From the Cottage to the Clouds: How God Walked with Us Through the Challenge of Our Lives

By Mike and Lynne Bolinger

Helpless to hope

Fear to faith

Nice comfortable folks going about the daily tasks of living. Mike and Lynne Bolinger: loved by God, held in His hands.

When God placed the ultimate trial in our lives, He showed up to lead us through it. Many friends joined with us in prayer and God engaged them in a miracle and a testament to His care, His power, and His love. What began as a blog to update our friends became a chronicle of His faithfulness and love.

We invite you to walk with us through the adventure of our life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490881454

Mike and Lynne Bolinger

Mike and Lynne Bolinger of Kokomo, Indiana, walked through deep waters that tested their faith. Friends far and near gathered around and prayed for them. Doctors gave Mike months; God gave them four and a half years. Mike’s recorded message remains as a testimony to God’s goodness.

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Copyright © 2015 Mike and Lynne Bolinger.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-8146-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-8147-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-8145-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015908315

WestBow Press rev. date: 05/28/2015

Contents

Introductionv

A Little Background

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten: Living

Eleven

Twelve: May and June

Introduction

This is the story of Mike Bolinger, child of God, living life comfortably in middle America when distress/disease/diagnosis changed the course of that life. As he said more than once, it caused him to take everything about his life and cast it on the ground. He examined it all and picked up what was important, finding that so much was not worth salvaging. He then drew the worthwhile to his heart and vowed to live a better life, to serve God with his whole being with the time he had left. He thought that would be about a year.

What follows is a close-up report to how God showed up, moved in, and guided the final chapter of his life. It was my privilege to walk, hand-in-hand-in-hand down this path that led over and over again to the demonstration of God’s love, care and protection.

We eventually rested in the assurance that Mike was headed to Heaven, to sweet reunions and fellowship with his Lord. So when God gifted much more time than his diagnosis suggested, it was not for Mike so much as for his family, his friends, his students, his community, and for the greater congregation that gathered around him.

At the beginning, we commenced to journal in a blog. Our intention was to provide accurate reports and specific prayer requests to our friends. We had no idea that it would grow to chronicle our lives at this epoch of our marriage and our walk with the Lord. Our praying friends determined to be our strong arms, lifting our needs before the Father. Few realized that Mike’s longer walk would become their journey also. They came to share in the miracle, rejoice in the delay, and to shoulder, finally, in his sweet transition into the arms of his Heavenly Father, his earthly father, and so many friends.

From the start of this last chapter of his life, Mike and I found ourselves emptied out and then filled with God’s presence. We came to recognize God’s hand guiding us. He guided our steps and made His will clear. Sometimes we actively sought guidance on our knees. Most of the time we found the wisdom we needed within the situation to make the right decision. We knew at all times that this wisdom came from above.

God purposed that Mike would learn to savor so much of the sweetness of this life as he drew many to him. God showed Himself mighty and Mike became that voice. His story is told more fully in the entries to our blog, www.bolingerscottage.com Also you can find treasures to those of us waiting to join him: recorded testimonies and videos that testify to God’s presence through this journey.

As you read about Mike’s final days and the blog entries that he penned, I think you will fall in love with this man. If so, you will grieve that he is no longer in this world. But he would want you to know that whatever life he lived, whatever kind of man he was, it was all through the power of his Heavenly Father. He waits for me and all of us who call Jesus our savior.

Mike fought the fight, finished the race, drew his last breath on earth and ran to the embrace of his Savior. In his wake is his testimony to the power and love of God for His children.

A Little Background

We met at Wheaton College, near Chicago, in the autumn of our freshman year. We became friends when we shared a lab table in Freshman Biology 101. Neither was looking for anything else but we grew into something else. By the start of sophomore year, we emerged as a Wheaton Couple.

We graduated in 1973 and moved to Kokomo, Indiana. We lived single for a year; he lived like a monk and saved everything. Me? Not so much. By June 1974, Mike got that acceptance letter from Indiana University Law School in Indianapolis. We tied the knot and started down the path.

Never too introspective, we began the adventure that stretched on for almost 40 years. Those first years were filled with graduate school; Mike had saved enough to pay for law school. We lived on my teacher salary which we supplemented when time permitted. I learned how to paint houses and manually blacktop parking lots. I also worked in a summer day camp. Mike was by my side.

We were too busy to notice there wasn’t any money left over at the end of the month. We figured that unless life took a different turn, our financial situation would improve.

Mike graduated and passed the bar. He worked in the prosecutor’s office and then moved his practice in with his dad. They shared an office for 35 years. I graduated with my M.A. in English and continued to teach at Kokomo High School.

We set up a little bank account and began to feel like grown-ups. We had ignored both our teeth and our worship when money was tight. It was time to find a dentist. It was time to join a church. And our life settled into a nice routine.

Soon we put 20% down on a mortgage and became home owners. And then it was time to fill the nest. Or so we thought.

Our very carefully planned life came up short in August, 1978 when our lovely, full term son died just minutes before birth. For us, it was the first time life did not go the way we planned. There were lessons to learn: one was that our time is not God’s time. As we navigated the grief and fear and pain, for the first time we experienced the real, almost physical presence of our Lord in our midst. It was as if we were fluids poured into a pitcher with the Holy Spirit as part of the mix.

We healed and went on.

Soon God blessed us with Allyson and then Zachary. And the bigger house which became our home for the rest of our lives.

We grew into our professional roles. Mike became a go-to representative of those charged with crimes. He also gained the reputation as a great lawyer for women in divorce proceedings. He was intimidating. Early in his career, he told me, that he refused to bargain, even when the bargain was good. He wanted it known that he’d go to court, no matter the deal.

Lawyers and the courts usually prefer the deal. Trials are expensive; they eat up time; often they toss fate to the hands of a jury. With a plea bargain, Justice gets its guilty and everybody gets back to making their living.

It was hard for me to look at my husband as the intimidating presence that others saw until the one time he came with me to a parent/teacher conference. As he entered the room -— all resplendent in his three-piece navy blue suit -— everybody sat up very straight, grabbed a pen and started to sweat. We decided that his presence was not helpful and after, I went alone.

For lots of complicated reasons, Mike kept most people at arm’s length. When he talked about best friends, they were, without exception, men who lived far away and whom he saw almost never. As for the many acquaintances within local environs, they were not intimates.

One thing that changed in his final years: Mike bent those arms and let people in. He stood amazed that friends actually wanted to be friends. He opened himself up. Those around him were charmed with this articulate, funny, thoughtful man.

As for me. As with most career teachers, I grew in my skills with high school students. I became that older teacher that kids don’t mess with. It was not uncommon to hear from a student, Mrs. B. I heard you were mean. You’re not mean. I had a job that I loved. I entered the school, almost every day, with a smile on my face and a song on my lips.

And then…

One

The news spread through Kokomo, Indiana the way a paper towel wicks up a puddle: Mike Bolinger has cancer.

Mike Bolinger, well-known attorney -- respected, feared, despised, admired -- depending on your relationship with him and the legal community. Also, known by many, he was active in a large, local church. Also, known by many, a man of many talents and interests: airplanes, woodworking, motorcycles, mountain bikes, swimming, and guitar – especially blues guitar. Also, recognized as a relatively young and healthy man at the top of his career. Husband, father, son, brother, friend, and Child of God.

Cancer? Mike Bolinger? Are you sure? What kind? How’s he doing (how long does he have)? and how-can-this-happen-to-someone-who-takes-such-good-care-of-himself? We put a lot of faith in taking good care of ourselves.

We Baby Boomers have lived our lives within the myth of immortality, or at least death at a very old age, after many many many years of work and play. So many diseases -— measles, pneumonia, polio, small pox -— have been conquered or handled. These used to shorten life expectancy but not now, not for us. Antibiotics and good nutrition have whispered the cheat that life will be long and good and the end, when it comes, will be swift.

But then the BBs entered middle age. Cancer began to rear its ugly head. Cancer, that disease that sends a chill through the perpetual youth community as it pays little attention to our illusions of living long. It becomes all too common that someone we know gets that awful diagnosis. And then we look for the whys? Maybe if we can figure out HOW this person GOT that cancer, WE can avoid it by NOT DOING whatever HE did.

Mike was more fit than most, ate smarter than most, and avoided toxins like tobacco. So?

So we read and listen to warnings about smoking, drinking, bad diet, lack of exercise, and we grab at the stick that we can avoid cancer. Or at the very least, we’ll catch it early and get a cure. We’re accustomed to cures. We expect them. Or it may strike but it will be when we are old, really old: and that definition changes as we age.

And so the community news began to circulate from intimates to friends to colleagues to the casual. As I was a high school teacher suddenly absent from my room, that group entered into the mix. From concerned friends to brush-by acquaintances to those who wouldn’t mind at all if he got what was coming to him, the Bolingers became gossip fodder for local consumption.

Our life-course-correction began on a February night when Mike nudged me awake. He was clutching at his chest and sweating. I think I’m having a heart attack, he said. We slid out of bed, into slip-on shoes, pull-on sweats and headed to our local hospital, about ½ mile away. He wanted to drive but no. Although I rarely put my foot down, this time I did. There was no traffic at that time of night and the emergency room parking lot was empty.

I stopped at the entrance and jumped out to walk him in. He was already ahead of me, headed for the check-in desk. Once he sat down, I handed my insurance card to the clerk and walked back to the truck to park it. By the time I returned, they had already wheeled Mike into a room and had hooked up stuff to various parts of his chest, arm, and head.

He flashed a sheepish look my way. He was already feeling better and had he waited, he bet, he would have been better in his own house. NOW, he had surrendered to the hospital minions and we would be in their care for several hours. He mentioned that he had court in the morning and that I might have to call his secretary with alternative instructions. Typical of the man I knew: he was NEVER not available to clients and always had a few brain cells parked at his desk in his office.

ER staff fluttered around: blood pressure good (You must be a runner, said the doc. Swimmer, said the hub.) Blood work normal. When Mike sat up, ready to leave, they pushed him back down.

We need a chest X-ray, Mr. Bolinger.

Let’s get on with it then, he said.

We’re going to bring a portable unit, sir. Please lie down for a few minutes.

Doctor quizzed him on his lifestyle. Any new activities? he asked. A moment to think. Well, there WAS one new addition: Mike had begun training for aerobatic competition with a local flying team. In his spare time. How do you avoid upchucking during those upside down rolls? asked the doc. And Mike described a trick he had read about on-line: he would flex his diaphragm down and push and cramp so that whatever might be in his stomach stayed there. Nodding slowly, doctor opined that the chest pain might be a bit of reflux. (A scope the next day would confirm that part of the diagnosis.) Might that make sense? Yes.

Can I go home?

Not quite yet, Mr. Bolinger.

In rolled the X-ray; pictures taken; blasted over the Internet to a specialist, up all night in Indianapolis. Tick Tick Tick. Mike grew impatient and wanted to leave.

What if I just go home? he asked me.

I don’t know, maybe the insurance won’t pay the bill if you check yourself out, I said. As we never liked to light a match to money and by now we knew we had racked up quite a tab, he sunk back down and waited.

But as expected, his lungs and heart could win awards. The blood chemicals were normal except a small rise in those White Blood Cells. There WAS a spot on his liver. Unchanged from 2002 (this from the cracked rib/punctured lung/motorcycle accident that caused his last ER visit).

Mike started to get dressed, but the doctor lingered: Mike, you have a kidney stone. Wow. I’ve never seen one that big. I looked at the X-ray with my English teacher eyes. That ugly circle was the size of a half dollar. You need to get that taken care of ASAP. I’ll set up an appointment with Dr. Peele. That appointment was for Friday, three days later.

The doctor left. And then he stuck his head back in. Oh, by the way, there’s something strange going on with your gallbladder. You should have someone look at it, Mr. Bolinger. He showed us that X-ray. Here’s yours. Here’s a normal one. Even non-medical me could see a black mass where there shouldn’t be one.

We drove home. It was time for work by then. I called the school for a sub as I had outside work to do. Mike took off for the office and his day. By the time he got home, I had talked with his primary care physician. She arranged for him to meet with a surgeon on Friday afternoon. So Friday would be a wash, workwise, but we’d be efficient and get it all done on the same day.

I was back at school Thursday, teaching and preparing lessons for the next day. I knew that Mike could keep his appointments himself but I wanted first-hand info. He never wanted me to worry about him. If the news was bad -— and we weren’t expecting that -— he would edit. He spent Thursday in court and then arranging to move most of Friday to Monday. He planned to log a lot of weekend hours playing catch up.

I hadn’t mentioned that I would be going with him so on Friday he was at first surprised and then a little put off that I came along. Bolingers work. On this day, I was not working and from his standpoint, my presence was unnecessary. But present I was.

Mike had seen the urologist before when a nail-sized stone had sent him to the hospital. Kidney stones show up clearly on X-rays and they hurt enough that the sufferer gets his own morphine pump to ease the pain as needed. That time, it was drugs/vibration/passing that cured the stone. We figured another round was on our agenda. We could take care of this on the weekend. He could gather his papers and work from his hospital bed.

However, Dr. Peele had different news. This particular stone was so large that 1) we needed to see the specialist in Indianapolis and 2) in case ‘we’ were thinking of putting it off, it’s blocking your urethra and if it remains, you will lose your kidney soon. These high powered working men understand each other.

So, Monday -— no Mike, not later in the week -— we would see a surgical nephrologist at the IU Medical Center. What about work? He would have to move everything to Tuesday.

Then it was off to the surgeon. By the end of that day, we were sitting in her examination room. She reviewed the X-ray and said, We need to take a look at that gallbladder, Mr. Bolinger.

What do you mean, take a look? Mike never liked parsed, cushioned words.

It looks like a tumor. We need to take it out. How’s THAT for blunt?

So, when? Next month?

Uh. No. I have you scheduled for Friday morning. First thing, OK? We really need to move on this. Mr. Bolinger. It’s probably nothing but we need to get it out soon. He was losing his fight as he sunk into the medical conspiracy to keep him away from the office.

But first, we need to check out that spot on your liver. It’s probably nothing but we need to check it out.

I don’t want to speak for Mike but I know that he hated down time almost as much as hospitals and Friday was a busy day. He started to argue, glanced at me and asked me what I thought.

I said, Let’s get this done as soon as possible.

So the next week was 1) Indianapolis on Monday 2) liver biopsy of that spot on Tuesday and 3) gallbladder surgery on Friday. That left two days to fill with work work work. He asked and figured out that Tuesday and Friday afternoon, he could squeeze in some work. Saturday and Sunday after church, Mike was at his desk and on the phone.

Monday, we drove to the Indianapolis medical center and the physician’s assistant who schedules for the doctor. She examined the X-rays and then her notes. Mr. Bolinger, doctor wants me to explain this procedure to you.

The monster stone would not budge from its spot. Mike would have surgery. No, Mr. Bolinger, you won’t be back at the office for several days.

He would undergo percutaneous nephrolithotomy. The surgeon would drill in from the side and use a little ‘hammer’ to break the stone into pieces. Then he would extract the pieces and plug up the hole. And soon. Next Monday. Mike wagged his head and started to plan out how someone else could cover a big case on the docket for next week.

On Tuesday we were at the local surgery center for the radiologist. Mild sedation and a quick needle biopsy. The liver spot was nothing, really nothing. A benign hemogioma, like a port wine birthmark.

And early next Friday was inked in. He had it in his head that, let’s see: surgery at 8, a little post op and he might get back to the office by noon or so. The surgeon who was young was also familiar with people like Mike.

You should plan to spend the weekend recuperating. Plan on it.

Friday morning we drove to our local surgery center. I had never spent time waiting like this but experienced people know it is best not to wait alone so my friend Barb met me and sat with me until 8. Our conversation was light and newsy. Then she had to leave.

Shortly after Barb left, the doctor’s nurse called my name and ushered me into the side room. I have since learned that they use this room for The Report.

The surgeon entered and handed me a color picture. She sat down, folded her hands between her knees, looked right at me and said, Well, it’s cancer. Waited a few beats. Then she listed the stats: size, appearance, locate. We hope we found it early, but you should report to the primary doctor and follow her instructions. She had other surgeries and said that she could talk to Mike later in the day or I could tell him. I knew he would not wait for his information. In what seemed like only moments, I was ushered into a different room, this one with large leather easy chairs. In one, Mike lay resting dreamily.

He heard me and turned, opening his eyes. Well?

I smiled and asked him how he felt.

Is it cancer? Right to the point.

Pause. Deep breath. Yes. They think they found it early. And suddenly, that afternoon’s legal appointment lost much of its importance. We opted instead to meet with his primary doctor across town.

I drove Mike home and headed over the school to create a few more lesson threads. Of course I thought Mike was at home, resting in bed. But no: right after I left him -— when he saw that I had backed out of the driveway -— he got in his truck and drove to the office, a mile down the road. He rummaged through his desk and found the paper he was seeking. Then he walked out and headed next door to the Kokomo Rescue Mission. He asked to see the director.

A volunteer ushered him into that office. Van greeted his neighbor but had no idea what was coming next: Mike pulled out the paper, signed it and slid it across the desk. It was the title to his office building and parking lot which bordered the mission. I want you to have this, Mike said.

Van told me, several times, that his jaw dropped and his eyes teared as Mike told him about the cancer. God had already started moving Mike away from his career which, until this day, was his vocation, occupation, and a large portion of his being. He decided, no matter how much time he had left, he would fill it with something besides the practice of law.

Van tried to say something. Mike blocked him. "It’s the right thing