One of my formative childhood memories is my of Father mourning his Mother, my Nana, as she was dying of cancer. I was 4 years old when she was diagnosed with lung cancer that had spread to her brain. I remember that my Father often wept for his Mother. It’s the only time I remember him crying during my childhood. He shaved his head when she lost her hair because of chemo, so that she wouldn’t be alone. He bought stuffed animals, flowers, and candy for her. I didn’t really understand what was happening but I knew it was terrible. After she died, he continued to weep for her and to shave his head on her birthday, Valentine’s Day, and the anniversary of her death. My older brother, who remembers this more clearly than I do, told me that he continued to mourn like this for two years after she passed away. When I read passages about “sackcloth and ashes” in the Bible, I would think back to my Father and how he publicly mourned for his mother. I was frightened by his mourning as a child but as I grow up I came to appreciate how he modeled open grief for me.

In November 2023, we visited my family in Arizona including my Father. For decades, he has lived with chronic pain from debilitating spinal cord degeneration. During our visit, he was acting very strange and we worried that it was caused by his new pain medication. Less than a week after we left to visit church and family on the East Coast, my Father had a CT scan that revealed multiple lesions in his brain. It was later confirmed that my Father has aggressive stage 4 lung cancer that has spread to his brain, bones, lymph nodes, and liver. Pressure on his brain caused by brain tumors were the cause of his abnormal behavior during our November visit. This week he started on Radiation and Chemo. He has also started on an immunotherapy treatment (a PD-L1 blocker). The immunotherapy treatment has had incredible results in cases where the cancer is detected earlier, but my Father’s cancer is advanced and widespread. 

We made a quick return visit to Arizona to see my Father again before returning to Cambodia. He was on medication to relieve the pressure on his brain and was himself again compared to our time in November. All of my brothers came together to see him together. Now we’re back in Cambodia after a 35 hour trip last week.

Often, when we think of our work here in Cambodia, the verse that comes to mind is Matthew 28 – 30.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Matthew 28-30, NIV

It’s not that work here is without challenges – there are many of them – but somehow through God’s Grace we find the yoke is easy and the burden is light. Let me say it another way; I worked incredibly hard in Pennsylvania – sacrificing my health at times and often quality time with my family – but it seemed I could barely make any headway to help the people I was trying to help. Here, we’ve faced great challenges but we’ve also been able to make incredible progress towards the goals we feel God has set before us. It feels like we’re the right people facing the right challenges at the right place at the right time and that makes all the difference.

But, now, I’m also thinking of another verse from the Gospel. One that I’ve often retreated from because it’s one of the hard ones.

“Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves their son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me.”

Matthew 10:37-39, NIV

While serving in Cambodia has in many ways been a blessing, it has been very hard to be so far away from family. Back in 2019, when we were thinking of answering this call, I met with Pastor Mike from Plains Mennonite Church and talked with him about what it would mean for our girls. He shared a question with me that went something like this, “If you go, you might be sacrificing your girl’s friendships, schooling, sports, and so on. But ask yourself, if you stay what you sacrificing your children to?” It stuck with me over the years. It hits in a different way after my Father’s diagnosis. One of the things we sacrificed – that we gave up to come to Cambodia – was precious time with family. Going to the beach with Nana and Pop. Baking cakes, reading together, learning to fish, going to a first baseball game, learning the family stories. Family still give us a sense of belonging. People to come back to after our adventures on the other side of the world. But our time with them has been dramatically limited by our decision to answer this calling on the other side of the world.

I’m not saying that we would make a different choice in hindsight – I still feel the sense of God’s calling, there’s no doubt of it – but at the same time I’m heartbroken. It’s not just the kids who sacrificed time with family. I wanted more time with my Dad.

My Father quit smoking a long time ago but he grew up in a family of smokers and started smoking young. This was during the decades when the tobacco industry was doing everything in it’s power to deny the linkage between smoking and cancer, much like the fossil fuel industry is doing with climate change now. As a child, I watched both of my paternal grandparents die young from smoking related diseases and I decided to never smoke because of that. I remember how my Father mourned his Mother when I was young and now he’s facing the same illness that took her away from him. I am very sad on many levels and I’m mourning, as well as trying to discern how to help my girls mourn.