I'll Miss Gerald Sizemore

 Gerald Sizemore was one of the "Lifers" at Covington Bible Church. He was there when I arrived in 1973, and was there when I left in 2015. Gerald is with the Lord now.

People sometimes use the word, "wiry" to describe a man who isn't very big but who exhibits strength and resilience beyond what their size would lead one to believe. Gerald was that to the max. For much of the time I knew him he worked two jobs. Not a "real" job and a part-time gig, but two real jobs. One of his jobs was manager of a lumber yard. Before the big-box stores like Lowes or Home Depot became ubiquitous, lumber yards were where you bought nails and 2x4s and sheetrock. They weren't pretty places. You went elsewhere for home decor. They were what the name implies, lumber yards. Gerald was all over the place. He was behind the counter, he was on the phone, he was loading an order, or unloading a shipment. He got things done.

When we were building the Worship Center at the Covington Bible Church, where Gerald and I worshiped, much of the material came from the lumber yard Gerald managed. He helped me load a lot of 2x4s on my old Ford pickup. I don't remember what it was for, but there was a big order for something. We gave a couple of local businesses the opportunity to bid on filling the order. Shortly after we collected the bids and decided to go with the lowest--Gerald's outfit--one of the competitors stopped by the building site. He saw the pile of whatever it was and said, "Obviously, you must not have considered my bid." The fact of the matter is we had considered his bid. The fact was as soon as Gerald got the word that his was the winning bid, it was only a matter of hours until the material was delivered--so fast that his competitor had a hard time believing it.

That was how Gerald was. As the saying goes, "He didn't let any grass grow under his feet. No doubt, that get it done, and get it done now, style rubbed some people the wrong way. Gerald had some rough edges. Like me, the request was appropriate. "Please be patient with me. The Lord's not finished with me yet." I'm as confident as I can be about someone else that Gerald is with the Lord. Though we didn't spend much time together, Gerald was my friend. The last time I remember seeing him, he was sitting toward the back of the Covington Bible Church Worship Center, surrounded by lumber and sheetrock and sitting over plywood he had helped supply. He asked me when I was coming back. My wife remembers that he stopped by the house one time while we were in Covington. He told us he'd see us when we got back.

I don't regret what I'm doing, but I do wish I had been able to chat with Gerald as he dealt with the cancer that took him away. I confess that I don't know much about heaven. I don't figure there is brush to be cut. Are there trucks to load? I don't know. I'm reasonably confident there is stuff--good stuff, rewarding stuff--to do. Gerald'll get it done. Or maybe we won't really get finished. Perhaps, unhindered by time, artificial schedules, and cancer, we'll just keep on getting it done, without delay, without rush. I don't figure we'll have sore backs and strained shoulders, but will there be the satisfaction that seeps into a wiry body when it does a job well? Perhaps. If so Gerald will tell me about it when I get there.

Thanks Gerald for who you have been to me. Tell Cleva hi. 

Thoughts from The Dermatology Clinic

 "Howard Merrell

Closure

Margins clear"

I'd been sitting in the treatment room at the dermatology clinic for a while when the little clipboard on the table to my right caught my eye. The above three lines, hand-written, on a legal pad, brought a lot of relief.

To quote the dermatologist that I usually see, I have, "bad skin." I'm naturally fair-skinned. As a boy, I spent lots of time outside. If sun-block had been invented back then, I don't think my family had heard about it. I remember episodes of sunburn that left me with large blisters.  It was at least a once-a-year occurrence. It's odd that insult to my skin that took place sixty-years ago should have present consequences, but it does (That's fodder for another post, sometime.) 

Because of COVID, Kathy and I didn't get back to Virginia last summer. Also because of the Pandemic, it was hard for me to get an appointment with my skin doctor during our shortened visit to Virginia at Christmas time. I wasn't able to see him until just before I returned to Guam. I've lost count of all the precancerous places the doctor has frozen off my face. Suffice to say, if they were all put together, they would equal a blast from one of Batman's Nemeses, Mr. Freeze.

On occasion, occasion the doctor will find a place that he judges to be beyond "pre." He cuts it out and sends it to the lab. Usually, the report comes back basal cell carcinoma. A couple of times it has been squamous cell, a step worse. Usually, the good doctor estimates correctly--he knows how much tissue to remove and "gets it all"--so nothing further is required. Dr. T. found a cut-it-out place at his last exam. I received the report after I was back here in Guam. It was a squamous cell and the margins weren't clear. There were cancerous cells at the edges of the piece of skin he had removed, indicating that he didn't get it all.

Usually, I'm not a worrier, at least not about medical things. In fact, my sin about such things is more apt to be complacency. After all, I only have one body. I'm responsible to care for it. Good stewardship begins with paying attention. There is a dear lady from my church in Virginia. The last time I saw her she was in a hospital bed in her living room. For most of the conversation, she kept her cheek covered with a handkerchief. When her hand slipped or she moved her head too quickly, I'd catch a glimpse of her teeth through the hole that cancer had eaten into her cheek. It didn't keep me from my work or anything, at least I don't think it did, but I looked at the picture on the hard drive of my memory a good bit, after reading that report from my dermatologist. 

So, I made an appointment with a local doctor, sent him the reports, and showed up in his office. He scheduled a surgery (in his office) for the following week and cut out a piece of my face about the size of a dime. I went back a week later. That's when I read the line, "margins clear." He did some more cutting so the hole could be sewn up properly and performed "closure." I'll go back in a week to have the stitches taken out. 

I don't need to tell you that I'm relieved and thankful. Before I go, though, let me share two thoughts that might be useful to you.

Lots of people were praying for me. Kathy and I are really blessed to have friends and colleagues who regularly bring us before the Lord. If you are one of those folk, THANK you! One prayer, offered so I could hear it, is indicative of many, "Lord, heal Howard." Did the Lord heal me? I think He did. You may reply, "Wait a minute, Howard, there were two doctors, several nurses, a lab technician or two, and even the janitors who keep the clinics clean and sanitary. Give them the credit. Thank them." I do. I am thankful to all of them. They did their jobs well, and I am the recipient of conscientious competence. But the reality is God often uses means in accomplishing His work. God is not only over and above His world casting down thunder-bolts of judgment or mercy from time to time. He is in His creation (see here). In regard to the current pandemic, Tish Harrison Warren talks about this, God's immanence, to use a fifty-cent word, here. Thank God and thank those He uses.

The question hangs out there, "Why did that sweet lady have a hole in her cheek that led to her death, and Howard had a dime-sized piece of meat removed, got sewed-up, and sent home?" My answer may sound trite and unthinking, but it comes from a lifetime of experience with such things and no little thought on the matter--they do let me teach Theology, you know. Here is my answer, "I don't know." I do know it is not because I am a better person than that dear lady or more deserving than she. Nor is it because God abandoned her or because her case was beyond His ability to heal. In the end, I just don't know.

So I start with a haunting fear and end with a confession of ignorance. Perhaps you need to find a braver smarter blogger next time.