Bigger than Elephants
God is bigger than elephants.
- Charles, March 2022
Daddy, I’m scared of the storm.
- Charles, May 2022
Thunderstorms have come to the prairies and it is a wonder. And the wild rush, the authority of the storms has been as healing as ever in my little life. What a fearsome joy.
As I ponder the things we have lost - the questions about the future, the toll on my body and my family over these past months - the most calibrating reality has been God’s power showing up. Not his power for me (though He has shown up for me). Rather his unapologetic, unconfused, absolute authority over all things. His delight in thunder and scattered seeds sprouting. His joy over stones smoothed over centuries … and the potter’s soft, shaping touch. The miles of prairie grass and wild flowers unseen by all but him. His gladness over all of it… because this world is His. He is God and it’s all his.
There is a man in the Bible named Job whose life is completely upended by loss and confusion. And God comes to him (Job 38, the Bible) not with answers to his complaints but with his power.
Job, were you there when I started the world? Were you there when I was spinning galaxies into place from nothing and angels sang for joy? Have you ever commanded the morning to rise? Is it by your understanding the hawk soars or the eagle takes flight? … Were you there when I said to the seas, thus far you shall come and no further…here your proud waves stop?
… no, Job, I wasn’t there either. A few months ago, Charles (our then three year old) and I were trying to prioritize some important things. Raccoons are bigger than ants. Bears are bigger than raccoons. Fast-forward through buffalo, horses, giraffes, and elephants…
Dad, what’s bigger than an elephant? I know, he says. God. God is bigger than elephants. He’s the biggest.
And so he is, my little man. He’s the biggest. He is God, and I am not (and you are not). He’s in charge; I am not. And so, it’s become a quick proverb for me these days – God is bigger than elephants. And being near Him is the cleanest and most exhilarating fear… and comfort I’ve known. It’s been nice to get lower and rest awhile at the foot of the burden-less Throne.
By every metric, I am healing as well as can be expected. Time away at Mayo was not fun, it was also pleasantly uneventful (save for a few undignified, colorful evenings - your imagination should capture it).
I lost my beard but not my eyebrows which is nice (I also lost the hair on top of my head but I was already bald so thanks for bringing that up)
I lost my appetite but not too much weight.
I lost my energy, but not my perspective.
I lost my cancer, but not my diagnosis. (I’m currently cancer free… probably)
Here’s what happened:
- My friend Andy and I drove out February 27th for a day full of meetings Feb 28th.
- May 1st I sat in a chair and sucked on ice cubes for an hour while they pumped the poison through my body. Nasty stuff. This is the stuff that kills you and the cancer.
- May 3rd I sat in a chair for 10 or so hours as they cycled stem cells back into my body (previously harvested)
- My dad relieved Andy, and my friend Smitty relieved my dad - each taking caregiving in turns to make sure I was choking down some food and getting some exercise and getting to appointments.
- The rest could be summarized as: daily blood work, small meals, afternoon walks, and March madness. I don’t recommend getting a stem cell transplant. But if you do, you should do it during March Madness.
- I came home to continue recovering on March 21st.
It’s been a breath of fresh air to exchange FaceTiming family for hugs and breakfast and adventures together again.
Here’s where things stand as we near the end of the beginning of this journey:
- The treatment knocked down my immune system. I’ve got a brand new one. This isn’t ideal. But it’s not having no immune system. It’s just new. I’ll start getting all my childhood vaccines again sometime in the next few weeks. Yay.
- While our lives are moving toward normal, we continue to take precautions to not get unnecessarily ill as my body continues to recover.
- It continues to be a bit overwhelming to be so thoroughly cared for during this season. If you are reading this, thank you for being part of this journey with us.
- If you’ve seen me around, I look good for a bald man in his 40’s. I’m not quite as well as it looks. I feel good, but need to rest during the day. I have aches and pains. My mind isn’t quite as sharp as it was. But so much has gone well and is going well.
Here’s what happens next:
- I go back to Mayo June 9th to see how effective treatment was. Another bone marrow biopsy. It’s always a joy to get that message from the nurse about a week in advance: Dave, are you sure you want to do this unsedated? Yes, yes please.
- This treatment destroys the cancer in your body but not the cause of cancer in your body…they don’t know how to do that yet. So, if it worked, the next thing is to wait until it comes back in 2 or 6 or 20 or 40 years. Most commonly it returns between year 2 and 6. Correction: The next thing we are doing is living. The next medical thing is waiting.
- That afternoon, I’ll meet with my doctor and hear their proposed treatment plan.
and then:
- Husband (June 9th is also our 5 year anniversary!).
- Father. We are going to have a summer to remember.
We (mostly) keep our applesauce packets in the basement. As these storms have been pounding through our region, we have often found ourselves down there. Inevitably that means both boys getting an applesauce packet (don’t judge our healthy snacks!) while we bow before the storm and it’s free reign on all we own. I, too, savor the sweetness of getting low before the Power as His storm knocks the top off my fear. The sweetness is down low. The applesauce is in the basement.
Dave
PS - I am quitting UPS. For four years, I have been working at UPS and that time is coming to a conclusion. My last day will be June 10th. I haven’t been to work for 6 months due to treatment and recovery, but it’s officially over next Friday. For all my friends and companions along the way, I’m proud to have been able to stand near you, with you … to know you. UPS is … complex. But it has been provision for my family. It has been a detour I didn’t see coming that put me in step with many of you that I would not otherwise know. Thank you for your friendship and your support.
PPS - I now set my hands and heart fully toward the work that I was designed for - to pastor. Lord, have mercy! We will go all-in with the new church we are planting in Sioux Falls - Christ Our Hope.
PPPS - I plan to send out a few more health updates over the next few weeks at this, the changing of the seasons for the Abels family. Stay posted for ways to keep up with us if you so desire.
PPPPS - (How many postscripts can you have in one letter?) Many of you have reached out over the past few months. Thank you. It has been a whirlwind of receiving this season, of getting healthy, of grief and joy, of challenge. There are many who have reached out and I have not been able to keep up as well as dignifies your care for me. Thank you for your prayers and care. They’ve come at vulnerable moments. Your words, though perhaps unanswered, have been a balm and buoy. Thank you.