season would not have nearly as much meaning. Life would not taste as sweet. If it wasn't for the cancer, I wouldn't have discovered the joys of writing this journal. If it wasn't for the cancer, I wouldn't be counting my blessings the way I am. If it wasn't for the cancer, Sharon and I would be discouraged, worried, and broke. Because of the cancer, we're blessed, know how loved we are, and our needs are met. What's not to be thankful for?

As I've said before several times, I feel that through cancer, God has transformed my life. I'm not the guy I used to be. The old Mark isn't coming back, and good riddance to him. But who am I now? What will I be when this is over, however it ends? If it ends one way, I'll be a memory. If it ends the other way, I think I know where I'm headed, but who can say for sure?

As a person, I'm not sure who I'll be. I'm still in transition, and expect to be for a while. Like the leukemia survivor, I don't think I'll be able to visit my old haunts or interests and find the person I used to be. But unlike her, I have no interest in seeing the old Mark again. How did you people put up with me?

American men tend to identify ourselves by what we do. We don't just say, "I do this for a living." We say, "I am a..." Fill in the blank. I don't just say that I sing or write music for a living. I say that I am a singer and songwriter. So when those hats fall off, what am I then?

I know what I hope to become, and that's what I plan to spend the next year pursuing with all of my heart. It won't happen unless God makes it happen. But I firmly believe that if I'm doing what God wants me to do, he will bless it. He already is.

I've worn the blogger hat before, but not like this. Mark Bradford's Bible Blog was Bible commentary. There isn't a big audience for that. Unfortunately, the prostate cancer audience is much larger. Much larger.

This new hat has become my favorite. Nothing drives me more than this blog. I pour my whole self into it, as you can probably tell. I'm as transparent as I can be here, and I wish I could tell all of you absolutely everything. But some things need to stay private. I'm not the only one whom this affects.

The author of the blog post to whom I referred earlier didn't feel like she had a new identity, even though her blog was being published by The New York Times. I would feel like a rock star if that happened to me! If anyone at the Times is reading this, I'm available! But even that didn't satisfy her. She felt like she had lost the person she used to be, and she had. But while the person I used to be is gone, I can't wait to become Mark 2.0. Right now I figure I'm version 1.2 Beta. The Master Programmer is just getting started on me.

When I was naming the hats I've worn at the beginning of this post, you may have thought that I'd forgotten a hat or two. Christian. Child of God. I am those things, and they sustain me. They are the only titles I will continue to claim in the next life. But they're not hats. They're not an occupation, they're my identity, even more than son and husband. Those relationships will fade in the next life. They'll change fundamentally, according to Jesus. (Matthew 22:30, blog) But I'll always be a follower of Christ and a child of God. Forever.

It's very important to me, as a man, to have a hat to wear, even in retirement. I don't think many of the old hats fit anymore. But what I was when I was born, I'll still be when I die. A child of God. All other hats are temporary. Especially cancer patient.

Hope For The Hormonal: A Book Review

This post will be somewhat off-topic. But not really. I want to use this platform, one time only, to talk about a book I just finished reading. I've mentioned it a few times in this blog. It wasn't written for men with prostate cancer, but for women who deal with hormonal issues and depression. But I read it because it was written by a good friend of mine, Kim Bryan. But while she didn't write it with me in mind, it was a great encouragement to me anyway.

First, I need to introduce you to Kim. My wife and I met Kim and her husband, Mark, in church, in a Sunday school class for young married couples in the 1980's. We clicked immediately, and have been good friends since. Kim is a nurse. She has as great a heart for others as anyone I've ever known. She has an infectious laugh, and I've always loved to make her laugh. She also has endured greater heartbreak than just about anyone I know.

Mark and Kim were part of a close knit group of friends that we had at that time, along with Galen and Jan Koch, to whom I paid tribute in my second most viewed post, Introducing The Kochs. Kim included a beautiful tribute to Galen in this book. The last time I saw Mark and Kim was at Galen's funeral. I have far too many friends that I now only see at funerals. I don't want Kim to be in that category!

After Galen's funeral, Kim emailed me a link to her blog, Hope For The Hormonal, which I had been previously unaware of. She thought reading her blog might help me feel better about Galen's suicide. She told me that she had gone through depression, and a suicide attempt herself. I had had no idea. I read her story from the beginning, and it did help me understand Galen's state of mind much better. It helped me process his death, and come to some resolution about it.

But it's also a great read. I found it very well written, fascinating and riveting. Not just because it gave me a window into my friend's world, which I had no clue about, but also because it's just really good. So is her book.

Let me tell you what kinds of books I normally read. I love fantasy, science fiction, horror, and comic books. Stephen King is my favorite author. I'm not big on nonfiction. But I had read and loved Kim's blog, and I wanted to support her. I wanted to read her story again on paper. I prefer actual books to e-reading. They can't tell you to turn a book off on a plane.

What I didn't realize when I ordered the book was how much this book would help me, at the exact time when I needed it.

It's not a very long book. Only 163 pages, mostly doubled-spaced. But it's packed with meaning and insight. It's intended for Christian women who deal with hormonal issues and depression. But this male cancer patient found it very meaningful too.

Go ahead and joke that I liked it because I'm hormonal from my cancer treatment. Maybe a little, but not really. It's just a good book.

Hope for the Hormonal (only $7.99 on Amazon, $4.99 for the Kindle version) is divided into three sections. In the first section, she gives a condensed version of her story of the hormonal roller coaster she endured, the misguided attempts at treatment from doctors who didn't understand her condition, her downward spiral into depression, her suicide attempt, institutionalization, and recovery. Wow. What an amazing story of courage, faith, love, and support, even in the deepest darkness. Personally, I wish more of her story had been included in the book. But the next section rocked my world too.

When I messaged Kim to tell her I had ordered her book, she told me that she didn't necessarily think I would get much out of the second section of it, which consists of short devotional readings specifically for women who deal with these issues. She was wrong.

Full disclosure, I've also never been big on devotional books. I'd rather do my own Bible study and come to my own conclusions about it. But this book is a notable exception to that.

Many of these devotionals were just what I needed at a specific time in the last few weeks. I'll only mention one of them. In my post, All Things New, I talked about how reading a devotional page from Kim's book was the first step in my coming out of my funk after my disability claim was denied. The reading I referred to was titled, "The Raging Sea."

It's about the story in the Bible where Jesus and his disciples are in a boat on the Sea Of Galilee, and a sudden storm comes up which almost sinks the boat. Such storms are common on that body of water. The disciples are freaking out, but Jesus is taking a nap. Out like a light bulb. The boat starts to fill with water, and they finally wake Jesus up. They actually ask Jesus if he cares whether or not they drown!

Do you think I could relate to the disciples in that moment when I had no idea how we were going to make it without my disability? When I was still reeling from the ruling that I thought had ruined my life? I was wondering if God was asleep too. I thought I might drown if he didn't hurry up and pay attention. But in this beautiful devotional reading that I read on that fateful Sunday, Kim quoted Jesus' response when the disciples woke him. “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” (Mark 4:40)

That hit me right between the eyes. Did I trust God or not? Reading that short devotional helped me start to calm down and believe that God would work things out. If you know the rest of that story, you know what Jesus did next. He got up, calmed the storm, and went back to sleep! That what he did for me too, the next day. He calmed my storm. Only he didn't go back to sleep. 

This just in. God never sleeps. Except for the 33 years that he had a human body, that is. And he didn't sleep much then. More often than not, he went up into the mountains to pray all night. But I digress.

The third section of the book contains scripture verses chosen to encourage those going through similar trials.

I need to wrap this up before it gets longer than Kim's book. But I have a few more things to say first.

On a practical note, it's great bathroom reading! The short chapters make it perfect for that. And it's not all sad. It's very hopeful, and actually funny in places. I forgot to tell you that Kim is funny. I make her laugh, but she returns the favor.

By the way, whenever I say that someone is funny, remember that it comes from a guy who's made a living at comedy for 28 years. When I say that someone is funny, it's one of the highest compliments I can give. Take that, Karen and Deanna.

Kim does not flinch from talking about the tragedies in her life. I saw one of them up close when she and Mark lived here in the Denver area. Kim talks about it briefly in the book, but I want to add my perspective on it here.

When we met, Mark and Kim were childless, like us. But unlike us, they desperately wanted children. They went through all kinds of treatments in an effort to conceive. Finally, Kim got pregnant. We all rejoiced with them. When it was time to give birth, their precious baby daughter, Molly, was stillborn. This seemed like a cruel joke to me at the time. How could God allow this to happen to these people who love him and serve him so faithfully, and who pour their lives into others with no thought for themselves? How could he appear to give them the desire of their hearts for nine months, and then snatch it away? None of us could understand it.

Kim asked me to sing a song at Molly's graveside service. The song she wanted was "This Child Of Mine" by my friend Barb Robertson. I had to borrow a guitar, learn to play the song, (I know exactly six guitar chords) and play and sing it memorized at Molly's grave on a cold morning, with grieving family and friends all around me. It was the most difficult performance of my life. It was also one of the greatest honors of my life, that Kim would ask me to do this. I'll never forget it. How could I?

I add that story to give you some added insight into who Kim is. This woman has gone through fire and been purified by it. I will never be as strong as she is. My difficulties pale in comparison to hers. But it seems we have found a similar calling. To write about our journeys, and try to help others who may be going through similar things.

Have I made it clear how much I love this book, and the woman who wrote it? She is a hero to me. Right now, she's a role model.

If you buy and read this book, you won't regret it, even if you think it doesn't apply to you. I didn't think it applied to me either. But it was just what I needed at exactly the right time. If you can think of anyone that this book might help, buy it, read it, and then give it to them. Or better yet, buy two, and give one away.

Hope For The Hormonal helped bring some hope to a hormonal male cancer patient. Not exactly the book's target demographic. If it helped me, maybe it can help you.

Thanks for this book, Kim. Thanks for your transparency. Thanks for showing me how to share my story and try to help others with it. Thanks for being Kim. I hope this review helps get your book out to more people.

Joy

All my life, growing up in an Evangelical church and family, I heard about joy. We all hear the term a lot, but Christians really emphasize it. You hear it especially at Christmastime. Joy to the world, the Lord is come. But while I had heard about joy all my life, I never really experienced it until after my diagnosis. Until I got smacked by God's 2 By 4.

Joy is not the same as happiness. Happiness is based on circumstances. Joy comes from within, regardless of circumstances.

Here's one silly example of circumstantial happiness. My friends in the Reunion band may remember this. On our last road gig together in our previous incarnation, we were in the Cincinnati, Ohio area. During a free day there, our keyboard player, the incomparable C.J. Lewis, wanted to visit the music stores in Cincinnati. We all went with him. Musicians love to hang out in music stores. Most musicians, anyway.

I've never really enjoyed spending time in music stores, drooling over gear that I can't buy. Guitarists can have lots of fun checking out and playing all the guitars for hours with no intention of buying anything. But as a singer who doesn't play an instrument well, that's not a lot of fun for me. What's fun for me is buying something.

As the day wore on, and the rest of the guys were having the time of their lives jamming and looking at gear, I was miserable. I started to feel like I had a cold coming on. I wanted to go back to my hotel room and take a nap.

But then, I noticed a rack of headphones. The store had a sale on Sennheiser headphones, which, in case you didn't know, are the studio standard. I needed new headphones for my studio. I called my wife, who had been telling me for months to get new ones. She has to wear them when we record. She liked the idea, of course.

Suddenly, I had something to buy. My bad mood disappeared. I no longer felt sick. I was happy. That's circumstantial happiness. But until recently, I had never experienced real joy.

When I was diagnosed, I was not joyful yet, but I did accept what I was told. My instinct is not to fight, but to accept. When I was told that I was inoperable and possibly metastatic, I understood that my fate was not entirely in my own hands. As if it ever was. Once I accepted that, I had peace. Joy is the companion of peace.

What is joy? It's very difficult to describe, if not impossible. But I'll give it a try. For me, it feels like love. It feels like confidence that, ultimately, things will work out for good. It's a lack of fear, worry, and guilt. But it's more than that, and I don't seem to be able to find the words for it. Shocking, I know. But it's amazing.

Whatever it is, it's infectious. Someone who hadn't seen me for a few months told me yesterday how much easier I smile now than I used to. She commented on my coloring, which many do. My standard response is that it comes from realizing how loved I am. I had been walking through life with no clue how many people love me. How dumb am I? It's hard not to feel joy when everyone loves on you wherever you go, and you receive expressions of support from all around the world almost every day. I never understood how blessed I am until now. At least I'm finally awake.

In church last Sunday, I was asked to close the service with prayer. It was my honor to do so. I had never been asked to do that before. Remembering the guy that I used to be, I can understand why. My wife and I are fairly new to this congregation, so my pastor, Tim Jones, introduced me to them. He said that he had never seen anyone in my situation with this much joy. I can't take credit for that. It's not something I achieved through discipline or rule keeping. Joy found me through little or no effort on my part.

Let me try to explain where I think my joy came from, and what has taken it away at times over the last several months.

As I said, I believe the first element was being shown so much love and support. Many men in my shoes don't have the base of support that I'm blessed with. I understand that very well. I see it every day in the online support group that I frequent. But it seems that most of the men who feel they have little or no support are also very private about their cancer. As I urged my brothers in my post, Not Alone, I believe that if they would "go public" about their cancer, they would find that they are more loved than they know. But many don't feel that they can do that, and suffer with very little support. I wonder how much joy they have.

Another factor, for me, was loss of control. Have you ever been in a car accident, and right before the collision, you felt a sense of peace? You get a glimpse of mortality. A few times, I've been there, and thought my time might be up. If so, there was nothing I could do about it. I felt no fear. Just acceptance. That's similar to what I felt when the doctors thought they had evidence that I was metastatic. If true, I had lost control. I realized that control is an illusion anyway. None of us has control.

Christians call this "coming to the end of yourself." Coming to a point where you know that circumstances are beyond your control, and you have to trust God. That's where I was always told that joy and peace are found. They're in that place where we realize that we can't help ourselves, and we recognize our dependence on God. Turns out it's true, at least in my case. And in many other people's cases, as well.

I had never reached that point until a few months ago. I had always thought I could take care of myself. And for the most part, I was right. I had a great marriage, a nice house, and I got to do what I love for a living. Never had any major trials. I've had it way too easy. That's not a recipe for joy. Self-satisfaction and joy don't go together.

But while I can point to all of these factors, there was a pivotal moment in my discovery of joy. I write about that moment in my post, "Becoming." I won't repeat that story here, since I'm already going on too long, as usual. But the short version is that, during a church service, as my friend Michael Wygant led us in a song, God showed himself to me in a very real way. When Elisa Morgan spoke on forgiveness later, something came loose inside me. I was able to let go of some things that had been holding me back for a long time. Past hurts and resentments. Destructive habits. When I let those things go, joy came flooding in.

But all has not been well since then. There have been times when I couldn't feel the joy. Many of those moments came when I thought I had control back. If you've read my post, "Full Disclosure," you know where I'm going with this. It doesn't make me look good.

This will sound very strange, but when the doctors told me that they no longer believed that the suspicious spot they had found on one of my bones was metastasis, all my loved ones rejoiced, but my joy vanished. I had control back, and I didn't want it. And this news was messing up my whole retirement plan. I was afraid that it would destroy my disability claim. For the first time in this process, I felt fear. Fear kills joy.

In spite of my recent spiritual enlightenment, I have been in conflict with a few people during this time. When I'm in conflict, I don't have much joy. Conflict kills joy.

The most graphic, and most recent example, as outlined in All Things New, is when I considered appealing my disability ruling after I was denied. I felt God very clearly indicate to me that I should not appeal, but trust him instead. When I thought about following the advice of so many and appealing my ruling, my joy was replaced by a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Once I made the decision to follow my heart, the joy was back.

I hear many parents of newborn babies say that they're experiencing joy for the first time. People who work with the poor or the disabled get great joy from that. I think it has to do with getting beyond ourselves and our own concerns. It's about realizing that we're not the star of the show. If we can get to that point, it becomes easier to let go of things that hold us back. It becomes easier not to fear when it's not all about us. When my focus is on others rather than myself, I have less conflict, and more joy.

If you know me, you know what a step it was for me to admit that I'm not the star of the show. Being the star of the show has always been my goal. But not anymore.

I repeated something I've said many times to some friends yesterday. I said that, even if I could, I wouldn't change my diagnosis. Not if it meant I had to go back to being the guy I was before. Not if it meant I'd lose the joy.

As I proceed to trust God with my future, I have joy behind me, in front of me, beneath me, above me, surrounding me, and inside me. It sustains me. I don't know where your joy comes from, but he is the source of my joy. Trusting him brings me joy. Your joy may come from your children, or your charitable work. If so, God bless you. I think your joy comes from God even if you don't, because loving unconditionally is what he wants us to do, and what makes us most like him. And if you'll let go of the things that are holding you back and trust him, you'll find joy that will sustain you, no matter what.

Until all of this happened, it never made sense to me when people who were going through great trouble would say how blessed they were, and how good God is to them. But now I get it. They've found joy. I wish it hadn't taken cancer to get me to this place, but now that I'm here, I'll never go back.

I am greatly encouraged; in all our troubles my joy knows no bounds. (2 Corinthians 7:4)

The Easy Cancer?

When you tell people you have prostate cancer, many react with sympathy, but many seem to shrug. They consider it the "easy" cancer. It seems that everyone knows someone who has had it, had the surgery or seed implants, and has been fine since.

My own father had this experience. His cancer was caught early. It was confined to the prostate, and did not score as being very aggressive. My dad had the radical prostatectomy procedure. He has been cancer free since then, 17 years ago.

Stories like this are so common that many people think prostate cancer is no big deal. But if you have it yourself, it's a huge, life-changing deal. I imagine that this is true no matter how relatively "easy" it is.

When some people I know hear that I have prostate cancer, the first thing they want to do is tell me their story with it, or about a loved one who came through it with flying colors. This is meant to encourage me. I understand that. But their story doesn't apply to me. The treatment that they or their loved one used is not recommended for me. And my prognosis is in question.

My cancer was not caught early enough for surgery or seed implants. And my cancer is very aggressive. So the story of how well your uncle did with his cancer does not encourage me that much. It's like telling someone with pneumonia how easily you got over your cold.

The aggressiveness of prostate cancer is measured with the Gleason score. Probably named after the scientist who discovered it. The Gleason score goes from 1 to 10, one being not very aggressive, and ten being the most aggressive. My Gleason score is 9. This makes it unlikely that they'll ever be able to "get it all," either with surgery or radiation. They might tell me they think they can get all of the cancer, but I'm not sure that I believe them. I've heard too many stories where that turned out not to be true.

The support group that I've mentioned a few times is full of stories of how doctors thought they had gotten all of a patient's cancer, with surgery or radiation or both, only to have it come back at some point. The higher the Gleason score, the more likely that is. According to a recent statistic I heard, 40% of men who are treated for prostate cancer with chemo and radiation have a recurrence in the first ten years.

But for every story of recurrence, I see one where someone with impossibly high numbers, PSA and Gleason, has been doing fine for years. Last week, it occurred to me to ask the group how many Gleason 9 guys there are. I hadn't seen any. I thought I might be the only one. I soon found out how wrong I was. There are many Gleason 9's in the group, and some Gleason 10's too. I thought this would make me feel better, but it didn't. It made me very sad. Some with that score had been around for years at that level. Others with the same score or lower are struggling.

In spite of what you may have heard or thought, there is no silver bullet for prostate cancer. There are many new and improved treatments out there, but there's no cure yet. One thing that men in my place find out is that, despite how common prostate cancer is, there are many more resources for women with breast cancer than for men with prostate cancer. There's no Race For The Cure for us. The NFL doesn't wear blue for men the way they wear pink for women.

This might be because we're all very aware of women's breasts. I've always had an affinity for them! But I try very hard to look at your face, ladies. Promise. But many people have no idea where the prostate is or what it does. We all know what women's breasts do, besides make men crazy. They have a well known function that we've all seen many times. Nobody knows what the prostate does.

There's also the fact that women talk about their feelings more easily than men do. Many men want to keep it a secret when they find out they have prostate cancer, even from their families. We're supposed to be strong and silent. Stiff upper lip, and all that.

I obviously don't have that problem. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I don't care if I get blood on you if you get too close. I'm putting my cancer out there for everyone to see. But it breaks my heart to see so many men who don't feel they can do that, and suffer for it, along with their families.

The fact that so many men don't want to share what's going on while they go through this terrible disease makes it more difficult for them. It's not an "easy" cancer at all, even if there were such a thing. Which there isn't.

No, there is no easy cancer. And they are all deadly. But with love, and with God, and with the right treatment, it can be made easier. But easy never accomplished anything. Everything worth doing is hard.

So the next time you find out that someone you know has prostate cancer, don't shrug. Don't tell them it's no big deal because you or your uncle got past it with no problem. There are long term side effects from prostate cancer treatment that are very difficult for many men to live with. Even if we live, for many of us, it's with a reduced quality of life. It ain't easy, folks.

Except, in my case, I feel like I really do have it easy. My only symptom, so far, is weight loss. By the way, the program that my nutritionist has me on seems to be working. I've gained five pounds, and I'm working on gaining another two or three. If I can maintain at only two or three pounds below my normal weight, I consider that a success.

When I say that's my only symptom, I mean actual cancer symptom. I have lots of symptoms from treatment. Have I whined about the Lupron lately? If not, let me start... Just kidding.

I think I still look OK, but the dark circles under my eyes, which I inherited from my mom, have gotten worse from stress. But I'm not gaunt or bald, thank the Lord. I still pretty much look like myself.

I'm not in the hospital. Not on chemo. I can still get around. My voice is still strong. Very important for me.

And the love and support I've received has made this as easy as it could possibly be. But still not easy. I still hit a wall when I try to do too much. I still struggle to focus on work I need to do. I still make life difficult for those closest to me because of my emotional ups and downs.

I know it won't always be even this easy. It's not easy now, and it will only get harder. I'm gonna try to stay here as long as I can, and that won't be easy. But one way or another, this too shall pass. The best part, and the easiest part, is what's happened between God and me since all of this started. It's easier than it's ever been for me to feel his presence. He's always right here. Not beside me, but inside me. I don't even have to speak. I just tune in. It's amazing.

My heart breaks for the guys who don't have that kind of support, personally, emotionally, and spiritually. For them, I can't imagine how hard this must be. Having the "easy" cancer can be the hardest thing in the world.

But as a Christian, I know that the Bible never promises us an easy road. In fact, it promises just the opposite. But Jesus didn't take the easy road. He took the hardest road of all. I just wrote about it for a whole week recently. I can't forget that now. He is my model for how to face adversity.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, because he is with me. (Psalm 23:4) I am at peace, not because my road is easy, but because he is with me. Because I know his goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life. And at the end of this road, however long or short it may be, I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. (Psalm 23:6)

Following My Heart

This has been a life changing week. I've had a few of those recently, but this one was monumental. It's an amazing thing to feel like you know exactly what you're supposed to do next. And what you're not supposed to do.

That's how God has always communicated with me in my life, when I needed to make an important decision. He doesn't speak audibly, of course. Many times I've wished he would, but then when I read passages in the Bible where God speaks audibly to people, it's not usually a fun experience for the listener. So I'll pass on that for now. I'll wait till I see him face to face.

Often when I'm making an important life decision, God has indicated what he wants me to do either by prospering something I tried, or "checking" me, to use extreme Christianese. Or both. Since I try to avoid the use of Christianese in this blog at all costs, let me try to explain what I mean by that. If you've read my previous post, All Things New, you know what I'm referring to, but you may be unfamiliar with the concept.

In my case, I know what the correct path is by what I have peace about, and what I don't. Right now, I have peace about my decision not to appeal my disability ruling, and I get all tied up in knots when I think about filing an appeal. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that doesn't go away until I think about abandoning it. That's what I mean by a check. Many of you know what I'm talking about.

I don't necessarily think this is an example of being checked by the Holy Spirit, but one story I related to a friend yesterday to illustrate how I feel is from when Colin Powell was being pressured to run for President in 2008.

When Gen. Powell decided not to run, he said that, when he was considering running, every day that he woke up and thought he would run for President, he had a bad day. Every day that he thought he wouldn't run, he had a good day. That's what I mean by following my heart. That's what I mean by a check. When I think about doing what I believe God wants me to do, I have a good day. When I think about appealing, I feel horrible.

Let me give you one brief but extreme example of a very painful check that I received many years ago, and the result. I also shared this with my friend yesterday. This may be a new story to you, even if we're very close. I haven't told this to many people. My parents might not even know about this.

Around 1980, when I was in my early 20's, I was looking for a band. I'm a singer, and I wanted to find a band that was looking for one. A lady at the place I worked at the time told me her son was in a band that was looking for a lead singer. I went and auditioned, and we hit it off. I seemed perfect for them, and they seemed perfect for me. The audition was magic.

A few days later, I went back to them and made my case that I should be their next lead singer. They agreed, and their manager set up a photo shoot for new band promo shots. But as soon as the decision was made, I got the biggest NO from God that I've ever gotten in my life. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I couldn't think about anything else. I knew what I had to do. I had to go back to this band I had committed to and tell them I couldn't do it.

Do you think what I said made any sense to them at all? No. I might as well have been speaking Martian. "Sorry guys, I know I said I really wanted to be in this band, but now God says I can't." It didn't go well, but after I left, the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I was free. But I still had a hard time understanding why God had said no to that so strongly.

About a year later, the mom of the guitarist who had told me about the opening in the first place came to me in tears at work. Her son, the main guitarist in the band, and my best buddy in the band, the one who believed in me and fought for me to be the singer in the band, had been killed on his motorcycle by a drunk driver. He was in his 20's like me.

His funeral was very sad, as you can imagine. But you can also imagine what was going through my head. I can't say for sure I would have been on that bike with him had I stayed in the band, but it seems all too likely to me, to this day.

That's just one of many examples of how God has spoken to me in that way in my life. My decision on Monday was just the latest. Do you understand now why I pay attention to those checks?

I've also never gone wrong following my heart. As I told one of my beloved sisters in the comments of my CaringBridge journal yesterday, I followed my heart by majoring in music when everyone told me to study something I could fall back on. I followed my heart to Denver from Illinois and Michigan, having no friends or relatives here. I followed my heart quitting my printing job in 1988 and going into music full time. I've never looked back from any of those decisions. I'm at peace with my decision now. There's no way I can go back. Not if I want to be in God's will.

Many have said that I should begin the process of appeal anyway, because if I don't, I'll lose the opportunity to do it later. That may be true, but even by beginning the process, we'd have to live below our means for the entire appeals process. And even typing that sentence brought back that sick feeling.

You might think I'm crazy. You would be correct. But not about this. Crazy would be ignoring God's voice and getting on the back of that motorcycle.

On Monday at dinner, my wife and I had a good discussion of my conclusions from the day. She was the first to tell me that there was no way we could live on what income I'd be limited to if we appealed. When I ran down all of the reasons not to appeal that I laid out in my last post, she agreed. But when I told her that I had realized that I was being checked, that ended the discussion. If God says no, to us, it means no.

So after listening to God, and listening to my heart, not just this past weekend, but since, I still believe in the direction I'm going. I have peace about it. I'm excited to see what God will do.

Have you ever been there? Everyone thinks you should go in one direction, but you strongly feel you should go the less safe route, for reasons you can't explain? If you've ever followed your heart when many others were shaking their head, you know what I mean. But that's how I've lived my life, and I can't stop now.

This approach will also apply to my cancer treatment. I'll listen to all of the smart people, and do my research, but in the end, I must follow my heart. Even if it means going home earlier than you might want. Nobody likes it when their friends leave the party, but we all have to go home sometime.

I said earlier that God speaks to me by checking me, but also by "prospering" something I'm doing. Giving me success at a new pursuit. With this decision, he's doing both. He's telling me no about one direction, but also giving me a big fat yes about this one. I can feel it, but I also see it. It's happening right before my eyes. How can I ignore that?

Since my last post, most have supported my decision, but some have questioned. Some have remained silent. I imagine I'll hear from you when I see you. But as much as I love you and value your opinion, I love God more and trust him more. He's never steered me wrong when I listened to him and followed my heart. That's what I have to keep doing.

All Things New

First of all, I have to say that your response to my last post has been nothing short of... I can't come up with a word. And that's saying something for me. In one day, Full Disclosure became my second most viewed post since I started. Second only to Introducing The Kochs, which is a special case. I'm honestly speechless. But it just confirms what I have to tell you.

I feel completely different from when I wrote my last post. The last 24 hours has been indescribable. But I'll try.

So let me tell you about my last day and a half. Previously, on Mark's Melodrama, he thought the sky was falling. He forgot everything he knew about God. Then God said, "Oh yeah? Watch this."

One positive development that I mentioned in my last post is that a new friend stopped by to give me a gift, and as part of our conversation, offered to help me in a very tangible way. This friend is Sandi Labo, who I talked about in my post from last December, Becoming. She and I connected in an unusual way at a Christmas party, and she helped me a great deal that night. She is a professional therapist. Our talk at the party led to a significant spiritual breakthrough for me the next morning in church, which I talk about in the post.

Three days later, her dad suddenly and unexpectedly passed away, and my heart went out to her, naturally. Since then, we've tried to be an encouragement to one another in our time of need.

When Sandi stopped by yesterday, we talked about the trouble I was having getting motivated to do music work that I want and need to do. She, in her professional jargon, called that "blockage." I eat oatmeal for that. But this is more psychological blockage. I need some mental oatmeal. Sandi offered to find a therapist in my area who takes Medicaid, which we are on. I had been thinking that I need to talk to a professional, and I knew that it's covered, but I didn't know where to start.

With her help, I can get someone really good, and not have to accept the luck of the draw. She asked if I had any criteria of the type of person I'd like to talk to. I said I'd prefer a female Christian therapist. She found me someone today. This is a blessing that is hard for me to quantify. And it's only the beginning of what God has done the last 24 hours.

Sandi and her husband Todd Labo are amazing people that we are very happy to be getting to know better at this time in our lives.

But I'm not gonna lie, this past weekend was pretty rough. It took a few days to process the news.

Actually, I think the turnaround really began when I read a devotional from my friend Kim Bryan's book, Hope For The Hormonal earlier Sunday. Don't snicker. She's a good friend of mine, and I'm reading her book. Leave me alone. Besides, I am hormonal, remember? One of the devotional readings from her book hit me right between the eyes yesterday. I think that was the first domino to fall. Thanks, Kim. Another friend back in my life at the exact right time. How did I forget how good God is?

That book is riveting, folks. A must read for Christian women who deal with hormonal issues or depression. When I'm done reading it, I'm gonna totally blow it up on social media, Kim. You can't stop me.

So after Sandi left on Sunday afternoon, I was overwhelmed by the way God had used a woman whom we've really just met, and whose spiritual beliefs are totally different from ours to help us. I was in tears. Tears of gratitude. I was starting to see a pattern.

The next morning, I woke up in a great mood. It was a beautiful day. It's the first real week of spring here in Denver, Colorado. We're gonna set up our patio and plant our potatoes. My dog looks completely healed from her knee surgery. She's supposed to go in for an x-ray to see if she can go on walks this week, but she's been getting daily laser treatment, and I really believe that the vet is gonna say she's fully recovered, three weeks early. She looks fine to me.

All of these are reasons to feel good, and I did this morning. I had come to terms with what we were going to do. And as the day wore on, it started to make more sense. But first, the water got muddied by some very well intentioned people who love me very much. I am grateful to all of them for their concern. I value their advice. And I know that the tone of my last post worried many of you.

My first mistake was looking at Facebook. How many of us could begin a paragraph with that sentence? When I saw the comments for my Facebook share of Full Disclosure, the message I basically got was, "Hey, Idiot, you'd better appeal!" Go look at them if you don't believe me. So since all of these people were telling me this, it seemed like I should look into it. I did. I talked to a legal professional whom I'd consulted before, and whose team I intended to hire, should I appeal. I also talked to an attorney friend who has had lots of experience with disability cases as a workman's comp attorney. Both of them urged me to appeal.

But the more I learned about it, the less right it seemed to me. Let me try to explain why.

If I appeal, we'll have to live on much less than we can afford to live on for up to two years. We'd need even more than the substantial help we're already getting. Strike one. (Baseball season just started.)

If I appeal, I have to stick with traditional Western medicine. If I refuse chemo in favor of naturopathic treatment, Social Security takes a dim view of that. Strike Two.

If I appeal, I have to tell my ministry clients to wait for me for two years, and who knows if I'd be able to do anything then? I wouldn't be able to protect my legacy the way I want to, and some very good people would be hurt. Strike three, you're out.

If I appeal, I can't take advantage of the counseling opportunity that Sandi just provided me. If I were trying to prove depression, it'd work great for an appeal. But not if I'm trying to remove "blockage" so I can get work done. That won't go over well. Strike four, you're still out.

Worst of all, if I appeal, I have to shut down this blog. See, the problem is, I applied for disability under a few different occupations; Singer, Producer, Music Director, and Writer. Writer. If I'm writing a blog, it proves I can still write. Duh. It would kill me to do that. I'm just getting started, and I'm convinced this is the direction God wants me to go. Going underground with it in order to get a government benefit just doesn't feel right to me. Strike five. Why are you still swinging?

If, on the other hand, I don't appeal, I can make money right now with work that's waiting to be done. I just have to get my head right, and I'm already well on my way there. With the help of a professional, I see no problem finishing well for them. That's what I want to do. Finish strong. Get the work done to my standards, and then help my friends find whoever it is who will take over the franchise. That would make me happy.

If I don't appeal, I can seek whatever medical treatment I want, or refuse treatment if I so choose. That's huge for me.

But most of all, if I don't appeal, I can keep doing what I feel God's called me to do. Write about how God has used prostate cancer to transform my life, and tell other guys that God can do the same for them. There are many, many men walking this road with me. I think my story and perspective can help some of them. I've already experienced this in the prostate cancer support group I've talked about. It's just the tip of the iceberg.

For years, I have called churches in my area to ask them if I can come and sing. I've done many church concerts, locally and across the country. So there's a built-in network of churches where I'm already known who might be interested in having me speak for a men's event, or retreat, or a Sunday service. This is a message many can relate to. This is a prospect that excites me.

So unlike my last post, I no longer see a future where my wife and I struggle to survive. Instead, I see a future where, in one year, I finish one career and God gets another one started for me. The year that Deanna Griffiths told me only last Saturday night that I'd look back on and be blown away by what God had done, by the way. Right again, Deanna.

I haven't forgotten that I'll be getting cancer treatment this whole time, which will mean I'll have to pace myself. I can pick and choose gigs, and only do the ones I feel I can do. But I can write at home. I can write in bed. And I'm sure I will, when the time comes.

You may remember in my last post a reference to a back paycheck that we were expecting when I was approved. Ha! It turns out we had it wrong. They hold back the first five months' pay. I would have only gotten one month's pay instead of seven. Big difference.

But today, I picked up our taxes, and we're getting a much bigger refund than we were expecting. Almost twice what we would have gotten from Social Security. We took that as more confirmation. God saying, "See, I'll take care of you."

Here's the clincher. As the day has worn on, I understood that, when I think about appealing my ruling, I feel a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach. I know that feeling. I've had it before, many times. I've learned to trust it. As I was driving home after picking up our taxes, I started telling God that I didn't even think I needed to pray about this. It was clear to me. That sick feeling is what evangelical Christians call a "check." I'm being checked. That means God is saying no. If I keep going in that direction, I won't be able to sleep, and there will be a dark cloud over me until I do a 180.

But when I think about abandoning my claim and trusting God, when I think about finishing one ministry well and starting a new one, that sick feeling is gone. I get excited. I now see what I couldn't see on Friday and Saturday. I see a fulfilling, meaningful career path, however short or part-time it may be. A way to make a difference in people's lives in a way I was never able to do with music.

I think they call it following your heart. That's what I have to do.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. (2 Corinthians 5:17)

Full Disclosure

It's time to come clean about some things. This will be a tough post. Also very long, but you're used to that. Not many jokes. Oh, who am I kidding? There are always jokes. There will be jokes at my memorial! There'd better be. My service will be funny. Count on it.

But don't worry, that's not what I want to talk about. I need to be careful, along with being vulnerable here. I need to explain some things that I haven't been able to explain to anyone beyond our inner circle until now. But the time has come to let you all in on the whole picture, as much as I can.

If you've been following my story since I first launched my CaringBridge site, I especially need to apologize to you. I've strung you along for far too long, not being able to give you the whole story. I want you to know how much that's been killing me. But now I can tell you what's really been going on.

This will not make me look good. You might be angry with me after you read some of this. You might be hurt that I kept some of this from you. You might be distressed by my conclusions. All I can say is, I'm sorry. I had to keep certain information close until now. I hope you understand.

I need to start at the beginning. When I was first diagnosed, as a matter of protocol, they scheduled me for an MRI and bone scan to see if my cancer had metastisized. My biopsy had indicated a very aggressive cancer. They found a suspicious spot on my left upper arm bone. That, in combination with my biopsy numbers, was enough for them to classify me as metastatic, with metastasis to bone. If proven, I would be Stage 4.

This meant that I was inoperable, and possibly incurable. My oncologist at the time said that I should apply for Social Security Disability, as metastatic cancer was an automatic qualifier. I applied right away, on September 1st, 2015.

We proceeded on the basis of that diagnosis, that I had prostate cancer in my bones. I went public with that information, and the response was incredible. The support we received blew our minds. The financial support we received has sustained us until now, seven months later.

In January, I got a new oncologist. After consulting with a board of experts, he recommended an MRI of the specific area of my shoulder where the spot had been found. That MRI revealed this image.

Impressive, isn't it? It looks like a metastasis should look. But my oncologist wasn't convinced, and neither was my radiation oncologist. He took my case back to the same board of experts, and together, in consultation, they decided that this spot is not, in fact, cancer. Apparently the surrounding tissue doesn't look like it should look if it's next to a malignant tumor. Now they think it's some kind of benign tendonitis thing.

Of course, they could be wrong. But it's not practical to do a biopsy of it, so just as they proceeded under the assumption that it was cancer before, without really proving it one way or the other, now they're doing the same thing in reverse. Proceeding under the assumption that it's not cancer, without really proving or disproving their assumption.

They downgraded me from metastatic to merely inoperable, which is bad enough. It's possible, even likely, that I have microscopic metastasis, but they haven't been able to detect it in a scan yet.

The fact that this spot isn't cancer is great news, right? Not for me. All my loved ones were happy, but I saw my retirement slipping away.

My problem was, I was still in the process of trying for disability. I had been very open about all of this in my CaringBridge journal, to the point of writing an entire post about the above image. When they told me I was non-metastatic, my first instinct was to try to protect that claim. I was depending on it for my retirement, which I wanted desperately. I still do. That's what I want, more than anything. To retire, to be able to stop working, and focus on my illness.

I won't take the time here to describe my declining career. If you want to read that sad story, read my post, "The Rest Of The Story." Suffice it to say that, even if I was not going through cancer treatment, I would not be able to make a living. Cancer makes it that much harder.

For many years, I have wanted more than anything else to be "done." Not done with life, but DUNWORKIN. I'm tired. Burned out on trying to make a living as a musician in this culture. As great a time as I've had, and I wouldn't trade it even now, doing music for a living does not prepare you well for retirement. Most musicians don't make enough to put much money away. I was no exception, but when I was making good money, and I had quite a few years of that, we didn't put the money we made away. We enjoyed ourselves. So we don't have a nice retirement account that we can draw from. Neither of us had jobs that provided that.

This, of course, made disability seem like the perfect solution at the perfect time. So I will admit now that, when my doctors said I was non-metastatic, my first instinct was to scrub my journal of every reference to disability and metastasis. It seemed all too likely to me that someone at Social Security was monitoring all of this online transparency. So I stopped talking about it. You may have noticed. I shared this information with my inner circle only. I felt like I had to do that to protect my retirement.

But then, about a month ago, I got some more forms to fill out from Social Security. It seemed that metastasis was not what they were basing the ruling on after all. The new forms were all about my ability to work, which is not good at all since I started treatment. I'm unable to get through a long band rehearsal now. Don't call me for a 3 hour gig. I couldn't get through it. Vocally, yes. Physically, no. I'm a singer, in case you're new here.

This encouraged me. I filled out the forms with great gusto, and gave my caseworker all kinds of reasons why I can't work anywhere near like I used to. But I was still doing some work, and I was honest about that on the forms. I really thought my caseworker wanted me to give him enough reason for a positive ruling, and I did so, in spades. We were confident that we'd be approved, and soon.

And the sooner the better. Seven months of paying bills had depleted all of the funds that had been contributed. We were on the verge of not being able to pay our bills for the first time. But I was still confident. I told a friend just a few days ago that God's timing is always perfect. He's rarely early, but he's never late. He's always right on time. As I've said before in this journal, when you're tempted to think God is late, remember that he invented time.

So I had no doubt that our approval letter, along with a check for all of my back pay since September 1st, would arrive in the mail this week. That letter arrived Friday, but with no check. I've been denied.

This was the devastating blow that I referred to yesterday. I won't go into the miraculous reprieve that we also received, but that back paycheck wasn't part of it.

My options are not good. I can appeal, but an appeals process would take a year to 14 months, during which time I could not work at all. You have to demonstrate that you can't work by not working. Don't ask if I can work under the table. I'd have to go under oath about it at some point in the appeals process, I'm sure. And I'm blogging about Jesus, for crying out loud! I have to tell the truth.

I would be fine with going for an appeal, and stopping all work, if we could exist without me making any income for over a year. We can't. My wife doesn't make enough to support the two of us.

In addition, I have a responsibility to two small, family-owned, Christian companies for whom I produce their flagship products. If I stop working for over a year, these companies could be in big trouble. I can't let that happen.

But it's not just that. These CD series that I produce are my legacy. I'm about to produce volume 8 of one series, and volumes 19 and 20 of the other. They're what I'm known for, and what I'll be remembered for by many people. It's a great privilege to have a legacy like that, that I feel I must protect. I also realize that I wouldn't have the base of support that I have without that. So I can't just quit, as much as I wish I could.

And I really wish I could. More than anything. Just saying. Again.

This means that I have to abandon my disability claim. I have to keep working. No choice.

As a result, for the first time since this whole thing started, I am depressed. I'm mourning my lost retirement. For the past three days, I've felt like, unless something else opens up for me, I'm stuck working in a declining career until I drop dead. I know that sounds harsh, but that's how I've been feeling. I thought I had a glide path to retirement. Now I'll never be able to retire, unless some large windfall drops into our laps. That doesn't seem likely.

I'm unaccustomed to feeling depressed. I've always been a basically carefree, happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Even cancer didn't shake my mood. But this has thrown me for a loop.

Here's another bad part. I've now reached a terrible stage of life that many men reach; that day when you realize that you can provide for your wife better dead than alive. Nobody wants to hear that, but it's the truth. If I died in the next few years, my wife would be set. She'd never have to work again. She'd have the house, and the insurance money. Don't think we men don't think about that, ladies. We can't help but think about that when we're in a situation like this.

Please don't say retirement is overrated, or that I just have to suck it up and work like the rest of you. A comment like that is a good way to get unfriended or blocked the way I feel right now. No matter who you are.

If you think this increases my desire to fight to live, you're wrong. It does the opposite. But don't worry. I'm not suicidal. Just in mourning. It may be a while before I snap out of it.

So this is where the rubber meets the road, when it comes to trusting God. I have no trouble believing that God can heal my cancer if he chooses to do so. But I have a lot of trouble believing that God will provide me a fun, fulfilling retirement. Maybe a second part-time career as an author and public speaker. I could get excited about that. But I thought disability would give me the time and chance to finish my work for the companies I mentioned, and then retire to focus on my illness. Now it looks like I have to keep going until I can't go anymore. This is not a prospect I look forward to.

I have a few good friends that are dealing with cancer, but none of them have to try to work and make money during treatment. I don't know how I'm going to do it. Lord, help me.

I have made it my business to use this blog to encourage others, but right now, I need encouragement. I need to know that I won't always feel this way.

Again, if you feel like I've allowed you to believe I have cancer in my bones when I don't, I don't know what to say. I have no defense. I hope you can forgive me.

So now you know. Full disclosure. I'd better get to work fast, but I'm not sure I have the heart for it. I may have trouble finding my song again.

That's the end of the bad stuff. From here on, it gets better. Mostly.

So as I said in my last post, I know I'm not alone. A friend told me yesterday that, a year from now, I will look back and be blown away by what God has done. I believe her, but it's hard to feel it right now. I do know that I was blown away by what he's done until I got that letter on Friday. And I know that he provided a major part of a temporary solution for us yesterday as well, in the form of some amazing friends. I know I should hang on to that as a sign of hope for the future.

If God wants me to fight to live, he needs to give me some assurance that he has something for me to do that will drive me to want to keep going. The work I have to do right now won't do that. I see no career path for me doing what I've been doing, and I don't want a career path anyway. Been there, done that. Got the T-shirt free 'cause I made the CD. See, I write lyrics without even trying. But I didn't enjoy it.

I could throw Jeremiah 29:11 out there so easily, right now, but today, it just sounds like a platitude. Another close friend recently told me to remember all of the years that God provided for us. I told her I do remember those years, but I also remember all the years when he didn't. The years when we had to borrow money to pay our bills. The several years when I made so little that I paid no Social Security taxes at all. We are not promised comfort. We're not promised a nice retirement. But he does promise that he'll be with us. He'll never leave us or forsake us. (Hebrews 13:5)

Thanks to Nicki Morgan for this beautiful image, which she created herself. She posted it to her Instagram account this morning, after I had written this post, but well before I published it. I'm telling ya, she and I connecting again at this time is a total God thing.

If you click on the above link for the verse from Hebrews, you'll see that the part that Nicki and I both quoted, the part that is so familiar to so many, is only the last part of that verse. Here's what the whole verse says: Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” Are you getting it yet, Mark?

I know God doesn't owe me anything. Even now, I'm much better off than many people. I wouldn't trade places with most of the guys I've talked to in the support group I mentioned yesterday. Even in this depressed state, I am blessed compared to many men with the same cancer that I have.

So this is the other scripture verse I will share. Not platitudes about a hope and a future, but this one, from Romans 8:28. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Not all things work together, as many of us learned it in the King James version, but in all things God works for our good. Even cancer.

Every kid in Sunday school knows that verse, but many don't know the next verse. What the next verse basically says is that God does this in order to conform us to the likeness of his son. That's what I've felt God's been doing with me all along, since this started. He's making me more like him. And I don't want him to stop.

So if I have to suffer to be like Jesus, well, Jesus suffered, didn't he? I just wrote a whole week of blog posts about it. Can I forget those posts now? Not if I'm serious.

One of the things I have to do is remind myself of my own words. Of what I know I believe. From my post, Fear Not: Do we believe that God really loves us, and wants what's best for us? I do. Not only do I believe that, I believe that God wants what's best for us more than we want what's best for ourselves. Sometimes we don't want what's best for us. Sometimes we just want what we want. But I believe that God's love for us is purer and more intense than our love for ourselves or anyone else, and he not only knows what's best more than we do, he wants what's best for us more than we do. If I really believe that, how can I be afraid? Listen to yourself, Mark.

A new friend who I believe God placed in my life at this time to help me (as I was placed in hers to help her) just stopped by to give me a very thoughtful gift. I am very touched by it, but I was blown away by her offer to help me in a very tangible way just now. A way that could very well help me do the work I need to do. Just when I needed it. God is still good after all.

And here's the thing. I really do believe that God is in this blog. I believe that this is what he wants me to do next. Write about my cancer process, and use it to help others. I just need for God to provide a way that I can do that for a living. Or provide for our financial needs some other way, so I can do this just for the love of it. Either way. Is it wrong for me to expect this from God, after what I believed he would do for all of this time?

Now that I know he won't provide via Social Security right now, he must have something better for me. I just needed to be reminded of what I know is true. The government sucks, but God is still good. I'd tend to forget that the way I feel right now, but he just keeps reminding me.

NOTE: Many more people have read this post than the next one. All my questions here are answered in my next post, All Things New. Please keep reading.

Not Alone

I recently became active in a Prostate Cancer support group on social media. I've made many wonderful connections there already, and I'm looking forward to more.

Yesterday, while participating in discussions there, it became clear to me that there are many men who go through this alone. No significant other, no kids, no family to speak of. I find this heartbreaking. No one should have to go through this alone.

I'm very blessed in that respect, as I've said many times before. I have a loving wife, a supportive family, and all of you. I have many close friends nearby who care about me a great deal. I have thousands praying for me, worldwide.

But I don't have kids or grandkids.  I don't have blood relatives less than a thousand miles away. In addition, before my diagnosis, my wife and I were unaware of how many friends we really had. We knew about the few couples we socialized with, some friends at church, and a few close friends who live out of state, but we often felt that our circle was pretty small.

When I was diagnosed, it was lonely at first. I didn't want to be the guy that everyone felt sorry for. I wanted to keep my disease private. But because of the faith community that we belong to, that was not possible. Word got out that I needed prayer.

There was also a major financial need attached to this. My ability to work is greatly compromised. We have friends who helped us a great deal, but I didn't feel right continuing to rely on a few friends. It occurred to me that more people might want to help us. So I went public on Facebook, started this blog, and we opened a GoFundMe campaign. From that day on, everything changed.

Expressions of love and support poured in from all over. People I didn't even know wanted to help us. Our campaign exceeded its goal. We honestly felt we had received a miracle.

But the best part has been writing this blog. Because of it, and the CaringBridge journal that preceded it, the constant flow of love and support has never stopped. In fact, it has increased.

I realize that I have advantages that many don't have. I've been prominent in a worldwide church denomination. I've done work for children's ministry around the world. I have the advantage of being somewhat well known. But still I had no idea how many people loved me, let alone how much. And I never would have known, if I hadn't gone public last November.

Of course, as a man of faith, I always knew I wasn't alone. God has pulled me closer to him than he ever has before. I finally "came to the end of myself," as you sometimes hear evangelical Christians say. That's where I found a peace I've never had before. Even if I lost everyone else, I'd still have Him. And in the end, he is all we have. At the end, we have to let go of everyone else, and run to him. That's what I'm gonna do.

But God not only showered his love on me, he motivated a whole lot of people to do the same. Now, our social calendar is full with people who want to love on us.

But it hasn't been all sweetness and light. It's been a very difficult time, in many ways, since my diagnosis. It's been a struggle, physically and emotionally. Financially, we received a devastating blow, and a miraculous reprieve, all in the same day yesterday. But as a result, we have a much harder road ahead of us than we were anticipating. We're gonna need more help.

But I know we'll get it. Because we're not alone. But I would never have known that if I hadn't gone public.

This is my appeal to my new brothers in the support group. Please consider going public. Put your disease out on social media. Be open about your process. Be open about your feelings. If it's in your personality to do so, blog about it. It's hard for a lot of men to do this. We're supposed to be strong. Everyone tells us to "stay strong." But if we don't allow ourselves to be vulnerable, we'll never receive the blessing that's waiting for us.

You may not have as many who know your name and work as I do, but I guarantee you that you are more loved than you realize. If you just give people a chance, they will support you like you won't believe.

And even if they don't, God will. You are his child. He sacrificed everything for you because he loves you so much. He stands at the door of your heart and knocks right now. (Revelation 3:20) Nobody else may be coming over for dinner tonight, but he wants to share a meal with you. If you let God, and let others love you, they will. You're not alone.