Give Thanks, Flood the World with Gratitude

 

Yesterday President Russell M. Nelson offered his prescription for dealing with the COVID-19 pandemic sweeping across the world and spiking here at home in Utah. His secret formula: 1) Flood the world with personal expressions of gratitude for the next seven days, and 2) offer up sincere and humble prayer daily.

That may sound too simplistic to some, but he explained in another news release that this idea hit him in the middle of the night and he followed through on the impression the next morning. He offered his own prayer for all the world to witness as he concluded his message.

So I will begin my personal "Thanksgiving Journal," Day 1: I #givethanks first and foremost to my beloved companion of over 50 years, Patsy. That's her, above (third from the left), in a four-generation picture on the snowy day of grand-daughter Ashley John's sealing at the Mt. Timpanogos Temple. She has the faith of a pioneer woman. I've often teased her that she was born 200 years too late. It was her leadership in mustering the faith of everyone in our family and our ward to see me through the episode of my meningioma diagnosis and subsequent brain surgery. She would have been at the top of my list in any event, but this latest example merely burnishes her place in all our hearts, especially mine.

I #givethanks for the knowledge of my Father in Heaven and His Only Begotten Son, our Redeemer Jesus Christ. But for the Savior's atoning sacrifice and Joseph Smith's humble prayer, we would be without hope in this world for the world to come.

I am constantly pondering what my life would be like without the Prophet Joseph Smith. As he opened the last dispensation of the gospel of Jesus Christ in these last days his faithfulness and persistence were astounding by anyone's calculations. Even his enemies seem to have been silenced to some degree as the monumental publication of the Joseph Smith Papers puts to flight so many of the specious and scurrilous allegations that now seem frivolous. I #givethanks to Joseph in this 200th anniversary year of his First Vision of the Father and the Son in the grove of trees near Palmyra, New York on a spring morning in 1820.

I #givethanks to God for the organization of His church, the only true and living church on the face of the earth today - The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Its genius organizational design and flexibility for growth worldwide is expanding its reach day by day as we gather the house of Israel on both sides of the veil.

I #givethanks for a living and loving prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, who continues unabated to give guidance and loving counsel to all the world. His gentle "invitations" are just that - calculated to offer a welcoming hand of fellowship to all who will respond with obedience and sacrifice. He is absolutely a man to match the mountains that surround us in the tops of the mountains of Utah.

This Thanksgiving season will be different because we are living in a COVID-19 pandemic. I hope we can remember that it's not to be measured as successful based upon the number who normally would gather around our table for dinner. Rather, this year let us measure ourselves based upon the depths of our gratitude for all the blessings a loving Heavenly Father has showered upon us.

I am greatly blessed for the return of my brain this year. How grateful I am for the advances of medical science that made possible the intrusion into my skull to excise that meningioma tumor. I #givethanks not only for skilled physicians and a talented medical team to support them, but most of all for the Great Physician who has made the healing so complete and perfect.

I think I am ready to even #givethanks for the brain tumor, now removed, that has put me in remembrance as never before of all the blessings I have received.

Eternity in the Making

The morning of December 19, 1969 dawned crisp and clear in Salt Lake City, Utah. I picked up my bride-to-be, Patsy Hewlett, early on our way to the Salt Lake Temple to be sealed for time and for all eternity to each other. My Grandfather, Harold B. Lee, then one of the senior Apostles in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was scheduled to officiate at the ordinance that would bind us to one another. He was very emotional during the brief ceremony, sensing, I felt, the spirits of those who would come through our union. I believe he knew the identities of each one who would come to join our family.

On another December day fifty years later in 2019 we would gather as many of our children and grandchildren as we could to participate in a sealing session in the Salt Lake Temple just before it closed for what will be an extensive four-year renovation. We were assigned to the sealing room behind the old sealing office just off the Celestial Room to perform proxy ordinances of marriage for our deceased ancestors – all family names our family had prepared. One by one we took our turns at the altar in the center of the room and relived again the morning it all began with just the two of us in 1969. This time the altar was surrounded by our cherished posterity, all of whom had been sealed as couples in previous live ordinances for themselves. The realization of that blessing pronounced upon us fifty years earlier had come to pass, fifty years in the making.

Patsy and I have been through many wonderful and challenging times together over those fifty years. Perhaps the most humbling of all has been this last several years as we sought diligently to petition our Father in Heaven for answers to my deteriorating health. The downward slide accelerated in the last six months. I know it is good to be humble without being compelled to be humble, but this last six months especially we have been compelled to be humble. Our circumstances are not unusual for most people as they grow older. Few old people I have known are afraid to die, it’s just the getting there that is so difficult.

We simply could not find that elusive answer to why I was “off” from what everyone had known me to be earlier in my life. Then the meningioma brain tumor was diagnosed, and the answer to the medical mystery was staring right back at us from the doctor’s computer screen. It was the brain that had been squeezed and compressed over a long period.

So compromised had I become pre-surgery that I calculated I was at about a 2 on a 100 scale. I had my heart and my lungs that were still functioning well – everything else had been shut down as my brain’s way of compensating to keep me alive. Simple tasks in earlier years were now seemingly impossible to accomplish. My brain told me I could do these things – I had always done these things – but I had lost the ability to do them. My doctor had told me, “Anybody can exercise for ten minutes a day,” and I agreed in principle to that statement. I had gone for much longer periods of heavier exercise before. But I couldn’t do it anymore. I could barely get out of bed, and then I wobbled badly on my weak leg muscles.  

Post-surgery I wasn’t much better for three weeks. I was childlike. I had to master the control of my bladder and my bowels again like a little child in diapers, and I was wearing adult diapers. I was compelled to be humble. I had to learn to eat for myself again. I had to learn to balance and to walk again, at first mastering only a few steps to the bathroom and back using a walker for balance. I couldn’t do any of those things I had always done until my brain fog cleared and the blood clot that occupied the space where the tumor had been in my brain at the incision spot had dissipated. It took about three weeks.

Now our prayers have been fully answered. I have been cured and I have been healed. Humility is now once again a choice for me.

Fifty years is a long time to be married to the same person. It’s a golden time in our lives now. That’s why no one knew me better than Patsy, and why her instincts (impressions of the Spirit) could not be dismissed so easily. She knew me better than I knew myself, and she certainly knew me better than all the doctors and their scientific training. Once they listened to her and responded to her demands for the MRI, the source of our long struggle for answers was finally revealed.

We have been studying together the outlines of the Book of Mormon chapters in Come Follow Me. We are now into the book of Helaman. There is a constant ebb and flow among the Nephites and Lamanites at this point in their history. One year the Lamanites are repenting and receiving great blessings from the Lord, then they become prideful. Another year the Nephites are repenting, and they become more righteous than the Lamanites and they are blessed continually. Then this one verse leaps out as a pattern scripture for us to learn to live by, whether we are “Lamanites” or “Nephites:”

Nevertheless they did fast and pray oft, and did wax stronger and stronger in their humility and firmer and firmer in the faith of Christ, unto the filling their souls with joy and consolation, yea, even to the purifying and the sanctification of their hearts,  which sanctification cometh because of their yielding their hearts unto God. (Helaman 3:34).

My children are old enough now to see some of their friends who were once faithful members of the Church begin leaving and taking their families with them into the wilderness of apostasy because they have “done their research” and learned about “facts” they were never taught in the Church. They often come to me with their stories about their friends who have left, and they are saddened by the stories they read on their friends’ social media pages about their reasons for leaving. I encourage my children to be patient and to try to be like Heavenly Father. Can you imagine Him pacing around His throne wringing His hands over every soul who turns away for a season? Having vouched safe the moral agency of His children from the beginning and put a Redeemer in place to assure the demands of justice are fully satisfied through mercy conditioned upon the repentance of His children, He waits patiently for the fruits of the vineyard to come forth in the glorious harvest He envisions for each of His children. That’s the perspective we must have too – be patient and wait for the harvest that will surely come.

Mormon uses a phrase “thus we see” as an editorial comment in his editorial work of summarizing the records:

Yea, we see that whosoever will may lay hold upon the word of God, which is quick and powerful, which shall divide asunder all the cunning and the snares and the wiles of the devil, and lead the man of Christ in a strait and narrow course across that everlasting gulf of misery which is prepared to engulf the wicked – And land their souls, yea, their immortal souls, at the right hand of God in the kingdom of heaven, to sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and with Jacob, and with all our holy fathers to go no more out. (Helaman 3:29-30).

Let us all “lay hold” upon the word of God, slow down, turn down the noise in our busy lives, take a deep breath, ponder and pray, follow the pattern given to us as cited above, and land our souls at the right hand of God.

 We are in a war for our souls. Believe me I know that as never before. In the varied battles of life Satan takes many prisoners and inflicts many injuries and even deaths. But if we are true and faithful, we will prevail in the final battle of this war, for so it has been written and the scriptures are true. We are building for the eternities, and we are just now beginning to discern the light at the end of the long tunnel of sin and deception.

Meningioma: My Odyssey to Wellness

I am a reborn man. I have managed to live my entire life without much concern about my health. Until a car accident a few years ago I had never spent a night in a hospital. I certainly had never encountered the condition that is the subject of this blog post - MENINGIOMA.

A meningioma is a tumor that arises from the meninges - the protective membranes that surround the brain and spinal cord. Although it is technically not a brain tumor, it is included in this category because it may compress or squeeze the adjacent brain, nerves and vessels.

I learned recently that most meningiomas grow slowly over a period sometimes of many years without causing symptoms. However, in my case as the tumor grew there were never any headaches associated with my symptoms and the symptoms were manifested so randomly that I had dismissed them as simply signs of old age creeping up on me. The reality was so subtle to me that the effects on nearby brain tissue, nerves or vessels were beginning to cause serious disability. My wife Patsy is the true heroine in this story, since she could discern what was happening to me so much clearer than I.

Many visitors to this page will be aware that I have not posted for a very long hiatus. I had lost my ability to find the motivation to express my thoughts on paper. My desire to write again since my retirement has been virtually gone.

My first symptom of note was the loss of my sense of smell some seven years ago. Then I fell asleep at the wheel while driving and totaled my car against a sturdy cottonwood tree, breaking six ribs in my back. No headaches were associated with the accident so all the imaging focused on my ribs and my chest. Had they checked for brain damage in that accident with a CT scan of my brain, perhaps the tumor would have been discovered back then. But no headaches pointed to no brain involvement.

There are a number of other symptoms associated with meningioma, and I checked nearly all the boxes. At one point I was unsuccessfully treated for depression. I called on one of my dear friends who is a psychologist and we had some great conversations, but none of it was leading to a cure.

I began to experience weakness in my arms and legs. Last October as temple ordinance workers we ascended the winding staircase leading up to the Solemn Assembly Room in the Salt Lake Temple for a devotional before it closed the end of December. When I reached the top step my left knee buckled completely and I nearly fell down. Fortunately, someone reached out to catch me and steady me while I regained my balance. Again, another sign, but easily dismissed as a fluke.

Then my vision in my right eye went suddenly blurry and I had some double vision similar to the condition I had experienced before my successful intraocular lens implant surgery to remove my cataracts. A visit to the ophthalmologist and then a retinal specialist yielded no answers. They simply had no explanation for the change in vision, but at the time my optic nerve was being impacted by the meningioma tumor.

Patsy started attending my appointments with me, since she was not satisfied we were making any progress. For months she suggested to the doctors that perhaps my brain was involved somehow. But they dismissed her suggestion of a possible brain tumor since, again, I never experienced any headaches. It was a true medical mystery to most who were trying to help us unravel the meaning of the symptoms, and not seeing them tied together did not point to a single source.

By March of this year I was going downhill fast. She began keeping a log of what was really going on with me. At one point I was sleeping for twenty hours a day, eating one meal a day when she could get me up, and I failed to shower for twenty-one days in a row. Those facts, once she showed me after I was recovering from surgery appalled me. I began growing a beard, something I have rarely done in my life. I just didn't care about my personal appearance. I would learn last that loss of motivation and personality were two of the first things to go when the tumor begins taking hold.

Patsy was a model of patience and consistency throughout this long odyssey. I was unable to communicate with her on even an elemental level. Finally, in an appointment in May she insisted that the doctor order an MRI on my brain. I was becoming increasingly agitated that we didn't seem to be doing anything but experimenting with possible outcomes that were ineffective. "I am tired," I explained to the doctor, "of being treated like an experimental lab rat chasing symptoms down first this rabbit hole, then another one, and hitting dead ends." He finally relented to Patsy's demands for an MRI, and wrote the order that day.

The hospital scheduled it for Friday. We had the result on Monday. Staring back at me from the screen in the doctor's office was a large round meningioma tumor in the center of my forehead about three and a half inches in diameter. Our primary care physician apologized profusely to Patsy when he showed us the imaging. He could not be faulted, however. No one but Patsy could have thought the brain was at fault. And, remember, I never had a headache, either before surgery, during surgery or in the aftermath. I thought other people had brain tumors, certainly not me.

I was scheduled with a wonderful neurosurgeon at the University of Utah Medical Center for a consultation, and simultaneously our son Andrew, who is a resident at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, also scheduled a consult with one of his experienced neurological mentors so we could make an informed decision about how to proceed. Both doctors concurred with the diagnosis of the meningioma, and both recommended that surgery to remove the tumor as soon as possible was the right course of action. They even agreed on the methodology of how the operation should be conducted. It lasted for twelve and a half hours. When one of my old friends offered that it must have been a "minor" brain surgery since the tumor was benign, I said, "What I have learned about brain surgery is that there is no such thing as 'minor' brain surgery."

I was for three weeks afterwards in a "stupor," stumbling around blindly, unable to adequately express myself..My brain and my body refused to communicate. My son Rich was named as my personal representative for medical decisions in my advanced medical directive some years ago in the event of my incapacity. He was magnificent in his inspiration into my situation during those three weeks. Patsy, Andrew, Joe (a physical therapist son living in Washington state, who provided expert advice repeatedly), Rich and Dianne effectively helped to save my life, not to mention a cast of hundreds of medical personnel and those who fasted and prayed for our deliverance. Emily selected a surgery rehab wardrobe for me that drew rave reviews from the nurses and aides for the Hawaiian shirt she included. She also cut my hair pre-surgery and post-surgery. That's tricky when the incision extends over the top of your head from ear to ear, but she made me look presentable. My growing hair now covers the almost indiscernible scar. Allie brought pizza to Dianne's one night (which I didn't remember), and visited me every day through the window at the rehab center. To say that I had the support of my children, spouses, grandchildren and great-grandchildren would be an understatement. One of the "littles" prayed that Grandpa's brain would get fixed and that his scary face would be nice again. Those who weren't able to come to visit compiled a "scholarship fund" for Grandma and Grandpa to use for all the incidentals.

Andrew was present for both calls, and he was instrumental in helping us to decide what to do. The months and years of praying and fasting for a conclusive answer had finally arrived. "All these symptoms," explained the neurosurgeon at the U of U, "can be explained by the presence of this tumor in your brain. Once it is removed you will begin day by day to feel better. It will be some time as you regain your strength, but you will be cured." The day after surgery he declared that indeed I was cured ("We got it all"), and as he left my room after his rounding with me he thanked me for the cure. Strange, I thought, shouldn't I be thanking you for the cure?

I wanted to hug and shower him with kisses, but I didn't - you know, the COVID-19 pandemic had something to do with that. He scheduled surgery two weeks hence and May 21st was the first day of the rest of my life. There are a thousand more details, but I will spare you the drama.

Suffice it to say that I am thoroughly reborn. I have my motivation and my personality back. For those who always thought I was something of a numb skull that won't be such a good thing perhaps, but I am just now beginning to realize how wonderful life really is and how significant our relationships are. I have been talking to my friends and family, and have begun calling it "the 2020 apology tour," as I recount the withdrawn and dismissive old me who probably seemed aloof and disinterested. Some even said they thought I now hated them. But I have a ready explanation - it was the tumor talking (or not talking), not me.

I have brushed against the veil in this experience. I know that God loves all His children. I know that He is merciful, as we are reminded in Moroni's last chapter (see verse 3). I know that I have been rescued from this experience, not unlike those wonderful Book of Mormon characters like Alma and King Lamoni, who spent days in slumber, then arose to a new life. I have a renewed appreciation for our ancestors, particularly those in our immediate families who minister to our needs from the other side of the veil. I have experience with them and they are closer than you have any imagination. The atonement of Jesus Christ is real. He truly did descend below all things so He could raise us up from the depths of our sufferings in this life. All He asks is that we trade our sins for His deliverance.

As we were studying The Book of Mormon in our daughter Dianne's home during my rehab while I was working with the physical therapists, she handed me this quote from Steve Jobs, co-founder of Apple:

"You can't connect the dots looking forward, you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future."

Elder Neal A. Maxwell said it this way: "Faith in God requires faith in His timing."

I have a greater understanding of the great plan of happiness, even the plan of salvation since this latest episode in my life. Our deceased relatives are never really gone, they are as close as the next room and they are watching over us and protecting us when needed. I believe in guardian angels. I do know these things are true. I thank God for extending the expiration date on my mortal body a little longer through the expertise of skilled surgeons and the healing of the Great Physician. I hope my experience can be instructive to others who may be walking a similar path.