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. 

Choices

Freedom is the capacity to choose.  It is the opportunity to direct the future in the way that makes the most sense to you and will best accomplish your goals.  I'm feeling a deep personal need to exercise that freedom, but it comes with some risk.

I'm not happy working at the cabinet shop.  I still love woodworking and combining my skills as a craftsman with  my love for ministry is working.  But, I'm not happy where I'm working and am contemplating returning to self employment.

Part of it is the shear exhaustion I feel working this schedule.  I rise at 2 to 3 every morning.  I have breakfast, perhaps a little extra sleep, then at 4:15 shower, following which I get into the car at 4:45 to commute to Hayden.  Work starts at 5:30.  Some days I work till 4 pm and return home.  Other days I work till 12:30 and then go and put in four hours or so at church.  I'm pretty exhausted by the time the weekend rolls around however I still write my sermon, prepare a bible study, and then lead worship.

Were I passionate about the work I'm doing at the cabinet shop this might be doable in the long run.  The hard thing though is that the work I'm doing is not particularly rewarding.  That and the work environment is at times horrendous.  The attitudes at work drive me crazy.  And, I'm not happy.

Freedom.  I have choices.  Life doesn't have to be this way.

What I've realized of late is that if I start drawing on my pensions, and my wife takes her social security, I would largely replace the income I've been receiving from the cabinet shop, and should I become self employed again operating "Olsons WoodWorks", all the income from that would be pure gravy.  Icing on top of the cake.  Bottom line is that even if I only made minimum wage, I'd be money ahead of where I am. 

There is risk.  There is some security in being gainfully employed by someone else, and knowing that they have plenty of contracts lined up to provide a steady stream of employment.

But there is another risk.  I've only one life to live.  And not being happy is not the preferred manner that I'd like to live it.

And so I'll evaluate options.  Consult with my dear wife.  Make choices.  And hopefully create a better tomorrow for my wife and I.

Joy

Grandchildren are God's gift to be enjoyed.  Pure unbounded joy.  That's my take.

Jasper has been on a roll lately.  His verbal skills are increasing day by day, and his sense of humor is delightful.  And I have been a focus of that in recent weeks.

Karla woke Jasper up after a long nap, and he had somewhat of a sheepish grin on his face.  "You slept away the whole afternoon!"  Karla quipped.  "Opa!" was Jaspers reply.  He also has learned how to snore.  So he makes a snoring sound, followed by "Opa!"  Yesterday, he came into the bathroom while I was there, and, you guessed it, buzzed his lips, and said "Opa!"  Were I to die today, Jasper would remember me for snoring and farting.  Oh, my.  Well, and a whole lot more.  Whisker rubs.  Kisses.  Hugs and tickles.  Playing together.  Joy.

A lot simply doesn't matter in life, "but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child."  That's a quote from a plaque we received a few years back from our bible camp.

I'm realizing that our vocations are often too highly valued.  "Pastor Dave" is probably too much a part of my identity.  "Opa" is supplanting that, thankfully.  There have been some consequences to that.

At our bishop's installation I had the opportunity to visit with the bishop of the Montana Synod, where I began my ministry.  "We need someone for Glasgow, Dave."  For a moment it was tempting.  Just to be wanted meant a lot.  Then I thought of Jasper and also of my wife, Karla.  We  have a rare opportunity to be important in the life of a child.  Some sacrifices are worth making.

And one of the things I realize is that Jasper doesn't care that I'm bipolar.

A lot of people do.  I've written a lot about my desire to finish my career strong, longing for a significant call to immerse myself in until retirement comes my way.  "Pastor Dave" wants to fly again.  Because I'm bipolar opportunities may be limited.  Disappointment is one response.  A change of heart has been in the works though.  I'm increasingly content where I'm at.  I'm a pastor at a small parish, and ready to make a long term commitment to them.  I'm a woodworker, both in my own shop and at a cabinet shop where I'm employed.  But most importantly I'm "Opa".

Being bipolar has affected my ability as a pastor, has led me down risky paths as a woodworker, but has not adversely affected my being "Opa."  Maybe God is trying to tell me something.

We have one grandchild now.  We don't know how many more there may be.  But today, we have the opportunity to be  Oma and Opa.  What a joy that is.

And its good medicine.  It's hard to be depressed when Jasper is buzzing his lips and saying "Opa!"  I guess that's his way of calling me an old fart.

The little things in life are often the most important.

There remain challenges.  The most frustrating thing for me physically is the sleep disorder.  In spite of taking enough medications that would knock a normal person out for an extended period of time, I wake after a few hours of sleep and then struggle the rest of the night.  I've taken to simply enjoying the beauty of the night and see these waking hours as 'my time'.  But it has its affect.  Jasper sees me napping.  He associates that with me as the norm.  What he doesn't see is how little sleep I actually get, and that my naps on the weekend are an attempt to recover.

And then some small projects come my way.  Bishop Kristen has asked me to do some signage for the new synod office, and most exciting, a "Luther's Rose" for the board room.  I'm envisioning that now, a great job for my CNC.  (Mania remains close to the surface.  The way this works is that once conceived, my mind races.  I envision marketing these carved renditions of Luther's Rose, using different species of wood to achieve the colors, through Augsburg Fortress and Concordia Publishing House, to the end that hundreds of orders will be received from congregations across the United States, and I will be able to quit my day job at the cabinet shop and do 'my thing' with my CNC.  Wisdom says, wait til the orders are in hand, my son, wait!)

On the other hand, maybe making a wooden train for Jasper is in order.

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. 

Shackled. . .

Perhaps, for good reason.  One of the experiences of being in treatment for bipolar disorder, especially when one is open about it, is that of being shackled.  To be restrained, limited, like a horse that is shackled.  A horse that is shackled can move somewhat, but is prevented from running free. 

These restraints can be more perception than reality.  One may feel shackled, when in fact other things are more in play.  In my own situation I have been writing for some time about vocational issues.  Are my options limited by others because of my diagnosis?  Well, maybe.  And perhaps for good reasons.

If  I'm honest I have to admit that nearly a decade ago, during the most manic phase I had experienced, my quest, my crusade, my great agenda did in fact cost the Church nearly 20 million dollars.  We built a senior housing project in Sandpoint for 15 million, bought land in Boise for 3 million, and a hundred thousand or so was spent in the effort to develop the Boise project.  I guess that's only a little over 18 million, but who's counting?

On a personal level, my last manic episode resulted in spending over fifty thousand on woodworking equipment.  It has not yet paid for itself.

OK, so I understand that some people might be a little bit cautious about letting me 'run free'.  It's entirely reasonable.

But, I tell myself, I'm being treated now and my moods have stabilized.  There is truth to this.  One of the things that most amazes me is the difference that knowledge makes.  The truth is that I'm a far better risk in ministry now that I'm sober and in treatment for bipolar disorder than when I was self medicating with alcohol, and didn't even know that I was bipolar.  I may be better suited for many of life's challenges and my vocation now, than I ever have been before.  But now, people, including myself, know that I'm bipolar.  And with that knowledge comes some caution.

And then there is this pesky business about 18 million dollars. 

I can fully understand that people such as my wife and those powers that be in the Church might have good reason to be cautious.  That 18 million dollars could have become 60 million had the Boise project proceeded.  Everybody has their limits.

But another dimension is that the shackles I feel are largely self imposed.  It is entirely possible that other factors are in play regarding my current vocational situation.  I'd like to remain in Sandpoint.  I'm sixty one  years old.  Those two situations alone place significant limitations on what possibilities exist for me.  And neither has to do with my being bipolar.  I may feel its my diagnosis that limits my possibilities when it isn't.  Also, I may be more cautious about what is appropriate for me than others are.

There is some grace in shackles.  Horses used to be shackled to keep them grazing near the campsite, and to prevent them from wandering off into the countryside.  Among other things this protected them from the predators out there.  The bottom line is that my pension funds will fair better if someone controls my access to them and has the courage to say "No."  Certain limitations are good for my own wellbeing.  There is much to be said for gracefully accepting appropriate limitations that are reasonable, given my diagnosis. 

That's not to say it isn't hard to accept.  Throughout our married life I've been in charge of our family's finances.  For me now, to have to say that Karla needs to have the final say in major financial commitments is difficult.  But as difficult as that is, it is a reasonable precaution.  Spending another fifty thousand dollars will not make my business endeavors more profitable. 

In my current call as pastor there are natural limitations in place.  Ironically, there is one woman who really wants to see us develop a senior housing project there.  No sewer system makes it impossible.  Well, that and the fact that we are a very small congregation and couldn't float the money to get such a project off the ground.  So, as tempting as it may be to my manic side, it's not going anywhere.

I'm playing with a new concept.  To simply be content.  There are limitations, yes, but they are not all bad.  I get to preach and teach and care for my congregation.  I have the secondary vocation as a cabinet maker which works for now. 

Contentedness.  Such a concept.  Its a bit foreign to me.  I've always been one who envisioned new possibilities and shuddered at the thought of simply maintaining the status quo.  Live as life gives you opportunity.  Contented.  Grateful. 

A Life Worth Living

At the cabinet shop where I work, the boss frequents the shop and is often engaged in what some of the senior cabinet makers are doing, sometimes being quite harsh in his criticism and concerns.  I largely fly under the radar screen.

I mused the other day that either I'm that good, that he rarely has anything to say about my work, or that irrelevant.  Its that latter possibility that is unsettling.

One of my favorite contemporary songs, is a song that Pat used to sing at my first parish by Steve Green, the chorus of which is:

Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
May the fires of our devotion light their way
May the footprints that we leave
Lead them to believe
And the lives we live inspire them to obey
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful

For me, one of the driving forces in my life has been simply "to have made a difference".  Sometimes I need a reminder of the difference that I have made in the lives of the people I have served.  The actual impact of our ministry is often intangible.  In the cabinet shop I can step back and look at what I've accomplished that day.  Even take a picture of it.  Not so in ministry.

One of the things I have done is kept a file that contains the cards I've received from parishioners over the years.  These words of appreciation that they have shared with me can sustain me during tough times.  In each of their lives, in a least some small way, I've made a difference, at least significant enough that they took the time to write a note and say so.  I also drive by Luther Park, the senior housing ministry I helped build, and have a very visible reminder of the difference that I made.

Is it ego?  Well, of course, to some extent it is.  But to another extent it is simply a  matter of desiring meaning and purpose in one's life.

Since Dad died, death seems much closer than it did before.  All four of Karla and my parents have now died, and we are officially the 'older generation'.  On a more immediate level, retirement is now within sight, though it may be another ten years or so away.  I keep getting notices from AARP wondering why I haven't signed up yet.  I'm reviewing our potential Social Security benefits, and our pensions, and all that good stuff that goes with preparation.

And I wonder what's left to do?

I waiver back and forth.

My manic side wants more than anything else to have yet another crusade, another major agenda, something more.  I look at the  time I have left prior to retirement and hope for the opportunity to surpass that which I've previously done.  Perhaps it is ego that drives this part of me.  Measuring one's life by the legacy one leaves.  And perhaps it is a more humble aspiration, to simply be a contributing part of the team.

The depressed side of my brain resonates with Jesus' words from the cross, "It is finished".  For the most part my life's work is nearing completion.  It is was it has been, for better or worse.

In between those poles, lies a contentment that simply is at peace with the transition that is taking place.  I may have the opportunity in ministry to contribute more toward the greater good.  And, it may also be a time to look forward to retirement and a different way of living life and achieving meaning and purpose.

I wonder about retirement.  One of the casualties of the last ten years or so of my life has been a loss of a rewarding and engaging 'private life'.  The last five years at First Lutheran were so dominated by the development of the senior housing that hobbies and leisure time activities were lost.  And then came disability and the inability to engage in anything, followed by my current load that leaves little time or energy for anything.

What will make life enjoyable and engaging in the  years ahead?

Grandchildren.  We have one.  We look forward to more.  Is there any higher calling than that?  To make a difference in the life of a child?

Earlier in my life, hunting, fishing, golf, and woodworking as an avocation, not a vocation, filled my off time.  Right now, there is little time for any of that.  But maybe in the future. . .

I also realize that my current call to serve at Otis Orchards maybe a very significant part of my ministry when all is said and done.  I began ministry with the hopes of becoming a  mission developer.  If I could finish my career redeveloping Peace Lutheran it would be a fulfillment of that first desire.  And the part time nature of that call means that it could continue into retirement.

Friendships.  One of the more difficult things about our current circumstances is that we continue to live in Sandpoint, and have developed relationships with many people here over the years. but, because I'm now the 'former pastor' there is an expectation that I limit my interactions with my former parish.  Some of our closest friends are leaving for the coast and so we are left wondering about interpersonal relationships here.  There is another aspect to this, a steep learning curve for pastors in retirement.  Throughout our careers ministry has formed the basis for the majority of our personal relationships.  Take the ministry away and you must now find different avenues for interpersonal engagement.

I'm also reminded of my psychologist's concerns as he retires.  There is an intimacy that comes with the vocation that is hard to replace.  Though our vocation focused on the other, the truth is that this intimacy fed our souls as well.

I must add, that above all else, I am blessed to have a wife whose stood by me through thick and thin, and whose companionship is itself a major part of what gives life meaning and purpose.

I remember a hymn, that perhaps is a good prayer to conclude with:

Jesus still lead on
Till our rest be won;
And although the way be cheerless,
We will follow calm and fearless;
Guide us by your hand
To our fatherland.

If the way be drear,
If the foe be near,
Let no faithless fears overtake us,
Let not faith and hope forsake us;
Safely past the foe
To our home we go.

61, And miles to go before I sleep. . .

61.  "There comes a point in life when you realize that when people talk about the youth in America, they are not talking about you."  Yea, well, that point came and went a long time ago.

I think about aging, in part because of the death of my father this last year.  To age gracefully seems like a good goal.  I feel two things:  One, that there is not an abundance of time left.  And two, that there are many things left that I still look forward to. 

I've set my sights on retirement, but not until I'm 70.  Don't know if that will work out, but that seems most logical at this point.  Choosing a timeline for retirement when one doesn't have a lot of resources is a bit of a conundrum.  If you retire too early you may not have the funds to live as you would like to live.  If you wait to long to retire you may not have the health and opportunity to do that which you've been looking forward to doing throughout your life. 

I still long for a significant vocational engagement to cap off my working career.  Perhaps, I've found it already.  Perhaps the door has yet to open.  What I am aware of is that if there is to be a change, the window of opportunity is now.  Although, 60 is the new 40, right?  Plenty of fuel left in the tank.  Hopefully, the opportunities to go with that. 

The bucket list.

I have longed for the day to be able to create 'masterpieces' in my shop apart from the restraints of what I could sell.  I'd like to leave a legacy of work that will be cherished by my children, and their children for years to come.  Will I have the resources to purchase the wood to do that?  One example of the challenge:  I shared with the kids that prior to selling my CNC I'd like to make them all a dining set.  Currently, though, none of them are in a house or at a point in life that the dining set would be really useful.  You got to have a dining room first.  That will come with time.  Can't afford the wood now, anyway.

I'd love to create something extraordinary, utilizing all my skills as a woodworker.  A house.  A boat.  One of my long term plans was that during the first years of retirement I would build Karla and I a house, which by doing it myself, would greatly benefit us financially throughout our retirement years.  The biggest obstacle to that is whether my aging body is up to that challenge.

A boat.  Truth be told, spending my final years building a beautiful boat only makes sense if the kids desire to have a boat throughout their lives.  Boats have a tendency to be either a prized possession or an albatros.  It has been said that the happiest two days in the life of a boat owner are the day you get the boat, and the day you sell it. 

And then there is ministry.  I don't know what the future holds, but I'm deeply convinced that I'm not done yet.  Part of that is purely personal.  Throughout the twenty five years that I was under a full time call, I struggled with being bipolar, though it hadn't been diagnosed, and in the later years with alcoholism.  I now am being successfully treated for my bipolar disorder, and have over five years of sobriety under my belt.  I am convinced that in the right situation, I am better suited for ministry than I've ever been.  I hope for the opportunity to prove that.

I love the life Karla and I have together.  We can be doting grandparents, especially Karla as she has the opportunity to spend a lot of time with Jasper.  How much does that opportunity to live in the same community as two of our kids and to have the opportunity to be involved daily with our grandchild play into the decisions we will make regarding the next ten years?  This is a question of vocation.  We are called to be parents and grandparents.  I feel called to the ministry.  Will one have to be sacrificed for the sake of the other?  Or will an opportunity to devote ourselves to both materialize? 

Hope abounds.  As I turn 61 today I have a lot of hope for the future.  Many things to look forward to.  I am not yet at the point of saying that my best years are behind me.  I still envision that the best is yet to come. 

Talked with my pastor yesterday, in part about the way we evaluate our situations.  It's easy to get into 'future tripping',  totally caught up in thinking five to ten years down the line.  I'm content with life today, sort of.  What I can say is that today I'm up to the task.  Each morning I begin with the conviction that "Yes, I can do this today".  Where I struggle is in answering the question "Can I do this for the next ten years?"

Perhaps a more important question is what role I can play in shaping the future for the next ten years.  Bucket lists don't get done if you simply live in the moment.  "Find your passion, and take the first step today."  That's how we create a tomorrow that meets our hopes and expectations.  And don't miss the fact that simply to have hopes and expectations is to truly be blessed. 

I could do that. . .

Bizarre night.  I cannot remember the full dreams but what I do remember is bizaar.

I dreamt I was President.  And at a meeting, that was strangely like a congregational meeting, not congressional, I had the opportunity to meet Kim Jong Un, who happened to be incredibly warm and friendly.  At one point, I leaned over in the pew (remember this was like a congregational meeting) and spoke to Kim Jong Un about, well, nothing in particular, but rather told him we'd just pretend to be speaking about something of great consequence to see how the world reacted. . .

Remember this was a congregational meeting.  I also remember that there was a vote to terminate me from a call, which I had resigned from five years ago.  I wasn't upset about the result, as I'd already resigned five years ago, but I did rise to a point of order because the votes in favor of terminating the call exceeded the total number of people present at the time of the establishing of a quorum.  "Well, this officially terminates our relationship." was my response, again strange because my resignation was five years ago. . .

After the vote, Kim Jong Un was not so friendly.

I'm of the opinion that dreams are but a random association of thoughts and emotions, and shouldn't be taken too seriously.  But let's just say that sometimes those random associations of thoughts and emotions are truly bizarre.

Then on to a different type of dream, this one while awake. 

Yesterday I was surfing the web, looking for options to restore my father's boat, which after fifty years could use a facelift.  Then, I looked at plans for building a boat from scratch, a big boat, a classic design.  One part of that dream would be to have the boat for my retirement, imagining cruising Lake Pend Oreille with family and friends.  And then, considering the difficulty of building such a boat given my current schedule at work, I imagine doing so as my work.  People will spend big bucks for a beautiful boat, why not let them spend it on me?  It'd be more fun than making closet shelving at my current job in Hayden.

And then another possibility strikes me.  If I really want to make money, building houses is more lucrative, easier, and has a greater market than boats.  I have considerable equity in my current home, in large measure because it has appreciated greatly over the last five years.  That together with a financial partner might allow me to build a spec home.  Perhaps if this was done a few times successfully I could get myself both a livable wage, and also end up owning a home free and clear prior to retirement.  Dream.  Dream.  Dream.

Two things.  First of all, neither building a boat nor a house is beyond my skill set.  I've done both.  A boat is but an elaborate piece of furniture, that floats.  And assembling 2 x 6's into a house is simple compared with building a roll top desk.  But secondly, as a bipolar person I have to be extremely cautious about hatching plans of significant magnitude.

It's that second piece that can get really frustrating as a bipolar person.

You see, risky business ventures and massive spending sprees are warning signs of a manic episode.  Caution is needed.  And yet that caution can also undermine all creativity, resourcefulness, and productivity.  The struggle for a manic person is discerning the difference between a risk and a responsible course of action.  I now see my investment in a CNC router as a symptom of my last manic episode, though at the time it seemed like a reasonable business investment.  And perhaps it was and could have been highly successful if I'd just had the right break or two in developing the business. 

If there is a disability that comes as a result of being bipolar it is this, that discernment is, and always will be, suspect.  "Consult with others" and proceed with caution is one response to this.  However, I have found that part of my manic capabilities is to be able to make a rather convincing case for what I envision.  I've talked the church into spending millions of dollars, another congregation into forming a parish with two neighboring churches, my wife into letting me cash in retirement funds to purchase the CNC, etc..  Actually, I've been quite successful in many of my manic endeavors.  As I've said before, I'm quite convincing in my manic phases, though this is more difficult now that others are in on my dirty little secret. 

And then there's my other vocation, that of being a pastor.  How bold dare I be with respect to the redevelopment of my current congregation, or the pursuit of another call?  The reality is that if finances were not an issue, redevelopment of my congregation would be greatly aided by relocation from Otis Orchards to Liberty Lake where all the development and growth is happening.  But red flags arise, aplenty.  Million dollar price tags equal major warning signs of manic thought patterns.  And yet it was our Director of Evangelical Mission who identified the only hope for our congregation as being establishing a presence in the Liberty Lake community.  Sigh.

One of the things I consider when thinking about vocation is that perhaps what I need to strive for is to be a faithful and diligent soldier, and not the commanding officer.  To devote myself to serving a cause and a purpose that others have "reasonably" established is probably much better than my being the person doing the conceptualization and charting the direction.  The advantage of working in a cabinet shop in Hayden is that I'm not the one determining the risk/reward issues.  I simply produce.

But by nature, I'm a  leader.  A creative, innovative leader.  That's my passion. 

Guided innovation.  Directed leadership.  And channeled creativity.  Maybe that's the ticket.  To serve as called to serve, and yet to do so within the parameters others establish.

One last thought.  I could finance the construction of a beautiful boat by selling the CNC.  Oops.  There I go again.

On Hope and Healing

Early in the morning I sit in the blessed silence of this new year, reflecting on what has been and wondering what is yet to be.  Life is good.  For a bipolar person this is an accomplishment.  Treatment has been successful, though is always an ongoing process.  There is no cure, only effective management.  Take your meds and don't write checks for more than a million dollars without consulting others first!

As I continue to live into recovery I am struck by one reality that continues to define my life, and perhaps lies at the root of an unsettledness about my existence.  It has to do with my vocation and calling.

Since successfully going through chemical dependency treatment, and being diagnosed as being bipolar and treated for the same, there has been a caution exhibited regarding my capabilities.  This has resulted in myself, my family, my health team and the church being extremely careful and concerned about the situation in which I serve, lest I experience triggers that might bring on a relapse or set back.  What I find ironic is that I had no restrictions when I was a drunk manic depressive, but now that I'm sober and enjoying the greatest mood stability of my life, the restrictions, formal and informal still are in place.

Lets just say that there is a degree of caution that all of us, aware of my situation, exhibit, and perhaps it's warranted.  No one, including myself, wants to see a recurrence and that does affect our attitudes. 

And yet my deepest desire is to be able to 'fly' again, this time sober and stable.

I find myself assessing my health with the dawn of a new year.

• Depression, which was disabling, is gone now, hopefully forever.  Better living through chemicals.  
• Anxiety is at an all time low.  The uncertainty about my future, our financial stability, etc., would normally have produced great anxiety.  Amazingly this is not so.  It will work out is the living conviction.  
• Mania, that exuberant friend and foe, has not been present for a little over 4 years now.  That's a good sign.
• Sleep is another matter.  In general I get sufficient sleep. My life and work schedule have me sleeping at non-typical hours, going to bed early, waking even earlier.  I would wish for a more normal pattern and extended sleep without the constant arousal and waking.  But I'm functioning.
• I haven't tried to save the world recently.
• I have been working on the ability to 'not engage' in matters that really are not my problem.
• I see more light than darkness.

In general I feel good.

It's not that life doesn't have its ups and downs.  I currently serve a small parish with only about 20 in worship on a Sunday morning.  During my 'up times' I'm optimistic that we can right the ship, and with new development coming in the community grow as a congregation.  During my 'down times' I fear that a small congregation like this just does not have the critical mass necessary to attract new members.  And yet these highs and lows are moderate, within a normal range.  

I do find myself contemplating the future and what it holds.  I'll be honest, I really desire the opportunity to be fully engaged in ministry and to be able to test my wings now that I'm sober and stable.  Whether that happens within the context of this call, or in a new call, or not at all is the question.

I'm personally torn between a piety that says "God will place me exactly where I need to be" and a sense that I need to be proactive in seeking out that which will be fulfilling.  Its probably a little bit of both.  

This internal debate becomes a bipolar issue when it manifests itself as either fatalistic resignation or a conquest.  Depression or mania.  

Dare to dream the dream.  

Kennon Callahan, a church consultant, once said that one of the most critical questions for a congregation is whether they see their best  years as being behind them, or still yet to come.  This is my question now.  Have I already experienced the apex of my ministry, or is the best yet to come?

What is difficult is that the answer to that question is somewhat out of my control.  That's where faith comes in.  We live by faith.  It's not just a resignation, but a conviction.  We tend to the task at hand, we stand ready to respond to a new day, and we remain steadfast in our belief that in the end, God is in charge.  I'm reminded of the experience during my early morning commutes to Hayden.  There are those occasions where the weather leaves the road obscure and I find myself following the taillights in front of me.  There is a significant amount of faith involved in trusting that if you just follow those lights, and those who have gone before you, that you will be fine.

2018.  Hope.  But no certainty.  Life is an ambiguous journey.  And that may have to suffice. 

"Let it be with me according to your word."

"He has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant."

"My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness."

Discernment.  Would that the Devil were cloaked in darkness and red, and the Holy Spirit in light and a brilliant white.  Discerning the will of God and God's call would be easier.  Perhaps still not fool proof, but easier.

If there is an inherent weakness in being bipolar it is this:  that the extremes of one's mood swings are the Devil's playground.  One's hope in managing this disease is to silence both the manic convictions and the depressed resignation. 

This is a particular struggle in discerning one's direction in life.  And in my case, discerning God's call and where it is leading me in ministry.  My age is such that I believe I have one more 'call', one more chapter in my ministry before me.  And so the question is what might that call be, and where might it lead.

During the first few years of my dealing with this bipolar diagnosis I had become convinced that it was no longer wise for me to be in ministry.  Too many triggers.  Too many possibilities that the symptoms of the disease could become the fodder for failure.  Chief among these is the fact that at risk sexual behavior and exploits is a known symptom of manic episodes.  Incompatible with pastoral ministry for sure.  It's not that it's always a symptom of manic episodes, but it can be.  I became convinced that one of the reasons my medical team was hesitant to give me a carte blanche endorsement to return to ministry was that the possibility of sexual misconduct was sufficient enough that neither of them would want the liability associated with such an endorsement. 

Those concerns fueled a depressed resignation.  I would never be able to serve again. 

Yet treatment is real.  Brain chemistry can be altered.  Medications are effective.  And hope was reborn.

A year and a half ago I re-entered ministry, serving part time as a transitional minister.  It has gone well.  My status as a "transitional" minister means that I am serving first as an interim pastor, helping the congregation through a period of discernment regarding their future, but with the option that it could become a permanent call.  That possibility puts on the table the prospect that I am where I am intended to be and remain.  Or not.

Whether my future involves continuing to serve in my current call or not, there is a significant desire to be engaged full time in ministry, once again.  I have been combining my part-time call with work in a cabinet shop.  I find myself desiring more.  The cabinetry is not rewarding.  Let's just say that at the end of my career, I don't want to look back at the last ten years and know that one of the primary things I did was to make closet shelves for high end homes in the Bahamas.  There has got to be something more.

It is tempting to try and 'make it happen'.  And make it good.

I find deep meaning in the words from Mary and Paul.  The common theme is that our lowliness, our weakness, need not limit God's ability to work through us, but rather can clear the way for God's grace and will to be done, not our own.

Let it be with me according to your Word, for your power is made perfect in weakness. 

And so I find myself wondering where the Spirit will blow.  I look at the neighborhood around our congregation in Otis Orchards and see a new development that will bring hundreds of  new residents, 55 and older, right next door.  This presents a real and unique opportunity for developing this congregation's mission and outreach.  A worthy calling.

But there might also be other options that present themselves.  The future is not yet known. 

The bottom line is that I have come a point of determining that I will not live out my life as a willing victim of a disease that need not limit me.  I choose rather to trust in the grace of God to work through me, where ever and whenever God wills.  And I do so believing that perhaps I have grown through this whole process of confronting my weakness.  I now know more fully that who ever we are, where ever we serve, it is not about us.  It is not about me. 

Together with Mary, each of us in our own way are simply called to declare "Here am I, the servant of the Lord."

The "Being" and the "Doing"

One of the hardest lessons I learned in my first parish was the difference between "being" the pastor, and "doing" pastoral ministry.  I was the first full time pastor in Thompson Falls.  They had built a parsonage for  us.  We received a joyous welcome.  And I set about my work.

I interpreted that their investments toward attaining a full time pastor were all about their desire to receive full time pastoral ministry.  And I set about trying to fulfill that goal.  My goal was to fill the church's calendar with programs and activities, and so to justify my position.

What I learned from them was that it was actually more important that I simply be seen around town, at the post office, in the grocery store, walking my dog.  As for all my  programmatic activity, it largely failed.  They were simply concerned that I would "be" their pastor.  They were not nearly so concerned about what I did.  Yes, there were moments of intense pastoral ministry.  But for the most part, I was paid to be there when needed, and the rest of the time simply to be the pastor.  

I realize now that after nearly three decades in ministry I'm in the same situation again.  The only things on our calendar are Sunday morning worship, and an adult ed class afterwards.  Aside from that, the boy scouts meet weekly, and the council meets monthly.  I do some visitation, but not a lot.  And this seems to be more my need than theirs.  We decorated the church for Christmas, and had a potluck.  We will go caroling.

But for hour after hour I sit in my office and wonder what am I doing to justify receiving a generous salary package.  The answer is, I am "being" their pastor.  Its as though they are saying to me "Do whatever you feel a need to do, that's fine with us, just be our pastor."

The manic side of me is just not content to master the art of "being".  I want a quest.  I'm a bit like a border collie in that regard.  Either give me work to do, or I'll make up my own.  

Two things I'm "doing".  First, I'm trying to see if I can get an AA meeting starting here in Otis Orchards.  There isn't one now.  The biggest challenge is where and how do you connect with people who are part of an organization that values above all else, anonymity.  Secondly, I am exploring how to use Facebook and my blogs as a means of evangelism, and an extension of my ministry here.

I've had 9,000 pageviews on this blog, and nearly 6,000 on my other blog, Wanderingsthroughtheword.com.  What amazes me is that I've had pageviews from every single continent, except Antartica.

Writing and posting is what satisfied my sense of calling while I was not in a parish.  Now, it fulfills my sense of call by giving me something to "do" in a parish whose primary need is for me to simply "be" their pastor.

That said, I find myself wrestling with the question of whether my drive to be doing something is symptomatic of my bipolar disease, or part of a genuine sense of call.  My bishop would probably say, "Well, yes, both."

I leave it at that for today, and get back to the holy work of being.