Rare and Wonderful Pleasures

"Have fun!" Kersten said.  "Well it should be humorous." was my reply.

I had the opportunity yesterday to join my two sons for a round of golf.  We went out to the Idaho Club north of town to try out the new  course.  For Dieter it was a return home to the course that he played in high school, only it was totally redone, a Jack Nicklaus designed course now, and far more challenging.  Back when it was the Hidden Lakes golf course Dieter had recorded two hole in one's.

A quick anecdote about that.  Dieter used to show up at the golf course and just get paired up with whoever the club house could pair him up with.  Golfing with one gentleman one day, Dieter took a 'gimme', to which the gentleman objected.  Irritated, and with the attitude 'game on then', Dieter proceeded on the next hole to hit a hole in one.  No gimme needed.  On the eighteenth hole, a par five, Dieter again holed out, this time on his approach from over a hundred yards.  When they got back to the club house the gentleman's response was "Who the hell is this kid you paired me up with?"  For the next few weeks the golf pro would introduce Dieter at the first tee as "Tiger Woods".

Well, for Jens and I it's a different story.  Yesterday, Dieter was in rare form, driving the ball over three hundred yards consistently, and in the fairway.  Jens and I surpassed Dieter only in terms of the opportunity we had to experience a variety of scenic locations.  The course Nicholas designed is challenging, with very tight fairways and lots of water.  Not to mention that the lake was at flood stage adding even more water.  The balls we lost probably cost as much as the round itself, or so it seemed.  And yet each of us had a few good shots, a few good holes, and a lot of fun.

Rare and wonderful pleasures.

Our oldest, Katie, is finishing up her school year as an elementary music teacher.  A musical, concerts, and the day to day antics of her kids.  She shared on Facebook a few weeks back:

"When you have been working at building something for years, it is exciting when it suddenly catches on and takes on a life of its own.

Thinking about that with our musical and how it has become a part of the school culture all the things that my staff and parents and the community just jump in and do to make it a great experience for the kids. (Today I totally spaced the Safeway run I was supposed to make for our cast party, with a donation from Safeway, that another staff member requested for the kids, asked the parents to help and within 3 minutes had 4 families willing to take time out of their day to do it.)

AND WHOA how is Vivace Camp taking off!!! I have been getting new ones registered every day. With one more registration we'll top last years numbers, and if you add in the campers whose parents say they'll be there but haven't turned in paperwork... we only have 10 spots left?!? Crazy!"

To witness the joy of my daughter's vocational accomplishments is a rare and wonderful pleasure.

And Dieter is here with his new bride, Dayna.  It's an interesting experience welcoming new members into our family.  It's like childbirth all over again, yet without the morning sickness, the agony of labor, the sleepless nights and the dirty diapers.  A new daughter who is well on the way to being a 'finished product'.  Dayna and Dieter found gems in each other.  We couldn't be happier for them.

Rare and wonderful pleasures.

This weekend we had the pleasure of being with Jens and Kersten Friday evening when they got the news that their offer on a new house was approved.  Another milestone in their building a life together as a family, centered around our first grandson, Jasper.  Excitement.  Ker's work as a nurse is going well and Jens has begun a new adventure working to buy Sandpoint Computers.

To be able to share these experiences on a day to day basis, especially watching Jasper grow before our eyes, is a rare and wonderful pleasure.

And then there is Brita.  She just returned from another adventure, this time biking the North Shore of Lake Superior with a friend.  For the record, Minnesota readers, Brita related that for as much as people rave about the North Shore, in her opinion its nothing compared to the lakes and mountains of the Rocky Mountain west.  She loves where she lives and works, and is mindful that many people work for a lifetime to be able to retire here, and this is her home.

One of the delights to me about this is that after moving quite a bit early on in my seminary and ministry days, I came to Sandpoint with the hope to set down roots in this community so that my two youngest children might have the experience I never had, which is to have a place called "home".  Jens and Brita are not sojourners in this place.

It is a rare and wonderful pleasure.

And Karla and I get to take it all in.  Karla will accompany the kids on a bike ride down the Hiawatha trail in the Silver Valley later today.  Me, I get to preach again about the inclusive love of God that know no borders or barriers.  Above all we have the precious experience of seeing Jasper's face light up whenever we see him.  

Rare and wonderful pleasures.

I realize that this all sounds a bit like a Christmas newsletter and may carry a tone of bragging.  For me it is simply a matter of being overwhelmed with gratitude for the life that is unfolding before our very eyes.  What a rare and wonderful pleasure it is to step back and realize that you have everything you could have ever wanted.  Oh, there is more to come, I'm sure.  Additional new members of our family.  Challenges to be overcome, and accomplishments to celebrate.

Often I have written in this column about the difficulties of negotiating through life as a bipolar person.  There are challenges.  

But life is good.  I am not defined by my disease.  

I have many times thought that if my life is to be judged, I would most like to be judged on the basis of the children Karla and I have raised.  They are, I believe, our greatest accomplishment.  Having said that I feel a need to acknowledge that God is their creator, not Karla or I, so it is not right to take too much credit.  But what the heck, you get the point.

What too often gets lost amid all the wrestling with a disease such as bipolar disorder is the abundance of priceless blessings that are there to be enjoyed.  

Wow!   Just wow!  Rare and wonderful pleasures.

I am my Dad

Perhaps all of us, in one way or another, have had that experience where we opened our mouth and our father, or mother, came out.

For a long time, due to various resentments from childhood, and yes, simple adolescent rebellion against the image of my father, I focused my own self understanding and identity on being different than my dad.  Many instances, many choices, made specifically to be different than the dad I knew.

I hug and kiss my children.  That's an experience I never had growing up.

As a pastor I've striven to be grace oriented, and avoid the pitfalls of my father's pietism and yes, legalism. 

As a craftsman, I sought to advance my work to the highest standard, far beyond what my father accomplished. 

OK, so in some of the nuances of life I may have distinguished myself from my father.  Having said that though, a casual observer might note that I have mirrored my father's life in my own: a family man devoted to providing for and caring for my wife and children, a pastor dedicated to ministry, and a self taught craftsman committed to the belief that whatever the task at hand, 'I could figure it out'. 

My sense of Call and willingness to serve where ever the Church has asked me to serve, is a legacy from dad.  He built furniture for the family, a boat, and a home.  Dito, though I worked with him on building his place, not my own.   Oh, and I realize now that aside from the hugging and kissing, we have showed our love for our family in some very similar ways. 

And  then there is the physical stuff.  We both had our mitral valves repaired.  We've both struggled with mental health issues: dad being a bit OCD, me bipolar.  And hair for hair our heads are a reflection of each other, balding but never completely.

I recognize my own failures, similar to my dad's.  I tell myself I've been more expressive of my love for my children, but wonder if I've truly communicated that to them.  I hope I've been clear that I love each of them, am proud of each of them, and indeed consider them to be my greatest gift to the world.  Pat myself on the back.  But then I also realize that Dad went out of his way on several occasions to communicate that to us as well. 

One of the most poignant moments for me with my dad, was during the last few months of his life.  He stated, upon seeing my grandson Jasper run to my arms, that one day he hoped Jasper would run to him as well.  Dad was wishing he could be more like me. 

I am coming to realize that one aspect of being at peace with myself, is to be at peace with my dad.  That's a twofold statement.  To be at peace with my own failures involves forgiving dad for his.  And to celebrate my own successes is to affirm the values and abilities that are a legacy from my father.

There are regrets.  I allowed a distance to develop between my parents and I in the final years of their lives.  I was too busy.  I made a specific decision that I would not spend every vacation I had fixing up and maintaining the lake place so that my siblings could enjoy it as their vacation place.  But probably the greatest distance came as a result of my personal struggles.

I humor myself this morning with the thought that when we were sick as children, my parents were not the dotting nursing type.  I recall basically being put to bed, and being left alone to rest and recover.  This may not be totally fair to them, but to this day if I'm sick I just want to be left alone.  I'll come out when I feel better.

It was hard to let my parents care for me throughout the last couple of decades as I struggled with depression/bipolar disorder.  There was part of me that just wanted to be left alone.  I didn't allow them the opportunity to show me how much they cared.  There were a few instances, however, that their concern broke through.

My mother, reflecting on my needing psychiatric care, stated that "she might have benefited from such care had it been available to her in her life."  And then there was my father who read this blog like a best selling novel.  "You should write a book." he would tell me.

Perhaps God got it wrong when he gave us the commandment to "honor our father and mother".  Perhaps instead the commandment should have been to "forgive our father and mother."  And perhaps, they are one and the same thing.

But this I know, that we can never be fully at peace with ourselves if we are not at peace with our parents.  You can spend thousands of dollars on psychotherapy, but it all boils down to that.  The acorn doesn't fall far from the oak.  And those genes didn't come from nowhere.

Finally, I will say this about mom and dad.  Their marriage was a mating of mom's compassion with dad's convictions.  I've joked that I inherited my dad's heart (and mitral valve failure) and my mother's deteriorating knees.  I hope that a more profound inheritance is the compassion of my mother and the convictions of my father, wed together as one.

Loose Cannons

There are days that Canada looks good.  Real good.  Days that test my faith, a faith that holds that God, and God alone, is King of the Universe and in control.

After Trump was elected one of my parishioners said that he believed "Trump would be good for the country."  My response was "That I hoped so, but feared that instead he is a loose cannon, and that nobody, even within the Republican Party, really knows what he will do and is capable of doing, or the harm that will be done." 

I no longer fear that Trump is a loose cannon, it is blatantly obvious.

As a bipolar person I know something about being a loose cannon.  One need only look back upon a  manic episode to observe that "I didn't see that coming."  When one is in a manic phase the mind races out of control and reasonable critiques simply don't resonate.  Ask my wife.  The end justifies the means.  Grandiose visions dominate.  No risk is to great to take.  My father-in-law used to say "hit where you look, don't look where you hit."  The problem for a bipolar person is that you tend to fire first, and then survey the consequences later.

Thankfully, my own tendencies to be a loose cannon were not played out on a global stage.  There was a significant personal cost.  The $50,000 CNC I bought to jumpstart my business is $50,000 that is no longer in my pension account.  Maybe one day it will prove to have been a solid business decision.  But more likely the most it will offer is an outside chance of 'making the best of it'.  It is a massive luxury, and didn't result in the highly profitable business I envisioned.  But you couldn't have stopped me then.  And I'm hesitant to unload it now, still hoping that I can redeem the choice.

One of the things I learned in the process is that reason plays no part, even though the person who is in the manic phase may actually be able to make a convincing case for the course of action.  I mean, hey, I convinced a lot of people over the years to follow my lead when I was in a manic episode.  Having said that though, 'reason' was a means to an end, but not the primary factor in my motivation.  I now understand that as a bipolar person I am, when in a manic phase, hardwired for certain types of activities.  It's hard to accept that my fantastic plans and visions are the result of chemical interactions in my brain, and unpredictable.

Karla has always been the cautious one in our marriage.  Even today, knowing everything I know about my condition, submitting to her caution is difficult, in fact, extremely difficult.  She's not totally opposed to my endeavors.  She just has the desire to secure the cannon before firing it. 

Trump needs a Karla. 

Like a bipolar person in a manic phase Trump has his grand vision of how to "Make America Great Again".  Great presidents, though, all have the capacity to surround themselves with people smarter than they are, and follow their advisor's collective advice.  Visions need to be grounded in reality. 

In the maritime world, captains of ships surrender the control of their vessels to local pilots when they must negotiate hazardous waters and dock in harbors.  One simply cannot be an expert navigating every passage way around the globe.  Trust those with the specific knowledge needed.

The Ego gets in the way.  One of the most  difficult things for me  to admit, as I seek to restructure my life in light of my diagnosis, is that I need a pilot.  The Ego says that I've been a pastor for thirty years, I need no help.  Yet I do.  Caution is warranted, albeit, such caution is most difficult to implement when every fiber in one's being says "Go for it."

I have those who are looking out for me.  Their job is to minimize the damage that I might do were I to make spontaneous decisions that look good in the moment but which may have disastrous long term consequences. 

That is what Trump is lacking.  Fire now, and review the damage later.  Play the lute while Rome burns, and worry about rebuilding later, hoping that reconstruction can improve on what was but is no more. 

I do see one positive outcome of Trump's propensity for being the ultimate 'loose cannon'.  And that is that the world will no longer allow the United States to be the uncontested leader it has been for the last few decades.  This is no different than the potential in my own marriage that we will now make decisions that are more mutual than before.  Our partnership is taking on new dimensions.

The unpredictable nature of our national diplomacy on issues such as Iran and North Korea may end up opening the door for others to solve the problems, apart from us.  Our failure to act definitively on global issues such as the environment may lead other nations to eclipse us.  I'm actually hopeful in that regard.  The collective wisdom of the nations of the world is probably much better than simply following the shifting winds of American political perspectives.

I can see this.  But then, I'm the crazy one.  Perhaps being 'crazy' merely means that we will not conform to the insanity of the world around us. 

Vocation & Grandiose Delusions

Simply to believe that the Almighty God, creator of all things, calls one into his service may be seen by some as a grandiose delusion and a symptom of mental illness.  As a matter of faith we believe as Christians in vocation, that God does indeed call one into his service, and that we are where we are because that is  where God would have us be at a particular point in time.  But if one is a secular mental health professional, one who does not share such a faith, such beliefs are delusional, as they don't conform to a 'reasonable' understanding of reality, and grandiose in that they reflect an inflated sense of self.  Perhaps we allow for faith in our world view.  Then it becomes a  matter of degree.  When does one's sense of being a servant of God cross the line and become delusional and grandiose?

An anecdote:  During clinical pastoral education I visited the mental health ward a couple of times as a chaplain.  One of the interesting little dynamics was that they had two individuals on the floor, one of whom was convinced he was God, the other equally convinced he was Jesus, and they didn't get along.  Each of them could perceive the delusion in the other, but not in themselves.

One of the ways that the Church has protected itself against "the Call" being a matter of grandiose delusions of an individual is by insisting that the legitimacy of "the Call" must be confirmed by the Body of Christ as a whole.  Today, Peace Lutheran Church will vote on extending to me a "Letter of Call" to serve as their pastor.  That action, if taken, will confirm my own convictions that this is where God intends me to be.  "Do you believe that the Church's call is God's call?"  That is one of the questions put to the candidate for ordination.  And apart from such a sense of Call, its hard for me to imagine being a pastor.

And then it gets very specific.  Are my actions on a certain day the result of divine guidance?  A few years back I was doing some remodeling at church, fixing up the sacristy.  I needed a little water heater and so went into Coeur d'Alene to pick up one.  Having done that, I realized as an afterthought that one of my parishioners, Jim, was in the hospital.  "While I'm here, I'll stop by." was my thought.  So I did.

When I walked into the room, and greeted Jim and his wife Alice, they shared with me that just fifteen minutes before the Dr. had informed them that Jim's cancer was a rare form of lymphoma, that was non-Hodgkin's, but behaved like Hodgkins Disease.  In short, the original prognosis was that Jim would likely die of something else before his cancer was a threat.  Now, what the doctor had shared was that Jim had a short while left to live.  Minutes later, I walked in.  Was God behind my being there at that moment when they needed me?  Or was that merely coincidence?  A sacred calling?  Or a grandiose delusion to think that the Almighty interrupted my remodeling project and inspired that visit to the hospital at that particular moment?

I believe that my most pronounced manic episode resulted in my active involvement in the development of senior housing.  It wasn't the one project in Sandpoint that was so out of the ordinary.  I mean, I did it.  Luther Park was built.  It is operating.  Done deal.

What leads me to believe that I was in a manic phase were the grandiose (and delusional) aspirations of what could follow.  Not only would I develop Luther Park, but I would duplicate that effort across the country and in so doing transform the Church and equip it for an extensive outreach, giving it the resources to vastly multiply its efforts in evangelism.  There was a degree to which I considered myself a modern day Apostle Paul.  Millions of dollars were spent.  But the collapse of the economy spelled the end to it all.  Accepting that was difficult.  I was so convinced that this was my divine calling that I struggled to accept the banking world putting the brakes on the endeavor.  "If only. . ."

Predictably, what followed was a deep depression.  The pattern was there.

Back to today.  Peace Lutheran Church will vote on extending a "Letter of Call" to me to be their pastor.  Its not part of a grand delusion.  A simple Call to serve a small congregation.  I hope to make a difference in their life.

When I began my service as a Transitional Minister at Peace I was very intentional in sharing with them that I was bipolar.  Their blunt response was that my medical condition was not a concern to them.  Such an acceptance of my struggles is one of the reasons I believe this is where God would have me be.  Serving there does bring with it some risk of grandiose delusions.  They have been declining for over twenty years.  The depressed side of me says that will continue and my role will be to help them gracefully complete their ministry and one day close their doors.  The manic side, however, believes that even in the face of the decline of Church membership in the country, we can reverse the trend and become a growing, vibrant, congregation once again.  We will see.

I do believe in God.  I believe in a God that is actively engaged in the world.  I believe in a God that is doing work in very concrete and specific ways.  Yes, I believe that God has put me where I needed to be, and where I was needed at a particular point in time for a particular purpose.  This, I believe is reality, not delusion.  And to obediently accept a Call is not an instance of grandiosity, but of humble service.

So they will vote today.  If the outcome is positive I will accept their Call as God's call for my life.  It's that simple.  And then I will preach.  And teach.  I will baptize.  I will preside at communion.  I will counsel those in need.  I will visit the sick.  I will bury the dead.  And all this I will do with the help of the Holy Spirit and in the name of Jesus.

And I will continue to take my meds so that my service there might always be in response to a genuine sense of my vocation as a pastor, and not the result of chemical imbalances in my head.

Hopefully.