Category Archives: Ryan’s mind

Celebrating Eight

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We celebrated it yesterday, but it was at this moment eight years ago that I was getting last minute things together to marry my wife. We were just babies at the time, as the picture can attest, but we knew that we had to get married. There was no doubt. There’s never been any doubt. The last eight years have been the best of my life–I have spent them with my absolute best friend and cannot imagine what life would have been like had we not chosen each other. I’m not lying when I tell you that we fit together better than any other couple (sorry every other couple), we’re a match, we’re perfect for each other, we compliment each other in every way that you should and are different from each other in ways that bring joy and intrigue to our world. She’s spontaneous and beautiful and laughs at everything (everything that’s funny I should say). She tells amazing stories, makes amazing food, and is the most thoughtful person I know. We do life well together and I’d fight anyone who thinks they married better than I did. Marrying up is an amazing gift.

I’ve only ever kissed one girl. She journaled about me when she was eight, about how she was going to marry Ryan Woods. We started dating on January 1st of 2000 (that’s right, remember Y2K) and have never looked back. The first few years of our marriage were easy–we found so much joy in being together, in being poor together (some things never change), in playing house together, in just doing life together. Those first years were a whirlwind of laughter and joy. Who said marriage was hard and took work? Riiight. The next few years started to get real. We discovered that once you add in children you have to learn a new level of selflessness that never existed before. With every child (all two of ’em) came a new level of depth and challenge to our relationship as we began to discover that marriage really does take work and intentionality. In the last eight years I’ve been blessed to parent with my wife, to plant a church and a half with my wife, to purchase a minivan with my wife, to live in six amazing houses (OK, not all of ’em were so amazing…) with my wife, to begin raising two spectacular children, to suffer through twenty months of vomiting and bed rest, to explore new ideas and pursue new ideals that have shaped who we are today, to eat amazing food, visit amazing places, and to do it all laughing and smiling along the way. Nobody smiles like my wife does.

We have no idea how many more years we’ll be given together–but if the previous eight years tell us anything its that whatever time we’re given together whether it is six months or twenty-six more years will be filled with joy, laughter, moving, good food, exploration, and an intense friendship that drives it all.

If I were to make an attempt to capture what best describes us I could use words like awesomeness and love and all that. But I think if I were honest, I think if I spoke with clarity, I think the best word would be partnership. In ever sense of the word we are partners. We do life together, we do life as partners, we view our life as an opportunity to partner together in making a new future.

I love you Jess.

Healing or Death…or something in-between

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Don’t be ashamed or disappointed in me, but I don’t understand or get prayer one bit. And this blog will not be one that details my confusion about prayer and how God works. That’s too big a topic, it’s too dear to my heart right now to spill out, and I wouldn’t even know where to start.

But I feel compelled to share that I don’t know if God will choose to heal me. I don’t. I believe he can. But I don’t know if he will.

Is this a lack of faith in my God? Maybe, but I don’t think so.

When I look at the life of Jesus I see a few very clear things about the nature and identity of God (’cause if we want to know about God we should look at Jesus right…I mean he is the most clear picture we have of how God thinks and acts). I see that Jesus had incredible compassion for people and that he hated to see people suffer. I see that when he encountered people who wanted healing he showed compassion and brought healing in one way or another (but rarely the same way twice). I see his compassion not just in bringing physical healing but in bringing holistic healing. He didn’t just get rid of the skin disease but he touched the untouchable person–that goes deeper than physical healing and begins to enter into the emotional realm. He didn’t just heal people physically but liberated oppressed people through his teaching and empowerment. And then clearly Jesus wasn’t just liberating people physically but inviting them into a new world of living that was free of fear of death because of a hope in resurrection and new life. Jesus was all about bringing life both here, now, and forever. I buy into that and therefore place hope in the fact that he can and wants to heal me from cancer.

BUT! (yes, I think there’s a but)

I also see that Jesus didn’t heal everybody. People died around Jesus, even his friends died. Not every cripple that lived in the time that Jesus walked around the Mediterranean was given the gift of walking. Even further, most every follower of Jesus that is considered a main character in the story not only died but was killed because they followed Jesus. They weren’t rescued from pain but entered into it because there was some larger story that they were invited into. Following Jesus actually allowed them to face death without fear. Why fear death if you know that death has no hold on you? Death plays a huge part in following Jesus–its a part of the story that can’t be ignored. I mean obviously even Jesus didn’t avoid it and hung next to a couple other guys that didn’t avoid it either (though I don’t think any of those three had cancer…though I can’t prove it!)

I’m not claiming to write a thesis here on Jesus and healing, nor am I going to make attempts at backing up every theological point I’m making (or not making). I’m not saying that I’m ready to die from cancer. I can say that I’m not ready to buy into any time frames that the statistics give me (though again, with my freakish cancer there aren’t actual specific statistics). And I can say that I want to believe and hope that I am ready for whatever my story brings me. And I can say that I want to believe that God can heal my broken body in an instant. But I also want to say that he can also work miracles in the story of my death. We all die, the question is how and to what end.

So please keep praying for my cancer to disappear, for a freakish miracle to happen that baffles every one of my oncologists, radiologists, surgeons, and pathologist. I think that would be a beautiful story and I want to tell it. But also know that part of my prayer is that God doesn’t just defeat the cancer but that he transcends it–which means that if it does take my life (and the surgeon says it will) the story that God can create will be bigger and better than I could have ever imagined. Life out of death–beauty instead of ashes–first are last–meek inherit the earth–God does stuff backwards and upside down both in death and life. That’s the story the Bible is constantly telling.

Lets tell an amazing story together.

Beware of The Dreaded Cripple Couple

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When Jess first got dreads about four years ago it caught us by surprise how it changed our lives. Maybe it surprised us because her reasoning for getting dreadlocks wasn’t to make some point, wasn’t to stand out, it wasn’t for any big reason except that it sounded fun and we thought they looked beautiful (and I selfishly loved the idea of having a wife never pay for a haircut or hair product again!). Besides the fact that people used to ask her for weed all the time (strangely they’ve stopped…why is that?) we started to notice that people remembered us. We’d go into a restaurant for the second time and they’d remember our order from the first. Hostesses would say things like “hey, its really good to see y’all again”. We found ourselves racking our brains trying to figure out if we knew her from somewhere…and then it hit us! Oh, Jess is that white girl with dreads! We’re the dreaded couple! Talk about accountability! You leave a bad tip…dreaded couple. You say something rude…dreaded couple. It really was a great thing ’cause we made friends with many restaurant and store employees simple because they remembered Jess’ freakish hair. We’ve come to love it really.

But now its even worse (better?)! Whereas Jess has gotten used to people turning heads and whispering about her (its a really strange thing to observe) now I find myself experiencing the same thing because of my forearm crutch and awkward walking. I wouldn’t think that I’m much of a spectacle but apparently I am. People like watching me. Maybe its pity, maybe its the sound of my foot slapping the ground, or maybe its that there’s this slight hope that they might see me fall. I like to think its because I’ve been shaving my face more often and they’re impressed with my handsome look.

People like to hold the door for me now, even automatic doors get spread wide open for lil’ ol’ me. People clear lanes at grocery stores like Moses parting the Red Sea so that lil’ ol’ me can pass through unscathed. People turn heads, slow down, and pause what they’re doing to watch me. Its awkward. Sometimes I’m grateful for the door and the open lanes whereas other times I just want to scream “My arms still work! I can open doors!” Regardless, while I’m not quite as memorable as the dreaded hippie, I’ve become quite the sight I guess and it’s been a strange adjustment.

But here’s what it comes down to. Math. Go ahead, lets do a little math…

Dreaded white mama + Awkward limping cripple = The Dreaded Cripple Couple

Dreaded Cripple C0uple > What’s on my tray at Burgerville

Coming to a store near you. Watch out for us! We tend to order tacos and taquitos at Baja Fresh, the Fred Meyer’s produce selection tends to draw our favor, and yes we do enjoy self check out when available! Beware of our penchant for drinking too much coffee at Mon Ami and eating too many french macaroons from Je T’aime bakery on Main. If you ask us for weed we won’t have any…because the reality is that under the striking and shocking hair/bum leg combo we’re just a couple of recovering homeschoolers who grew up in an old school traditional church context with the most average names possible in suburban Vantucky who like to watch 30 Rock on Hulu ’cause we don’t have a TV who likes to read books and hang out with friends over board games and good food…and who apparently DON NOT use commas in their run-on sentences!

Even still we do sometimes bite. So beware of the Dreaded Cripple Couple. Ha!*

* I don’t know if you can tell but I’m really having fun writing this. As an awkward and scrawny kid that’s always tried to find a way to blend in this is the most ironic twist of fate in my adulthood and I think its really funny and most fascinating!

What am I doing?

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I keep asking myself what I’m doing. Or better yet I keep questioning what should I be doing? Part of me desperately wants to get back to life as normal. And so I have someone drop me off at the coffee shop down the street where I’ve spent way too many hours over the last two years. It feels normal to see old friends and to even to continue making new ones. In an effort to get back to normal the wife and I went out on a double date, I’ve scheduled a meeting or two, and I’ve been trying to frantically catch up on coordinating our second annual Compassion Vancouver event. In an effort to feel normal I try to walk as much as possible, do housework, and play and interact with the kids as normally as I used to. In an effort to get back to normal Jess has scheduled girl time with a couple different lady friends (though there’s never enough time!), we’ve done a couple mini-grocery trips, and run occasional errands. Normal stuff. Everyday life stuff.

But things still aren’t normal. My body still hurts; my back still feels as though there are ropes tying my shoulder blades together. My right side is still paralyzed and doesn’t work right; it cramps and as the day goes on my whole body stiffens and gets difficult and painful to move. I can’t bathe myself, I can’t drive, and can barely make it down the stairs from my bedroom without help. While my extreme emotions are not as extreme as they were even a week ago I still find myself having a short fuse with my wife and children. As a matter of fact the level of emotion in our family swings as quickly and extremely as our kitchen’s swinging door. The children, while early on ecstatic to be back at home with mom and dad quickly realized that life was not normal. Dad can’t play on the floor with them, he can’t pick them up, he can’t put them in bed, and he doesn’t have the same energy level he once did. Jones also knows that dad might have cancer and the thought plagues him. Every day he asks me if the tumor is benign. The kids recognize how stressed mom is, they recognize the burden she’s carrying, and they act up and intensify in order to compensate—and mom and dad have little physical and emotional energy to respond appropriately. We kind of constantly feel like bad parents as we respond in ways contrary to our normal parenting preference or methods. Knowing your parenting badly is a heavy burden to carry isn’t it? So we try to create breaks by having the kids spend time with grandparents—it is a blessing to have grandparents in town! But the kids want to be with us, they should be with us, they need to be with us…and yet we continually ship them off…because things are not normal.

I want them to be normal. I want to better participate in our Sunday Arnada Community Meal, to be available on Monday nights to dream the Grassroots Conspiracy into further reality, and to live into the rhythms that have defined our Community House for the last eight months. But the energy comes in spurts, the kids freak out in flurries, and my mental capacity to process through my schedule still seems off.

At times things feel almost normal. I want things to be normal. But things are not normal. Things can’t be normal. Things can’t be normal because we still have not received results from the Mayo Clinic. They told us that we should hear in the next couple of days. Of course they told us that we should have heard five days ago and they told us we should have known twelve days ago. If we find out results today that that I start chemo on Wednesday (I am completely making this up) normal will be defined very differently! If we find out tomorrow that a miracle has happened and the cancer isn’t cancer then on Wednesday normal will be defined very differently. If we find out tomorrow that we’ve got to wait another week normal will be very…well…

Until we get that message—whatever it is—this is normal I guess.

Maybe in-betweens ARE normal. I don’t know. I don’t know what I should be doing in this in-between. I think I’m going to keep trying to be normal—keep trying to go to coffee—keep trying to walk normal—keep trying to ignore my back pain—keep trying to not be a jerk to my wife—keep trying to be emotionally and physically present for my children—keep trying to work—or maybe I’ll just rest, continue to write my thoughts down, journal, let my back heal, read some books, and wait. Maybe I’ll do it all…or maybe I’ll just blog about it!

Thank you all for listening. My blog started in December of 2005 as a joke and has turned into a cathartic exercise that keeps me sane. I think its working!

Why I Don't Give Blood

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I had a friend offer me his liver yesterday. No joke. I don’t need a liver and I don’t plan on needing one, but if I do need one I genuinely believe that I’ve got a liver available to me. Not for any good reason but because life if just like this, the two of us had not talked in a couple of years so it was great to have a short but in depth conversation about life, the stuff my family is going through, and what’s been going on in his world. Here’s the thing, this guy is the kind of person who is serious when he says that he’ll give you his body part. I’ve never seen him give a body part away before but I’ve  seen him give his jacket off his back to people (literally), I’ve seen him give generously to people time and time again because that’s what he does. He gives.

Another friend of mine just registered as a bone marrow donor. Donating blood is something, donating a couch to Goodwill is another, but donating bone marrow makes you a pretty awesome person. Lets all raise our hands if we’re registered as a bone marrow donor? Anyone? Bueller…Bueller…When I asked him about it and tried to show how impressed I was by his awesomeness (as a quick side note it brings me joy that ‘awesomeness’ is actually a word) he seemed slightly annoyed that I’d even think it was anything beyond what a normal person would do. He asked me why he wouldn’t register to do it…and I quickly came up with a number of reasons that I kept quietly in my head. He seemed to think that it was a normal and decent thing to do to give something freely that you had available and that could possibly save someones life. I’m not sold on his logic but I see his point…ok, maybe he’s right.

I’ve never given blood. Not once. I don’t like needles. My friend gives his liver away, my other friend gives his bones away, and I’ve never given an ounce of my blood away.

After being in the rehab facility for a few days I woke up one morning at 4:30 AM to a woman touching my arm while gently waking me. It was a phlebotomist and she was going to draw my blood…yes, at 4:30 in the morning. Turns out they were worried about my platelets and my morning poke became a ritual for the remainder of my stay in physical therapy. Every morning between 4:30 and 6:00 a phlebotomist would come in and jab me for some blood. It became ritual, I’d anticipate their arrival, they’d use the same bruised hole every time, I’d always make some goofy joke, they’d never laugh. It was nice. It became normal.

My friends give their bodies away piecemeal and the only person I’ve ever given a part of my body or blood away to was myself. What’s up with that!? I want to be like Daniel and Chris. Who’s with me? Who wants to give away a liver or two (we have two right)?

Tomorrow I’m throwing my liver in the ring and there’s nothing you can do about it.

PS…should this have been a Father’s Day blog?