Again, a post on Acottagebythesea with commentary.
       Many of my friends fall into the ‘spiritual but not religious’ category. If they attend church they go to the Unitarian church (my church for 15 years). Many were brought up Christian but have either wandered away or made a conscious decision not to affiliate as Christian. They are loving, caring, giving people, believing, they might say, in a ‘higher being;’ that say that we are all on the same path, wanting the same things. I won’t argue with that, but for me, having walked the ‘spiritual but not religious’ path, I know that I am in different and better place as a Christian than when I was human being trying to do the right thing. It’s all about humility and I can’t get that on my own. Believe me, I’ve tried.
      It was a challenge to talk about my faith but I’m glad I did. Here’s how it went.
 
     The other day I had lunch with a group of long-time friends. The six of us get together every three of four months, and lately we’ve developed the ritual of checking-in. Around the table we go, one by one telling what’s going on in our lives. Although we keep in touch individually, this communal forum offers a venue for a more public, on the-record-account, thus making our group time together sacred.
     Knowing there would be a formal check-in, I found myself planning ahead what I wanted to say. I gave an update on the doings of my family, and then albeit awkwardly, I talked about how important my faith is to me, not just as a way to do nice things for others, but as the only way I know to be humble. I mentioned that I grapple with my white privilege; that being a good person on my own isn’t enough; and that my faith leads me to confront judgments, critiques, pride, impatience, and arrogance that keep me from being humble. In other words, I can’t be humble all by myself on my own doing. AND, I desperately need humility because it the only way of being that leads me to peace.
     To my surprise I ended by saying, “I believe that right now in my life I am supposed to pray for people.”

     I still can't believe I blurted that out. Notice, I didn't say that I was called to pray. In thinking about it, I wonder if that proclamation was one of the most important thing I've said out loud? Certainly the most powerful, if not to them, at least to myself.

     I posted this on acottagebythesea but here on aprayerdairy I’ve extended the ending.
 
     Those of you who follow me on this blog know that I long for solitude-- after all, that’s what the blog is about. But even if you don’t know me personally you can probably surmise that I can be quite social. On the Myers-Briggs I’m right in the middle on the introvert/extrovert continuum. I get energy from both solitude and community.
     Lately I’ve been thinking about community, it’s importance in society at large, and for me in particular. Although I have a good amount of solitude in my life, I also have many communities: family, friends, and church are the big categories, but within them are many little overlapping ones.
     Case in point. Friday I went to Andover Newton Theological School to celebrate the retirement of Bob Pazmino, Professor of Christian Education. When I was there (1998-2003) getting my MDiv, Bob was a mentor and friend. We had much in common through our writings for teachers: he for Christian educators, me for elementary school teachers. His memoir, A Boy Grows Up in Brooklyn, was a catalyst for me to write Very Grateful: The Story of My Hundred Year Old Mother and Me.
     That evening of celebration rekindled many communities from my student days at ANTS. Communities with professors, administrators, students, and families, and each with overarching theme of writing. A long time friend asked for encouragement to write when she retires in June; a graduating student explained how he wants to write about climate change; one of Bob’s cousins told me she had read Joyful Learning when she was a kindergarten teacher. Kirk Jones, my preaching professor, asked me what I was writing these days, and then encouraged keep at it. He and I are going to be in touch. 
     Yes, we have our major communities, which for me are family, friends, and church. And we have our small ones, too. They flow among each other, coming and going, vibrating and fading, but all part of the whole which constitutes our lives.
   
    Here are a few more details of my discussion with Kirk Jones. When he asked me what I was doing these day, much to my astonishment I blurted out that I was praying.
     ‘And again to my astonishment he asked, “Are you writing about it?”
I can’t get that question out of my mind. Writing about my call to prayer would reveal more about me than most people know. Although I write about it here, most of the people I know personally don’t know this blog exists. Of the seventy or so who sign in on a given day to read Aprayerdiary maybe I know five. Much to ponder.
     Kirk, we must talk.

     This has been a busy week, full of joys and concerns: a family graduation celebration here at the house, a sad funeral at church, and preoccupation with my cousin Mark’s surgery.
     The joys were easy. Everything about my niece’s daughter’s graduation was delightful. Mark’s kidney transplant was a success, and although still in the hospital, he is now recovering with only a I.V. attached—but not being used.
      Concerns are always more of a challenge. When a 31 year old man dies, it is sad, even when the memorial service is uplifting and when love surrounds everyone. As Christians we believe that there is life after death, and in some way beyond understanding, Jesus will always be with us. We can gain some comfort in that, but Jesus also taught us about suffering, tears, and doubt,
      When sadness or tragedy bursts into our lives, it is hard to even remember that our faith is not one of joy or concern, but one of hope. As Christians we must embrace both joys and concerns as they appear, knowing they are necessary for us to rest in God’s peace. Hope makes that possible.

Transplant was successful. Very grateful.

     Today, May 1, is a day of hope for my second cousin, Mark (age 55), who is having a kidney transplant.
       Please pray for him and his donor, and for Kyllee and the young boy who will be receiving the kidney that she is donating on May 2. 
 
       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.