Editor's note: God sent Scott and Lynne Green to plant our church in Hong Kong in 1987 and to send our first underground churches into mainland China before leading the Seattle Church of Christ for 17 years and the Berlin Church of Christ or the last two years. Disciples around the world prayed for Lynne as she battled cancer and is now a nine-year survivor. Disciples now are praying for God’s help and healing for Scott.
Only about one American in 15,000 can write this in 2016: I have a brain tumor. Since we found out a month ago in Berlin, Lynne and I have been the recipients of an astonishing level of kindness, encouragement, abundant prayers and heart-moving generosity. In fact, last week, Lynne had asked me what three words defined my last month, and I replied, “patience, pain, and generosity,” including her own. Lynne has been my best friend, my help, my security, and often my caretaker, and in this, reflects the love of God. I am really lucky.
I want to begin using this blog as a way of updating those who care for us and pray for us. Feel free to subscribe and supposedly the website will notify you if I have written a new post.
The journey thus far:
Lynne and I have been living and working in Berlin since 2014, consulting for a group of church leaders on how to build well, how to build team, and how to engage the gifts of members better and better. The team with whom we work is a great blessing for us—amazing hearts, dreams, and genuine teamwork—and they constitute some of the best friends of our lives. We hope to continue our work in Berlin and “finish” what we came to do. We believe our lives are firmly in God’s hands—“meine Zeit steht in deinen Händen”—and trust that if it’s meant to be, we will see it to fruition.
Starting in August, I began to notice “episodes” that were repetative and concerning: a heat flash on the left side of my face, accompanied by slightly slurred speech. Each episode woul last about 60 seconds. In late August and early September, I became aware of these episodes happening once/day. I began to wonder if thses were mini strokes—transient ischemic attack (TIA)—or some kind of latent epilepsy, or just stress. The more I read bout TIA, the more frightened I became; eventually, it was time to visit the ER of a Berlin hospital. That was October 5. After an interminable wait in the ER—it seems to be a universal cross-cultural experience—I received a CT scan and was admited to spend the night. In the early morning, a team of doctors gathered at the foot of my bed to discuss my case. Although my German remains weak, I know enough to hear them talking about a mass in my head, which was, of couse, a life-changing piece of hearsay. They began making plans for an MRI and sugery and put me in a ward with a professor of IT. The prof was really interesting, believing in the Terminator machines-win scenario. When I asked him what we should do, he said, “it’s too late.” I really hope he’s not such a good prof then.
When it took too long to set up the MRI, and knowing surgery was the likely need, we decided to leave, and booked a flight to Seattle for the next day. Our good friend Stephanie Stafford gave us strategic advice: when we arrived in Seattle, we went straight to the University of Washington ER. CT and MRI scans followed that night and we prepped for surgery that coming Thursday to take as much of the tumor out as possible.
Post-op raised some challenges: severe headaches (sawsall to your skull is hard on the nerves), body fatigue, and then a two-week wait for the pahology report on the tumor. The wait was a great conext for fear—fearing the worst. I did too much reading about grade IV Glioblastomas. I wanted to hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst, for the sake of my family. I began making a 15-month bucket list. When the doctors told us October 27 that I had a grade II Astrocytoma, it was, within that context, an incredible relief. The doctor and I both cried out of hope.
What now?
On Monday, I began six weeks of combined chemo and radiation (proton) therapy. Described median outcomes sound good. The fatigue sounds tough.
But the support I have calls me to be “very strong and couragous.” I pray I can live up to that. My son Stephen, who gave me his Seahawks Mack Strong jersey, expects me to fight hard. I will. My daughter Ariel, studying at Morehead University, keeps me punny. My amazing wife Lynne completely takes care of me—it’s so far beyond what I deserve that it takes my breath away. My mom and my brother Mark offer nothing but hope and confidence; I am the luckiest.
The community of Christians who know us have been so generous with their prayers and expressions of love and solidarity. I have said, in the spirit of George Bailey, that I am thus the richest man in town. Each day testifies again to it. I’ve been lucky to have some special visits from Doug Arthur last week, and now from Danny Chow (Beijing) and Pandora Lam (Hong Kong), who are determined to stay with us for two weeks. The strength they bring can’t be put into words.
When initial treatment is done, we hope and plan to return to our Berlin work and family. Perhaps God will give us the months and years needed to do so. Perhaps it will be a few years, or perhaps many. The truth is, for each of us, there will be a day when “time’s up.” Can we trust him enough on that day to let go of life, knowing by fatih that more and better life is our inheritance? I’ve spent all my adult life talking about that promise, and I hope to live like a man who really believes it. And I hope my spirit will be a testimony for people on the fence of the most important question they will ever ask: “Should I and can I seek, and find, God?”
More to come as it seems relevant. Thanks for reading.
Euer Scott