Author: Peter Watkins

Little Did I Know

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20112 Comments

Dear Will:

Today I took a 6-mile hike through Peters Canyon. Although I have hiked there many times, this was the first time that I walked the full loop.

I couldn’t have picked a nicer day for a hike: clear, blue skies, a light breeze, weather in the low seventies. It was glorious. And although the trail was busy, it was not so crowded that I couldn’t enjoy a little solitude and the chance to be alone with my thoughts for a couple of hours. I thought about my children and their various challenges. I thought about my great wife and the many ways that she blesses our family. I thought about the weeks and months ahead and some of the difficult decisions we’ll be facing.

And of course I thought about my health. Today was a bit of an experiment—an extended hike following several months of forced inactivity. But over the last 30 days or so, I have really been feeling good—like myself again—good enough to take on a long hike and not worry that the paramedics would have to rendezvous with me at the trailhead. And I’m proud to say that I completed the trek without the assistance of the medi-vac unit.

It used to be that when someone asked “How are you?” I would respond “Fine” and give it no further thought. But now when people ask, I tell them I feel great. I don’t necessarily feel a lot better than I used to, but I have come to appreciate the profound blessing of vigor and energy that I previously took for granted. I have experienced firsthand why it is that “it must needs be that there is an opposition in all things” (2 Nephi 2:11). After all, without bad health, how could I ever truly understand what it means to be healthy? There was the time a few weeks back when (I kid you not) I watched an elderly man walked nonchalantly across a waiting room and thought, “You have no idea how fortunate you are.” Now when I walk casually across that same room, I notice. Imagine.

When I first learned of my cancer back in August, I shared with you the poem “Pied Beauty” by Gerard Manley Hopkins—a poem in which the poet glorifies God for “dappled things . . . With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim.” I shared it in advance of any real physical challenges.

Little did I know. Now I sit here cancer-free, having been hospitalized four times, with seven new scars on my abdomen and anti-coagulants running through my body, and I appreciate the poem more than ever. For I have since tasted the sour; I’ve seen the dim. And having done so, I am so much more grateful for the sweet, so much more dazzled by the light.

Walking the trails in Peters Canyon is a small thing—something I thought little about in my previous visits. But today, as I stood high atop the East Rim Trail and looked out over the reservoir and the eucalyptus, as I walked the Creek Trail and delighted in the cool riparian habitat created by the ground-fed stream, as I felt whole again, pain-free, normal even, I finally understood what prompted Hopkins to close his poem like this: “He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him.”

Praise Him indeed.

PW

God Always Shows His Hand

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20102 Comments

Dear Will:

It’s been quite an autumn.

It started with the prostate surgery in September. Everything seemed to go well, but about a month later I was in the ER for what turned out to be an “incarcerated bowel” (four feet of my intestines had escaped the stomach cavity and quit working). That required a nine-day stay in a remote hospital, most of it spent living on nothing but IV fluids and ice chips. And then for good measure I returned to the ER last week because I have developed a deep vein thrombosis, which is a fancy way of saying I have a blood clot in my leg.

Not fun. After going over 40 years without hospitalization, I have been in the hospital three times in less than 90 days. It has been painful, boring, frustrating, and (most of all) humbling.

At times, I’m sure, God comes to us when we call for Him in a moment of crisis. I have seen, however, that there are times when He actually goes before us and is waiting there for us when the crisis arrives. I can’t begin to tell you how often and in how many ways He showed His love for me in the midst of my suffering. God always shows His hand in such circumstances, and you don’t have to look very hard to see it.

Most often, His hands were the hands of friends and family, kind nurses and diligent doctors. The light in my hospital room always shone brightly because the love of God was there, expressed by the unexpected visit from a ward member, a note from my Seminary students, a simple act of kindness from a nurse’s aide. It was a profoundly moving experience to see, day after day, that He was watching over me and sending His children to me to let me know.

Do not get me wrong; I would not choose to go through again what I have been through these last few weeks. But having been through it, I remain very grateful. What a blessing to have my life touched in so many ways. How much wiser and more compassionate I will be in the future as I interact with others who likewise find themselves with physical or emotional challenges.

When I returned from the hospital at the end of October and sat down for the first time in 10 days with my family for dinner, I could not hold back the tears of gratitude that we were reunited. It might seem a small thing, but it was profoundly important to me. Consequently, when we were gathered around a Thanksgiving meal just a couple of days ago, I gave added thanks in my heart for the privilege and blessing of being together in that way.  I also feel blessed to have modern medicine, capable doctors and nurses, health insurance and an understanding employer. And above all, I have felt a deep gratitude for my wife who has somehow managed to keep the family operating even though I have been a heavy burden throughout what has proved to be an extended convalescence. Her compassionate service to me has often brought to mind the baptismal invitation that we might “bear one another’s burdens that they might be light.” Thus inspired, I am determined to go and do likewise.

I do not share all this to invite your sympathy. Rather I do it as an affirmation that God loves us and watches over us, and even when times are hard He is there for us and with us, every step of the way.

PW

Telling It Like It Is

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2010Leave a comment

Dear Will:

First things first: My surgery is safely behind me and the doctor has declared me “cured.” I’ll be in recovery mode for the next several weeks, but all of the really scary stuff has been taken from my body and sent to the lab. So I can get on with life.

The only “complication” so far is that I had to stay in the hospital a couple of extra days because of some ancillary bleeding. It was nothing life-threatening, mind you, just the sort of thing that makes a doctor crinkle his brow and muse a bit. When he informed me that I wasn’t going to leave the hospital as early as originally projected, Dr. Pasin was extremely apologetic: “I’m sorry, but I’m going to keep you in here an extra day.” He gave that speech twice.

Of course I was disappointed, but I hardly felt like he owed me an apology. What he was saying was for my good, after all. But such are our social conventions that we feel compelled to apologize even in circumstances when we are doing something for the benefit of someone else.

God is not bound by any such social conventions. “What I the Lord have spoken, I have spoken, and I excuse not myself,” He says. In other words, “I’m not going to apologize for telling it like it is.” Which makes sense, of course. He then continues: “Though the heavens and the earth pass away, my word shall not pass away, but shall all be fulfilled, whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same” (D&C 1:38). He’s going to speak plainly, without apology, and what He says will come to pass. Just like that. And it makes no difference whether He speaks as a voice from heaven or through one of His designated representatives—either way, what he says is going to happen whether we like it or not.

I bring all of this up because this weekend is the semi-annual General Conference of the Church, and you can watch it while sitting on the sofa in your family room. There will be a total of eight hours of instruction broadcast in two-hour chunks (Saturday and Sunday, 9 a.m. and 1 p.m. PDT) It’s generally broadcast over BYU-TV (channel 567 on my box) or on one of the public access channels. I hope you get a chance to tune in at least for a little bit.

In my state of convalescence, I’m likely to watch the whole thing (I’m still not getting around much). That will be a rare privilege, and I’m really looking forward to it. Thomas S. Monson, the Prophet and President of the Church, will be speaking (multiple times, no doubt) along with his counselors, the twelve apostles, and several other of the General Authorities of the Church. As I maintain my preoccupation with my physical well-being, it will be nice to have the distraction and to focus some time on spiritual healing instead.

Who knows? In my state, maybe my spiritual doctors will decide I need a few extra days of intensive care to stop the bleeding. Which would be fine by me. Whatever it takes to finally be pronounced “cured.”

PW