Hello, Old Friends

There's an old song by Rich Mullins (1992) that goes like this:

Hello old friends
There's really nothing new to say
But the old, old story bears repeating
And the plain old truth grows dearer every day
When you find something worth believing
Well, that's a joy that nothin' could take away

I haven't written much recently, but not because there hasn't been much to say.

This past August, when Marilyn & I were on back vacation in Montana, our eldest son Malachi (34 now) was hospitalized with Rhabdomyolysis. "Rhabdo" is a serious condition where muscle tissue starts spontaneously self destructing, releasing proteins and electrolytes directly into the blood stream, which (it turns out) is not good. Rhabdo can be caused by extreme overexertion – in this case, Malachi unexpectedly drew a buck tag for Colorado, and he was working hard to get in shape for the rigors of backcountry bowhunting this fall. But that trip is out the window now. Welcome to the world of autoimmune liver diseases, where you never know what's going to happen next.

For those of you who are new to our story, it all started back when I almost killed Malachi off in the Beartooth wilderness some 17 years ago. We had found some mushrooms next to our tent, which I was sure were puffballs, and so promptly cooked with the fat brook trout we had caught from the nearby lake. The mushrooms were delicious, but deadly: we learned later they were actually Amanitas ("Death Angel"). Of course, I had my suspicions when Jack (the dog) threw up, shortly after licking out the frying pan. The rest of us soon followed suit. Only Malachi was unable to make himself vomit. And over the course of the next six to eight hours, he slipped ever deeper into a hallucinogenic slumber, until gradually, we could no longer wake him.

So I thought I had killed my son. But we were ten miles from the trailhead, and it was another thirty to the nearest town. There was no way we were going to get a rescue helicopter in before morning. All we could do was wait and pray.

Then just like that it passed. He came out the other side. (We knew he was feeling better when he asked to go fishing later that evening).

I felt like we had dodged a bullet.

But that Death Angel wreaked havoc on his intestinal track, and it set all sorts of things in motion. Within the next few years he would be diagnosed with severe colitis. He would eventually need to have his colon removed (back in 2020, at age 28). And then he was diagnosed with celiac disease, along with autoimmune hepatitis and something called PSC (a currently untreatable condition that eventually causes problems with your bile ducts).

Eventually, the doctors said, the hepatitis and PSC would (likely) require a liver transplant. But as long as he was careful with his diet and they could closely monitor his bloodwork, that could be years away. It still could be.

But late last year, one of those blood markers began inching steadily higher.

We feel very fortunate to have Malachi living here in Austin where he has access to the Texas Liver Institute in San Antonio. Since early 2026 – just as he and Jordan were gaining custody of the girls – his doctors have been tweaking his medications and trying to figure out what's going on. There is one particular spot in his liver that has them puzzled. Over the past nine months he's had three MRIs, two endoscopy's and multiple biopsies... all of which have come back negative.

So that's good. And Malachi feels good too – the best he's felt in years. But that one particular number (a cancer pathogen marker) remains high: normal is 40; his is over 2000; his doctors would be thrilled to see it get down to 200.

Today he met with a group of specialists, who are trying to figure out how best to proceed. They were throwing around the word cholangiocarcinoma, which is a rare and aggressive form of bile duct cancer. That's a guess, not a diagnosis. But at this point, they say it's better to assume it is cancer (until they can prove otherwise) than to assume it's not.

So there you have it. That's what's new in our world, and once again it feels like there is little we can do besides wait and pray.

Malachi & Jordan would really appreciate your prayers right now as well. (I just got off the phone with him, and he said, "We need as many people praying as possible.") Keep in mind that the girls just lost their mother to cancer this past January; you can probably imagine how triggering all this might be. We would welcome your prayers for them, too. Pray for healing. Pray for a deep sense of God's presence. Pray for trust.

Speaking of the girls, many of you have asked: "How are they doing?" I think the answer is: "Good, but it's going to be a long road to normal..." (I'm tempted to share some stories here, but I'll save that for another email sometime down the road. In the meantime, just pray...)

Same thing with the business: Lazarus lives, and we're probably doing better than many places right now, but it still feels like we are just trying to keep our head above water most of the time. Nevertheless, I love my job and wouldn't trade it for anything. I feel very blessed to have been given this particular calling. But we need your prayers there as well.

Same thing with the church: All Souls has been worshipping for eleven years now, but as an under-the-radar house church that grows oh-so-slowly, we are currently (I think) in the midst of our fourth major "season". Austin, like most cities, is a transient place. People move. Change happens. And many days it all just feels so precarious. (This is probably true for most churches, by the way – all just one or two major shakeups away from disaster. That seems true for the churches of Revelation 2-3. I suspect Paul experienced it too: "We were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself... but this was to make us rely not on ourselves, but on God, who raises the dead." (2 Corinthians 1: 8-9)).

This past summer was good for us. Marilyn and I spent four weeks on the Bighorn, right next to the lot we were able to purchase last year. We're beginning to think about the next season of life might look like, whenever that might come. This year marks twenty years of vocational ministry for me. I am 57. Marilyn is 60. At some point, this chapter will close and the next one will begin. I am realizing that I'd like to fish and write, hopefully for a good decade, hopefully in our little foretaste of the kingdom back in Montana. I have no idea how it might happen. But we'll see what God thinks about all this...

Until then, we appreciate your prayers, and we'd love to see you if you can make your way to Austin anytime soon. If you can get here over a weekend, we'd love to have you worship with us and see for yourself what God has been up to here.

As always, thanks for following along...
Christian & Marilyn

ps – if you feel like reaching out to Malachi and Jordan, you can email them directly at malachi.cryder@gmail.com and jordanashleycryder@gmail.com. I'm sure they'd like to know that you are praying for them!