Arriving in Clearwater, Florida, in 1999 was an immediate leap into the unknown. This was still a time when cell phones were barely available. I think I first saw a mobile phone—a bulky early cell phone—at a restaurant. It wasn’t easy to make contact unless you found a phone booth. If I needed to call Mrs. Dey, I needed to walk up to the cafeteria, and then to the second floor where the administrative offices were, and ask permission to make a phone call. Someone allowed me to go into the computer class so that I could send her an AOL Chat: “Mrs. Dey, I have arrived safely. This is a new phase in my life!”
That evening, someone from the campus took me to my dorm room and showed me my room. Since it was summer, everything was relatively quiet. A few students stayed on campus to make some extra cash, and a few international students couldn’t afford a trip home. I was so weary that first night that once my head hit the bed, I fell into a deep sleep. I woke up refreshed the next day with no place I needed to be. I think it was a Friday, and work began on Monday. I toured the campus and greeted a few of the workers, some of whom would become close friends.
After a quiet weekend exploring the campus, I reported to the grounds crew office early Monday. The Central Florida heat was excruciating. But there was plenty of water and breaks, and the conversations kept me going all day. When I went back to my dormitory at around 4 pm, my physical exhaustion was profound. It had been almost a full year since I had worked outside all day. My body could feel every detail of that experience.
Long Form Conversations
Long before long-form podcasts became popular, we were already engaged in them for hours. We discussed theology, grass, food, marriage, and manliness. The older folks were always gracious and shared stories as we mowed the lawn near the ladies’ dormitory. Those 5-8-hour conversations were muscular. They strengthened me spiritually. We began our days reading the Bible. Our crew leader would offer a word of encouragement from the text. I listened intently. I was fed and ready to take on my weed-eater wherever the day’s work required. I was hungry for the Bible, and even the simplest word had a profound impact on me. In the first few days, they asked if anyone had any thoughts to contribute. Nothing was said. I endured the silence, and by the third day I began to add plenty of words…too many words. After a while, I realized that those words needed to be reduced. Even then, I remember thinking about the necessity of economy in speech. What thou sayest, say succinctly.
That Summer flew by with wonderful occasions for dialogue and new friendships built in the hall, and by the time the school year came, I was comfortable with the campus dynamics and had asked enough questions to feel equipped to handle my first semester at Clearwater Christian College. When the students began to arrive, I found myself giving them instructions and helping some of them unload. I was the new kid who had spent three months on a deserted campus. I felt confident about the work ahead and remained grateful for those preceding months. I introduced myself to everyone who arrived. Some of them thought I was a senior. I looked the part.
I quickly found the Bible students, and they found me quickly as we settled into the routine, and our late-night conversations were filled with heated discussions about the Bible, theology, and our denominational backgrounds. I was a dogmatic Baptist. In fact, at that time, I wouldn’t have known the difference between a Pentecostal and a Presbyterian. There were only Baptists, and most of the campus fit that profile, so I remained relatively ignorant of anything else.
The One-Minute Speech That Changed Everything
Something dramatic happened during that first week. It was a kind of confirmatory ritual I didn't expect. Our freshman communications class had around 100 of us, and each of us was invited to share something about ourselves in one minute. Because of my last name, I was among the first to speak. I think I was the third or fourth on the list. The first few got up and timidly offered a few words about their background. When I got up, I had composed a short speech in my mind. Philippians 1:21 was on the tip of my tongue, and I offered a mini-sermon. Every student received applause, however minimal. But no one applauded after my speech. I felt somewhat embarrassed by it. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to talk about the purpose of life in Christ. Maybe I had gone over the time-limit. I don’t know, but there was no applause, just staring eyes.
At the end of that class, the professor thanked everyone and went over the syllabus. As we were dismissed, a host of individuals came up to me and thanked me for my introduction. I felt somewhat better. Then a day or two later, several sophomores and juniors approached me and started asking about my background. They had heard from freshman students about my 60-second speech and were now curious about who I was. Unbeknownst to me, the class needed to elect a freshman chaplain that week. He was supposed to be the class's spiritual representative. I didn’t know what the role entailed, but I remember being interested in the possibility of ministering to the freshman class. The voting took place, and I received an overwhelming number of votes and was elected freshman chaplain.
Little did I know that among my responsibilities was to address the entire freshman class a week later. I had never officially preached a sermon. So, with a little notebook, I began jotting down ideas for sermon titles. In that world, a clever sermon title was half the game. In my morning devotions, I had read from Deuteronomy 8: “Man shall not live by bread alone but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.” A title came to mind which I thought was rather clever. “Starve the Old Nature, and Feed the New Nature.” With enthusiasm, I rushed to my professor’s office seeking his approval. I even had an outline to show him.
When I arrived, he welcomed me in and told me to summarize my sermon. Dr. Spotts was an iconic figure with a laugh that was hard to replicate: a deep, guttural snort. He often laughed at his own observations in class, which made him endearing. But on that day, there was no laughter. He thought my title was unhelpful. Then he poked holes in my entire outline and concluded with a better way. Seeing my disappointment, he said, “Well, you can always try again.” I went back to the library and changed my entire outline, but stubbornly kept my sermon title.
I delivered my first sermon the following morning. I paced around quite a bit, as some will testify. But whatever I said, I remember saying it with sufficient conviction that everyone present could see and hear that I meant what I said. That experience taught me an early pastoral lesson: what is said needs to be said with authority. I remember several students pulling me aside afterward, and a few even followed me back to my dormitory. We chatted, and we built a camaraderie among what fundamentalism has deemed the Preacher Boys. That was my first formal sermon. I don’t know if that audio ever survived, but I recently found a poorly recorded clip from a year later, in 2000, in a box of cassette tapes. This was a sermon on Jude preached in early 2000 in Tampa Bay, Florida. It’s entitled The Defense of the Christian Faith. I still find it remarkable that much of my cadence and rhythm has not changed in 26 years.
Cancer Notes #1
I shared my story with the Facebook world and have been flooded with wonderful notes from friends. Here’s my note:
It’s been two weeks now since my cancer diagnosis, and having shared the news with my Session, church, and close friends outside our community, I thought I’d add a few notes here for my broader circle of readers and fellow travelers.
I will add more details on my Substack—my main writing venue—but for now, suffice it to say that God is incredibly kind. It is hard to fathom undergoing any sort of health difficulty outside of a loving community. My family, congregation, and so many others have gone above and beyond to pray, offer support, and provide tangible encouragement as I prepare for this journey.
A brief background:
A few months ago, a blood test revealed an elevated PSA level. It was high enough for my primary care doctor to take note and recommend checking it again with my next blood test. Three months later, the number remained virtually the same, which meant it was no longer an anomaly but something requiring further investigation.
An MRI, additional scans and blood tests, and, finally, a biopsy confirmed what I had dreaded—prostate cancer. While the diagnosis was more serious than I expected, the prognosis seems favorable, and treatment offers a curative path ahead, though not one without difficulties.
My hearty thanks to all who have reached out. These fourteen days since the diagnosis have brought a flood of encouragement and an even deeper sense of gratitude.
Thank you.
Afterward, Gary Demar sent me a note sharing a bit of his cancer story. Gary is a cancer survivor. But he reminded me that one of his closest friends, the late Dr. Gary North, was also a cancer survivor who eventually became a victim. North kept copious notes. In fact, they are incredibly detailed. You can find them at garynorth.com
I met Gary North many years ago. He kept a rhythm of writing four articles a day; a feat that is hard to achieve, but he did for decades. His cancer notes are also quite details, and I am trying to read about one day. He died of complications from prostate cancer in 2017 at the age of 80. While some details in my own journey compel me to keep certain things private, I will begin here a series of brief notes on my cancer diagnosis and what I am doing to treat it.
But I need to start early. Back in November of 2025.
A friend encouraged me to see a local doctor who does her consults online. At this stage, I had reached peak frustration with my mainstream doctor, who gave me around five minutes of his time each time we met and always pushed for more allergy medication to deal with some of my sinus problems. Even after I had done thorough allergy tests and found absolutely nothing, he continued to prescribe them, and I continued to refuse them. After five years, I finally changed. I figured an online doctor could not do worse than the experience I had had so far.
My first meeting was more of an introduction. She asked me for a full blood test. I think I had done a few in previous years, but they were limited in scope; now my new doctor was ordering the whole shabang. To be precise, it was ten vials of blood. It was exhausting. I quickly opened my patient portal page that morning, and maybe 12 hours later, I started to get some results from those tests. They were color-coded. I supposed that as long as they stayed in the green range, I was safe. I didn’t know much about those things, and I knew absolutely nothing about those three letters, which now haunt me: PSA. It stands for Prostate-Specific Antigen. It’s a protein produced by the prostate gland to screen for prostate cancer. At the time, it was 4.6. A week or two later, when I met with my doctor to review my results, she seemed content with most of my numbers, except for that pesky PSA. “That number is high,” she said. We need to keep an eye on it. I didn’t think a word of it. She said, “Let’s do some more blood tests in three months.” She was not panicked, just reasonable and cautious.
I had strayed a bit from my regular keto/carnivore model, which I have been following for close to ten years. So I thought I needed to get back to it and maybe lose some weight. At the very least, I knew then that I finally had a doctor who cared about my well-being and wasn't in a hurry to move on to the next patient. Looking back now, it was a comforting moment as I entered my 46th year of life.
You are getting so good at cliffhangers! Haha. (Not sure how I like that, but it gives me one more reason to come back 😊)
How well I remember those Clearwater days, Uri! You were a force to be reckoned with in our freshman year, frankly, all throughout our four years at college. Do you still have a copy of Dr. Delaney's "Fire in Your Pulpit"? Good stuff, good memories!