The Standard

Memorial Service

Stephen Host — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 03:30:00 GMT

A memorial Service for Stephen will be held on Sunday March 02, at 3:00 p.m. at MEI Elementary School near the corner of Clearbrook and Downs Rd. in Abbotsford.
For "out of towners": Take the Mt. Lehman Exit off the freeway, go north all the way down the hill, turn right onto Downs Road and continue on until you see MEI on your left hand side.
In lieu of flowers please consider a donation to the ALS Society of B.C., more information will be available at the Memorial Service. We are tremendously grateful for all their help and support over the last year and a half.
Keep checking this site, I am still plannng on putting some thoughts "on paper" so to speak, when things slow down a bit. We have appreciated your interest in our journey.
May the Lord bless you all,
Jac

And so passes a good man and loving father.....

Stephen Host — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 19:33:00 GMT

As we all take a moment to wish the family a long and lasting life, we can take this moment to reflect upon the passing of a good man... I have never to do this so I will pass the keys over to Jaclyn....Dave bain

Stephen passed away about 8:00 p.m. on February 21. His suffering has ended and he has gone home to be with his loving father. I will post a longer blog and details of a memorial service as soon as I get my brain together, within the next few days. Thank you so much for all your prayers and support.
Jaclyn

Heaven or Health

Stephen Host — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 09:01:00 GMT

This may be my final blog entry; not to be overly melodramatic, but I had a run in with some pesky muscles that just decided yesterday to not work anymore. Whatever fluids I was still able to choke down, seemed to have a particular affinity for my esophagus, which makes things interesting for I have limited lung capacity to call upon to eject these fluids up and over to the appropriate down pipe. So that generally means a couple hours of barely breathing (more like gasping for air )and since it was taking 35 to 45 minutes to toss back said cup, and I was trying to drink something every 3 hours. Anyway ,said muscles have refused to come back online.

What is odd about the timing is that last week when I was being a bit more of a whining so and so, I asked God when are you going to do something about my situation” And clear as a fart in a prayer time on old fashioned pews I heard “Tuesday” echoing through the cathedral of my mind. I asked , like … this Tuesday or something in the future … so I was eagerly awaiting some pretty significant progress or something … well I guess it was the last day I drank and the ball is pretty much where it has been all along; right with my loving Eternal Father and I make my claims to Sonship through the most extravagant of all gifts ever offered; Jesus, I am still “all-in” no matter the outcome, I’m in.

Please hug all my prayer angels who stand up for me and plead on my behalf. These next few days are indeed the, most pregnant of all.

I remain in His loving gaze

Stephen

letter to my Eternal Father

Stephen Host — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 14:02:00 GMT

God!

The mere mention of you is enough to bring me to tears. Anyway, as You well know, I have been having difficulty of late, mostly with the body doing the whole “consuming itself” thing which is at once fascinating and at the same time, kind of scary to experience in this context. I have to marvel that I ever considered a 40 day fast as some huge insurmountable event beyond my ability to endure. What foolish things I once concerned myself with. I bet you probably hear that a lot more than you want to. Anyway, I am hoping to stay a bit more connected with you, okay, so, a lot more connected. I have no reason for the silence; although, at times I simply do not know what I can possibly add. I have felt pretty small and insignificant on the canvas of your astonishing creation. I look at the images that various photographers have captured through the lens and shutters of our limited perspective, and whether the image is of such magnitude as to capture the hundreds of galaxies hidden in the faintest points of light in the glorious midwinter sky

or of the world captured in the reflection of a single drop of water

I see both the expression of brazen supremacy of the God of Creation presented to us alongside the Heart of Mercy

Oh my fAther, I am a man of sorrow in desperate need of you. I am not demanding anything, you have heard my best arguments for healing as well as heaven. Let me finish tonight with a question; is there a place that I may (figuratively) climb? Like a lap, alter or cross and upon which I can just Be with you ?

On being disabled

Stephen Host — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 12:48:00 GMT

What does it feel like to be disabled; handicapped; or as our politically correct society would say, mobility impaired? That has been the question in my brains of late.

But before I get into this, I want to express, once again, my gratitude for the constant stream of encouragement that you have taken the time to write; I understand how daunting it is to drop all the personal apprehensions and throw down honest thoughts for all to read and, perhaps misunderstand or at least interpret for themselves.

I have tried to be honest with each thought or idea that I wrestled into existence on this lowly blog; a more difficult feat than I would ever have thought possible. You see, I found that I have a tendency to slip easily into hypothetical postulation; a type of mental jibber-jabber that is hollow and completely devoid of heart. I have asked myself why I struggle with being sincere; is it some repressed anxiety seeping into the fray? Perhaps I do it to appear wise; it’s actually something that I wanted to be; wise, that is.

Enough of that train of thought. It’s been a long time since I initiated this one way dialogue; this obscure window into my ever shrinking world. My first entry, I closed with the words “I'll post more stuff tomorrow - maybe even a picture or two, who knows.”

Indeed, “who knows” may well be the truest words that I have written. Even in my most terrifying of imaginings I certainly did not expect to be so utterly impaired on a physical plane, and still feel, for lack of other words, so normal. I don’t know what I expected to feel; certainly something more dramatic than this.

The mental transition to feeling disabled has been unbelievably slow. Even now, unable to move any limb, completely mute and barely able to choke down a few cups of thin liquid in a day, I don’t entirely see myself as disabled. Why is the idea of being disabled such a difficult concept for me to accept? Partially it is because, I am ashamed to admit, I had pompously held the view that being disabled meant that my value as a person was less; as if there existed some hierarchy in human value in which the highest form of worth is in health and the physical manifestation of control over one’s body. I cringe as I recall countless examples of my frigid disdain for those who suffered in bodies that refused to cooperate.

If you will allow my confession, there are 2 souls in particular that haunt me; even though it has been decades, the appalling judgments still hurt.

The first was a man, walking down the main street in Prince George about 20 years ago. I couldn’t tell you anything about him except that he was snotting and drooling like a pig The strings of his phlegm dangled out of his mouth and nose almost touching the sidewalk as his hunched form slowly shuffled by. I remember thinking that such a disgusting old man shouldn’t be out in public.

The other was more recent, perhaps only 12 years ago at Mama Pandas Buffet. That slob ate with his mouth wide open, flinging his head around to move the food into his cheeks. I remember how awkwardly his gait was when returning with his glass of milk; how he started walking with a full glass and how hilarious it was to watch him stumbling across the room; half the contents of his glass spilling out on his return trip.

Well, gentlemen, now I understand how you must have felt. I truly hope to meet you both someday and make it right with you. Now I must be content to have seen you through the lens of my suffering, for through this paradigm you were neither disgusting nor shameful; rather you were men of sore affliction whose hearts held the courage to be seen as you were; warts and all.

I can only hope to be so brave.

Thank you

Stephen Host — Thu, 10 Jan 2008 13:43:00 GMT

This short entry is for you, yes the ones reading my vignettes.

Oh, I don’t know who you are, unless you are one of these who leaves a reminder to me that you’ve been here and have had a response to the words that I have struggled to assemble into some semblance of order.

It’s funny, I sometimes agonize over the words like a child trying to fit a shape into a toy; twisting and turning the words; trying different combinations until, like the small plastic shape, it pops effortlessly into the slot that was specifically designed for it. In the process, hopefully I can capture the mood and ambient meaning well enough that you have a small but lucid window into my situation.

I really appreciate the time you put in to commenting back. I read every one of them.

Thank you for reading along.

Stephen Host

My Struggle

Stephen Host — Mon, 07 Jan 2008 13:54:00 GMT

Food was one of the last accessible pleasures plucked from my increasingly barren vine of human experience. I can understand why people who are facing the convulsive agony that is ALS would be inclined to undergo surgery to handle food and drink; with my body in a state of deplorable decay, I stare down each cup of liquid with a concentrated vigor heretofore reserved for only the most demanding of enterprises; each one a villain to be fought with emphatic earnestness; each victory enthusiastically celebrated, each defeat silently set aside and forgotten.

With the struggle to drink a simple cup of juice simultaneously increasing in complexity while diminishing in capability, the feeding tube keeps coming to my mind as an escape from the constant stress of careful consumption perhaps appears as a viable option; but that flies in the face of my decision to refuse any surgical procedures to prolong my stay in this crumbling house.

I guess that got me thinking about the motivation behind eating. The question behind most of my food choices was “Does this have any value to my body?” I’m obviously not talking about recreational food, but the staples on which we run our magnificent fuel converting, self regulating, self repairing and fully automated machines that we call bodies. When I realized that everything I understood about the nature of food was suddenly irrelevant, I adopted a peculiar flippant ease about the types of food that I ate. The fact that something was high in a particular fibre or vitamin was obsolete. Taste became the deciding factor; well, that and texture.

The truth of the struggle is starting to wear pretty heavy on my furrowed brow. I am increasingly sleepy but sleep itself has become elusive and awkward. I hurt in places too numerous to consider and my joints are seizing up. All in all, pretty consistent with a body that has had enough. The nurses agreed before Christmas that I didn’t have months to go but weeks. You know how the big questions are; how much more of this can a person handle? and, is God saying anything about healing or heaven?

The truth is, I don’t know for certain.

So how am I, many of you ask. Am I at peace (as many of you suggest) or is my soul in need of rescue (as another has suggested). I guess it’s difficult to know for certain from the outside, isn’t it? I mean, what does this kind of struggle look like to your eyes? One thing is certain; the paradigm through which you peer at my suffering is completely biased and significantly alters your perception of it. The only way to answer how I am doing will likely be from an eternal podium, free of the sins and judgment that colour our views now.

Until then, I am (hero or a ham, saint or sinner) just myself

December 22

Stephen Host — Sat, 22 Dec 2007 14:59:00 GMT

It’s 5:10 am and I am awake; if you can call this dizzy half baked state awake. I’ve lost count of the mornings I have lain semiconscious just letting the minutes dribble away while my carcass prods me with pains I cannot alleviate, itches so intensely fierce my eyes water and liquids I cannot swallow. The cruel irony of being so hyper sensitive while being a spectator in this body increases daily. I was trying to remember my last meal; it’s been quite some time; probably two months since I actually ate something solid. As I recall, it was butter chicken from my favorite Asian restaurant. As things are now, my diet is primarily water, at least when I can swallow. I am still trying to augment with the odd venti extra shot Americano misto with 3 sugars,but the season for recreational drinking is seemingly past.

Today I was quite sick, actually had some frightening moments when I was completely unable to breathe due to the retching. I kept thinking, my poor mom; she has become my support in so many ways. Who would have known that mom would sacrifice so much of her life to care for me? I have been under 24/7 care of mom and Dave (my other hero) since August. Mom, you’ll never know how much it means to me that you’re here, week after week, willingly giving of yourself without hesitation.

My spirits are definitely down, which is undoubtedly related to the physical duress of this process. I am battling fatigue and frustration at levels I truly did not know even existed. It seems as if each day is a new definition of being completely spent.

I have been trying to determine the best answer to the oft asked “how are you?” My current answer is “I am almost home.” which is probably somewhat cryptic and vague but it captures the essence of the goal upon which my heart is fixed. Comrades, I have not yielded. I am still negotiating for a settlement that would see my body restored. At the same time I am longing for my true home.

God alone knows the outcome of this story, so I wait, like Psalm 39, I also ask,
4-6 "Tell me, what's going on, God?
      How long do I have to live?
      Give me the bad news!
   You've kept me on pretty short rations;
      my life is string too short to be saved.
   Oh! we're all puffs of air.
      Oh! we're all shadows in a campfire.
   Oh! we're just spit in the wind.
      We make our pile, and then we leave it.

7-11 "What am I doing in the meantime, Lord?
      Hoping, that's what I'm doing—hoping
   You'll save me from a rebel life,
      save me from the contempt of dunces.
   I'll say no more, I'll shut my mouth,
      since you, Lord, are behind all this.
      But I can't take it much longer.

Well, it’s now 7 am, almost 2 hours to type this; sheesh!
I’m not great with the whole blessing thing, so inasmuch as I am able, I bless you with the wonder of the God who submitted himself to human birth for your sake.

Be well!

My rant and my trust

Stephen Host — Sat, 15 Dec 2007 11:38:00 GMT

One of the statements that absolutely chaps me is when people say that death is the ultimate healing. I guess I have heard lots of different points of view during the process of the dilapidation of my body this year. Death is healing? By definition isn’t it the exact opposite? That’s like saying that birth is part of gestation. No, it’s the end of it.

I guess the underlying philosophical point that they are trying to make is something like we live in fallen bodies and that the bodies we have to look forward to on resurrection are going to be perfect, and in that sense by enduring the sleep of death we inherit better bodies, but it’s a cop out to say it. Physical Healing is about the body and to say that the person that has been praying for healing is ultimately healed by dying is kind of twisted.

I know what physical healing is about; I am definitely not the expert here, however, having been healed before and been apart of two different miraculous medical scenarios where God actually healed real things that were wrong, I do understand the concept.

Okay, that is my rant for the day.

I have actually been wrestling with the very nearness of my death in contrast to the hope and comfort I know through my relationship with Holy Spirit. It’s been kind of weird to know that the power to heal is living in me and yet for whatever reason I continue to fade. I was struggling with how to express my heart; I feel like I will likely die before years end, probably sooner, and yet I know that I could be raised in a second. Do I feel disappointed when I look at it? Bitter? No, not really; I feel like, where else can I go but back to the one that I promised myself to, Jesus; come what may, I am in for life.

Brad, you said it well: Granted, I don't always feel like we're going to win. (A psychological form of faith in my faith that I don't have much faith in). Rather, the faith I bring to the table is, "Even when it feels like we're getting trounced, what are we supposed to do? Abandon our hope that Jesus may yet heal? Live in denial that he might not? NEITHER. Though the fields are bare and the olives are not on the trees and the vines and barns are empty, yet I will trust. I will leave rejoicing OR grieving for another day. Today we fight, even when Steve can't."

All I can do is trust.

My Ramblings

Stephen Host — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 12:46:00 GMT

I recently watched an old episode of House that was about ALS; it’s a strange thing to have an incurable diseases and hear it spoken about with such candor, especially on TV. It was the only show I had ever seen that tackled this particular sentence until yesterday when my favorite show, Scrubs did an episode that touched on ALS. By the way, I thought it was really well presented, however they don't tell you the whole story (obviously) just the suicide perspective which I stared into the face of at great length. For me it came down to the question of trust; specifically that, although I felt at times, hopelessly impotent and weak to carry such a burden, I chose (indeed I still choose) to believe that The One who called me into this world, has been my Everlasting Father, providing me the strength to meet this challenge with a measure of tenacity that I do not possess.

From my limited grasp of peoples’ familiarity with ALS, it still seems to be a pretty unknown disease. I, for one am glad that more people don’t have to suffer this type of end. I got to thinking about it; I bet that the family and friends of one so sorely afflicted do more to raise awareness than anything else. Even though I had heard of the Police Run, I confess that I didn’t know who the sponsors were until after it hit me.

Just think how many people had absolutely no idea what ALS was who now know a small portion of the anguish that accompanies a diagnosis of this magnitude through contact with my story.

I have learned much of my own ability to grieve the celerity of immobility and the resulting loss of interaction that has accompanied it. It has made the process of grieving much more real; I can see in different ones, the various stages in remarkable variation of intensity; I imagine that is probably in direct correlation to the depth of feelings shared.

And I must say that we humans do the most curious things.

Some use their grief to jam an agenda down my throat. Some use my suffering to advance their own support, using my circumstances to find sympathy for themselves. Others act like I’m dead already or that I am somehow less aware now that I am non-verbal. Some live in denial or anger or any of the stages of grief.

The funniest response to my condition was when a well meaning person, speaking slowly and forcibly, inquired of the person standing beside me, “CAN HE UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M SAYING!!?” as if just being around me made others dull and hard of hearing.

I have learned to appreciate the funny moments!

Overall, many people are ill-equipped to handle death; or should I say the process of dying.

I consider myself quite fortunate to have so many close friends and family who are well adjusted and have figured out how to just be themselves around me.

I apologize for the disjointed thoughts, but WYSIWYG!

Peace, and keep your fork.

Just for laughs

Stephen Host — Wed, 28 Nov 2007 12:07:00 GMT

So, you know how much time I have to think about life’s little quirks eh? Well, it turns out that I actually have a couple thoughts about things.

I remember it was early spring and I was sitting quietly out on my back patio looking up at the barren branches of the poplars out back thinking to myself “I wonder if I will live to see the leaves of summer.” How far away that seems! In reality it is a whole life ago. Back then I would never have thought I would still be around in a state of illness in November! Surely God would have either taken me home or healed me.

So, here I am, such as I am; a gaunt remnant of the body that I used to inhabit stares back at me whenever I dare look in a mirror and it actually makes me chuckle.

What I have learned is that life is experienced on a myriad of layers. What is truly incredible is just how unaware I was of so many of them.

Take for example, listening to the wind in the trees. On the surface, there is the sound, then digging in, there are layers of sound. What is making the noise? The soft rustling of leaves as they hit and bump into each other; moved by the invisible form that is wind. The breath of life without which, nothing could live (but that is another thought) moving quietly but for the objects in its path. Closing my eyes I hear so many different types of obstruction, evergreens, their needles cutting through the air with a sound like a soft hiss; almost as if they rent a cut causing the deflation of a huge bed of air. In contrast to the clumsy patter of leaves, it seems more regal somehow; like the difference between a jet and a propeller. Now I expand my ears outward and begin to isolate different sources of sound. The faint cawing of crows, birdsong from a dozen different birds; the squeak squeak squeak of squirrel undoubtedly upset by something; the faint roar of a thousand 4 wheeled memorials to the ingenuity of man; now it’s as if I have opened up the floodgates of sound as layer upon layer of sound becomes evident to me. I start to distinguish a steady rhythm; now two rhythms which turn out to be emanating from within me; the steady thump thump thump of my heart, giving way to the rushing of blood through my veins accompanied by the slow intake and exhale of the very air that first caught my attention. I have come full circle and the sensations continue to build.

I find that I have, at once, a reaction to each new revelation of sound. In the moment I experienced it, my emotional responses were as varied as the textures of sound themselves.

I found myself amazed at the genius behind the laws of thermodynamics, in awe of the function of trees, taking carbon dioxide and heat out of the passing air and doing so with seemingly no effort.

The endurance of the squirrel (doesn’t he ever get sick of hearing himself?) the variety of birdsong and the complete standard of each species; how complex some of the songs are and how exact the birds are at reproducing it across an entire species.

That is a rather weak attempt to explore some of the layers inherent in just one sense; there are so many more layers of experience across each and every one of our senses.

My friend Dave started to explain how certain chefs are able to break apart a taste into an entire spectrum of experience, from the way the food begins through the entire process of enjoying the subtle textures of mingling flavours, and on to how the tongue senses different parts of each flavour at different physical locations.

The same is true for the eyes of an artist, the nose of a wine connoisseur, the fingertips of someone blind, and the imagination of a poet.

Forgive my crude analogies; I suffer more from lack of imagination than I would like to admit.

So that got me curious. Where does that put our spiritual sensitivity?

I suppose it’s a question that I have started to ask myself lately, because of the condition of my body (not good) . As I have considered eternity, it has become apparent that I am woefully unprepared for it. What I mean is that my spiritual senses are incredibly dull. I find it difficult to hear God, though not impossible, and my awareness of His heart for those around me is limited at best.

In some ways I feel like a dullard invited to savour exquisite food, view magnificent artistic displays of masterpieces, become enveloped in musical expressions that lay bare the heart, become enraptured by exotic and breathtaking perfumes and consider the most delicate of fabrics caressing my skin with such tenderness and delicacy as to cause shivers of pleasure.

Am I not as a rogue would be; hurriedly stuffing down a tasteless burger, flipping idly through a newspaper, humming off key to a commercial jingle, sniffling as a dirty child with a runny nose, and aware of tenderness like the rough hands of a blacksmith – all finer abilities to appreciate the multitude of life’s sensations burned away by years of neglect and abuse.

Which kind of got me thinking about the mysterious wonder of becoming one with God through the incredible offer of Jesus.

I asked God what He could possibly get out of becoming part of our mortal existence; why He would possibly leave the company of glory beyond compare to live in hovels of flesh and humanity; what could I possibly offer Him?

The answer was instant and clear, and made me laugh.

Absolutely nothing; but I have lots to offer you.

Quick update

Stephen Host — Tue, 20 Nov 2007 04:55:00 GMT

So, for the last few days the blog was down due to a D'Arsay transformation program that caused a temporal feedback loop in the spam gigabits which in turn crashed the motherboard on the warp field coils causing a cascading failure of the firewalls and DNS servers. Fortunately the folks down at the Internet were able to correlate with the antivirus people and get it all sorted out .

Just thought you should know that I didn't die or anything like that.

Stephen

November 9th

Stephen Host — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 10:49:00 GMT

Thank you for following along with my little journey.
Hard to believe it’s been just under a year since the diagnosis eh?
I am pretty much done with the whole process. It doesn’t seem to be looking like the healing is going to happen, does it? I have been getting the “well, at least you know that you’re going to a better place” comments and emails along with the “I think God is just waiting until you do the thing that you’re not” line of reasoning. Well, it’s been fun and thanks for your prayers and comments.

For the record, I really don’t have to have a reason for this season of suffering. Everyone dies, not everyone truly lives; I have no real regrets save one. I would have preferred to not hurt Jaclyn. Beyond that, it’s been a life of blessing and adventure; seeing God do some pretty cool things in and through my life. I really can’t take credit for the successes that I had because I was just a goofy kid doing whatever God put in front of me to do.
I guess dying is one of the things still on the list yet, so I am attempting to do so in as decent a mindset as I can, with God’s help, of course.
And, yes, I would love to see the victory over ALS, see Jesus get the credit for it and just basically be a pain in everyone’s butt for many years to come, but it’s over, and a wise man knows when to concede. I have given God my very best reasons that I could think as to why he’d be better off to let me live, and I am done trying to convince anyone that I have to be here.

As my mom, who has essentially lived here half-time since March has said, “there is a tiny bit of hope for a miracle”. Yup, there is just as much of a chance now as ever, I guess, because it was always impossible to beat this disease on a physical level. It’s no more of an impossibility now than it ever was .it just feels more impossible because I’m just teetering over the edge of death. Am I giving up? I guess I am. It is just too much for me to hold on to anymore. You know that feeling when you’re lifting something really heavy and your body reaches the end of its ability to hold it? Then you let it drop? You know that sense of relief?
Nothing left to prove. Even as I write this, a small part of me hopes that God will still step in, but I can’t hold on anymore; I am tired of being lonely, tired of feeling like a drooling mess of sagging flesh, tired of fighting down cup after cup of increasingly thin fluids to keep myself in this dying body.
I’m just tired.

So, no big sermon, no Hollywood ending, just a skinny guy wanting some rest from the continuous onslaught of itches just out of reach, cravings that cannot be satisfied, limbs that refuse to obey and breathes that can’t be inhaled.

I will try to write more.

my request

Stephen Host — Sat, 13 Oct 2007 20:41:00 GMT

I am calling on all fighters, people of faith and courage. The time to stand is now; at the bleakest hour, and the opportunity remains the same. It is always possible for God; has always been impossible for me.

I am able to swallow again after about a 24 hour lapse; I thought it was really the start of the final phase; but I must tell you that I had a confirmation of such magnitude that the fire has been rekindled in my spirit. I want to see the impossible become reality; be a witness to our God’s authority and genius. Something that I have had in my heart since the beginning of this process is that it will be about my family getting to know the king of heaven. I don’t know why I haven’t said much about it, but there it is.

It is important to me that I know that you are willing to put it on the line with me; take a stand, not based on what I have said but what God is saying to you.

So, my favour that I am asking from you is; will you specifically ask God for insight into my situation; what is the next step?

I really would like to hear from you; what God is saying to you.

The last thing I heard was “Well done”

In my insecurity, I fight against such a message; surely God is upset with my attitudes etc. however I will accept that with a heart of Thanksgiving, not questioning anymore.

I await His answer.

Stephen

My hourglass

Stephen Host — Thu, 11 Oct 2007 08:41:00 GMT

At some point it has to end; either in a miraculous recovery or a final blow to this battered frame in which I find myself trapped. Mentally as alert as ever, my existence is that of an hourglass, knowing the time is short, and yet watching helplessly as the sand falls, grain by grain from a reservoir that seemed so full so recently, but which now, appears to be just at the last little rush before it drains.

Today, as has occurred on various other occasions, I was unable to swallow; in fact as I write this, I am still on the verge of choking on anything I attempt to swallow. Very sobering; I wonder if I should be doing anything; perhaps praying more, trying to persuade God to have mercy or spare me, but I don’t. I have asked, as have many of you, now I wait to see if the hourglass gets flipped over for another go, or if the sand just runs out.

To be completely honest, I really struggle with the accusations that I have heard. I ask myself if I should have done things differently, spent more time doing whatever it is that a better me would have done. In the end I don’t think so. I lived like I knew how; making bad decisions along with the good; trying to hear through deaf ears, see through blind eyes and doing what I knew; whatever it was that was put in front of me.

I sure hope this isn’t my last entry, but who knows eh?

If so then maybe my epitaph should read “Oh crap! Was that it?”

I remain

Stephen

My year

Stephen Host — Wed, 03 Oct 2007 03:02:00 GMT

I have been thinking about the last 12 months; considering the vast changes that have become the markers along the way. In many ways it feels like so long ago that it’s almost shocking to consider that it isn’t even a year since my diagnosis.

Last year in August we were in desolation sound experiencing the true beauty of this incredibly diverse landscape. September we went sailing again with the Epp clan and Alvin failed to get the net around the largest fish I have ever fought to land. Me and Ian got to run along the banks of the Adams River salmon spawning grounds and blast up the Shushwap on Wilf’s new Rinker power boat. November saw us in Vegas, eagerly exploring the Grand Canyon by helicopter, watching the world finals of the PBR, catching the newest production of Cirque du Soleil; the richness of that trip still etched as the best birthday gift I’ve ever been given. Kind of ironic considering the past year. Then the diagnosis that I already knew; the rapid deterioration of my body; the dissolution of a relationship; the diminishing diet.

Fast forward a year and see what I now do; a person that I don’t recognize in the mirror; an isolated mind contained in a garment of flesh that barely functions; struggling to consume even the most rudimentary of foods. I feel like a tree that has been stripped of its life giving leaves by the unrelenting assault of a season; the few remaining fragments of a lush past clinging precariously against the cold winds of an approaching winter.

At times I feel adrift in the bitterness of dying; seeing no victory or value in my existence. I don't necessarily understand why I feel so insecure; maybe the lies are getting to me? I keep feeling condemnation for the history I wrote; that I deserve to die; that God has abandoned me. Yes, of course it's a lie! Practical man agrees with the judgment while spiritual me vehemently adheres to the truth which is that Jesus was a sufficient sacrifice for all the sin, not just some. Spiritual me agrees that this present trial will seem as a fleeting memory in the scope of eternity in paradise with my God and loving father.

My hope is in Jesus; for healing and for eternity.

Stephen

A Moment

Stephen Host — Wed, 12 Sep 2007 22:05:00 GMT

August 22nd 2007, Wallace Island, Princess Cove.

This place, this island; it has been so significant to me in the last few years. It was like a coming of age, being here for the first time as the captain of the very vessel on which I now sit.

I am sitting alone on the aft deck in the setting sun, drinking in the multitude of sensations that are washing over me. The cloudless blue of the sky is unbroken except at its feet by a tapestry of greens and browns, the endless variations of Douglas Fir and tangled Arbutus reaching skyward with outstretched hands soaking in the last kiss of warmth from a glorious golden sunset.

A gentle touch from a passing breeze caresses me gently as she drifts lazily by, as if she might tarry, but no, she’s gone to touch the trees, giving lift now to a lone eagle that plays in her formless body, expertly climbing over her in a lazy skyward spiral.

I hear the soft lap, lap, lap of tired waves heaving themselves over the rocky shore, their journey now over. The gleeful squeal of children yelling "look at me daddy" followed by their splash into the crisp ocean, echoes across the bay. I detect a faint trace of perfume from the warm forest floor; an intoxicating blending of old needles roasted in the summer heat, combined with a hint of fern or mossy undergrowth, though I am uncertain which. There are seals snuggled into the ring of rocks not far away; a formation that reminds me of Easter Island; a curious circle of stones undoubtedly formed by a Celestial visitor countless ages ago. I imagine what it must have been like before the constant cacophony of industrial progress stole the silence. I imagine it could be much like this.

The sun has now set, quietly slipping behind distant mountains that appear to be topped with a thin layer of liquid gold; their forms standing in stark contrast to the inferno that has now all but vanished to shake off the darkness of night from another sleeping world.

All too soon the air chills, dew rapidly moistening everything, and I am aware of the silence. The silence of section of this crazy world at peace, and I am alone with my thoughts; thoughts of a time without pain, without loss, without disease. I ponder how I, like the waves, long to throw myself on that foreign shore, my energy spent, my soul finally at rest in the loving hands of the ocean of peace.

To be, like this moment; complete, at peace, experiencing the full richness and diversity that is the harbor of the great king of heaven.

The view from the valley

Stephen Host — Sat, 08 Sep 2007 08:23:00 GMT

A reference to the 23rd Psalm

Perhaps it was the discussion about moving me to a hospice, or the information about what it’s like to die of starvation. I don’t really know what triggered it but suddenly there it was. Standing face to face with my imminent departure from this world brought a heady dose of anticipation mixed with terrible sadness. From here the mountains look formidable and unmovable. I find myself unable to move them; death trumpets its victory despite my best efforts to hold on to the threads of faith in the coming healing. Everything I have heard indicates a miraculous intervention by the God who speaks and yet, here am I, barely able to lift even a finger; feeling life draining from this tattered garment of flesh every moment of every hour.

I’d like to say that I’m not angry or disillusioned and not second guessing what I’ve heard about the healing to come, but at times I experience all of that and more. My faith says God will raise me up, and even if He doesn’t, what difference does it make? At times the days grow dark and long; offering no reprieve from the terrible onslaught of continual loss. I am at a crossroad, the physical losses are steadily mounting, and my faith in the healing is being eroded, slowly but surely. And I’m just tired beyond words; seeing the toll it’s taking on those around me causes me to despair deep in my heart.

While I admit that the shadows of death are ominous and somewhat frightening, I’m not afraid of dying so much as of living. It’s a horrific season, of course, and I’d be lying if I said I remain unaffected by it all. To look into the mirror is to view the decay that I feel, to see a shell that I don’t recognize. Yes, of course it’s disheartening to observe such a stark reality peering back at me from the gaunt form I see: I suppose it helps me understand what you see when you look at me. And that makes every visit all the more precious to me. The thing that continues to amaze me is that apart from the physical discomfort, I essentially feel exactly the same. I don’t know what I expected, but the view through my senses hasn’t changed at all. Several times I’ve been asked if I can still feel my limbs, as if the sensation went away with the movement: no, it still hurts when I bang myself, same as always. The only thing that’s changed is the ability to move; for example, the amount of effort it takes to move my fingers, well, the ones that still work, is almost impossible to describe. Suffice it to say that it takes full concentration and much exertion to accomplish even the most basic of movements. I feel as though I’m stuck in concrete that is slowly setting. I got to thinking about how I could describe this dichotomy, being so afflicted yet feeling unchanged; it's like looking out through windows in a house that is in a constant state of accelerated decay. The view has remained the same from the inside where I am, yet for everyone else the shell has undergone such a radical process of decay that I am scarcely recognizable unless you can look into the windows and see that I remain completely unaffected inside. It has been quite the eye-opening experience to witness how deeply people are capable of looking; some of my biggest surprises have been over who can see beneath and beyond my affliction into the inner man and who cannot. I hold no animosity toward anyone; indeed I am ashamed to admit that I seldom looked beyond the shell myself in times past.

Still Jesus walks with me saying “Don’t be afraid.”

And who is to say what will happen?

My friend Brad Jersak asked a rhetorical question; What if you lost all your gifting, everything that you could do for God and had to just “sit”? Who would God say you were then?

I guess that is a real question to me, and I was afraid of the answer that I would hear, like I deserve this as punishment for the things I have done wrong. Don’t laugh, it has been suggested to me that God could be disciplining me. That thought terrified me more than any other. So it took a bit of courage to ask God that very question; who am I to you? And listen for a reply.

The following questions and answers are what Brad would call listening prayer.

This happened over a period of several days, and I wrote it exactly as I heard it.

Ok, Jesus, if we were to play a game, what would it be ?
Pin the tail on a donkey

why that game?
Because it's fun and we both like to have fun.

how could we play it?
In the wheelchair

what does the game represent?
Finding truth

what truth?
Me

that seems like a poor way to find you, blindfolded and disoriented, is there another game that you would suggest?
No

can you explain the game ?
I am hidden, but you will find me by listening to the voices of those who I have sent to guide you towards me. I am also whispering to you “over here” to guide you.

What voices should I listen to?
Murray and the group from Samuel's Mantle, Brad and those who have encouraged you to believe.

Believe what?
That I have a plan for your life
Do not think that it is impossible, rather believe that it is probable.
Do not add or take away from what I say

Who do you see that I am apart from my gifts? Who are you to me these days?
I am the rock on which you have fallen.

What does that mean?
Your foundation is firm.

Will I get up again?
I will raise you up.

Lord, who am I before you?
You are my son, a child of wonder.

And therefore?
You bring a smile to my face because of your wonder at my creation and I will use that to confound the wise.

I find this somewhat suspect, as if I'm someone unique. How can I know the replies aren't just the product of a delusional mind?
You can't but I can

doesn't that type of answer just serve to feed an ego?

It definitely takes some faith to not only believe that God hears but also answers

I’ve had too much experience with God incidents to believe anything else other than he is, he does, he can.

Some of the experiences include being healed of a fractured back, being teleported, thrown to the floor with such power flowing through me that I thought I would die, and dozens of other things that can’t be explained away

Open eyed visions, insight into the lives of others, specific information about them that I couldn’t possibly manufacture

3 years ago I was told that God was going to take away my human authority, specifically that I wouldn’t even be able to raise my arms,

2 years ago I was told that I was going to be brought to near death in order to prepare me for the coming season of authority

I had no symptoms, was 100% healthy

August 05 I was driving south on Townline turning right, into the parking lot of a client, I tried to turn the wheel but couldn’t. I thought, hmm, what the?
Just then a rig flew by me on the right, just near the curb doing about 90
If I had turned I would have been dead.

Immediately after that was when I had the first symptom which was that speaking became slow, I try to rationalize it all, but I can’t.

I think, come on, you ain’t going to walk away from ALS, give your frikken head a shake! And yet I do think I will.

I couldn’t explain why I think I’m so special that I will be raised up, maybe just a big ego.

I asked Brad what he thought about my previous blog entry, and I am enclosing a portion of his reply below. Brad,I hope you don't mind...

We don't need proof to be certain (that ravenous lust of modernism)--rather, we need sufficient warrant to be confident. In your case, you have a good deal of warranted belief:

- you have the testimony of Scripture that our God is a healer
- you have the testimony of modern healings that miracles do happen
- you have been an eye-witness of God's kind intervention in others
- you have personally experienced God's kind intervention in your own life
- and, at this point, your enduring faith is warrant in and of itself.

So what needs to happen? Do we try to squeeze out a miracle in the flesh. That's never worked well for me... but here's what I'm thinking by way of staying postured for a healing:

1. Continually declare the presence of the King: "The kingdom is here. The Lord is here."
2. Continue listening to what he's saying and watching what he's doing in your heart. Is he declaring things to you? Giving you impressions? Showing you pictures? My understanding is that if, in your spirit, you see yourself healthy and strong, we don't need to sort out whether that is your own construct (let's call it visual petition or visual intercession) or God's promise (let's call that a vision or revelation). In either case, we are interacting with God in the spirit and you can't sow in the spirit without reaping something good.
3. Having recognized that God is with you and that he's speaking/showing/impressing you with his heart (a good question: never mind God's 'will'. What's his heart? Seems obvious), it remains for us to say, "Okay God, AS BEST I CAN HEAR, you are here and you are saying _____________. Until this is proven false, I will continue to lean into it with belief. I will soak in your words, letting them inspire further belief and actual healing.

Well, this has taken a solid month to complete, I would be interested in your feedback.

Peace and grace to you

Stephen Host

The Truth of my beliefs

Stephen Host — Thu, 19 Jul 2007 07:02:00 GMT

Last January I had the privilege of accompanying my sister to Florida for a week. Amber is a wonderful woman who has had a very rich experience as a successful model and this simple hick got to accompany her to a photo shoot in Miami. We took a few extra days and drove our rented convertible down to Key West where we just hung out and had fun. I went scuba diving for the first time in the emerald green waters of the south that have beckoned my heart to return since our sailing trip to the Bahamas almost 30 years ago. There is something almost magical about the Caribbean and standing on the newly created beaches of Key West was almost intoxicating.

We had a time of peaceful reflection and true bonding as siblings; it was the first time I had ever had the privilege to spend any real time alone with Amber since we were kids. The only symptom of the ALS that I experienced to that point was slight difficulty speaking. Of course, at this point I didn’t have any idea what the cause of my disability was.

Anyways, I had been reading “The God Who Speaks” written by Brad Jersak, finding his experiences ringing true in my heart, so I was feeling buoyed by some of the experiences that I’d had in recent months. On the plane home I remember reading a chapter about God speaking through circumstances so I asked Him to do just that and I started to pay attention.

Now, as a preamble you should know that my dad was going to pick me up from the airport with my truck. I left the keys with him and for the first time ever left my cell phone behind too. It was the first time I had ever gone away and not been available by phone or email in over 15 years.

I called from a stopover in Dallas Ft. Worth on the way home to confirm that the pickup was still a go, which it was. With a mere 5 hour flight to go I felt relaxed and aware that God was going to speak through circumstances very soon. I arrived in Vancouver to a very disappointing welcome; no one was there to get me. I waited for 2 hours, phoning first my parents, then my wife then my employees. Not one of them was around and I grew apprehensive. What did God want to say to me through this? The sense of dread was almost palpable as I began to correlate the natural to the spiritual. From where I stood the message was clear; “Daddy isn’t coming”. I guess I started to get scared about what this meant for the coming days, especially as I researched possible root causes for my speech impediment. The thought of being abandoned in the midst of a battle for my life has brought some of the darkest feelings I have ever experienced in my life. Words cannot describe the tremors I felt in the deepest recesses of my soul as I considered the prospect of a future without Jesus. I tell you honestly that I was so scared of the possibility of being forgotten and abandoned that I have literally tried to block the entire “coincidence” from my mind. The problem was that I knew then as I know now, that God was speaking to me through a set of events that I couldn’t explain away. However, I can tell you that being diagnosed with a terminal illness and experiencing a rapid degradation in my ability to function and interact with the world around me, hearing the phrase “Daddy isn’t coming” does little to inspire faith. (at least that has been my experience with it)

It suddenly occurred to me while I was writing this story out that my dad made provision for me to get home. He knew what I am like; that I would figure out that he had to be somewhere otherwise he would have been there to pick me up; knew that I would eventually catch a cab to his place and that I would find my truck parked outside in the driveway; knew that I would find the unlocked door on the balcony and the keys on the counter in the kitchen.

Scripture tells me that I can expect much more from my Eternal Daddy who is perfect than from my dad on earth. If (and I recognize that this is a REALLY big if) that series of events was a foreshadowing for the season I am currently in then perhaps a next step is located for me to take the initiative on. In terms of where I go from here, I really don’t know. Two things I have started doing are asking Jesus to fight on my behalf as well as show me what the next step forward is. There is a voice yelling “STOP DELUDING YOURSELF! God isn’t going to save you from this disease”. I don’t have any real proof that I will walk away from this, but I tell you I know God can heal me, and something inside me tenaciously believes He has plans to do it.

I find this to be a very peculiar tension; to be utterly spent physically and long for death, yet be convinced that God will perform the miracle and give me a life of new purpose and vision.

Even now, as I contemplate this story and my thoughts about it, I consider not posting it on the grounds that it is too fantastic to be possible. The doubts are loud and persistent saying things like “Don’t be a fool, just admit you are dying and stop this charade!”

I know that without Jesus’ touch, I’ve little time left here. It’s pretty obvious to everyone, so why hold so tenaciously to this thread of hope? I don’t know; maybe because I’m stupid, stubborn, naïve or deluded. Perhaps it is the way I’m wired; to expect the impossible: dream the unexpected. Most likely it’s got something to do with the scope of possibility that is the very hallmark of the God I have committed myself to serving. In the end, I don’t have to know the answer to why, I just do, come what may. I will be eternally grateful for the healing when it comes, and if I am wrong then I know I’ll be eternally grateful for the ultimate healing that takes me into the presence of perfection.

Right now it’s pretty tough, but whatever.

So I come to the end of my tale, asking for even a drop of Heaven’s plan to somehow make its way to my pile of dirt, taking this broken vessel and directing it accordingly.

Bye for now.

Stephen

What about being simple

Stephen Host — Tue, 10 Jul 2007 07:38:00 GMT

A lot has changed in my world and I think of both the changes as well as the implications with a curious mixture of despair and emotional detachment. Sometimes I wonder if I am still sitting at phase one of the grief process, a river in Egypt namely denial (or as Jaclyn’s sister says “De Jordan“ but I don't know. One thing is certain; I was definitely not prepared for the changes that have come out of this season.

Maybe that's a better way to live, being blithely unaware of what is to come, seizing the opportunities, living in the present, letting the future be full of promises and being naively blind to the difficulties of the past. Isn’t that what the innocence of childhood was like? Perhaps that is something Jesus was referring to when He said we needed to become like children.

At about the same time, the disciples came to Jesus asking, "Who gets the highest rank in God's kingdom?"
For an answer Jesus called over a child, whom he stood in the middle of the room, and said, "I'm telling you, once and for all, that unless you return to square one and start over like children, you're not even going to get a look at the kingdom, let alone get in. Whoever becomes simple and elemental again, like this child, will rank high in God's kingdom. What's more, when you receive the childlike on my account, it's the same as receiving me.

Read the chapter

Peace