Even More ICU Adventures: The X-Ray Swallow Test

Posted on September 2, 2017 by Bob Bjerkaas

The morning of the eighteenth finally arrived. The night had been perfectly awful and I had been so focused on trying to swallow that I hadn’t slept much – if in fact I had slept at all.

This morning Kerrie and I had visitors.  Dale and Rene visited from church. Over the past eighteen months or so God has done something really neat at Church in the Canyon where I serve.  He has brought along three very experienced pastors who are in various ministry transitions.  Dale is one of these pastoral veterans.  Providentially, I had been able to line these dear men up to supply the pulpit and continue pastoral care for the church during my surgery and recovery. But driving down to Sunset to visit the banged up pastor was certainly a step beyond the call of duty.

Later Bob and Marilyn from church wandered into the ICU.  What a blessing to have these dear folks come down to share some time and encouragement with me and Kerrie.

But I was also expecting a visitor whose arrival gave me no peace.  Heather.  She arrived just after Kerrie stepped out to get some Burger King for herself.

“Hi Bob, how are we doing today?”

I smiled and nodded, projecting my airy whisper as best I could.  “I   am    fine.”

“We are going to take you down the hall for your x-ray test.  Let’s get you up and into this wheelchair…”

And we were off!  And quite the entourage we were.  Heather was in the lead.  An orderly was pushing my wheelchair.  And a nurse was walking beside me with the large metal tree with bags and wires hanging off of it.

Down the hall, out of the ICU, a floor or two down in the elevator, another hallway and we were there.  My chair was positioned behind a very small machine that had a lens aimed at my throat.  There were no lead aprons involved, so the radiation must have been minimal, and the new swallow test began immediately.

“OK Bob, we are going to try ice chips again.  Are you ready?”

I nodded and started crunching that ice cube up.  In my mind it was last night again.  Swallow one, swallow two, swallow three…  Ignoring the numbness in my throat, I forced my muscles to do the closest approximation to a swallow that I could imagine.

“Wow, that was really good.  Let’s try that again.”

Again I swallowed the crushed ice.

“Apple sauce?”

Done.

“Chocolate Pudding?”

Done.

“Wow, let’s try a cracker.”

And done.

Heather wheeled her chair from behind the screen and showed me the video of my swallowing.  Not a single bit of ice, water, apple sauce, pudding, or cracker crumb had gone down the wrong pipe!

“That was amazing!” Heather, with her non-poker face, was genuinely pleased!  “What did you do differently?”

“Well,” I exhaled, “I stayed up all night long praying and practicing.”

A short trip back to my room in the ICU and Kerrie is there – back from the Burger King.  “I passed the swallow test!”

In short order the feeding tube was removed and the duty nurse brought in a couple of lunch items.  Diced peaches, an applesauce, a cup of chocolate pudding, and a boxed juice.

It was my first win.  Swallowing was hard.  Unbelievably hard.  And it wasn’t pretty.  First I would work hard to get all the food to the right side of my mouth – without being able to move my tongue to the left to pull it over.  Then I would literally squeeze every muscle in my lower face to push the food down.  And, then my eyes would apparently bug out  as the food went down!  Sorry, no picture of that.  Awkward, painful, unsightly… but I could swallow.

My father and mother in law, for as long as I can remember, have had hanging in their living room a small piece of artwork in which a beautifully biblical doctrine is simply stated: “Pray Devoutly, Hammer Stoutly.”  As Nehemiah modeled the life of faith when Jerusalem was rebuilt after the Babylonian captivity, we work and pray.  I had begged God for my swallow and worked in expectation of his blessing.  Thank you, Lord.

The remainder of this day involved a couple of walking trips around the halls of the ICU.  The nurses by now knew that I was a lacrosse coach and were quite impressed with my quick turnaround on the swallow test.  I am not going to lie, I was quite pleased as well!  I pushed hard.  Every walk was further than the last.

After school got out, the kids came down again – and again brought another one of our great neighborhood friends – Jacob.  Reading the Psalms together and praying with my family was the highlight of the ICU experience.  But every day after the kids would leave, I would find myself battling weariness and frustration at how much work remained for me.  And how would I get my voice back?  Would I sound like me?

 

Coming Soon: Leaving the ICU for the Neurosurgical Unit.

 

N.B. The top photo is a photo of me walking shortly before the feeding tube was removed.  It sure was good to get rid of that.  In the picture I am trying to be a hero and go one-handed on the walker so I could wave at Kerrie.  The physical therapist to my left did not approve.

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More Adventures in the ICU: No I will NOT go out this way – WHERE IS THAT SUCTION TUBE!

Posted on August 31, 2017 by Bob Bjerkaas

The speech therapist who came on the seventeenth shortly after my surgeon visited returned later that same day.  I was currently on IV fluids and had a feeding tube running up my nose and then down the back of my throat – I had not done any eating or drinking on my own since the evening before my surgery – probably close to forty hours earlier.

Her name was Heather, and she was impossibly young.  She gave me some exercises that were very helpful.  First she gave me a straw.  “Now blow into this straw and hum – try to hum a low pitch – about 220 megahertz.”  I hummed through the straw as requested and I actually had a pitch to my voice!  A broken, quavering, painful sort of pitch.  But it was no longer pure air.  She challenged me to try to modulate the pitch up and down as best I could – sort of as if I were playing a kazoo.  The results were difficult to attain and even harder to listen too I am sure!

Twice Kerrie helped me sing the first lines of Amazing Grace to visiting nurses.  They were very encouraging of my efforts even though I couldn’t make it through the second line before completely gassing out!

Then Heather administered my first swallowing test.  “OK Bob, I am going to give you this ice chip and I want you to break it up and swallow the water when you are ready.”

Piece of cake.  I chew up the ice chip, swallow, and choke all over the bed-sheets.  Not a single drop went down.  “Here let’s try that again.  Take your time.”  This time it was a smaller chip. Same results. And again.

I could not swallow.  Not even a drop of water.  Heather assured me that this was not a disaster and began arranging for an x-ray swallowing test to be performed on the following Monday.  Thankfully, she was able to schedule the X-ray machine for the very next day instead.  With that machine we would be able to see in real time what was going wrong and why my swallow function was zero.

After Heather left I felt sick.  I wish I could have played a hand of poker against her.  I would be rich.  The concern read on her face like the word KAZAAM in a Batman comic.  Good Lord, I couldn’t swallow.

Later that evening, the kids came by after school – and brought two of the neighborhood boys with them: Big Z and Old Willy.  Yes, come around my house one too many times and you earn fridge rights and a nickname.

In preparation for my surgery, I had bought a book of Psalms.  And whenever visitors would come by, I would ask them to read me a Psalm, tell me about their favorite verse and sign their names next to the scripture they read.  Willy went first, he read Psalm 73:

“… Whom have I in heaven but thee?  And there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.  My flesh and my heart fail: but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion forever…”

Big Z read Psalm 139.

“O LORD, thou hast searched me, and known me.  Thou knowest my sitting and my rising, thou understandeth my thoughts from afar off. Thou compasseth my path and my lying  down, and art acquainted with all my ways…”

We prayed and visited.  I was deeply moved by their taking several hours to visit me and their ministry to my soul.  Night fell and I couldn’t sleep.  The nausea was under control.  The pain was mostly manageable.  But I couldn’t’ swallow.  God, help me swallow.

And so I practiced.  Swallow one, swallow two, swallow three…  all the way to one hundred.  Again.  Again.  Spit and drool are all over my face and bed-sheets.  I am vomiting in the spit up bag.  Again.  Swallow one, swallow two, swallow three…  I must have swallowed one thousand times as best I was able.  I had nothing to show for it but phlegm and soaked clothes.  My salivating was out of control.  I buzzed for the nurse.  “Was it morning yet?”  No it was only three a.m.  “I feel like I am drowning in my spit,” I croak slowly.

And then this rare, seraphic creature in hospital garb blue handed me what would become my constant companion for days to come.  There was a suction tube with a button on it – like the suction tubes the dental hygienist uses for teeth cleanings.  It was actually connected to my bed!  She placed it in my hand, showed me how to use it, and I went back to practicing the lost art of swallowing.  Swallow one, swallow two, swallow three… to one hundred.  Again.  And Again.  And again.  I don’t know if I actually swallowed a single drop of spit all night.  But it was not for lack of effort.  Swallow one, swallow two, swallow three…  It was a long night in the ICU.

 

Next Up: Even More Adventures in the ICU: The Coach

N.B. The picture is a photo of the Psalm book my visitors have been reading to me and signing.  It is fast becoming a very dear possession!  It is a wonderful volume but I wish it could be bought in a translation other than the old KJV.

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Adventures in the ICU: The Bare-Assed Pastor on Floor Five

Posted on August 31, 2017 by Bob Bjerkaas

The ICU was a place of highs and lows, breakthroughs and frustrations, education and resolve.

I have always been something of a thrasher when I sleep.  This is enough of a problem when the most significant consequence of my tossing and turning is a cold wife bereft of her fair share of the blankets.  Things are more complicated when buzzers continually go off bringing nurses untangling me from EKG leads clipped to my chest and back, reconnecting IVs (yes, I pulled two out), and putting those evil little sponges back up my nostrils…

And covering my butt.

My room was the best.  It was the second private room on the right hand side of the hallway directly across from the nurses station.  My bed was closest to the door.  Moving deeper into the room was the small family area with a window looking west down Sunset Boulevard where Kerrie stayed with me throughout my entire stay and our kids and visitors could gather.  The bath room had no shower, but one can’t have everything.

My preferred position was to lay on my right side.  For two reasons.  First, that is where Kerrie was.  And second, the nearly forty stitches long wound beginning at the back of my neck went straight up the back of my skull and then curled off towards the left side of my head.  I was (and still am two weeks later) rather averse to resting on the yet tender wound.  So, if you are following along with the geography of my slice of ICU heaven, you will realize that an active sleeper with an open backed hospital gown generally had his ordained derriere pointed directly at… the nurses station.  More than once I heard, “Here Mr. Bjerkaas, let’s just cover that up…”  And me without my wedding ring on.  Oh, the temptation those dear saints must have endured…

I don’t know if I slept that first night.  Nausea and pain were the great difficulties for the first ten to twelve hours.  Early on the morning of the 17th my surgeon came in.

“Good morning Bob, how are you?”

“I… am… ok…”  I breath out as clearly as I can.

“Well, I have to tell you I am so glad to see you here this morning. Last night I had a nightmare that I continued to try to massage that artery into place and lost you on the table.  But you are going to be just fine.”

That was the first time I considered my surgery from his perspective.  I regarded him through one eye.  This man had spent an entire day of his life laboring over my opened skull.  Making life and death decisions.  Perhaps feeling ambushed by less than accurate intelligence regarding my arterial network.  Could that have been my fault?  Had I minutely shifted during one of my three MRIs that would have otherwise shown that offending arterial branch?  All feelings of disappointment in him evaporated in an instant.  Life happens.  So does death.  This dear man is as subject to the laws of God and gravity as any of us.  And he had stayed with me.  On his feet.  All. Day. Long.  Yes, he had needed to make an exceedingly difficult decision regarding the recension of that nerve.  Maybe I could wish he had chosen otherwise.  But Christ be praised I am alive.  And I did not stroke out.

Dear Jesus thank you that you gave me this surgeon who was able to bring me through a difficult surgery.

My surgeon shared with Kerrie and me what had happened once again.  And I learned several things.  First, and most concerning, I could not move my tongue to the left side of my mouth.  But the doctor says I can get that range of motion back.

And I learned something about nerves. It seems that nerves are more like bundles of nerves-  they have parts. Not all nerves, or parts of nerves, are exactly the same.  Some contribute to motor functions – like moving your tongue.  Others are sensory in nature – they communicate things like temperature and pain.  My surgeon had labored long in that cold operating room and cut only those parts of the ninth cranial nerve that carry sensory data.  Apart from loss of sensation and some range of motion relating to my articulation and swallowing, nothing was paralyzed.  Even the nerve connected to the left side of my vocal chords was still there – and functional. I simply couldn’t feel it anymore.  49 years of knowing what it felt like to speak was clipped short.  49 years of knowing what swallowing felt like was gone.  I could recover.  It would never be the same again.  I would need to relearn how to feel normal again.

A speech therapist came in to see me next.  I exhaled more questions.  Yes, it was true that I would recover a voice.  It might more or less be the one I have left behind.  And it might need a mechanical assist from time to time. She mentioned injections in the left side of the vocal chords to “puff” them up so that my fully functional right chords could more easily vibrate against them.

I wish I could say this was encouraging. Frankly, I was horrified.

Almighty God, you can raise up a witness for yourself from the very stones of the ground.  And the heavens declare your glory.  Give me what voice you will.  I will make a noise.

 

 

Next Up: More Adventures in the ICU: No I will NOT go out this way – WHERE IS THAT SUCTION TUBE!

N.B.  Kerrie did not think it wise for me to attach a photo of my posterior…  I imagine she is once again correct 🙂

 

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Brain Surgery Part 2: What Went Wrong?

Posted on August 30, 2017 by Bob Bjerkaas

Hands and voices everywhere.  Quietly – “Let’s lift, two, and three…” The left side of my body was being swabbed with something wet.  Not cold or warm, just wet.  “Mr. Bjerkaas? Mr. Bjerkaas?  Can you hear me?”  Unhhh…

“Let’s turn him over now and replace the bottom sheet all at once…”  Something smelled like iodine.  Someone placed a large mildly adhesive patch to my lower back.  What was that?  “Mr. Bjerkaas I am going to ask you some questions now.  Can you open your eyes?”  A bright light.  First my left eye, then the right.  “Squeeze my hands.  Try to push my hands away from you.  Wiggle your toes.  Good…”  Soon the exam stops and the nurse lets me know that I am doing fine and that my wife will be in to see me shortly.

As I lay waiting I am aware that I am connected to more tubes and wires than I could account for. But thank you dear Jesus – I was not intubated.  That meant that it was still the 16th of August. My surgeon had speculated with me that should the surgery go too late they might let me see Kerrie and the kids and then put me back to sleep and remove the breathing tube on the morning of the 17th.

Kerrie came in and held my hand.  Kissing my forehead.  Asking how I felt.  I couldn’t reply. My voice wouldn’t work.  I tried to breath out some words but a strangled whisper was the best I could do.  The kids come in one at a time.  We squeeze hands, I know I am loved.  The kids will all be returning with Dad and Mom to stay at the house tonight.  Kerrie will stay with me here in my private ICU room.  What had her day been like I wondered?

The waiting room was large but packed.  Everybody who was at the hospital for any surgery was waiting for their patient’s procedure to be completed in that one room.  Kerrie and the kids camped out in one corner.  Several people visited.  The first people to arrive were Sammy and his mother Allison.  Sammy just graduated from Oak Park High School this past May – a senior Captain on the Lacrosse team and one of the hardest working kids I have ever known.  Then came John and Theresa from church.  Sammy and Allison had to leave, but not before Sammy’s dad Mark arrived – he would stay until the very end.  Kathleen and Judy from church came next and would stay for several hours.  After school Chrissy and her four Robinson boys sat with the family for a couple of hours.  All of my families were represented.  Kerrie’s parents, the lacrosse team, my church, the neighborhood…  I am so glad that Kerrie and the kids had some company.

The kids slept, read, and played some games.  The adults chatted, prayed, and watched the boards where the surgeon’s names were lit up in order to let the waiting families see where the surgeon was at any given time.  I was one of the first patients in.  My surgeon’s name went blue on the boards – he was in the Operating Room.  Other surgeons’ names turned yellow – they were moving into post-anesthesia care.  Then they turned another post care color and families could visit.  My surgeon’s name stayed blue.  Six hours was our perfect time for the procedure. That would be going in, taking care of business, and getting out.  The waiting room was nearly empty when, ten and a half hours later, my surgeon came out to speak with the family.

He invited Kerrie and her parents to visit with him in a small room and explained everything he did to try to move the artery away from the glossopharyngeal nerve.  Unfortunately, it could not be done.  The MRIs had not shown that at the very place that my abnormally enlarged vertebral artery impinged upon the nerve and caused such excruciating pain, there was another artery branching off that fed the spinal cord.  Moving the enlarged artery was causing twisting in one or the other arteries which would then become kinked, which could lead either to paralysis or stroke.  After consultations mid procedure, it was determined that the microvascular decompression of the nerve could not be done.  The nerve would need to be cut.

It was 6:30 p.m.  Kerrie was told I was doing fine and that she could see me in an hour.  Mark, John and Theresa pray with my family.  An email is sent out to family and friends giving an update.  Soon it is just family.  At 8:00 p.m. Kerrie is told I am being taken in for a CAT Scan.  The family moves to the waiting room for the fifth floor ICU.

It isn’t until 10:00 p.m. that the kids squeeze their dad’s hand and head home to Oak Park.

What now Lord?  That five percent chance that turned into ten, and then twenty…  The nerve was cut.  All of this registered with me as I lay there with more wires and hoses than a Rube Goldberg contraption.  I had missed the break and landed on the wrong side of the statistical line.  Thank you Lord that I am alive and have not had a stroke.  But that nerve…  I speak for a living.  I am a gospel preacher.  I am a lacrosse coach.  I am and have been Uncle Bobby B to hundreds of kids… I whisper sweet nothings in my wife’s ears and sing her eighties music.  I am Dad.  I need my voice.

 

To Be Continued: Adventures in the ICU –  The Bare-Ass Pastor on Floor Five

N.B. The picture was taken by my wife on the evening of the 16th, my first night in the ICU!

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Brain Surgery: An Ordeal Remembered

Posted on August 30, 2017 by Bob Bjerkaas

So, about that brain surgery…. As many of you who are friends and family have heard in bits and pieces, all did not go exactly as planned.  It was two weeks ago tomorrow that Kerrie, the kids and I rolled up to the highly acclaimed Kasier surgical facility on Sunset Boulevard.  Each of us carrying our own sets of fears and expectations.  My check in time was 5:30 a.m., and as I rid myself of all clothing, personal identification, and even my wedding ring, I recall a sense of some huge, inexorable push moving me forward moment by moment.  I was resigned to what in simple terms boggled my mind.  I would be having my head opened up, various elements essential to my nervous system shifted about, arteries moved, Teflon pads inserted…

“Mr. Bjerkaas, may I put a line in?”  Of course.  How did this so-so-young girl Tracy know how to pronounce my name?  “You’re going to feel a pinch and…”  No worries, take your time. “Let’s try that again.  Can you please make a fist for me with your left hand?”

“Good morning Mr. Bjerkaas, can you verify with me your full name and date of birth?”  This nurse was older.  Almost before I could finish a young man came in.  “Mr. Bjerkaas, may I call you Bob?  I am going to set up a drip in your right arm so we can begin to relax your body before the procedure.  When we get you all lined up here we will have your family come in.” OK, thank you.

More medical professionals.  “Can you tell me what we are doing today… Okay I am going to draw a circle on you right here…  The anesthesiologist will be in shortly…”

Kerrie, Maggie, and Nat come into the room.  Kerrie’s parents, Mom and Dad Williams, have not yet arrived in the second car with Cubby and Tim.  Small talk, how is the waiting room, did you bring enough reading and games to keep you occupied?

“Mr. Bjerkaas, your surgeon is here.  He will be in to see you shortly.”  The coach in me sized him up one more time.  Does he look me in the eye.  Does he appear confident – is he game day ready.  As ever he does.  He has the top reputation as the local neurosurgeon available to me.  He is particularly recognized for dealing with brain stem related issues. He is my guy today.  We repeat the same conversation about the procedure, its goals, challenges, risks…  We have had this conversation a number of times now, each time slightly different as new bits of data become available through different tests.  “…And so in light of some of your particular anatomical challenges, we are looking at about an eighty percent success rate…”  This was the new fact this time.  On my first visit it was ninety five percent.  Then ninety.  Now down to eighty.

My mind flashes back to the winter of 1988.  I am in the used car offices of the Normandy Ford on Route 40 just west of Baltimore.  The numbers keep changing throughout a conversation about a 1984 Tempo.  The car dealer’s name was Ken “Pops” Robinson.  Such a friendly guy.  I bought the car.  Big mistake.  Eighty percent.  Eighty percent…

Kerrie and I nod at each other.  I realize I am still holding my wedding ring in my hand, and ask her to keep it for me.  She puts it on her finger.  I ask the doctors and nurses if I can pray with my family.  We pray together.  “Oh dear God show us your grace and favor.  Bless us this morning.  Give wisdom and skill to all of these dear men and women who are helping frightened people become well.  Heal me.  Thank you for loving me.  Please forgive my sins.  Help me to love you and others well…

I tell my children I love them and that it is our highest calling in life to take Jesus with us on this life’s journey.  I am so proud of them.  My wife kisses me softly.  The gurney wheels are creaking.  People are talking.  I remember a cool breeze.

 

To Be Continued: What Went Wrong?

N.B. The buildings pictures are the Sunset Boulevard Neurological Buildings.

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Anxiety and the Christian: Part One

Posted on August 4, 2017 by Bob Bjerkaas

“You don’t have anxiety at all do you because you’re a pastor.”

I have heard various iterations of this theme dozens of times since it was determined that I would need a surgical procedure to address the debilitating nerve pain that intermittently shoots from the back of my throat down to the left side of my neck.

Well, as I write this post, that surgery is scheduled to take place in just twelve days.  And guess what?  I am anxious!

I worry that the neurosurgeon might have quarreled with his wife the evening before, not had a good sleep, been cut off in traffic on his way into the hospital…  I worry that he might slip – just a fraction of an inch and my vertebral artery is cut, my dura is punctured, the nerves that control facial expression, articulation, or swallowing get severed…  Will I have a stroke, will I keep my job, will recovery be painful…

And like Jesus, I have on many occasions asked God to take this cup from me.  Even with tears (more times than a male Norwegian might want to publically acknowledge).

As Christians, you and I must aspire to be like Christ (1 Corinthians 11:1; Ephesians 5:1; Philippians 2:5).  And this Christ-likeness involves such things as being hungry, weeping at friend’s funerals, and agonizing over upcoming trials.  To never experience these things in a world that is subject to so much brokenness would mean that we have become something less than human.  As Christians we should remember that it is in heaven that “every tear shall be wiped away.”

And so when people ask if I am nervous, or worried, or anxious I simply tell them, “Yes I am.”  You see, the question for me as a Christian is not whether or not I experience very human reactions to very difficult or troubling developments in my life.  Following Christ makes the most of my humanity, it does not erase it.  The question should always be, “What I am going to do with my emotional reactions to life’s difficulties?”  What will I do with my fear, my worry, my anger, or my anxiety…

Earlier this week one of my parishioners came into my office for our standing lunchtime meeting and with great enthusiasm opened his laptop and gave me a nickel tour of his Logos Bible Software program.  Logos has an amazing collection of Bible study and commentary resources.  He was showing me the Psalms, and at a click of his mouse button he was able to break them up into genre.  Did you know that of the 150 Psalms in the Old Testament collection, the largest single category is that of lament?

God is apparently at least as interested in teaching his people how to experience emotional distress as he is in protecting them from all distressing experiences.   And again and again in the Psalms he gives Christians a model for how to experience the darker moods of the human soul.   The New Testament offers very clear guidance on this as well.  In the next two posts, I will be discussing how to handle anxiety by considering Paul’s letter to the Philippian church.  I hope you will tune in!

And I cannot thank you enough for your prayers for me and my family.  Well over one thousand people have read my request for “Audacious Prayer” and that is in large case because so many of you have shared that post.  Please let me know how I can be praying for you.

Your Pastor,

Bob Bjerkaas

N.B. The picture is cropped from my fellow Norwegian, Edvard Munch’s famed painting, “The Scream.”

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An Audacious Prayer: Psalm 126:4

Posted on June 15, 2017 by Bob Bjerkaas

As those of you who subscribe to this blog – and others who read it regularly may have noticed, I have not been writing much lately.  As a matter of fact, beyond my basic pastoral duties I have really not gotten much done these last two months at all!  In this blog post I want to explain that absence and enlist your aid in my audacious prayer.

For the past three years I have increasingly struggled with an intermittent neck pain that has slowly but steadily increased in intensity and frequency.  Two months ago I finally received a confirmed diagnosis – glossopharyngeal neuralgia.  It is something of a bummer as the surgical fix for it involves inserting a Teflon sling deep inside my head where the vertebral artery is impacting the glossopharyngeal nerve.   And while I have been called a prude before, I am sure all of you would agree that fooling around in the inner recesses of one’s skull indeed constitutes “inappropriate touching.”  The surgery date is being selected by the good folks at Kaiser Permanente as I type, and my surgeon has informed me that recovery will be two to three months, best case scenario.

So, what is the audacious prayer in which I am enlisting your aid?  First, please join me in thanking God that the cause of the pain has been discovered and that there is a solution for it.  About a year ago I began sensing that the pain was more than TMJ or acid reflux…  I had that disquieting sense that something was very wrong with me, but had no idea what that something might be.  Now I know, and the discovery of even undesirable news enables forward progress not otherwise possible.

Secondly, please pray with me that meds I am currently taking for pain would not take such a toll on my body.  The constant nausea, dizziness, and mild headaches make simple tasks in life and work seem very large.  Thus no blog writing…

Lastly, that the surgery is a resounding success and that the pain goes away entirely.  As a diagnostic test, the nerve cluster back behind the back of my mouth was injected with lidocaine a month ago and for seven blissful hours I felt no nerve pain!  And for you chronic pain sufferers, you know what I mean.  My prayer is that this constant background pain and intermittent severe pain be completely gone.

In Psalm 126, we find a pilgrim song in which the Israelites who have returned from the Babylonian captivity find themselves in dire straits.  In verses 1-3 we have the people reflecting on how wondrous their past deliverance was – their God had filled their mouths with laughter, their tongues with joy.  But now things are not going well.  We do not know the cause of the singers’ distress, but we know that it caused them to look back on the festive times of their deliverance with longing.  And we know that it moved them to present God with a truly audacious prayer:

“Restore our fortunes, O LORD, as streams in the Negev.”    Psalm 126:4

The Negev was the southern, desert region of Judah.  It was chiefly navigable by the dry stream-beds that offered the easiest travel through the arid and rough landscape.  Until the rains came anyway.  Then these stream-beds or “wadis” would overflow with a raging torrent of life giving water.  The deserts themselves would bloom.  This is no prayer for a gradual, limited improvement – it is not requesting such a modest trickle of grace.  It is a prayer for a flash flood!

My prayer is similarly audacious.  I desire a complete return to unmitigated functionality as a husband, a dad, a pastor, a coach…  And my prayer is for a flood, not a trickle.  This is my prayer for you as well.  Won’t you join me in being audacious before the throne of grace upon which is seated “he who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine.” (Ephesians 3:20).

Your Pastor,

Bob Bjerkaas

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When God Asks the Impossible: Meet the Widow of Zarephath

Posted on April 25, 2017 by Bob Bjerkaas

Have you ever read through a familiar passage of scripture and been surprised to notice something for the first time?  That happened to me recently.  In reading through 1 Kings, I came to the account of the Prophet Elijah’s early ministry, at the time of the great drought during which he hid from King Ahab in the Kerith Ravine and then took up residence with a widow in Zarephath.  Here is the particular passage that I had never truly noticed before: after commanding Elijah to leave the ravine and go to Zarephath, God says, “I have commanded a widow in that place to supply you with food.”  (1 Kings 17:9).

So Elijah, that intrepid man of God, leaves his hideout just south of the Sea of Galilee and walks over a hundred miles to the Phoenician town of Zarephath located on the Mediterranean a long day’s hike north of Sidon.  And he encounters a widow and asks first for water, and then for food.  Her response to the latter request is worth noting in full:

“As surely as the LORD your God lives, I don’t have any bread – only a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a jug.  I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it – and die.”  (1 Kings 17:12)

Notice – although she had some familiarity with the God of Israel, she is not herself a worshipper of that God.  Her reference to the LORD is like that of King Saul in his last conversation with the Prophet Samuel, in which he refers to God three times as “the LORD ‘your’ God.”  (1 Samuel 15:15,21, and 30). So, this widow hears from a God with whom she has the slightest acquaintance and is commanded to do something she cannot possibly accomplish.  She only has enough bread for one last meal – not enough to feed a stranger for months!

Have you ever felt that God is asking you to do the impossible?  Elijah’s response to this dear woman may be helpful to you.  Elijah says, “Don’t be afraid.  Go home and do as you have said.  But first make a small cake of bread for me from what you have and then make something for yourself and your son.  For this is what the LORD, the God of Israel says,: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the LORD gives rain on the land.”  (1 Kings 17:15).

Elijah encourages her not to be afraid and suggests that she follow her plan – but first she should obey the LORD and supply the prophet with a small loaf of bread.  This instruction is followed by a promise that the LORD himself will provide what is needed for her to obey his command.

Too often we don’t want to obey God’s commands until we have a year’s supply of flour and oil in the pantry.  We want to see the miracle first – then we will obey.  And so we miss many, many opportunities to grow in our walks with God and to be effective in serving him and others.  What impossible, or even merely difficult, things is God calling you to do?  Are there areas in your life where you know God has called you to be someone or to do something and you simply don’t have the gifts or resources necessary?    Trust God and obey him as a first order of business.  Perhaps you will discover that he is able to provide you with your daily bread – even in impossible situations.

Your Pastor,

Bob Bjerkaas

N.B. The image above is  Elijah Receiving Bread from the Widow of Zarephath,  oil on canvas painting by Giovanni Lanfranco (1582-1647).   This image is made available by Getty’s Open Content Program.

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Time, Chance, and the Providence of God

Posted on March 31, 2017 by Bob Bjerkaas

The “Final Four” for the 2017 Men’s NCAA Championship have been determined!  For those of you who don’t follow college basketball, this is a big deal.  Sixty-four teams are invited to compete in this annual championship.  They are divided into four regional divisions of sixteen teams each.  The teams that won their divisions this past week make up the “Final Four.”  This year those teams are: Oregon, Gonzaga, North Carolina, and South Carolina.

For sports fans and gamblers alike, this tournament provides an awful lot of excitement.  It might be said that filling out brackets, i.e. predicting who will win the games in this tournament, is a national pastime.  Just one online platform for projecting tournament winners had 18.8 million participants filling out brackets – predicting who the winners and losers would be![1]  What a wonderful sample from which to crowd source a likely outcome for the tournament.

And yet we find that the nation’s experts and amateurs alike are off the mark.  By a lot.  Shockingly, only 657 people (out of 18.8 million) picked Oregon, Gonzaga, North Carolina, and South Carolina to be the 2017 Final Four.  That is 0.003%.  How can so few people have picked the four teams that would win their sixteen team divisions?

Ecclesiastes 9:11 offers some insight on this phenomenon:

“I have seen something else under the sun: The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.”

In other words, there is something inherently unpredictable about outcomes.  In absolute terms, it is simply not the case that the fastest runner always wins the race; that the strongest fighter wins the battle; that the wise, brilliant, and learned receive food, wealth, and favor.  Under the economy of God’s providential care, there are always circumstances beyond our control that will prove to be the deciding factors in some of our outcomes.   And so we cannot predict our tournament results with anything remotely resembling competency.  Time and chance rule out the possibility of our mere metrics and statistical analyses yielding anything like certainty.

And isn’t that a great thing?  Isn’t it great that your God will use time and chance to grant victories or favor in situations when by all reasonable projections you ought to lose?  Isn’t it wonderful that God cares for you so much that he will humble you by denying you a “slam-dunk” victory when you thought you would surely obtain your objective?

On the third of this month, the NCAA championship will be decided.  I have no idea which of the Final Four teams will either compete in that game or win it.  But I do know this: as a Christian, Every day is game day.  Every day Christian living requires a race to be run as if to win (1 Cor. 9:24) and a battle to be fought with the goal of standing (Eph. 6:13).  The human, physical, secular values of things like speed, strength, and brilliance are of a very qualified importance in determining the outcomes of such races and battles.  God delights in lifting up the humble.  So run however fast God has blessed you with speed.  Struggle with whatever strength he gave you.  Think with what powers of reason you have been blessed, Plan with the wisdom you have received.  And knowing that it is not ultimately your speed, strength or learning that secures your success, put your trust in God who will at times exalt and at times humble you – all in accordance with his glory and your eternal good.

Your Pastor,

Bob Bjerkaas

 

[1] http://www.msn.com/en-us/sports/ncaabk/march-madness-2017-bing-predicts-the-final-four/ss-BByYEkd, accessed on 3.28.2017.

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Blessings in Worse Waters

Posted on February 28, 2017 by Bob Bjerkaas

The biblical account of Naaman and his encounter with God has always intrigued me.  Everything that we know about this once great and powerful man can be read in 2 Kings chapter five – take a moment to read it!  He was a successful general, he was a wealthy man, he was trusted by his king, he was loved by his servants, and he was feared by his enemies.  But he contracted leprosy and none of the powers of the East could heal him.  One of his wife’s servant girls was a captive Israelite who suggested that he go and see a man of God in Samaria – the prophet Elisha.  And so Naaman’s life takes an unexpected detour and we find him traveling to a neighboring country in search of a miracle.

Everything about Naaman’s encounter with the prophet Elisha seems designed to humble him.  Elisha does not come out to meet him personally, but sends his servant in his place.  While Naaman thought that he would see a solemn invocation, Elisha merely tells Naaman to bathe – seven times no less!  And although the mighty general was privileged to enjoy the beautiful and majestic rivers of Damascus, Elisha specified which river he must bathe in – the Jordan.

In order to understand how insulting this last instruction must have been to Naaman, it is worth noting that the rivers of Damascus, specifically named by Naaman as the Abana and the Pharpar, were considered to be the most beautiful rivers of the world.  These rivers are the modern day Bavada and el-Anwag and were deemed to be a veritable paradise in antiquity.[1]  In the great general of Aram’s thinking, the Jordan was nothing compared to the rivers of his home.  In the words of a Bible scholar speaking over a century ago, he must have wondered why he was “bidden to wash in that wretched, useless, tortuous stream…”[2]

Whether or not the Jordan compares favorably to Naaman’s local rivers in absolute terms is irrelevant to the story.  The fact is that for Naaman, his home rivers were better – but God explicitly required him to submit himself to what he considered an inferior means of blessing.  And Naaman was humiliated and angry.

It is sometimes the case that God calls us in a manner that necessarily pulls us away from our cultural arrogance.  God sometimes meets us in waters of his choosing, not ours.  Sometimes he does not show himself where we think the circumstances and pageantry would best facilitate our blessedness, but instead acts when and where he can best reveal his glory for and through his people.

Do you believe that God can bring his blessings in water that you deem inferior?  The answer to this question must be an unqualified “YES!”  God does not need clear water and a calm current to change a life – yours or your neighbors!  And he does not need the right mix of trees on the shore line or a sandy bottom.  As wonderful as such things may be, they are completely unnecessary.  And to the extent that we feel they are necessary, they may in fact be impediments to God’s work in our lives.  Sometimes, like Naaman, we need humble servants to pull us up short and ask us “If [God] had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it?  How much more, then, when he tells you, ‘Wash, and be cleansed’!”  (2 Kings 5:13).

Where is God calling you to meet him in circumstances that are less than your desired best?  Perhaps you will experience his power and grace in the wilderness like Moses, in a cave like Elijah, or, like Mary, beside a manger.

Your Pastor,

Bob Bjerkaas

N.B.  The image is the picture of the Jordan River used by the Encyclopedia Britannica: https://www.britannica.com/place/Jordan-River

[1] Volkmar Fritz, 1 & 2 Kings: A Continental Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), p. 259.

[2] F.W. Farrar, The Second Book of Kings:The Expositor’s Bible (New York: A.C. Armstrong and Son, 1903), p. 52.

 

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