Well … sort of. Wednesday marked the end of an era: forty-four weekdays of radiation treatment for prostate cancer. That’s right—my final zap. I’ll miss the radiation like a toothache. But sadness kept me from using the brass bell to ring out my last day. I just didn’t feel like celebrating. Why? I had to say goodbye to my wonderful technician friends. They talked about my books and thanked me for at least the fifth time. After seeing someone every weekday for two months, you start to think of them as extended family.
I’ll still be in the building occasionally, so I’ll make a point to say hello. But those daily opportunities to hand out copies of Eyewitness: The Life of Christ Told in One Story are officially over. During my radiation treatments, I gave away eighty-eight copies to people who, I suspect, already knew how much they needed to be closer to the Lord. That thought alone makes every minute in the waiting room worthwhile.
Speaking of the waiting room, I’ll miss encouraging other patients. I started another picture puzzle there, and it’s only half finished, which feels about right for life. Now others will have to complete the work I began. Before leaving, I made sure the end tables had copies of Eyewitness, each one signed with Be blessed! with my scribble that only counts as a signature because my name is printed on the front cover.
My radiologist was amazed that I had no significant side-effects—at least, none of the ones he expected. I have had one significant side-effect—an urge to write more and complain less. Oh, excuse me. When I pray, sometimes I complain, but then I quickly tell the Lord that I’m not complaining. I think he understands.
The doctor said I should regain most of my strength in the next two weeks, so soon, it won’t be so hard to carry fifty pounds of groceries up the stairs to my place. I didn’t tell him how I plan to test whether I’m having a miracle recovery. If I have the desire and energy to dust and deep-clean all my rooms, I’ll know God has done something I wasn’t sure was possible.
The treatments took two hours out of every weekday, and that constant disruption made writing more challenging. After doubly productive mornings, because I’ve learned a lot in the last year, my afternoons disappeared with treatments, and the evenings left me struggling to get the creative juices flowing again. So yes, I’m looking forward to reclaiming those lost hours. If my energy returns as promised, my writing productivity might double yet again—which is good, because I currently have fifteen writing projects of my own in progress. Add four active clients, and you get a full-time job for at least three people. Thankfully, I’ve learned to prioritize … and occasionally to sleep.
On January 1, 10 Thoughts to Ponder, Book 3 will be released by Roaring Lambs Publishing. I should have advance copies soon, which means I can now give away a three-book set. Sometimes, I get paid, but honestly, my goal is ministry, not money. I’ve always believed that if I take care of God’s business, he’ll take care of mine. That philosophy has worked for more than seven decades, and I’m far too old to want to rewrite history now.
I recently read that the male life expectancy has returned to pre-pandemic levels—71 years, 4 months, and 24 days. Apparently, I’ve outlived my warranty. Given how much I still have to do, I suppose that’s important. My doctors don’t seem worried. My next blood test and checkup aren’t until December.
Between now and then, I plan to spend time connecting with more people, encouraging anyone who will listen. On Thanksgiving Day, I’ll celebrate with my family—the perfect way to begin my ninth decade of life. That’s a lot of living to be thankful for … and I don’t plan to stop until God is finished with me here.
From Radiation to Revelation
Although one chapter closes, another begins,
With new joys to harvest and fresh souls to win.
The waiting room’s gone, but the mission remains—
To share hope and healing that outlasts our pains.
The puzzle’s unfinished, but that’s a good scene.
We all place our pieces in God’s grand scheme.
Each life that we touch, each word that we share,
Continues his miracle story of mercy and care.
So onward with gratitude, laughter, and grace—
There’s life to be lived and good work to embrace.
When God says, “You’re done,” I’ll rest from my quest—
But until that day comes, I’ll give him my best.