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.

Anger and Righteousness

Anger is a powerful emotion.
Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger,

One of the things we learn in A.A. is to beware of  H.A.L.T..  That is to be cautious whenever you are hungry, angry, lonely, tired.  Such experiences are potentially devastating to one who is seeking to remain sober, or in my case, at this time, to quit smoking.

Paul writes that we will experience anger, perhaps even that we should experience anger at certain things, but that we should neither sin, nor let the sun set on our anger.  There is a righteous purpose for anger, and that is to motivate us to oppose and resist unrighteousness, injustice, cruelty, etc.  Anger's righteous purpose is to motivate us to act now, before the sun sets.

And yet too often we fall prey to emotions such as anger and rather than deal forthrightly with the object of our anger in a positive way we seek other outlets to dissipate the anger, such as drinking or smoking.  Worse, sometimes that anger gets turned inward, or toward others such as our spouses who are in no way deserving of being the object of  our anger.

I got angry this last week.  There's no purpose served in detailing that in this blog out of deference to those involved.  But the simple fact is that anger was felt by me.

Powerful emotion.

Part of the dilema for a chemically addicted person is that our most natural response to anger is to turn to that substance, be it drink or smoke, as a means of dissipating the anger.  We are angry and so we are then tempted to do that which is destructive to ourselves.  My last episode drinking, now nearly 6 years ago was the result of a deep rage that had gotten a grip on me and which boiled over.  Alcohol was not adequate to calm the raging beast, but was very much adequate to killing me.  I'm lucky to have survived.

When I'm angry at the world, or any significant part of it, the temptation is to take a "fuck it all" attitude.  (Sorry to be so blunt, but what's the purpose of disguising a word with ***'s)  All of a sudden a Scotch in hand and a big cigar seems to be a perfect solution.

Sobriety is about learning more positive responses to life.  Being angry at someone else and then engaging is self destructive behavior is not appropriate.

"See, now I'm angry, and so it's alright to smoke." I can't tell you how many attempts to quit smoking were foiled by anger.  Quitting smoking itself, often results in anger, so it's an easy out to quit quitting whenever one experiences anger.  I probably would have quit decades ago if I'd been able to handle anger.  Most often the anger I experienced when trying to quit was focused inappropriately on my wife, as she, more than anyone, wanted me to quit.

And so the effort is to find more positive ways to confront the anger within us and realize that emotions are only emotions.  Yes, in certain situations such emotions call for an immediate response to a bad situation.  But a lot of times emotions such as anger need to be understood, dealt with, and let go of ASAP.

I'm reminded of God's dialogue with Jonah.

"But God said to Jonah, "Is it right for you to be angry about the bush?" And he said, "Yes, angry enough to die."

First of all, many times anger is not warranted.  Secondly, self destructive behavior, or "being angry enough to die" is no solution.

Life is too precious to allow others, and emotions, to have that kind of control over us and our behavior.

One Day at a Time

One day at a time sweet Jesus that's all I'm asking from you
Give me the strength to do everyday what I have to do
Yesterday's gone sweet Jesus and tomorrow may never be mine
So for my sake teach me to take one day at a time.

In twelve days I will have 2,000 days of sobriety.  I remember that first day.  Not a good day.  My friends who had helped Karla take care of me the night before had also cleaned out the house of all alcohol.  And there was a flurry of activity, calls to the bishop, consultation with my psychiatrist, arrangements made for inpatient treatment.  Then the long drive down to Kootenai Medical Center.  I took a deep breath.  "I guess I'll  not have a drink tonight."  Day one.

The staff in the psych ward mentioned that I was headed to the chemical dependency unit.  This was news to me.  I had consented to inpatient treatment because I was concerned about my depression and wanted to be treated for that.  Now it felt like a 'bait and switch' situation.  I was angry.  The rage I had been consumed with during my last night of drinking now had a new focus.  I called my psychiatrist and complained.  They were doing nothing about my depression.  I was being forced to play board games with the other patients.  And what about this whole chemical dependency thing.

"They have to sober you up before they can treat your depression, Dave."  To my way of thinking, I hadn't had a drink in over a day, now, by this time two days.  "I'm sober!"  "It takes longer than that." was the response. The next day I met with the doctor. "You are an alcoholic."  These were the words of my new psychiatrist.  Hard to take.  Day three.

Then my family came to visit.  And my dear Bishop Martin.  Somehow I managed to say the words for the first time.  "I am an alcoholic."  But I wanted out.  I'll attend a few AA meetings.  Maybe.  I can't stay here.  I have a job.  I have responsibilities.  The Bishop was ready to leave.  "I'll let you be alone with your family, you've decisions to make."  I wanted his advice, which initially he was hesitant to offer.  "Dave, you've come so far, don't turn back now."  Day four.  I think.

I told the Bishop that First Lutheran was now his responsibility.  He accepted.  The psych ward staff recorded a 180 degree turn around in my attitude.  There was hope.  A transfer to the chem dep unit.  Day five.  

I would spend 21 days in the Chemical Dependency Unit.  Twenty six days of sobriety seemed like forever.  There was a big change.  I was committed to returning home and not having a drink.  There were things I would have to do though.

It was hard.  When I returned home I was ready to jump right back into my responsibilities at the Church.  "I'm back!"  My council president and vice-president said "No."  They demanded I take more time.  Another month off.  

During that time there was a negotiation about accommodations.  I would no longer set up communion or buy the wine.  I requested that only grape juice be on the altar, and that I not have to handle the wine, at all.  Numerous bottles of wine were stored at church, I asked that they be locked up to remove the temptation.  My psychiatrist wrote a letter to the bishop.  In the end, the arrangements for these accommodations were made.  

I had gone into the hospital on October 15th.  Following the congregation's annual meeting in January I reentered the psych ward for another week.  Turns out alcoholism wasn't the only problem, and sobriety alone was not the cure.  Two years on disability followed.  When I attended church, I would have seizures, partial complex seizures.  By Easter I resigned my call.  And decided to spend a whole lot of money on woodworking equipment.  Olson's WoodWorks was born again.  This was my last manic episode, prior to the diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder.

So, I'm approaching 2,000 days now.  Life has changed.

I'm serving a congregation again.  A small church.  A part time call.  And I work at a cabinet shop in Hayden.  We're getting by.  There have been financial challenges, but every bill has been paid.  

The biggest issue remains the vocational question.  Part of me, now sober, wants some new great challenge so that I can finish off my career with a bang.  I'm far more qualified now that I'm clean and sober than I ever was before.  And yet.  And yet.  There's something to be said for self care.

I'm coming to a resolution.  If my congregation is willing, I have resolved that the best option for me is to commit to serving where I am at, and being at peace, at Peace.  Part of that resolution is to to think just 'one day at a time'.  It's hard to imagine ten years of leaving for work at 4:45 am and sometimes not returning home until nearly 10 pm.  But on a given day, I can do that.  One day.  That's all I'm asking from you, sweet Jesus.  One day.

I realize that grand aspirations regarding the rest of my career may not be realistic.  Just be a faithful pastor today.  Do your best cabinet work, today.  Let tomorrow take care of itself.  

And then there is retirement to plan for.  Some of the pressure I've been feeling has been alleviated somewhat by the realization that next year we can begin moving into retirement.  The first step may be Karla receiving her Social Security benefits.  It will also be an option for me to start receiving my pension, even if I wait till seventy to go on Social Security.  With some additional income, we'll be fine.

But there is a catch.  An asterisk marking it.  All these plans are subject to review by a qualified professional.  For some reason Karla is not comfortable with my making grand plans anymore.  It's a problem for one who is bipolar.  So we'll check with a financial planner.  We'll be careful.  

Day 2,000 is coming.  And after that, maybe 10,000 more.  God willing. 

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.