Like Father, Like Son

I was never much of a sports guy. I played three years of little league but didn’t see much of the field. When I finally did get out there, coach would put me in at left center field. Is that even a position? I played basketball for one day at the age of 10. Yep, just one day. I quit the same day I started after a kid in front of me in the shooting line turned around and punched me in the face. For no reason at all. He was about two feet taller than everyone else on the team and clearly had some issues. He didn’t talk to anyone, he just grunted and pointed when he wanted something. I remember seeing his father give him a thumbs up after he landed the punch. That was enough for me. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess. Couple of winners right there.

 It’s funny because I always felt like I was pretty athletic. I can picture some very specific faces reading this right now laughing at that last sentence. But, it’s true! I could just never match my athleticism to the execution of the game itself. I went in and out of playing different sports but never really fell in love with anything. I remember my Dad just loving sports. Saturdays and Sundays were filled with college football and NFL games. I would watch occasionally, but it really didn’t do much for me until much later on in life. I’d really only watch so that we had something to connect about. My Dad, as many of you know as “Big D”, was a solid high school football player, ran track, and was even a walk-on college basketball player turned team Captain. I was none of those things, but somewhere inside I wished that I could be. You know, to make pops proud. I know now that he was proud of me for things more important than sports, but when you’re young it’s natural to measure your value and the depth of your relationship with your parents based on similar interests. 

I remember before one of my little league games, my Dad and I went out in the front yard to warm up with a little catch. Ball in my hand, not much more than 20 feet away, I threw the ball like the athlete that I am and hit his glove with some speed. When it was his turn to throw, he wound up, let it fly, and the ball soared a good 10 feet over my head. I thought he was being funny, trying to get me do a little pre-game running. Maybe just his subtle way of telling me I was too hefty and needed to shed some lbs? I went after the ball, threw it back to him and he caught it. His turn to throw, and again he sent the ball sailing a good 10 feet over my head. His face looked puzzled. I remember asking him if he was throwing it over my head on purpose. He said no and really had no explanation for what was happening. We wrapped it up and I didn’t think much more of that moment until months later.

I remember the moment my parents called my sisters and I into their room. They needed to share some news with us. We learned that for months my Dad had been dealing with strange tingling and numbness in his hands and feet. Symptoms he never really shared with any of us kids. The boys in our family do not enjoy doctors’ visits. In fact, we usually do everything we can to avoid checkups. If something in your body feels off, we ignore it or chalk it up to getting old. But I remember that my dad had been making more visits to the Doctor than normal. After being beckoned into my parent’s room, they broke the news that my Dad had been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS). He was only 36 years old at the time. And, this was the explanation for the terribly thrown baseballs.

He’s dealt with disease for over 20 years now and it’s not something he talks much about. It’s something I always want to ask him more about, but never really know how. When you do ask him about it, he doesn’t offer up much info. He’s not a “look at me” kind of guy. He’s handled it with grace, but we know it impacts him greatly.

 For those of you who do not know what MS is, in a nutshell, it’s a chronic, typically progressive disease involving damage to the sheaths of nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord, whose symptoms may include numbness, impairment of speech and of muscular coordination, blurred vision, and severe fatigue. The spectrum of severity and its effects can be very wide, with no real way to predict progression without months or years of tracking its impact on an individual.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve begun thinking more and more about how short our lives are. How our “normal” can change on a dime. I’ve thought often about relationships and how relationships are really the greatest currency that we have in this life on earth. I’ve seen my parents lose their parents. I’ve seen my best friends lose friends at young ages. I’ve seen parents bury their children. Over the last two years I’ve specifically prayed that God would open up new opportunities for me to connect on deeper levels with the people I value most, including my Father.

God answered that prayer in a way that I would have never asked for, but I’m embracing it. Over the last six months, I’ve been experiencing strange things happening in my body. It started with some nerve itching in my neck. While playing golf last month, I began to lose some feeling in my chest and arms. Like my Dad twenty years ago, I figured it was a pinched nerve or bad posture causing the issues. If you ignore it, it’ll go away, right?

On our way to the Jersey Shore last month, we were about halfway through the drive. As I went to scratch an itch on the right side of my chest, I noticed that I had no feeling at all. On Thursday of vacation, I woke up around 5 am. Eisley had snuck into our bed in the night as she always does, and was rubbing my right arm to wake me up. As I saw her little fingers moving on my skin, I realized I could not feel what she was doing. It had to be a pinched nerve.

When we returned from vacation, Amy had set up some checkups for me. I reluctantly agreed to go to my Primary Care Physician. My dad actually decided to give me his already scheduled appointment so that I could get in sooner. I think it was his generous way of avoiding his own appointment. I shared some of my symptoms with my Doctor. He did some basic tests and shared his best guess with me as to what he thought I might be experiencing. I was relieved with his synopsis that I likely had a pinched nerve. But, due to Big-D’s medical history with MS, he thought it’d be best for me to go in for an MRI. Being the good patient that I am, I went ahead and scheduled the test. 

Our neighborhood is bumping during the Summer nights. Everyone is out. Parents and kids congregate to each other’s yards, enjoying cold drinks and watching the kids play with each other. I’m not a social butterfly. I just don’t do well in large groups unless I’m speaking or playing an instrument from the stage. The night after my appointment I decided I’d force myself out of the cocoon and be neighborly. One of the neighbor boys had his glove and baseball out and was looking for someone to play catch with. I volunteered. Even with all my God-given athleticism, I couldn’t keep the ball from flying over his head. I threw the ball at least six times before I just had to stop. I could not hit his glove. I had a flashback to that time with my dad. I started to connect my own dots.

On Tuesday, September 10th at 5 pm, I received a call from my Doctor with the news that I had lesions on my brain and spinal cord indicating a positive diagnosis for MS. I was surprised at first, but at the same time sort of knew this was going to be the news I received. I was also instantly grateful that it wasn’t some sort of cancer or an ALS diagnosis. I began to think of the biggest challenges in my life over the last ten years or so. Many of you know that Amy and I went through some really heavy times dealing with infertility. We learned a lot about ourselves, each other, and how God uses difficult circumstances to draw us closer to him. Next was our adoption journey. Again, we learned more about patience and God’s timing as we spent hours with lawyers in the court room advocating for our Son. We are becoming experts at navigating the unknown, while doing our best to trust God’s process. I believe he is positioning us for some new lessons.

I speak often about the Israelites and their exodus from Egypt. There are so many examples of God’s faithfulness in the story of Moses. He’d continually show up, saving the Israelites from one thing after another. However, they’d always find a reason to forget what they were just delivered from and turn back to whining and ungratefulness. I made a promise to myself and to my family after Shiloh’s adoption finalization. A promise that each day I’m alive I’d choose to remember God’s faithfulness, regardless of how I felt, regardless of my circumstances, my pain, or my confusion. Part of this promise also included my commitment to using whatever challenges pop up in my life to encourage others in similar situations.

Truthfully, I had been kind of wondering when our family would be going on our next life journey. Waiting for the next thing to knock on our door and disrupt our flow. Not in a doom and gloom kind of way, but life had just gotten to be pretty smooth.

After receiving the diagnosis from the Doctor, I immediately went home to tell Amy. It was a tough moment with some tears and questions that I wasn’t ready to answer. Actually, I just really didn’t know how to answer them. The next place I wanted to go was to my parents to talk with my Dad. I was eager to let him know and ask a billion questions that I’ve always wanted to ask over the years. Both diagnosed at 36 and being able to connect on this brought me such peace. I believe that having a better understanding of what he’s walked through the last couple decades will give me a better position to support, love and encourage him.

As I started sharing the news with my close friends and family, I felt it important to tell them that I’m not bitter or angry about the news. My mind never went to a “why me?” place. I never felt like it was unfair that I had to deal with this diagnosis. I’d be lying if I said that I’m not scared. I have thought about the potential of not being able to walk my daughter down the aisle someday, or not being able to teach Shiloh how to play golf, but I fully believe God knows what he’s doing. He’s shown that to me over and over. Life is too short to live out of bitterness and blaming.

Someone said to me, “man you’ve been dealt some bad hands in life.” From an outsider’s perspective I can see how that may be someone’s viewpoint of our situation. But I want you to believe me when I say that I wouldn’t trade my hand for anything in the world.

I read an excerpt from a book recently that reminded me about perspective. "If my baseline expectation of the world is comfort, convenience, and control -- if this is what I assume I'm owed from life -- then when I suffer, I will likely blame God. In my frustration or disappointment or pain I may see a sign of His displeasure... Or neglect. But one way or another I'll see my suffering as abnormal, and therefore a sign of God's absence from my life. I won't recognize that, in fact, the brokenness I'm experiencing is not a sign of His absence but a primary reason for His presence in Christ." (-Excerpt from 'Remember Death' by Matthew McCullough)

One of my favorite artists has a line in of his song that reads “You can’t lose what you don’t own.” I’ve probably listened to this song over one hundred times since it was released last month. I’ve thought about these lyrics over and over lately. I’ve experienced some great moments in life. I’ve experienced some awful moments. I could choose to look at this news as a declaration of the things down the road that I might lose. But I’m going to choose every day to look at this new journey as something that God completely owns. The good, the bad, the unknown, it all belongs to him. It always has.   

I don’t own my health, I don’t own my comfort, I don’t own my convenience. MS won’t steal my hope or my faith. It won’t steal my relationships, my family, or my future. It won’t steal the things he has called me to. It won’t keep me from sending guitars or cooking pizzas. It’s all his anyways.

I want you to consider this letter your license to call me out when you see me moping or complaining. Please always feel free to ask me any questions about MS or how my family is doing. If you’re reading this and you know someone with MS who could use encouragement, please feel free to share this with them. I’m excited about the community this will open up to me. On the flipside, this letter is not permission for you to feel pity for me. It is not permission to swing by the house with chili and tuna noodle casseroles (unless you’re doing it to be funny). It’s not permission to keep me from carrying heavy things or looking at me differently than you did before you read this. Love you all.

2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
James 1:2-4