Questions & Answers

One of the most difficult aspects of being bipolar is negotiating the challenges of life, making decisions on important issues, and being certain that those decisions are rational and not part of a manic flurry or depressed fog.  In a manic phase one can be far too bold and optimistic.  "Why do you doubt me and my dreams?" would be an example of the mindset.  In a depressed mode decisions are made, if they are made at all, with a sense of "I have no choice."

I think I'm in a good place.  The questions I wrote about last time are being answered.

1. Do I go back to work in my own business, Olsons Woodworks?  
   The answer is yes.  I have a golden opportunity to do that and a major commission with which to start doing the kitchen for my brother and sister in law.
2. If so, should I build a shop?
   My financing has been approved so yes.  I think so.  Unfortunately it won't be done in time to build the kitchen.  But its coming.
3. What does the future hold for me regarding ministry?  Will Peace survive for the long term.  Is it's viability more limited than that?  What options are there, if any?
   This looks favorable right now.  Another congregation is exploring sharing the building with us, and contributing to the cause.  This may result in the congregation being viable again.
4. What tools are necessary at this time if I go back into business?
   I've purchased a dovetail jig.  A planer is also necessary.  Pretty much everything else can wait.
5. How much of an investment is appropriate given a limited amount of years left to work?
   This is less clear.  I guess the answer is 'as much as is necessary to sustain the income as long as I need it.
6. Will my health hold up?
   I hope so.  But I'm getting older.
7. The pain in my shoulder. . .is it bursitis, or bone spurs, or. . .?  Will it require surgery?  Can I continue long term with the repetitive motions associated with woodworking?
   This hasn't made it to the top of the list with my family doctor.  I'm hoping it's bursitis and will improve once I'm no longer doing as much highly repetitive work on a day to day basis.  (Though there will still be some.)
8. And what about my knees?  Their soreness is not helped by hours on end on concrete.
   I'll live with them for a while.
9. And then there is the small matter of my heart.  X-rays showed slight enlargement.  I've experienced some shortness of breath.  Big issue?  Small matter?  Time will tell.
   My heart tested just fine.  That was a great relief.
   
   What has emerged though is an umbilical and ventral hernia.  Yup, two.  That's an easy surgery and recovery.  Will take care of it.
10. And finally, there's the question of desire.  What would make me, and Karla, happy and satisfied in the coming months and years?
    This is the easiest question.  Living the dream in Sandpoint, being self employed, and enjoying ministry.  Sleeping well.  And enjoying family time again.

I think these decisions and answers pass the smell test.  None of my family are contemplating hauling me into my doctor.  Though I see her on Wednesday.

The bottom line is I'm excited to finish off my working career this way.  In that working in my own shop is what I envisioned for retirement, doing so for a profit is not a bad way to transition into retirement.  

And I can't tell you how wonderful it is to feel excited.  Yeah baby.  Life is good.

Follow your passion, cautiously!

In my psychiatrist's office there is a sign which says "Dream Big, Act Bigger".  We laughed about it as I commented that such advice is not appropriate for a  manic person. One of the most irritating aspects of being bipolar is the lack of confidence one can have in one's own sense of judgment about major life decisions.  It's just so easy to get caught by manic thinking patterns and lose touch with a more reasoned take on life.

I'm tired.  My job at the cabinet shop is wearing on me from two standpoints.  Yes, on the one hand I'm able to help build some rather impressive kitchens in huge homes for famous people (Michael Jordan e.g.)  But a lot of time I'm doing things like making the sticks that fill in the space between one cabinet and the other.  I'm the "Filler King".  It's hard to get passionate about such work.

And second, working ten hour days together with the commute just is grueling.  I'd like to be able to sleep beyond 3 in the morning.  (On a positive note, I'm actually sleeping better these days.)  The reality is that working sixty hours a week between the cabinet shop and the church, plus commuting 12 hours a week, leaves little time for anything else.  And I'm tired.

My mind just keeps going back to this dining set.  It epitomizes the kind of work I have done and am capable of doing.  I want to do that.  I want to feel good about my vocation. 

Together Karla and I are settling in with this decision to return to Olson's Woodworks.  We will proceed cautiously.  Having said that though, there will be a moment when we will need to simply be "all in" on the decision.  I simply can't gradually take on more work in my own shop, while still working at the other.  I don't have enough time in a week.

So the jump will happen.  I will be taking some withdrawals from my pensions account, Karla will sign up for her Social Security, and that will provide a safety net for us.  If the business thrives, no more pensions withdrawals will be necessary.  If it doesn't, we'll have enough to survive.

What do I need?  What purchases must I make to succeed?  And are those purchases really necessary or the fodder of manic thinking?  Having a truck for hauling materials would be handy.  But damn, they are expensive.  (My kids have offered use of theirs, so we'll probably hold off  on this one.)  There are a few woodworking tools that I need.  A thickness planer.  A chop saw.  But any such considerations will always be weighed against my manic pursuit of the CNC last time. 

Again, the lack of confidence in one's own judgment is one of the worst things about being bipolar.  We will see how things play out.

On another matter, my health is gradually improving.  Diagnosed over a month ago now with hypothyroidism I'm on the slow road to recovery.  I takes months for the medication to build up in the system to therapeutic levels, but I've noticed some improvement.  At the very least, I'm able to work a full week these days.  Thank God for simple improvements like that. 

My biggest question is how well will I feel with the new normal.  I look at the energy level of other sixty year olds and I hope.  "I'm far too young to feel so damn old." is my new mantra.  I hope things will get much better. 

The hip bone's connected to the thigh bone.

All things are interrelated.  Many connections we just don't understand.  Doing one thing affects another.

I have been having tests done as I'm not feeling well.  ECG.  Chest X-Ray.  Full blood work.  All that stuff.  And on it goes.  "We'll get to the bottom of this."  "Thanks, Doc."

Every joint hurts.  Every muscle aches, and is crampy.  I'm sometimes short of breath, which brings on a panic attack.  Exhaustion and fatigue are such that this last week I've not been able to finish my shift at work numerous times.  Blood pressure has been running as high as 190/130, and that while on my blood pressure meds.  Doubling the dose brought it down but only to about 150/100.  Still not good. I feel  old.

I have my suspicions what is going on.  My mother had zero thyroid function.  Three of my sisters and one brother have been diagnosed with hypothyroidism.  And last night I read that hypothyroidism is a potential side effect of Lamictal, the med I take for bipolar disorder.  Its also associated with being bipolar, though whether that's a direct correlation or the result of bipolar people being on either lamictal or lithium, both of which can cause hypothyroidism, is unknown.  At least that's what I read.

Taken together it makes me suspicious.  I've informed the Doctor.  He is testing for it.  One can only hope as the cure for that is quite easy in the long run.

All things are connected.

If this were true it would bring up another issue.  When identifying chemical dependency issues in my family of origin, Mom's drug use stands  out.  She would take her thyroid medication in the morning as a "pick me upper" and the take benadryl at night to relax and go to sleep.  All prescribed, mind you.  But nevertheless, dependent on drugs for mood and energy.

I don't like the extent to which I'm becoming that.  I think the tally is up to nine different meds and supplements on a daily basis.  Lamictal for bipolar.  Mirtazapine for depression.  Abilify to make both of those function better.  Rozerem for sleep.  Losartan for blood pressure.  Mobic for joint pain.  Gemfibrozil and fish oil for Cholesterol.  And a vitamin or two because the meds deplete certain vitamins in your body.

I can swallow quite a pile of drugs at one time.  There was a time when that would gag me.

But I'm extremely thankful for them.  I have no clue where I'd be without them.  Miserable or dead.

I hope it doesn't take too long for some positive results to come to the fore in the testing.  And of course, I hope it doesn't reveal something I truly don't want to know.  The lung X-ray, eg.  "In the name of due diligence we should do this. . ."  "Yes, I know, but let's hope my problem isn't lung cancer."  I actually have none of the most pronounced symptoms, but you never know.  But after smoking for as long as I did, I have to confess that every time the tests reveal I'm still cancer free I feel a bit like a kid who stole a cookie from the cookie jar and got away with it.

Well, enough of the lament for this morning.  I'm noticing my knuckles are achy and the muscles in my cheeks are tense.  The list goes on and on.  And so I await a diagnosis.

Growing Older

Inside every older person is a young person wondering 'What the hell happened?'

I feel like that some days.  I have a lot of muscle and joint pain.  I'm not sure what's up, if anything.  That's the internal debate.  Am I just aging?  No, something is not right.  Are you sure?  Everybody has aches and pains.  And on and on the saga goes.

My legs.  I have deteriorating knees.  That I know and I've already had one surgery to cut out a significant portion of the meniscus in one knee.  Dr. says that I don't have significant arthritis in the knees, but, they are sore.  My hips haven't been feeling much better of late.  And then I have this muscle pain most pronounced down the back of my legs and calves.  Sciatica tends to be one side only.  This is both sides.  Feels like a constant low grade cramping.  When I stand up it feels as though I have to slowly stretch out the muscles again in order to stand without pain. 

So I wonder.  One of the things my mother suffered from was hypothyroidism.  And she had much of the same issues.  This is not as common among men but it leaves me wondering.  I also wonder about side effects of some of the  many medications I take.  Or is it just the consequence of putting in ten hour days on my feet on concrete floors?  Or maybe this is just what 62 feels like.

I will probably go to the doctor.  I am skeptical about the outcome. 

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I continue to explore the possibility of going back into business.  Olsons WoodWorks.  I enjoyed being in business and have significant investments in tools, etc.  The challenge is to make a living at it. 

One of the things that is frustrating is the difference a screw makes.  Yes, one measly screw.  If I build a cabinet that is screwed into a house, it qualifies for financing and people are OK with the expense.  If I build furniture it is a cash basis, because there is no screw attaching it to a house.  That same screw also results in the necessity of a contractor's license.  Part of the frustration is that I love making dining room furniture.  Contrast the difference between a table and chairs for a dining room, versus the kitchen cabinets.  I can get a lot more money for the cabinets.  The dining set, however, is more work and finer details.  Bottom line, I'll have to do cabinets as well as furniture to make ends meat. 

_______________________________________________________

And retirement.  Part of the consideration about going back into business is that I now have the option of supplementing my income with my pensions.  I found out this last week that Portico Benefits doesn't deal well with the concept of semi-retirement.  I'd like to draw on my pensions, but am still employed by a congregation part-time and they pay for my benefits, including health insurance.  The tricky issue is that health insurance is not normally included for retirees because it is assumed that you will be on medicare.  "Retired but without medicare" is a special underwriting category that is more expensive than anything else.  Argh!

The solution is to simply take withdrawals from my pensions without formally retiring.  Another advantage of that is that I only need take what is necessary. 

Complicating all this consideration is the caution regarding bipolar decision making.  My wife is doubly cautious as it has been known to happen in the past that I've made decisions fueled by my disease that weren't always in the best interest of our well  being.  Let it suffice to say caution is in order.

Biodiversity, Conformity, and the Church

If there is anything we can learn about God from creation, it is that the Creator had incredible imagination and loved diversity.  The world is filled with mind boggling complexity, millions of different expressions of the Creator's concept of life, and an ever changing and evolving universe.  Sometimes we contribute to the diversity of creation.  Think of the many different breeds of dogs that we have developed.  But we've also been prone to do things like settle in on one variety of wheat, of corn, etc., and global conformity.  We are starting to learn our lessons about the pitfalls of this, but slowly.

And then there are humans and our limited capacity to deal with diversity.  Bananas.  1,000 different varieties of bananas and we prefer to have only one, the Cavendish, available in our stores.  Why?  I suppose its because we simply want to know what to expect.  There are all sorts of examples of this tendency of humans.  We gravitate towards McDonalds, not local diners with a varied menu.  "Bud Light, for the many not the few."  Cultural norms and expectations limit the scope of our uniqueness.  We like to know what to expect and so we push conformity.  As humans interact, rather than increasing in our biodiversity we tend to allow a dominant culture to emerge and to overwhelm the various regional, ethnic, and cultural differences.  The American experiment is especially telling.  With immigrants from every continent we pushed an anglicized uniformity.  Speak English.  Melt into one.  Do the American thing. And then watch as "Westernization transforms cultures throughout the world."  Chinese people wearing blue jeans.  And Starbucks is opening 3,000 new stores there.

And then there is the church.  One, holy, catholic, and apostolic church.  Doctrinal conformity.  Inculturation.  Should the church be transformed by the variety of cultures in which it is present or should the church transform those cultures toward a unified expression?  We haven't done so well with cultural diversity.  And when diversity divided the church we saw that as a curse, not a blessing.  The single largest question in this regard is whether it was God's will that humans express their religious inclination in a uniform way, or whether God intended from the beginning for our spiritual lives to be a diverse as our physical and mental tendencies.

How do we deal with anomalies?  You know, those deviations from the norm.  "Deviant" is a negative word.  I'm bipolar.  What that means is that my capacity for mood swings from highs to lows exceeds the norm.  My highs are higher.  My lows are lower.  My medication is designed to eliminate that and achieve a culturally acceptable middle ground.  Are variations from the norm a disease or God's diversity coming into play?  Good question.

Sexuallity.  How often have we tried to force a spectrum of expressions into a culturally defined and rigidly maintained duality.  Its just not quite as simple as "male and female he created them".  Ironic that the Creation story that details the vast diversity of God's creation is used to force a compliance with cultural norms and a condemnation of deviation from those norms.  Again, "deviant sexual behavior" is used to condemn.  This in spite of the fact that we, as humans, exhibit "diverse sexual expressions".  We struggle to understand.  "LGBTQ" is an evolving expression.  We're not even always sure what those letters stand for, or how many variants are present within them.

I'm not into 'anything goes'.  Child abuse, whether physically, sexually, or mentally is always immoral and should be severely punished in my mind.  But what is abusive, and what is nurturing?  By the way, I'm not much into abusing adults either. . .

It's all so mind boggling.  Hence we tend to settle in on normative behaviors and discourage variations from the norms.  And God is used to enforce those norms.

I love my church, but I deeply regret its lack of diversity.  We are the whitest denomination in the United States.  We set a goal to become a church with a minimum of 10% people of color or whose primary language is other than English.  That was 1988.  The only significant change in color of our church since then has been the greying of our hair.  Fact is that we are not the church catholic.  We can only become an inclusive, diverse, church through ecumenical work.  And an ecumenism that celebrates diversity, not one that seeks uniformity.

I am convinced that there is a reason God created platypuses.  Perhaps just for the shear delight in it.  And not every bird should be a bald eagle, as majestic as that bird is.  And the thought that one day, through generations of interracial marriage we will emerge as a unified race is appalling to me.  What I hope for is an appreciation of diversity.  Deviation from the norm is the norm, by the way.  And God said it all is good.

This and that

4:45 am and I awoke.  "Up early, again." some of you might say.  Well, no, actually, I slept in considerably.  But what is greatest about that is that it was a night that I slept without waking.  I'd stayed up a little later because of the Seahawks football game.  But even with that, normally I'd have awoken by 3:30 at the latest.  I leave for work by 4:45.  Nice to sleep.

I saw my neurologist, the sleep specialist, this last month.  He had been called by my insurance company.  Rozerem, the sleep medication  I'm on, is expensive.  They don't like that.  By expensive I mean approximately $10 a day.  He informed them that there is no other drug in that class, no other options, and so I believe that they have OK'd it once again.  One of the reasons I continue to see this doctor is that as a neurologist who specializes in sleep his word carries significantly more weight than would the word of a family practice physician. 

The reason for the expensive pill for my insomnia?  Well, for starters it is one of the few medications that can be taken long term without risk of addiction or significant side effects.  One of the others that I'd previously taken worked almost as well, it's just that there was a long term risk of liver damage and addiction.  I could just as well have continued with Scotch.  Thankfully, I'm good to go with Rozerem.  I think.

I keep on thinking to myself that I wish insurance companies would support medication that keeps me well, as opposed to risking my getting seriously ill once again.  For the most part they have.  And Abilify, the most expensive drug I am on is now available in generic form, and is but a fraction of what it once was.  It had been $30 a day.

My cynicism regarding my prescription drug coverage comes up from time to time.  I used to use our local pharmacy, and when I did Express Scripts, who manages the prescription drug coverage for our Church, would continually question every medication.  Even my latanoprost drops which I use because I'm pre-glaucoma.  Yeash, it's only a few dollars, why bother harassing my doctors about it. 

Well, you can also fill the prescriptions through Express Scripts pharmacy.  Funny thing, when they are selling them, and reaping the profit, they don't question them near as much.  Funny thing.  I wonder if Portico, the Church's insurance, knows that. 

On another note, I had my annual physical last month.  I'm doing well.  I've gained a little weight due to quitting smoking.  Doctor says I'd have to gain a hundred pounds to counteract the positives from quitting smoking.  It was also the first time he'd seen me since my bowel obstruction and surgery.  I was able to have laparoscopic surgery.  He shared with me how lucky we are to live today with all the medical advancements.  A hundred years ago I would have been told to just go to bed and die. 

I add that I do feel lucky.  A few pills a day and my bipolar disorder is well managed.  Yeah, they can be expensive, but the alternative of a lifetime of disability and going in and out of psych wards is more expensive.  Instead, I have my life back.

So life is good.  Praise God.

Major Announcement. . .

Fellow citizens, after deep reflection and consideration, but without consulting with any of my supporters, I have come to the conclusion that I will not be running for President of the United States this election cycle.  I reach this decision with a heavy heart, but feel that it is the best course of action at this time.

I was going to mount a campaign with the slogan "Make America Sane Again", which preliminary market studies showed to have a certain appeal to the American public.  A second slogan would have been "Dave Olson for President:  At least he's on his meds."

I know this will be received by many of you with great disappointment.  And I understand, but still, the toll this would have taken on my family and me was just too great.

I do believe that my experience with being bipolar would have made me well suited for the Presidency.  For example, my own experience is that taking Lamictal is an effective remedy for the highs and lows that are too often experienced.  This is exactly what the stock market needs.  Wild swings up and down are not beneficial to the nation's economy.  I have a solution.  Lamictal.  Or lithium, if need be.

Some feel our nation is headed towards a depression.  There you have it, another issue with which I am uniquely equipped and experienced to handle.

I have also learned fiscal responsibility.  Although when it comes to the federal budget and allocating trillions of dollars of resources it might be necessary to go off my meds for a spell.  Bipolar people in a manic phase are quite adept at the task of spending vast amounts of money.  Debt is also something we have personal experience with.  Bipolar people are like that.  My solution for the national debt is that we will accept an unlimited amount of promotional credit cards and continually transfer funds back and forth to maintain zero interest on the balance.  This would save us lots of money.

I would have led us back to a time when we were a kinder, gentler, nation.  Our theme song would have been "Its a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor, would you be mine."  Part of this emphasis would require all drivers to wave at each other, like they do in the farming communities of the midwest.

I believe that we need to respond to the humanitarian crisis of immigrants at our southern border.  And yet, I also believe that we need a means of restricting entrance to the country to those who really want to be here and need to be here because of dire necessity.  A simple solution can be found in my Norwegian American background (and by the way, I will be doing a genetic test to prove that I am of Norwegian descent).  What we would have done is to welcome these immigrants and asylum seekers and provide them with lutefisk to eat for their first year in the country.  This would have reduced the amount of people seeking entrance to the country to those who truly need to come here.

One of the questions asked during campaigns is the phone call at 3 am question.  Who do you want taking that call?  Hey, I'm up at 3 am anyway.  No big deal.

I am somewhat disappointed to come to this conclusion.  Being bipolar I could have brought both the melancholy of Abraham Lincoln and vast ambition of FDR back to the White House.

Some of you are rolling your eyes and saying "Dave, you're just not smart enough to be President."  True.  But this is my belief.  (And for the first time in this piece of satire, I'm being dead serious.)  The job of the President is to surround himself or herself with people far smarter than they, to the end that they are the dumbest person in the room.  Their job as President is not to be the smartest, but to pray instead for wisdom.  And this is my prayer, that as we as a nation enter the next election cycle we will seek out and find a candidate that may not be the most experienced, nor the most intelligent, nor the most charismatic, and certainly not the richest, but rather simply wise.

Negotiating a Purchase, Bipolar Style

Bipolar.  Mania.  Symptom:  Going on buying sprees or making foolish investments.

OK, so those are the perimeters of the conversation.  The situation is that we are getting to the point where it is going to be necessary to purchase a car for my wife.  Currently she drives a 2006 Toyota Sienna AWD.  It has been a wonderful car for us.  Dependable.  Gets around in the snow of North Idaho well.  And nice.  It's Oma's "magic car" with doors that open with a push of a button, etc.

Alas, as it approaches 200,000 miles it is developing some issues.  The rear suspension is worn and cannot be realigned meaning that tires will wear significantly and unevenly.  They also couldn't get a good alignment on the front, so it pulls to one side.  Recently one of the back sliding doors broke.  Bottom line, it's time.

The good news is that in short order my father's estate will settle (hopefully) which will allow us to clear up some debts and position ourselves to be able to afford a car payment.

The challenge is that I've always been the car buyer in our family.  For a variety of reasons Karla has deferred to me in that area.  I do all the preliminary work and shopping.  Once I've settled on a vehicle I ask for her consent, which she has normally given.  The difficult position that I've put her in on numerous occasions is that my momentum for purchasing a vehicle is pretty strong by the time I ask her permission and to say no would be a little like trying to stop a freight train that is rumbling down the tracks at 70 miles an hour.  Add to that the fact that manic tendencies do not always make for good purchases and we've got a new challenge.

So we are trying to learn a new game.  Karla has agreed to take a more active role early on in the shopping and selecting of a vehicle.  Together we've decided to look at three options:  Another Sienna; a Highlander; or a Rav4.  All of them are available in All Wheel Drive, and two of which are available in a hybrid, which we'd prefer.  A big question is whether we buy new or used.

It's not always straightforward.  Used is not always the cheaper route.  When we bought our Dodge Caravan a while back, the only late model used vehicles were lease returns which tended to be the highest priced trim packages, meaning that a used vehicle was running about $24,000 while a new vehicle could be purchased with what we needed for $18,500.  Also, financing is frequently more advantageous on a new vehicle with the net result that sometimes the payment for a new vehicle is less per month than the payment for a used  vehicle.  I also have developed a simple formula to determine the relative value.

My formula is to calculate the cost per mile of the vehicle based on a life span of 200,000 miles.  So for example, we could probably get a new Sienna for around $40,000 depending on the trim package.  That works out to 20 cents a mile over the life of the vehicle.  One used vehicle with 70,000 miles I've looked at was originally priced at $27,000.  At that price it would cost 21 cents per mile for the remaining 130,000 miles of its lifespan.  It's now been reduced to 23,000 which makes the cost per mile around 18 cents.  That assumes that the interest rate is the same on the used as it is on the new, though often promotional rates for new cars are well below standard rates for used, sometimes even 0%.  For example, a 2018 Rav4 Hybrid can be purchased new for around 30,000 with 0% interest resulting in a per mile cost of 15 cents, while paying interest on a used vehicle I located with low mileage results in a cost of 17 cents.

So it goes.  What I find  myself needing to do to counteract the impulses associated with being bipolar is to find as many objective standards upon which to base a decision as possible.  And hopefully, standards that are objective enough that others who are not bipolar (AKA my wife) will be able to look at them and say "That makes sense."

This is not a bad thing.  In hindsight I wish I had always been so diligent in making purchases on major items.  It has been in the past, a mixed bag.  My manic side kicked in previously in making two major purchases.  A house and a CNC Router.  Both involved about the same amount of cash upfront, a down payment on the house, and the full price of the CNC.  By purchasing the house at a low point in the market we have since realized an appreciation that has left us sitting quite well, with nearly 4 times the down payment now in equity.  It didn't work out so well with the CNC.  My imagined business plan didn't pan out.  Oh, we can do some neat stuff, it just hasn't been worth the investment and its resale value is not great either.  Bottom line is that I spent more on the CNC that I've earned using it.  Lesson learned.

What I'm finding is that negotiating such treacherous waters requires discipline.  And a willingness to 'pass' on some great deals that may not be all that great.  And most importantly, seeking to involve others in such decisions and letting the facts rule the day, not my power of persuasion. 

We'll see how this all unfolds in the coming months. . .

Toy Trains and healing

I'm making a toy train for my grandson, Jasper.  To one extent this is a funny exercise.  Were I to put in that extra time at the cabinet shop, working overtime, I'd earn enough to buy one very nice Lionel Train Set that runs, etc.  But that's not the same as a wooden toy set made by Opa.

It's the second set I've made, the first was for the son of a friend.  That first venture into toy making was significant from a therapeutic standpoint.  I had just gotten out of chemical dependency treatment, had time on my hands as the church wanted me to take some time off before resuming my duties, and the train set gave me something to do.  Choo choo.

Therapeutic it was.

Thinking back, I think one of the most therapeutic things about it is it gave me a vision of life in retirement, and most importantly that I could do meaningful things that were not part of a manic quest to save the world.  But as the print from Lutherhaven says, what mattered was that in one small way, I was important in the life of a child.

Grandiose visions.  Dreamer of Dreams.  One with an insatiable appetite to go where no man has ever gone before (or at least to make the effort!  Often I found that my quests to invent the wheel may have been successful, but that others had in fact done it before!)  This was the manic side of my life that gave me a purpose and meaning.

Jasper has been good therapy. 

That's Jasper signing "I love you."  Or if you look closely at the placement of his thumbs "You rock!".  I like both.  With my work schedule, Jasper is one of my few 'recreational activities' and I'm deeply grateful that each week I get to spend some time with him.

As I look forward to retirement, or at least winding down my professional career and the tempered expectations come from that, it is tempting to think that my greatest contributions to life have already been made.  There are no new Luther Parks on the horizon.  

But then there is this reminder, a very important reminder.  In the years ahead I have the opportunity to make a life transforming difference in the life of Jasper and whatever other grandchildren we might have.  One's life is never without a purpose.  Not as long as you are capable of loving and caring for those God has placed in your life.  

So choo choo.  Hard to measure the impact of a toy train versus a senior housing project.  One cost 15 million.  The other, priceless.

52,260 Hours

At least then I could sleep (pass out).  Were it not for my insomnia, I might never have started drinking heavily.  I awake this day, the first time at 9:35 last evening, and then subsequently at about midnight.  I'll be up for a  while now.  Perhaps I'll sleep later.

Overwhelmed with emotion.  As I remembered last night the events of six years ago, and the subsequent journey into sobriety I simply started crying.  Tears of joy.  It been a long journey, trudging every step of the way.  But it is simply the way of life, not death. 

There was a time when sobriety was indeed an hour by hour challenge.  I clung to my Alcoholics Anonymous group as a lifeline.  My greatest fear was of relapse.  Sobriety was my highest priority.  There was/is nothing that I'd place higher on that list.  I mean that.  It's that important.  I would get a divorce if I were unable to remain sober in this relationship.  I would abandon my faith in God if that were detrimental to my sobriety.  Thankfully my wife and my faith community support my sobriety and I haven't been faced with that choice.

I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him; for that means life to you and length of days, so that you may live in the land that the Lord swore to give to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.  (Deuteronomy 30:19-20)

These verses could have been written just for me.  And for any person who is an alcoholic. 

It hasn't been a bed of roses.  Some suggest that if an alcoholic will just stop drinking, then life will be so much better.  Actually I faced the biggest challenges of my life in sobriety.  I faced them in part because I was not able to hide behind the drinking anymore.  Early recovery.  Disabling depression and anxiety.  Partial complex seizures.  Resignation of call.  An attempt at a new business.  Moving from depression into mania.  Then back to depression.  Finally a diagnosis of bipolar disorder and appropriate medication.  Then, and only then, did life genuinely start to improve.

Inch by inch I was able to re-enter ministry.  Going to  church initially caused partial complex seizures.  The first time I stood before American Lutheran in Newport to simply read the lessons I was terrified.  Then, step by step, I crossed one threshold after another.  Teaching.  Preaching.  Leading worship.  Supply preaching.  An appointment as a transitional minister.  And now, just recently a regular call to part time ministry.

I sometimes wonder if I could now drink responsibly.  Yet even if I was 'cured' of my alcoholism, sobriety is the only option as all of my psychiatric drugs preclude alcohol use.  I think as a whole psychiatrists are just not appreciative of drinking as a way of life.  Perhaps because for so many like me, it never can be.

One of the most overwhelming things has been the way that God provided for us during this time.  I hesitate to claim that providence because some have not experienced it.  But we have.  We were able to negotiate disability, The loss of both of our jobs, and an unsuccessful attempt at a business.  All this while we adjusted to a mortgage on our new home, purchased just a short while before the collapse.  Bottom line:  not a payment has been missed.  Not a single payment.

One of the issues I must live with now is the necessity to be vigilant regarding my bipolar diagnosis.  It is humbling to have to recognize that part of who I am is symptomatic of a disease.  My grand plans-- mania.  My melancholy, not the creative contemplation of a philosopher, but depression.

Two mantras have come to me during this period of my life.  "God flunked chemistry." is one of them.  It reflects the frustration with maintaining the appropriate chemical balance within my head.  Forgive me, God. 

The second is "What I lacked in righteousness, I made up for in timidity."  I actually got into enough trouble as it is.  Were I bolder I shudder to think of the consequences of either my drinking or my being bipolar.

As I reflect on the role of the Church, I'm drawn back to an earlier crisis in my life and a conviction that arose there.  "The calling of the Church is to believe on behalf of the besieged, for that is their only lifeline to faith."  Sometimes it is not possible for us to have faith in and of ourselves.  Others need to carry us faithfully through the void.  And one day faith will return.

And finally, my prayer during these last few  years:

Hold me tight, most precious Lord,

That I may follow you.

Grant me grace to live each day,

May I be born anew.

Lift me up whene'er I fall

And never let me fade

from the grace filled light

Of your own sight

That turns the night to day.

Accepting Limitations

To say my wife is more fiscally conservative than I is so true as to be almost humorous.

To be cautious as one lives within the limits imposed by the symptoms of being bipolar and the necessity of reining in things such as spending sprees is appropriate. 

To combine those two is a pill hard to take at times, but perhaps good medicine.

And yet in the midst of all that there is the question of reasonable choices and living life.

And then there are basic personality issues that affect choices in living.  Sometimes it is not about the choices being made, but the manner in which those choices are made.

I could do better in taking my wife's concerns into consideration.  How much of that is my bipolar tendencies running running amok, and how much is basic issues of independence and stubbornness?  That's a good question.

A couple of background issues to consider are:
1.  One of the defining symptoms of mania is the "excessive involvement in pleasurable activities that have a high potential for painful consequences (e.g. engaging in unrestrained buying sprees, sexual indiscretions, or foolish business investments)."  DSM 5
2.  One of my psychologists correctly observed, years ago, that my mode of operations is to mull issues over in my head until I reach a conclusion, and then, and only then, to broach the subject with others. 

This latter issue has been a struggle in our marriage from time to time.  My wife is the opposite in that she is inclined to think out loud, and to converse about things prior to any conviction or conclusion being made.  Imagine that.  And so more often than I care to admit a subject has come up between us wherein I've long since arrived at my conclusion and been in the position of needing then to convince my wife.  I readily admit this does not make for the most mutual of marriage decision making processes, but it is the reality we have lived with.  She's left wanting to be part of the decision making process, I'm left irritated because she's generally not the "mull it over" type anyway. 

Now when you add to that the above symptom of being bipolar there is added weight to the issue.

My wife pointed out a few examples of where I could do better:  my latest decisions regarding purchasing a car, noise canceling headphones, and hearing aids.  Now this is the way those matters came down.

The car.  Over the course of a couple of years as I commuted to work, I was getting more and more frustrated with the cost of the commute, spending over $100 a week on gas alone.  I determined in my own mind that purchasing a more efficient car would alleviate this.  I started researching options.  A visit to the Toyota dealership resulted in my finding a Hybrid Camry, at the right price.  The savings on gas would more than make up for the car payments, in fact I'd be quite ahead of the curve.   Long and short of it, it made sense financially.  I consulted with my wife, via a phone call from the dealership!!!  Somehow she didn't feel this was adequate.  She has a point.

More recently I chose to purchase noise cancelling headphones.  Again, as I dealt with the noise in my shop and the cabinet shop at work, I mulled this over quite a bit.  As things go, this was not a great expense, a couple hundred dollars.  But again, talking it over might have been a good thing. . .

Regarding the hearing aids, we had talked about it quite a bit.  And then one morning my old hearing aids went belly up.  By the end of the day I had ordered the new aids.  This was a timing issue more than anything else.  We had previously decided that I would purchase them in a couple more weeks, when I had received my inheritance.  This one will work out fine as the money will be in hand to pay for them shortly. but again, consulting more would be good.

The decisions were not bad, as my wife said, but the manner of reaching those decisions could be improved.

As I mull this over again (I do that, see above) I find myself wondering if this whole scenario is a symptomatic of my disease, or simply the consequence of being an independent cuss.  Either way, I find myself locked into behavioral patterns and resentful at the thought of being curtailed in any way.  Accepting limitations and embracing caution is hard.

One of the things that has made this particularly difficult is that I am extraordinarily capable of making a damn good case for my point of view, even when it is the result of a manic episode.  Case in point, the development of the senior housing.  I not only convinced the congregation to move forward on it, I convinced the Mission Investment Fund of our church to make the largest loan they had ever made, as well as convincing Ecumen to develop and manage the facility. 

Even when in a full blown manic episode my ideas have had some merit.  As my wife observed regarding the above three matters, it's not that a more efficient car, or noise cancelling headphones, or better hearing aids are bad ideas.  But somehow I need to get a handle on making decisions in a more mutually satisfying manner that takes into consideration my wife's concerns as well as the realities of my diagnosis. 

I understand this.  I really do.  But in the moment I also deeply resent the feeling of being supervised, like I was a small child incapable of making reasonable decisions and choices.  Adding to that is a lifetime of tendencies.  For example, with the exception of when our car had been totalled in an accident (twice this happened) the decision to buy or not buy a car has been largely left up to me, with my wife's consent in the end.  She has never initiated such a decision.  This fits the same pattern that typified her parent's marriage, so it has a bit of history behind it. 

I will try to do better, but it will not be easy.  But who said life is easy, particularly when dealing with fundamental issues of differing personalities and a mental health diagnosis.

Living into Tomorrow

One of the defining characteristics of manic phases is the tendency to conceive of and carry out grandiose plans and schemes for tomorrow.  I miss this now that I'm being treated.  I really do. 

Nothing seemed impossible.  I pursued with reckless abandon plans to make the world a better place.  Some good came out of it.  Luther Park, the assisted living that I conceived of and was able to develop, is a good thing.  Hundreds of elderly are being cared for in their final years.  Now if mania only produced such results we'd likely not treat it.  Alas, not all plans and schemes work out so well.

But that's the past.  My visions have subsided a bit these days, thanks to treatment.  And I'm not totally pleased with that.  Part of this may also simply be a consequence of aging.  I'm aware that I'm entering the final years of my working career and my agenda for great accomplishments has diminished with age.  More and more it is about being content with what I've already done.

But tomorrow is still out there.  It's just that the nature of my plans has changed.

One major effort on my part has been to quit smoking.  I've shared that with you.  I'm happy to report that it has been nearly two weeks since I've had a cigarette.  I'm delighted with that but there remain some significant hurdles yet to face.

In order to get this far, I have used 'nicotine replacement therapy', that is the patch.  I'm now weaning myself of that, and will be one it for only two more weeks.  That's the plan. 

The most difficult thing has been not smoking during the breaks at work.  The way I was able to beat that was by vaping, or Juuling, the latest in vapor.  For those who do not know, vaping is another nicotine delivery system.  Nicotine is mixed in a 'juice', and then a electronic charge converts it to water vapor which you inhale like smoking.  The advantage is that though you are still puffing on something, there is no smoke, no tar or carbon monoxide.  Nicotine itself, though highly addictive, is not particularly harmful.  And so many consider this a "safe" alternative.

I'm not thrilled that it took this to stop smoking cigarettes.  But if in the end I succeed it will have been worth it.  My goals are to first, wean myself off the patch, and then to reduce the amount I'm vaping.  One of the things that has guided me is to ask, "if I got stuck here could I live with it?"  Well, inhaling water vapor is better than smoke, so I think so.  But my goal remains that eventually my tomorrow will not involve any of this. 

Part of the issue here is that bipolar people are prone to addictions of a variety of sizes and shapes.  For me, overcoming them remains one of the final elements in my treatment for bipolar.  Here's to tomorrow.

Another decision I made this last week was to address one of the most difficult issues at work.  Woodworking shops are filled with a deafening din of noise.  It causes lasting damage to one's hearing and is just plain uncomfortable and unpleasant. 

I splurged on new Bose QuietComfort noise cancelling headphones.  By emitting the opposite sound to that in the environment, the noise is cancelled out.  Peace and quiet.  I can listen to music at a reasonable volume.  No need to drown out the surrounding noise.  Wow.  This is impressive.  I have to be careful to make sure I know whether the tool is on or off, as I can no longer hear it. 

The joy of music has re-entered my life.  As I write this morning I'm listening to Handel's Messiah, a great way to start a Sunday morning.  Using Spotify and my iPhone I have access to the world of music.  I look forward to spending my days with the Canadian Brass, Alison Kraus, Natalie MacMaster, and some old time favorites. 

Another fun thing is dreaming with my son about building a shop on their property.  Dreams are cheap.  We'll see if it materializes.  It's be great to actually have some room to work.

I guess the overall theme today is that tomorrow doesn't have to be the same as yesterday, and one can take small steps to improve one's life without having to hatch grandiose schemes to to change the world.  You know, that's a relief.  Feeling like the future of the world is on my shoulders is, well, an insane burden.  Much better to focus on small improvements that affect the quality of my life. 

Blessings and Hope

It's been a couple of weeks since my last post and I must admit that I wondered what I might say this morning.  There have been so many times over the last few years that there were such significant concerns to write about.  But today, life is good.

First of all, I continue my ongoing effort to wean myself from my smoking habit.  I've smoked for a long time, and this time, I've decided that I will succeed in breaking the habit.  I'm using the patch and that has been effective in allowing me to greatly reduce my smoking.  I struggle still with eliminating the smoking entirely.  It's not the nicotine fix that is the problem.  It is the pattern and behavioral issues.

Let's see, I've smoked for over 4 decades.  And virtually every single time I had the opportunity for a break from work, or study, or anything, I smoked.  That is what you do on break.  That is the hardest thing to overcome.  Last week we spent four days on a trip to Bend to visit my brother and sister-in-law.  Four days and no smoking whatsoever.  Probably the only challenge was golfing.  It struck me that golfing eighteen holes without either a smoke, or a beer, was quite a new thing.  It was fine.

But then this week it was back to work.  The most difficult thing about altering the behavior at work and smoking on breaks is, ironically, that we cannot smoke at work.  So when I show up to work at 5:30 am, I know that I will not have the opportunity to smoke again until 9:00 am.  And then at 11:30, and 2:00 pm.  At issue is a lifetime of making sure that I took advantage of the opportunities that I had to smoke so as not to experience a nic fit.  The patch takes care of the nicotine withdrawal.  It's the behavioral modification that remains an issue.  Still, I am delighted with my progress so far.  A few smokes a day is better than a pack and a half.

But a clear break is going to be necessary.  My goal?  I see my psychiatrist in mid August.  She's the one who has cared for me from the moment I entered chemical dependency treatment till now.  I'd love to be able to report to her that I have succeeded in quitting smoking.  But one of the things I will not do is set an absolute date.  Some may disagree with this.  My reason goes back to countless efforts to quit smoking over the years and attempts at going cold turkey.  What would happen is that I'd 'quit', and then amid the struggles of withdrawal, give in and have a smoke.  This would result in my feeling that I had failed, and so I'd resume smoking again.

Today my attitude is that every smoke I do not have is a victory, even if I continue to have a few.

But the goal is none.  It's just going to require diligence.  And not getting discouraged or allowing myself to feel a failure because I don't live up to other's or my own hopes and expectations.  And also, I rejoice that even now, my lungs are clear and the cough I've been experiencing is gone.

A byproduct of this effort is that I am sleeping better.  I'm not sure that I woke up to smoke, but when I woke up I always smoked.  Now, at 1:15 am I've discovered that one can roll over and return to sleep, most of the time.  I've slept through to my alarm a few times.  The thing is that when waking up requires getting dressed and going outside for a smoke, it is naturally more difficult to get back to sleep.  And at the same time, getting to sleep without the smoke is also hard.  Today, things have improved.  Another reason to continue the effort.

One final word on this today.  From the standpoint of chemical dependency I'm still on the patch.  I will not consider myself a non-smoker until that time when I neither smoke, nor use the patch,  But again, my commitment this time is to continue the effort even if it takes a few months.

Life is good.

One of the things that I did this last week was to rearrange my schedule so that I could participate in the weekly text study that the pastor's in Spokane have.  It's a reminder for me that there are things that I can do to improve the satisfaction and overall quality of my life.  Connecting with colleagues is important.

I have begun a couple of projects in my own shop.  That is rewarding.

The bottom line is this, that there is light at the end of the tunnel.  Being bipolar and struggling with chemical dependency issues is not a death sentence, or at least it need not be.

And so I'm grateful today.

Two Questions

One of the things our health insurance plan has is a nurse case manager to assist regarding our health issues and so I was contacted after being discharged from the hospital following surgery.  I have to admit I'm a bit sceptical of the benevolent nature of such calls, as they come from the insurer.  I rather anticipate that the outcome is some suggestion to limit costs.

And actually, there was one such suggestion.  I was asked what I would do if I experienced complications after hours.  My immediate response was that I'd go into the emergency room.  The nurse quickly pointed out that I should call the doctor's office and likely they'd have an after hours number to refer me to.  Cost savings.  (I don't know if such a number exists, but I would check.)

But mostly what the consulting nurse did was to review my case, ask pertinent questions, and otherwise inquire how I was doing.  We also reviewed my overall health history, and the  medications I am currently on.  She inquired whether I had any difficulty getting those medications.  I shared that I had some difficulty getting Rozerum, a sleep medication, and went on to explain that because I have a chonic sleep disorder we were using Rozerum because it is one of the only sleep medications that is non-addictive and safe for extended use.

At the conclusion of the interview there were two questions left.  "Have you become less interested in activities that you used to enjoy?"  "Do you feel down and depressed?" This most basic of mental health screenings was welcome.  I expressed my appreciation for the questions, explained that as a bipolar person I am well aware of the signs of depression, but that no, I was not feeling depressed at this time.

Mental health screenings-- they should be more prevalent.  They should be part of every comprehensive 'physical', and to an extent, all medical examinations.  I say that because often the mentally ill first seek professional help for physical issues that are related to mental illness.  The tendency is to treat the symptom, but overlook the problem.

My chronic insomnia is one such issue.  I remember one visit with my primary care physician in which I shared that I was concerned that I had become dependent on alcohol for sleep.  I was adamant that I could chose not to drink, its just that I didn't sleep well if I didn't drink.  OK, well there are a number of red flags there.  My doctor prescribed a sleep medication, first Ambien (which produced nightmares) and then Lunesta, which worked better.  Unfortunately, there were issues that were not discussed that should have been.

"If you are dependent on alcohol for sleep, you are chemically dependent."  That should have been pointed out to me.  I wouldn't have wanted to hear it.  But the truth is that I was in the early  stages of my alcoholism.  This was most evident in that when I was given the sleep medication, I still relied consistently on the alcohol as well.  My pharmacist, unfortunately, told me that Lunesta was habituating, and potentially harmful to my liver if I used it every night.  It would be best, he said, to only use it when I needed it, perhaps 1 out of 3 nights.  If I used it every night, it would lose it's effectiveness.  1 out of 3 nights.  Ok, then, I had a solution for the other two nights.  Scotch.

Another issue is that insomnia is often a symptom of deeper issues.  For me, it is and has been the most enduring symptom of being bipolar.  Unlike some, I don't sleep away my depression.  I am more likely to experience sleep deprivation, both when depressed, and when in manic phases.  The only difference is that my sleepless nights are more productive when I'm manic than when I'm depressed.  My experience of this is such, that I'd recommend a full psychiatric evaluation for anyone that seeks out treatment for insomnia.  If you cannot sleep, SOMETHING is going on.  Normal people can, in fact, sleep.

Actually, when I was first diagnosed with depression/insomnia, the physician decided to treat the sleep disorder in the hopes that if I could sleep better, the depression might subside.  I was given Ativan, an anti-anxiety medication for sleep.  It worked.  Unfortunately, Ativan is addictive in its own right and paved the way for my alcoholism.  Alas. . .

It all boils down to this.  Mentally ill people are most likely to first seek help because of another issue that is a symptom of their mental illness but not for the mental illness itself.  Mental illness tends to hide behind other health concerns.  Weight gain or loss.  Ask the question why?  (I lose weight when depressed, others gain.)  Can't sleep?  Why?  Loss of appetite?  Why?  The list could go on and on.  That's why health screenings for mental illness are so essential.  And we need to remember that mental illness is a potentially fatal disease.  Fatal.

This last week I was diagnosed with a bowel obstruction that turned out to be the result of a strangulated hernia within my abdomen.  I've since learned that those conditions are potentially fatal if not treated in a timely manner.  Hence, my surgery on a Sunday afternoon.

It is also necessary to recognize that a timely response to mental illness may be critical to insuring that the condition does not become fatal.  Its that important.

Blockage and other such incidentals

I was hospitalized on Saturday of this last week. Thankfully, not in the psych ward.  I felt bloated and had a lot of discomfort in the abdomen.  Antacids and anti-gas medication did nothing, so, on the advice of my daughter-in-law, the nurse, I went to the doctor.  The initial diagnosis was that it could be diverticulitis, appendicitis, or a blockage.  A CT scan confirmed the latter.

And so on Saturday I went into the hospital, armed with my list of medications, my lifeline as a bipolar person.  The plan was to put me on IVs for a day and see if the blockage resolved itself.  Meanwhile I was on NBM status: Nothing By Mouth, period.

What about my meds?  Big concern for me.  The nurse said that I could have enough water to take the pills.  The doctor said no, but offered a reasonable explanation.  Nothing was moving.  The medications would not be absorbed into my system anyway.  Tomorrow we will give you the meds.  OK, so tomorrow it is.

Sunday came with no movement in the GI tract, and so the decision was made to do surgery.  Prior to surgery, I spoke to the hospital pharmacist and explained my meds and why I was taking them.  Oh, and no substitutes.  She went about her business.  I had my surgery.  Thankfully, everything went fine.  The doctor was able to correct a strangulated hernia of the small intestine.

As evening approached, I asked for my meds.  The nurse replied that the doctor had not ordered them.  A call to the doctor, and orders.  Then the call to the pharmacy, whom I had spoken with that morning.  Meds were not available.  In the end, they decided to have Karla bring my meds from home.  This is not normal procedure.  The hospital personnel gave me my meds for the evening and then went to the pharmacy to confirm that they were what I said they were.  That checked out OK.

Then they decided to send the rest of the meds home with Karla.  Finally, on Monday, I saw a second pharmacist and by evening they had managed to get my correct medications.  2 days, 2 pharmacists, all for four pills.

One of the things I learned from this is how important it is as a bipolar person to be proactive in making sure that one's medication therapy is followed.  Secondly, that even hospitals are not always equipped and supplied to care for the mentally ill.  Thankfully, they were willing to bend the rules and allow for me to take my own meds.  But I couldn't help but feel like had I not advocated for myself as I had, they would only have concerned themselves with the medications directly related to the surgery.  As it was, they simply ignored the other medications I was on, for cholesterol and arthritis pain.  No big deal, I'm not going to die of a heart attack because I missed a couple of doses of cholesterol medications, and I was on another pain meds.  (A non-narcotic:  Toradol)

But I could easily been hospitalized for up to a week, and to miss my psychiatric medications that long would have consequences.  Advocate.

One other thing about hospitalization.  I've shared the last couple of posts that I'm quitting smoking.  Turns out that hospitalization is one significant aid in that process.  They were very good about accommodating the patch and supporting that therapy.  And need I say that it is not 'convenient' to smoke on a non-smoking campus.  I was not tempted, with my butt hanging out of the hospital gown, to venture off campus to have a smoke.  It was encouraging to me that I had no strong cravings.  Maybe I'm making progress here.  Although hospitalization is an expensive aid to quit smoking, I must say.

Finally, just a word or two about life.  We often don't realize what a blessing the most basic matters of life are, such as eating and pooping, until you can do neither.  To experience that is also another sign of aging.  After all these years the old intestines are just prone to getting into a tangled mess.  Not fun.  An lastly, I never knew what a culinary delight simple beef broth could be.  I imagined I was eating prime rib.  But so it was after the NBM day.  Fluid and flavor.  For that moment, that alone was enough.  But I am looking forward to the real thing, again.

Hate filled blood worshipping monsters

"Never does He call us to welcome rapists, murderers, pedofiles, hate filled blood worshipping monsters into our homes."

This comment was posted regarding my sermon this week, in which I said:

"I am deeply troubled by what is happening at our southern border with regards to the immigrants from Latin America that have come here seeking refuge.

Most troubling of all is that we have adopted the policy of separating children from their parents, placing the children in various make shift facilities while imprisoning the parents as criminals.

The “politics” of this are troubling and divisive, to say the least.  But I’m not going to debate those political issues, at least not from this pulpit.  If you want to talk about that, let’s arrange to do so at another time.

But what I will ask is does being a “Christian Nation” have anything to do with the “Kingdom of God”?  That is a religious question, a question of faith.

What would Jesus do?

How should we, who claim to be Christian, first and foremost, respond to the situation of the immigrants at our border who come here seeking refuge?"

Another individual responded to my sermon by posting directions to our Church so that all manner of people in need could inundate us, and suggested that our congregation would be a good place for heroin addicts to come and shoot up.  When I pointed out all that our church does, she thanked me that our church backed up its words with actions.

Still, yet another, questioned the status of  my health and wondered if hate were my motivation.  In all fairness, I am angry at what is happening, but not yet hateful.

I have written in this blog about my bipolar symptoms often manifesting themselves in a desire to save the world, sometimes through grandiose schemes and dreams.  Perhaps my compulsion to write about this issue is simply that, but I think not.  I'd prefer to think of it as a genuine commitment to be part of national conversation, with an optimistic hope that we can make a difference.

I am deeply disturbed at the insanity that has gripped our nation, so much so that we now justify that which we once would have fought wars to prevent.

One Facebook friend pointed out that whereas many hold views of the immigrants as "rapists, murderers, pedofiles, hate filled blood worshipping monsters", those same people gave Donald Trump a complete "pass" on all his unsavory behavior and elected him to the White House.  Why such a harsh judgment in one case, and elevation in the other?  Race?  Who knows, it's just crazy.

The New Colossus

By Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Has that mighty woman, the Mother of Exiles, been silenced in our land?  Perhaps that is why some of us seek to cry out in her stead.

Has the battle cry of Armageddon been sounded, a final battle for the soul of our nation?  Is the battle we are fighting amongst ourselves not between 'good and evil', but rather regarding the very definition of  'good and evil'?

Trump has alienated our allies, and saluted our enemies.  He heaps praise upon despots, and disdain for, among others, Canadians of all people.  Eh?  That's kind of like kicking "Mr. Rogers" in the groin.  What has happened to us?

And the children.  Separated from their parents as a political bargaining point.  Fifteen billion dollars in funding for a wall will set them free.  Give me your tired, you poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free and I will seize their children, and imprison them all.  All for the sake of one damn wall.  And what will the 'huddled masses yearning to breathe free" do once the wall is constructed?  Go around it.  

Some convictions:

The drug cartels would not be a problem would it not be for our own addictions.  Treat the addictions and the cartels evaporate.

We need the labor force.  It is simple supply and demand.  Provide immigration reform, and an adequate guest worker program, and the problem of undocumented aliens goes away.

And we should embrace the role of refuge for the huddled masses yearning to breathe free, as it is  people such as this that formed the foundation of our nation.  

But we cannot become what we abhor.  Lutherans live with the legacy of acquiescence to the Nazis in Germany.  Good folk, by and large, caught up in a fervor that gripped a nation.  Swastikas in our sanctuaries.  Luther's own words, a justification for the holocaust.  Pardon us for our concern, but we have a history, and never again dare we blindly salute the fuhrer. 

Dare we see Jesus at our border?  That one who once was exiled in Egypt?  'Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me. "

Dare we embrace the Crucified One, who life was given for all, even those immigrants seeking asylum in our country.  Can we reject help to those Jesus offered his life for?

My psychologist stated his belief that the depression I was feeling didn't come from nowhere, and his belief that it is not just a matter of chemical imbalances.  We spoke of vocation, and my longing to be a self employed woodworker again able to 'create', not just 'produce'.  

But most of all, I find our nation's status to be depressing.  Perhaps most depressing is that it is the stock market, and the status of our retirement funds, that seems to afford us great leniency regarding all other issues.  That dirty little secret.  We don't care about the poor huddled masses at our border, because our portfolios are doing well.  Has our entire conscience as a country boiled down to this, "its the economy, stupid!"

That, and in spite of all the news coverage detailing one issue after another, corruption at the highest level, we simply accept reality as dictated by Trump.  He's the greatest because he says he's the greatest.  

Its depressing to me.  It just is.  I yearn for the Kingdom of God.  For a redemptive moment.  For hope.  And I wait upon the Lord, more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.

Acceptance and Adaptation

I'm an avid Seahawks fan.  So much so that I follow them intently even during the offseason.  This last week the Seahawks signed a veteran wide receiver, Brandon Marshall.  Brandon has had a checkered past, with many off field issues.  He has revealed that he has and is being treated for Borderline Personality Disorder.  This knowledge and the treatment he has received has resulted in a transformation in his life.  He, like me, has been open about it and seeks to remove the stigma of living with mental illness.  His story stimulated some thoughts and observations.

When one finally has a diagnosis it goes a long way to explaining, but not excusing behavior.  In other words, I'm not much on a mental health defense, claiming one is not responsible for actions because one is mentally ill.  At the same time, there is a degree to which one is out of control and hence absolved to a degree from personal responsibility.  It's a fine line.

Case in point:  As a bipolar person I experienced both the highs of mania and the lows of depression.  These were not in anyway choices.  They did, however, affect day to day choices.  One of the difficulties of dealing with mental illness prior to diagnosis and treatment is that "normal" is defined as one's own experience.  I could not recognize the wide swings in mood as anything other than normal, in that it was "my" normal.  I believe that one of the most crucial things a friend or family member can do to assist a person with mental illness is to help them identify and recognize that certain behaviors are not "normal".

Expect resistance.  Admitting one is no longer "normal" is difficult.  One blatant example of this in my life was my alcohol consumption.  I was self medicating with alcohol, using it as a sleep aid and to control my moods.  I had thoroughly convinced myself that having a "couple of drinks" in the evening was normal.  Now, define "drink".  The standard "drink" of hard liquor is 1 to 1 1/2 fluid ounces.  A shot.  My definition was "whatever I could fit in a glass".  And my scotch glasses got larger as time went on.  My "couple of drinks" was in the end, over ten fluid ounces per day, on average.  So, that's 7 to 10 "drinks" per night.  Given the opportunity I could drink a fifth of scotch in a sitting.  I needed help to recognize that this was not, in fact, normal.  But recognizing this was not easy, even as my wife was crying out about it.  Denial is a major factor.

Nor were my experiences of mania and depression easy to recognize as not normal.  Everyone has their highs and lows, right?  Well, within reason.  The problem is that even now, five years into treatment, I am just discovering what "normal" is.  Today, I no longer fall off a cliff into deep depression.  Stability is the new norm.  I'm learning that.  But it takes time.

With recognition comes responsibility.  No excuses.  Grandiose schemes are symptoms of mania.  I have a responsibility to accept this, and be responsible for managing this.  There is no excuse for my spending our life savings on a risky business venture, no matter how reasonable it may seem to me.  For me one of the most difficult things has been to realize that I need other people's perspective.  Another example.  I have family members who struggle with being OCD.  Now being OCD offers a good explanation why one feels it necessary to have a specific number of ice cubes in a drink, not four, not six, but five.  However, it is not an excuse for going ballistic if someone serves you a drink with the wrong number of ice cubes in it. 

A second observation is that altering unhealthy behaviors requires intentional choices that go against what has become "normal".  Regarding the ice cube example, I wonder if it wouldn't be a good adaptation to intentionally choose to have a random number of ice cubes in a drink.  In my own case, the tendency to make risky business decisions is probably best served by not putting myself in the position to be making those decisions in the first place.  Maybe being a self employed person is not in my own best interest.  Adapting to life as a bipolar person may necessitate making intentional choices to live differently than before.

One of the hardest things to accept is that chemistry plays a huge part in mental health.  To me there is a deep desire to believe that my thoughts are independent and stand on their own.  It's hard to admit that my mood on a particular day may be entirely the result of the chemical balance in my brain.  Likewise, that my new experience of "normal" is chemically assisted through medication.  I guess what I'm saying is that western thought has often focused on a mind/body distinction.  More and more what we are discovering is that the two can not be separated.  Brain chemistry is intricately intertwined with mood and thought patterns.  And I'm not sure anyone understands which comes first.

Finally, I believe that we need to come to a new recognition that mental health issues are as universal as physical health issues.  That's essential to  removing some of the stigma surrounding mental health.  It is as "normal" to experience varying degrees of mental health, as it is to experience varying degrees of physical health.  That some of us have a specific diagnosis does not separate us as a class from the rest of humanity.  Depression to one degree or another, is a universal human experience.  That some must be diagnosed and treated is a matter of degree not type.  Everyone experiences highs and lows.  For some that becomes extreme enough to be debilitating.  It's like cholesterol.  We've all got it.  It's just that for some, the specific level and type of cholesterol may be problematic.

A second part of this is that I believe we would do well as a society to pay as much attention to mental health issues as we do to physical health issues.  Mental health screenings should be a regular part of our health maintenance.  Physicals should be more than "physicals".  I wonder if at some point the medical field will advance to the point where chemical analysis of the brain will enable not only diagnosis but also prevention.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if one could identify tendencies and take corrective action before mental health is compromised, again, just like we do with cholesterol levels. 

Enough for tonight.  I'll see what dreams the night has left for me. 

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.