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.

Sobriety, Solitude, and the Holidays

I drank alone, alot.  Two major reasons for this were that I didn't frequent the bar scene, and my wife hardly drank at all.  Add to that the fact that I was drinking myself to sleep at night, and you end up with a lot of solitary time with a bottle.

And yet there were also those social occasions for drinking with some of my closest friends and colleagues.  A friend and I would get together once a week for a couple of Scotches and dessert.  And gatherings with my ministerial colleagues would almost always involve some down time, often in a hotel room, with an abundance of alcohol to fuel the conversation.

For an introvert like me, such occasions were deeply appreciated.

One of the things I looked forward to was having adult children who would drink with me.  This was, I suppose, a reaction to having a wife that never would. 

There were some opportunities to have my sons in particular as 'drinking buddies'.  A six pack on the golf course.  And then one infamous night at a hotel room somewhere in the middle of North Dakota when my son decided he'd match me drink for drink.  Ha!  He was drinking whiskey sours, I was drinking straight Scotch, and in short order he realized that he was blitzed and I was still going strong.  You'd think that perhaps I'd built up a significant tolerance. . .

When I went through treatment my family supported my sobriety by never drinking in my presence.  And to the best of my knowledge there has not been any alcohol in my house since that time.  I appreciate that.

In recent years, I have found that I don't mind being around people who are drinking beer or wine.  It's only whiskey's pungent odor that I react to.  I call it a "cravulsion", a simultaneous craving for and repulsion to the smell.

Last night, as we are all gathered for the holidays, a second gathering took place at my son's house.  No big deal and to be expected, afterall, there are now two Olson households in town.  My assumption is that a bottle of wine or a beer or two were shared.  Earlier we had enjoyed a prime rib dinner at our house.  There's part of me that wishes that they would feel comfortable now having a glass of wine with such a meal.  They chose to share one later.  That's alright. And truth be told, I'm such an early to bed person and an early riser that I'm not interested in much socializing late at night.  That said, it brings up an issue in our society for people such as myself who live in sobriety.

So much of our social interaction takes place around alcohol that it can be difficult to stay connected in sobriety.  Not impossible, just difficult.  I cannot imagine gathering together with colleagues in a hotel room while they drank heavily and I sipped on a juice or soda.  One thing is the reaction to the smell.  Another is that the company of those who are inebriated is just not enjoyable anymore.  Let's just say that contrary to a drinker's self perception, drunks are not nearly as profound as they believe themselves to be.  I speak from my own experience.

Yet there was an intimacy to those gatherings.  I do miss that.

Now, when I have gone to meetings of my colleagues in ministry I spend much time alone, either in my room, or in the lobby, waiting for someone sober to talk to.  There are not always a lot of options.

In our society a lot of social interaction takes place around alcohol.  Alcoholics in recovery are faced with choices.  Either they learn to interact with those who are drinking without compromising their own sobriety, or they gravitate toward a new group of friends who don't drink.  With family its a different matter.  Except for whiskey, I'm OK with moderate drinking in my presence.  What I'm aware of is that others are more uncomfortable drinking in my presence than I am having them drink in my presence.

The bottom line is that it is a balancing act.  On the one hand, no one else is responsible for my sobriety.  That is my responsibility alone.  I am the one who can no longer drink.  Yet those who have been considerate of my condition are greatly appreciated.  The only thing that is not appreciated is the solitude that comes as an inevitable result. 

And yet there is a more positive side.  I no longer sleep alone.

Meeting my "John"

It was four years ago that I was in treatment for depression and alcoholism.  I was able to resume my ministry for a while, beginning with the third Sunday in Advent.  This is the sermon I preached on my first Sunday back.

This was preached prior to my diagnosis as being bipolar.  I find it interesting that within the sermon I speak about my experiences that would later be diagnosed as manic and depressive, though I didn't recognize them as such at the time.

Advent 3, 2012

Luke 3:7-18

Grace to you and Peace from God our Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.  Amen

“Come, Lord Jesus!”

Come, Lord Jesus!           We pray.

But first, it is John that we must see.

First it is the Baptizing firebrand of a preacher,  

                Calling the nation of Israel,

                                That enters into our life.

And so it must be.

You see the Messiah cannot come,

                Until the prophet prepares the way.

John calls us to repentance.

His is a ministry of truth telling.

The truth telling that is repentance is not

                The harsh words of a wild haired preacher

                Declaring “you brood of vipers.”

The truth telling of repentance is what happens

                In that moment when we look into the mirror

                And we can no longer pretend.

It is that moment when we see ourselves

                For who we actually are,

                                Not for who we wish we might be.

Such truth telling is painful and frightening.

So much so that many of us spend our entire lives

                Running from the truth,

                And creating a virtual palace of lies

                                Within which we live,

                                And with which we will die.

Unless we come to meet, John.

I have been gone for awhile, now.

                Perhaps a few of you noticed!

My first reaction, coming back to preach today, and seeing that the Gospel lesson began with John’s exhortation “You brood of vipers!” was that there was no way in the world that I would return to preach on this text.

But then, on Friday I realized that there was no more appropriate text for me to wrestle with.

For me, these last two months were a wilderness experience.

Like the Jewish people in John’s day, I was led into the wilderness to encounter John,

                But more importantly to come face to face

                                With myself and with the truth.

I have struggled with depression since my youth.  The one symptom that has been continuous since my adolescence was insomnia.

15 years ago I was first diagnosed and entered into treatment.  I went through about four years of counseling, detailing about every experience of my life.

And yet, I realize that in a very profound way, none of that truth telling was in fact the truth telling that really makes a difference.

During that time we explored:

·         My childhood and the lack of affection shown by my parents;

·         A relationship with my band director and the affection that was abusive

·         The deep hurt experienced when a pastor and father figure was involved in sexual misconduct;

·         The feeling of betrayal and abuse that I have experienced from the Church itself;

·         And many other issues.

There was a lot of truth in all of that.

But John was not there.

There is no value whatsoever in confessing other people’s sins.  No redemptive value whatsoever.

It’s not that those things didn’t impact my life, they clearly did.  And, the truth is that

·         Children need to know they are loved

·         Young boys should never be abused

·         Pastor’s should not engage in sexual misconduct

·         The Church should be a place of love and forgiveness, not betrayal and abuse

These things, are in fact, all true.

True, but irrelevant. 

Recognizing past wrongs,

                Confessing other people’s sins,

Only creates a sense of being helpless victims

                Or a false sense of self righteousness.

And when we do that, we are merely adding to that palace of lies in which we live and with which we will die.

But then there is John,

                Calling us to a rigorous honesty,

                Calling us to repentance,

                Calling us to lives changed, and  renewed.

These last few months I have been in conversation with John.

My John the Baptist was not a first century prophet,

But a twenty first century Psychiatrist.

What they have in common though, is that sitting face to face with them, one can simply no longer lie.

One must finally, face the truth, not about others,

                But about ourselves.

The truth is not easy to acknowledge.

The hardest words that I have ever heard were:

“Dave, you are an alcoholic.”

And a thousand times harder than hearing those words, were saying to my wife, “I am an alcoholic.”

Back in ’97, when I began treatment for depression,

In addition to an anti-depressant, I was prescribed Ativan, an anti-anxiety medication that also helps one sleep.  And sleep I did.  For the first time since adolescence I was able to lie down, go to sleep, and remain asleep for 7 to 8 hours.

What I didn’t know then, was that Ativan is highly addictive and habituating; AND it works in the brain very similar to alcohol.

In 2003, I was feeling so good that I decided to go off all of my medications, including Ativan.

What happened was that those receptors in my brain that had become addicted to Ativan sent off an alarm, which basically said:

                “If you’re not going to give us Ativan, you better come up with another alternative.”

Al most immediately I went from an occasional drink to needing two Scotch doubles a night just to sleep.

Throughout the first twenty five years of our marriage I had drank alcohol only occasionally.  Most of the time we didn’t have any at all in our house.  I would have beer in the heat of the summer, and perhaps into the football season.  I never consumed hard alcohol.

This last spring as my depression worsened, a new psychiatrist changed the antidepresent and put me back on Ativan, despite knowing that I was still regularly consuming alcohol.  That is a potentially lethal combination and could have cost me my life on October 14^th.

The time had come and I had to face the truth.

I am an alcoholic.  I am powerless over alcohol and my life had become unmanageable.

John the Baptist calls us to such repentance.

And my John the Baptist is known as “Dr. C.”

Would that that truth was the only truth I had to acknowledge.  It has taken a life time to build a palace of lies, and such self deception doesn’t go away over night.

One of the reasons my depression has been worsening relates to my hopes, dreams, and sense of calling in ministry.

When I entered ministry, it was with the most deep seated hope and conviction that if I were a faithful pastor, hard working, creative and caring, and one with a heart for mission and ministry—then the Church would thrive and nothing would be impossible.

When I came to First Lutheran I shared with the council that though the worship attendance had been on the decline since 1986, I was absolutely committed to changing that, especially because Sandpoint was a growing community.

Growing it was, but not in worship attendance or Church membership.

That decline in worship attendance that I noted in 2000 has continued.  And the only thing that has changed is the color of our hair, or how much hair is left on some of our heads.

And so I found myself being quite jealous of my father’s generation of pastors.  Pastors such as Bob Nale who entered ministry after WWII and saw the Church thriving and growing during the post war years of the fifties, sixties, and seventies.

And the more I thought about it, the more depressed I got.

The truth that I must now face, is that my own grandiose thoughts about how far my faithfulness and hard work could take the Church were really delusional. 

And my depression is the dark side of that delusion.  To allow myself to feel responsible for the decline of the entirety of Christianity in our country, and to beat myself up for my failures, is in the end, to fanaticize that if I had just tried harder, I could have accomplished what in fact only God can accomplish.

In this John the Baptist gives us an example for living.

“I am not the Messiah,”  he says, “but there is one who is coming.”

And so we pray “Come, Lord Jesus!”

And Jesus will come.

But first we need to have a frank, honest, conversation with John the Baptist.

We need to acknowledge that we are powerless and in bondage.

Our confession of sin says it this way:

“I am in bondage to sin and cannot free myself.”

In Alcoholics Anonimous this truth is reflected on page 60 of the big book, words that are read at the beginning of each meeting:

            (a)    That we were alcoholic and could not manage our own lives.

            (b)   That probably no human power could have relieved our alcoholism.

And then, comes the promise:

            (c)    That God could and would if He were sought.

Personally, I wish John the Baptist were not part of the picture.

I would prefer to simply have Jesus, a child lying in a manger, and one to save me from my sins without having to face the demands of John  the Baptist for repentance.

I would prefer not to have to face the truth about myself.

But it is only in truth, rigorous, painful, truth, that we are prepared to receive the Messiah.

If we confess our sins, God who is faithful and just will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

God could and would if he were sought.

The bad news none of us wants to admit is that we need a savior.

The good news is that he was, he is, and he is to come.

And so with the Church of every time and every place we pray

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come.