Lift Up Your Hearts!

It was so heart-warming—and heartbreaking—to see Grace over Skype yesterday. She looked so good, so happy. So healthy, even.

Who wouldn't be happy? She can eat anything she wants! For most of her life she has been under severe dietary restrictions that were the doctors' best guesses as the cure for her problems.

Hurray! I have leukemia! Now I can eat milk, and cheese, and eggs, and wheat, and soy, and nuts, and even garlic! All those tempting foods that my siblings couldn't share with me are now mine! Hurray! I have leukemia!

The family had an unexpectedly quiet(er) day since Covid made them join their extended family celebration via Zoom. It turns out that Christmas Covid was delivered to several of our Northeastern families—in three different states. Clearly, the TSA should have done a better job of checking Santa's sleigh.

Grace delighted in showing us all the wonderful foods she was scarfing down with glee. Eggs! Cheese! Orange juice!

She also joyfully demonstrated that she has learned to sign, "I love you." (The one-handed version, which we often use in our communications.)

A lesson for us all: When you face a troublesome and even terrifying future, approach it like a child: Trust those who care for you, share your love, and enjoy good meals!

Grace's bone marrow transplant process is moving forward.  They're still awaiting some further test results, but it looks as if Grace's oldest sister, Faith, is a perfect match for her.  If you know how close Faith and Grace have always been, that will seem "meet and right" to you.  Still to come are a whole slew of other tests for Faith, to make sure that she, herself, is as healthy as can be.

All going well, the "conditioning" process should begin the second week of January.  That will be to hit Grace's tiny body with three separate forms of wickedly toxic drugs, designed to completely destroy her own bone marrow and all the cancer cells in her body -- and her entire immune system in the progess.  After about nine days, she will then receive Faith's bone marrow, which all going well will migrate to Grace's bones and begin the process of "engraftment" of Faith's cells and the building up of a new immune system.

There is, however, a new complication:  Several members of the family have come down with Covid.

Please pray:

• That those sick will recover quickly and no one else get ill.
• Protection for Grace, whose immune system has already been somewhat compromised by her recent chemo.
• Protection for their unborn baby (Mom Heather is one of the ones who tested postive).
• That this will not set back the transplant process any more than necessary.

God knows best, even when we would have things otherwise.

I'll have more to say later about the situation, how we got here, and where we're headed, but for now, this is the 30,000-foot overview of how our lives were turned upside down in an instant.  This post is actually a week old, but while we're working on getting something more official set up, I want to start getting the word out here.  Things are happening.

Grace Victoria Daley is our two-year-old granddaughter, who lives in New Hampshire with her parents, her four brothers, and her two sisters, ages 8 through 20.  Another sibling is expected in May! Grace was recently diagnosed with NF1 (neurofibromatosis type 1) and JMML (juvenile myelomonocytic leukemia), caused by a very rare genetic mutation.

Grace is one in a million. Literally. There are about 1.2 cases of JMML diagnosed per year; it accounts for only 1% of all pediatric leukemias. There has been a lot of progress made over the years in treating pediatric leukemias; unfortunately, JMML is not one of those about which we can feel very confident.  The best option Grace has is allogeneic hematopoietic cell transplantation (bone marrow transplant).

Grace has already received seven chemotherapy treatments; these are not curative, but have already relieved her symptoms so much that she is probably feeling better than she has in months, and has a ravenous appetite.

In truth, The Battle Belongs to the Lord, but recruitment for the Prayer Support Army is in full swing.

We’re working on putting Grace's story and updates on Daley Ponderings, which is about to become a lot more active than it has been in a while.

Grace will receive her transplant at Dana Farber/Boston Children's Cancer and Blood Disorders Center.  The family had their first meeting with the team today, and are no doubt processing a whole lot of overwhelming information.  I expect to have an update to share within a few days.   [Actually, the appointment was December 13; I'm trying to catch up here.]

In the meantime, here are a few prayer requests:

• Wisdom for the whole team, as they put together the right treatment program for Grace.
• Finding the right donor (with all those siblings, the doctors are optimistic, but they need wisdom for making the choice).
• That the team will be a great match for the family, with mutual trust, understanding, and compassion.
• Of course they want to do whatever gives Grace the best possible chance, but the family really hopes that things won’t move too fast, so that they will be allowed a peaceful Christmas at home as a family before heading into the upcoming ordeal.  (Once the transplant process begins, part of the family will have to relocate temporarily to Boston.  Fortunately, it is only about an hour and a half away by car.)
• Prayers, too, please, for the rest of the family, who are feeling the strain.  They have great help, but it’s hard.  As Heather (our daughter) put it, “Grace is doing great. The rest of us (older than 10) are the ones who are stressed and tired.  Trying to get lots of cuddles in, and plenty of tasks are being left undone.  But we are trying to take it one day at a time.”
• Grace's sister, Joy, is making a list of all those she knows of who are praying for their family.  If you would like to add your name, please either say so in a comment, or e-mail me here.  Partial names, nicknames, or initials are fine, if you don't want to be clearly identified.

I know how much we all have to pray for, and how much easier it is if we have photos and updates to inspire us.  Many people have enjoyed this picture of “Bacon Girl,” taken in the hospital.  So, please, whenever you eat bacon, smell bacon, or think of bacon—say a prayer for Grace and her family!  (Feel free to substitute the comfort food of your choice if you don’t eat bacon.)

It is said that someone once asked Martin Luther, "Why do you preach salvation by faith alone, week after week after week?"

"Because," Luther replied, "You forget it week after week after week."

In that spirit, it's time to bring back once again this much-needed, and clearly forgotten, scene from A Man for All Seasons.

[I have been having so much fun posting excerpts from from my father's journals that I decided to give it its own category:  Glimpses of the Past.  This is the first one posted in that new category; eventually I'll try to go back and include previous posts.]

In 1964, my father and his co-workers flew from Albany, New York to Washington, DC for a meeting with The Customer. (It wasn't till decades later that I learned that the customer was actually the CIA, but that's another story.) Their return flight was somewhat eventful, as he recalled in his journal.  (Emphasis, and comments in brackets, mine.)

When we got to the National Airlines counter we found the plane would be 15 minutes late (we found out later that the plane had been delayed in Jacksonville, Florida by President Johnson's plane either coming or going) so we had plenty of time. Then there was an announcement of further delay—the plane had made in emergency landing in Richmond because a passenger had had a heart attack. We had an hour and 50 minutes between planes at Idlewild [former name of JFK airport], so there was no panic over these delays, but there was a growing concern. Our plane finally arrived and we left Washington about an hour and 15 minutes late. We stopped at Baltimore and then the pilot appeared to make very good time between Baltimore and New York, making the trip in about 30 minutes. We deplaned and waited a while for the bus which would take us to the Mohawk Airlines terminal, but we arrived at the Mohawk ticket counter about 9:40 for our 10 p.m. flight, so we really didn't have any trouble.

Being delayed by the president and then by a passenger's heart attack are unusual enough, but what really struck me is the part I highlighted in bold. Arriving at the ticket counter 20 minutes before departure and having that be of no concern at all? Now that's impressive. Progress over time is not always in the positive direction.

As we prepared for our annual Lessons & Carols service a weekago, a fellow chorister shared this reminder from Allan Sherman, one of my favorite commedians from the past.

Because it's sometimes hard to understand the words, here's a visual aid.

We would now like to salute all of the beautiful singing groups all over the world.

When the Norman Luboff Chorus
Sings a song like this (like this, like this, like this),
Every single note is gorgeous,
But they sometimes miss.

No one's perfect, no one's perfect, no one's perfect, and
That includes Fred Waring and His Pennsylvanians, and The Ray Charles Singers who were made famous by their frequent appearances on The Perry Como Show, and The Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and The Robert Shaw Chorale.

When the chorus sings behind you,
All they do is hum (hum).
Every hum is like an angel,
Then one hum goes bumm!

Far above the other singers,
In the treble clef,
A soprano sings in B flat,
But the key is F.

No one's perfect, no one's perfect,
We have learned tonight.
So you'll be astounded
When we hit this last note right.

For the record, it's not easy to sing so beautifully discordantly.

The Shift is a new movie from Angel Studios, the folks who brought us Sound of Freedom. I thought the latter so worthwhile I wanted to support the studio and give The Shift a chance.

First, the good:

• I cannot imagine making a movie out of the Book of Job, which consists almost entirely of Job and his friends making long speeches to one another. This is a creditable effort.
• Neal McDonough plays a very convincing Satan.

But here's why it was not a good experience:

• I'm an old-fashioned science fiction fan, and like my stories rational, logical, and scientific, with more thought than action (think Isaac Asimov). I'm not at all fond of multiverse stories, nor of confusing story lines and rapid transistions, which pretty much describes most of the movie.
• I'm tempted to say the movie is too short—except that at times it felt too long. We need to get to know the characters better. Granted, the Book of Job doesn't go in for much character development, either.
• It's not the film's fault, but the volume in the theater was so extreme that even my earplugs—which I take everywhere I go—couldn't do the job of making the experience pain-free. The bass, for example, was not just loud, but physically painful, the sound waves literally pummeling my body for 90% of the movie.

If you stay to the end of the credits, you will be assured more than once that the very best way to view a film is in a theater. Nope. Not even close. I'll take my small-screen TV with controllable volume and my own popcorn any day.

But that's me; your mileage may vary.

I've put this post in the Just for Fun category, though those who hated math in school might not think so. I'm one of those weird folks who loved both mathematics and taking SAT-type tests. Admittedly, they aren't as much fun today as they used to be, ever since they took out the analogy and quantitative comparison questions. (A pity, since they replaced questions that test your general ability to think (scholastic aptitude) with ones more related to coursework (making it easier to "teach to the test").

Be that as it may, there's no test here, but a fascinating mathematical deep dive, at a layman's level, inspired by a question that everyone, including the test-makers, got wrong on a Scholastic Aptitude Test given back in 1982. (18.5 minutes at 1x speed, no language warning—unless math sounds offensive to you)

One of my favorite priests believes strongly that it's important to be physically in church for worship, with one's own congregation if at all possible.  He delights in encouraging people to come to Ash Wednesday services by admonishing, "Get your ash in church!" It's not that time of year, but I thought of him last night at our Lessons & Carols service at the Episcopal Church of the Resurrection in Longwood. I've linked to the church but not the service. I will explain.

The evening went really well, I think. We have a talented and inspiring music director; a guest orchestra representing the best students from two local high schools plus a few professionals; some excellent and enthusiastic young choristers; a choir from a senior living center, one of whose members just celebrated her 102nd birthday; our adult choir supplemented by a few guests who don't have the ability to commit to every Sunday but like to join us for special occasions; and many volunteer hands making light(er) the work.

What we don't have is a sound system that works well for music, which is why you don't get a link to the video. (Well, okay, if you really want it. Don't say I didn't warn you.) They've been working for years on improving the sound, and I had high hopes when they decided to livestream the service. But whatever the gremlin is, it's still there. One of our choir members always takes his own private video and that has good sound; I don't know why the official recording never works.

Maybe the point is: You have to be there. Ours is still an amateur production. No one is going to feature us on a Christmas television special. (However, we will be singing at Carnegie Hall this summer. Ahem.) But I love amateur music; it has a special kind of heart, from the tiniest Suzuki "Twinklers" to high school marching bands to enthusiastic Irish seisiúns (about the only time you'll see me in a bar). And as far as I was concerned, last night was just glorious. And as far as I can tell, the congregation agreed.

Speaking of Irish music, part of what made last night's Lessons & Carols so much fun to sing was that we did not one but three compositions by Dan Forrest. Gloria in Excelsis, Joy to the World!, and Hark! The Herald Angels Sing. Dan Forrest is an American composer, but if you've ever wondered what the offspring of a Christmas carol and an Irish jig might be....

You'll note that on the recording of Joy to the World I linked to above, the performance includes dancers. Ours did not. Well, not officially. A couple of very young members of the congregation apparently decided that was an omission they needed to remedy and danced happily in the aisle.

It was that kind of fun. Not only for us, but—so they said—for the congregation as well.

You had to be there. Maybe next year some of you will!

'Tis the season for festivities and music!

Well, sort of. For those who observe the traditional Church Year, it's actually Advent, the more reflective and anticipatory season before Christmas. But life being the way it is—with so many of our choir, congregation, and guests out of town for Christmas itself—our Christmas Lessons & Carols celebration takes place early.

This year it will be Saturday, December 9, at 5:30 p.m. There is no charge, and there will be lots of good food afterwards.

Come join us at the Episcopal Church of the Resurrection, 251 East Lake Brantley Drive in Longwood. This is one of our choir's biggest events of the year. (The other, of course, is Easter. Check back later for that.)

Books, sermons, and debates on the problem of unanswered petitionary prayer have been around for as long as people have been praying. To my simple mind, the answer boils down to this:

1. A cosmic-vending-machine god would be a horror, speeding the world to hell even faster than we're already racing.
2. Capricious gods are basically humans with superpowers—think ancient Greece and Rome—and can almost be dealt with: you try to keep them happy, you rejoice when they do what you ask, and you shrug your shoulders when they don't. You win some, you lose some.
3. An all-loving, all-knowing, and all-powerful god who describes himself as a father will act more like ideal human parents, who know that bringing up children requires sometimes saying yes, sometimes saying no, and sometimes weeping when your response causes horrific pain—like parents who put a tiny child through the torment of chemotherapy because the alternative is so much worse.

I leave out the option that prayers aren't answered because there's no one to hear. Those who pray—and "thinking good thoughts" is also a prayer—believe someone or something will hear their heartfelt cry. The only question is what, or who.

It really comes down to a choice between (2) and (3). Choosing (3) requires that we accept that even our best, most unselfish, and most desperate prayers will sometimes seem to be ignored. Thus, I've come more-or-less to terms with the problem of unanswered prayer. It's the problem of answered prayer that seems to me to be sorely neglected.

We blithely sing,

Have thine own way, Lord!
Have thine own way!
Thou art the potter,
I am the clay.
Mold me and make me
after thy will,
while I am waiting,
yielded and still.

But have we ever really considered the perspective of the clay? The process that results in a beautiful vase sees the clay being slapped, kneaded, pushed, prodded, spun on a dizzying wheel, cut and trimmed, and fired in a blistering-hot oven. Is this really what we're asking for?

Stupid me, I keep praying, regularly and earnestly, "Make me into the person you want me to be." Apparently my Potter is taking me seriously. This is where I feel like pleading to be an ordinary, sun-dried pot, shaped by gentle hands and soft nudges. Who wants to be a Ming vase anyway? But it's been a potter's wheel kind of year.

Be careful what you ask for. Your prayers just might be answered.

Once again, the CATO Institute has come out with its assessment of relative personal and economic freedom among our states. I'm always suspicious of all those surveys that purport to measure "best state to live in," "happiest city," "most family-friendly country," and such, because so often their criteria are not only different from my own, but even polar opposites. But the CATO Institute appears to have done a good job, and they're open about their criteria and how they calculate their rankings. It goes without saying that there are "freedoms" considered here that each of us would be happy to do without. I'm actually rather pleased that Florida ranks #37 in "gambling freedom," although I understand why that's included in the calculations. They even have an appendix for high-profile issues, such as abortion, that make a generalized assessment of freedom difficult.

Here is the definition of freedom that undergirds this ranking:

We ground our conception of freedom on an individual rights framework. In our view, individuals should be allowed to dispose of their lives, liberties, and property as they see fit, so long as they do not infringe on the rights of others. This understanding of freedom follows from the natural-rights liberal thought of John Locke, Immanuel Kant, and Robert Nozick, but it is also consistent with the rights-generating rule-utilitarianism of Herbert Spencer and others.

Here is an image of the overall freedom rankings. I encourage you to go to the website, however, where you can find much more information.

Way to go, New Hampshire and Florida, the gold and silver winners!

The dubious distinction of coming in dead last goes to my birth state of New York, where I lived until I was 15 and came back again for college and several years thereafter, home of my beloved Adirondack Mountains, and birthplace of our children. I still love New York and pray for it daily, but can no longer imagine—as I once dreamed—of returning to live there. However, your mileage may vary. One man's liberty is another man's license, and New York may be just where you'll feel freest in the areas that matter most to you. (If so, please stay there and enjoy it. Don't move to Florida for the weather or the low taxes and then do your best to make us like New York.)

Here's a PBS story with information on how Neanderthal (and Denisovan) genes live on in modern humans. I'm taking it personally; after all, 23andMe tells me that I have more Neanderthal genes than 91% of their customers: Out of the 7,462 variants we tested, we found 279 variants in your DNA that trace back to the Neanderthals. Granted, my Neanderthal ancestry adds up to less than 2% of my DNA, but it's still more than most people have.

So if you think some of my ideas are old-fashioned, even Stone Age, at least I come by them honestly.

The bad news:

In 2020, research by Zeberg and Paabo found that a major genetic risk factor for severe COVID-19 is inherited from Neanderthals. “We compared it to the Neanderthal genome and it was a perfect match,” Zeberg said. “I kind of fell off my chair.”

The good news:

The next year, they found a set of DNA variants along a single chromosome inherited from Neanderthals had the opposite effect: protecting people from severe COVID.

The science behind the news (links in the quotes) is more than I want to think about, and I have no idea how the protective vs. risk factor genes work out in my case. After all, I may have more Neanderthal genes than most, but that's still only a small fraction, and I don't even know if the variants involved are among those tested by 23andMe. So I'll just go back to making my Covid decisions based on other factors.

And smiling when someone suggests my views are out-of-date.

I sang this song in sixth grade, in an elementary school chorus where we we were taught three-part harmony and music theory as well. It was pretty remarkable. I had actually forgotten about America, Our Heritage until I found the program for our May 1964 concert in my dad's journal for that year. But as soon as I saw the title, words and music came flooding back. It must have made an impression on me, because I sure can't say that's true of all the songs we sang.

I find this song particularly appropriate for Thanksgiving. It moves me to gratitude that this was truly the America I grew up in, and that, dark as the days may sometimes seem, this American Dream is worth working for, praying for, fighting for, and above all hoping for. 

America, Our Heritage
Words and music by Helen Steele

High towering mountains, fields gold with grain,
Rich, fertile farmlands, flocks on the plain,
Homes blessed with peace, with love, without fears;
This is the heritage we've kept through the years.

Wide rolling prairies, lakes deep and broad,
Canyons majestic, fashioned by God,
Life lived in peace, contented and free:
This is the heritage forever to be.

Stout hearts and true hold fast what is ours
God give us courage through darkest hours.
God give us strength and guide with thy hand
America, our heritage, our homeland.

The Girl Scout version skips a verse, but you'll get the idea.

Happy Thanksgiving to one and all!

Here's an interesting video about toilet paper I just came across (17 minutes @ regular speed, language warning). It begins with the extreme statement that the average American uses 141 rolls of toilet paper a year. You may recognize that as a useless, inflammatory statistic. First of all, I question any statement that tries to give itself credibility by being more precise than justified. To say 141 conveys no more information than "around 140" but looks more scientific because of the extra significant digit. But I'm quibbling. The real issue is that toilet paper rolls come in a variety of sizes, so that number could easily be off by a factor of three, even if you only count household use; office and public bathrooms often use industrial-sized rolls. So all this number really means is that Americans use a lot of toilet paper.

This makes me suspect the other numbers in the video as well. So why am I posting it? Well, the history of toilet paper, and toilet paper alternatives, is interesting. Though come to think of it, I quarrel with some of that, too. The idea that excrement is "gross" was not the invention of clever marketers, as any reader of the Old Testament will attest.

Still, it got me rethinking the idea of a bidet, one of the ones that attaches right to your existing toilet. Actually, I've been envying the Japanese their fancy toilets since we visited there in 2006, but that's both more money and more work than I'm in the mood for. But I always thought of a bidet as a luxury item for occasional use; it never occurred to me that it could replace toilet paper. (Think how handy that would have been in 2020.) And I'd never heard of "bidet towels," which make a lot of sense. I mean, you don't save toilet paper if you use it to dry off afterwards. Then again, Japanese toilets do the drying for you, too: wash, flush, and blow dry.