I am my Dad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Loose Cannons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trump needs a Karla. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vocation & Grandiose Delusions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully.

Say what?

"According to my notes from Dr. Hayes, you are neurotic, yes?"

Ok, I wasn't expecting to hear those words.  "Neurotic" doesn't sound good, rhymes with "psychotic", and besides, why is this new psychologist making such pronouncements when he is first getting to know me?  Well, because that's what he's paid to do, I suppose.  So I went home and looked up the definition.

Neurosis:  a relatively mild mental illness that is not caused by organic disease, involving symptoms of stress (depression, anxiety, obsessive behavior, hypochondria) but not a radical loss of touch with reality (which would be psychotic) .

What I also found out was that this is a general category that is no longer in widespread use by the psychiatric community.  There are some things I agree with, other things I don't.  I've never lost touch with reality.  That I agree with.  "Mild mental illness"?  When one is so depressed that getting off the couch is a challenge, that suicide seems reasonable, one would not describe that as "relatively mild".  "Not caused by organic disease?"  My understanding of being bipolar is that it is indeed organic, having to do with certain imbalances in the chemistry of one's brain, and not just a symptom of stress.

So, I'll talk with the doctor about his next time.

Mental health diagnosis is often, it seems, a judgment call.  Psychiatrists and psychologists often argue amongst themselves.  Some are more prone to certain diagnoses, others see such conditions as much less common.  I'm confident in my diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder.  The reason is that my depression did not respond to antidepressants, but did respond to mood stabilizers.  Bingo.  That's Bipolar.

But even within that, Bipolar I or II remains a judgment call.  It has to do with the degree to which one has experienced manic episodes.  What are the symptoms?

"In order for a manic episode to be diagnosed, three (3) or more of the following symptoms must be present:

• Inflated self-esteem or grandiosity
• Decreased need for sleep (e.g., one feels rested after only 3 hours of sleep)
• More talkative than usual or pressure to keep talking
• Flight of ideas or subjective experience that thoughts are racing
• Attention is easily drawn to unimportant or irrelevant items
• Increase in goal-directed activity (either socially, at work or school; or sexually) or psychomotor agitation
• 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)"

There are other less technical associations, such as being delusional, or losing touch with reality, but that's not actually on the list.  Though "inflated" is a bit out of touch with reality.  As is "grandiosity".  

One of the struggles with an exact diagnosis is that during a manic episode one feels good and often doesn't seek help, though others may recognize that things are getting out of control if they know what to look for.  My last manic episode was shortly after going through chemical dependency treatment.  I resigned my call and went into business, spending about $60,000 in the process, I took over my therapy sessions and had my psychologist simply listen as I did my 'fifth step', etc.  My feeling great at that time was credited in part to the 'blue cloud' of recovery, of getting my life back on track, etc.  And the diagnosis of being Bipolar had not yet been made.  Had my health team been looking for signs of mania, they would have recognized it.  Bottom line, one of the difficulties in making an exact diagnosis is that they have not directly witnessed a full blown manic episode.  

But also, I believe, is the fact that the difference between mania and hypomania is really a matter of degree and not type.  

"You're somewhat egotistical."  That was also in the notes.  Truth is that depends on whether I'm in a manic phase or a depressed phase.  When I'm manic, I'm prone to believe I'm one of the best pastors in the ELCA.  On the other hand, when depressed I feel like a total failure, and that everything was for naught.  To an extent, both beliefs are delusional.  Out of touch with reality?  Well, yes, I'm neither the best nor the worst.  Reality is somewhere in between that.  

I look forward to working with a new therapist.  Maybe some new insights will be helpful.  Among other things he talks more.  And maybe I need to listen more.  

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.

A savior's a nuisance to live with at home

I've always liked that line from Joan Baez's song.  It speaks to me now in the context of my most common manic symptom. 

Would that I might be a savior, the suffering would be redeemed, and in the end it would all make sense. 

"While divorce is always the consequence of sin, the sin itself is not the divorce, but all those actions leading up to the breakdown of the relationship.  To the contrary, when a couple gets to the point that there is nothing "holy" about their "holy" marriage, divorce can be a gracious act of God whereby they are set free from the former sins, and are able to be born again."

I preached those two sentences in my first parish.  About six weeks later one of my parishioners shared with me that she had left her husband after 25 years of  marriage.  My immediate response was "Oh no, what happened?"  She went on to say, "Well, you preached that sermon, and talked about divorce being an act of God's grace when a marriage is no longer holy.  I realized that it has been a long time since my marriage was holy, and your sermon set me free from the guilt that I had to stay, and so I left."  Sermons can have profound consequences.

What I learned was that her marriage had been highly abusive.  As she broke free, she blossomed.  Life became joyful for her again.  Grace abounded.

"For unto you is born this day a savior. . ."

Now a preacher is trained to say "That was not me, but the Spirit working through me. . ."  Proper humility is the expectation.  The truth is it feels good to be a savior.  That's the ego speaking, and we all have one.  Not only that, we deeply yearn for some validation of the work we do.  And even if it is the work of the Spirit, there is a reward in believing that the Spirit 'worked through you'.  God's voice.

A savior.  Having experienced that, it became a vocational goal.  A lot of things factored into that.  To many to mention here.  But I embarked on the quest.  Other situations would arise.  I learned a couple of things.  First, I learned that helping abused women to break free rarely has the immediate and clear result that it did that first time.  In one case, what happened was not that the woman broke free, but that at the very least she came to realize that her husband's anger issues were his problem, not her's.  In that there was healing, and the marriage was saved.  In time I realized that this outcome was good, though I might have wished that the anger had gone entirely away.

But the second lesson I learned was that if you aspire to be a savior, you had better be prepared to be crucified.  People, in general, do not like saviors.  They are a nuisance to live with at home, and a significant problem to deal with elsewhere. 

In hindsight, I learned other lessons as well, such as if you're going to go down that path and save women, you'd better have a clear understanding about emotional transference and tread very carefully. 

Oh, and there is also this thing called mania.  "Some people with bipolar disorder become psychotic when manic or depressed -- for example, hearing things that aren't there. They may hold onto false beliefs, too. In some instances, they see themselves as having superhuman skills and powers -- even considering themselves to be god-like."

Ok, well, there is that.  I would suppose that self identifying as a 'savior' might qualify as considering oneself to be "god-like", but that kind of takes the fun out of it.

The thing that is so attractive about seeing one's self as a savior is that it provides a framework within which one can interpret one's suffering, and add a redemptive value to it.  There is even a tinge of the savior mentality that goes into writing this blog.  "If I through sharing my experience can help others, then there is great value, redemptive value, to all I have suffered." 

My savior aspirations became more varied.  Establishing "12 Step" congregations base on the spiritual principles of AA.  Utilizing senior housing as a means of church growth.  And others. 

The difficult thing about being bipolar in one's moods and thinking is that it is difficult to find that middle ground.  Its either manic, or depressed, and the healthy middle is often illusive.  The medications I am on tend to manage the moods better than they do the thought patterns.  I see the two as quite distinct. 

If I am not a savior then the suffering is just suffering.  Rejection is not seen within the context of the way the prophets have been rejected before, but rather as just deep personal failure.  Self doubt becomes paramount.  The manic side says I can be the best pastor ever, the depressed side feels a total failure. 

It's a matter of faith, I would suppose, to believe in a healthy way that while not a savior, I've made a difference in a positive way.  I say it's a matter of faith, because often this disease prevents one from confidently seeing that and affirming that.  Faith helps me to believe that neither the highs nor the lows are reality.  It's alright to not be Jesus, but that doesn't mean one is thereby Judas, either.  Maybe Mark, as in the Gospel of Mark, is someone to aspire to follow.  Tradition tells us Mark's Gospel is the record of Peter's preaching.  Perhaps.  The point being that we are witnesses, not the main character.  We tell of the work of the Savior, without becoming the savior. 

Today I will lead worship at my little congregation.  The savior mentality within me sees this as an opportunity to redevelop and grow the congregation into one that is thriving, against all odds.  The depressed side tends to envision it as merely a matter of time before the congregation will have to close.  The healthy middle ground may be something more like, "Today, I can care for these people, at this time, and they will be spiritually fed, today.  The Word will be preached, the sacrament shared.  That I can and will do, the rest is up to God."

It may just be, that in the end, God will prove to be a better savior than I. 

Lord, Now lettest now thy servant depart in peace. . .

For mine eyes have seen your salvation.

Inner peace is the realization that salvation is past tense.  It is the realization that what once had been merely a matter of hope, is accomplished, and continues to shape a new reality of life.  That battle has been won, now is a time of living into the victory.

Fear.  I must admit that over the last five and a half years fear has been a companion.  Fear of losing all that we had.  This journey began in all hopefulness.  Conversations with my church  council resulted in our mutually agreeing that I would continue serving til retirement, and in that light they offered me the opportunity to buy a house.  We did.

There was a backlash that erupted in the congregation.  The negative voices, long dormant, came to the surface.  Anger resulted.  Rage, actually.  And my world collapsed.  I've told the story before.  Six weeks after moving into our new home I was hospitalized for chemical dependency treatment, and for depression.  What followed was a disability determination, a resignation from my call, and the daunting challenge of meeting the mortgage payments with all my income now diminished and in question.  Then a loss of disability benefits.  A new job at a fraction of what I had been paid.  Etc.

The bottom line is I feared losing everything.  And in the end, lost nothing.  Not a payment has been missed.  Things have stabilized.  For every challenge faced, there has been a solution offered. 

Now is a time of peace.  At Peace.  Lutheran that is.  At least I hope it is.  The next couple of months will probably see an extension of a Call to permanent service there.  My work at the cabinet shop continues.  I'm hopeful.  Through a combination of efforts we have replaced much of the lost income.  And the home which I feared losing, has appreciated in value at the rate of about $2,000 a month.  Not a bad investment.

But the financial realities are minimal in comparison to the peace that is being experienced.  There is nothing to prove, just an invitation to remain faithful.  Trusting.  Hopeful.  And assured.

I continue to see a psychiatrist to monitor my meds, and a psychologist to monitor my moods.  But as I told my psychiatrist this last week, I basically am just keeping them on a retainer in case I need them in the future.  I don't want to be without access to them even though my current needs for therapy are minimal.

Peace.  I am in the process of evaluating options for retirement.  When can I retire from what?  Likely our move into retirement will be a step by step process, and not a definite date.  Some benefits may be started next year.  Others will wait. 

Options exist.  We'll be alright. 

It is with a certain amount of trepidation that I venture to say life is good.  Karla is in seventh heaven being able to be a homemaker again, and especially, caring for our  grandchild Jasper on a daily basis.  I am doing two things I love, pastoral ministry and woodworking.  And, I dare say, stress is low compared to other times in my life. 

Inner peace is the realization that salvation is past tense.

What I mean by that is that there was a time that with every fiber of my being I prayed that God would get me through this crisis.  And then, there is a wakening when one realizes that indeed, God has accomplished that.  The crisis is past.  "Salvation" has already happened.

But what is it about our makeup, my makeup, that holds on to the trepidation?  That is always waiting for the other shoe to fall?  "Lift me up when ever I fall, and never let me fade from the grace filled light of your own sight, and turns my night to day."  Words of my personal prayer.  A prayer that has been answered. 

I think the boldness of my hope at this point, and the source of my peace, is the recognition that though I have fallen numerous times, God has always 'lifted me up" and that has been sufficient. 

Sufficient.  Quite a concept.  It is enough.  We tend to always want more.  And don't always get it.  Sufficient is enough. 

It's not that there aren't hopes to experience some of the things we haven't yet had the opportunity to experience.  One day I hope to have the opportunity to build furniture unencumbered by the restraints of 'business'.  I'd like build what I want to build, utilizing all my creativity, without being limited by what I can sell.  To be able to do it for the pure joy of doing it.  That may happen.  Time will tell.

I hope that Peace Lutheran will turn the corner and start to grow again.  But ministry in the next few decades will likely be different than it has been.  One dimension of that is that I used to be able to see all the people I was preaching to.  Now, I have developed a cyber congregation.  There may be only a couple dozen in worship at Peace, but through the web as many as 350 people a week are reading the sermons.  Is that the shape of the church of the future?  It is not dissimilar to Baker, MT where our congregation broadcasted over the radio station and far more people heard the word via radio than were present in the pews.

There is freedom is being able to say "That is God's problem.  Not mine."

Just be at peace.  This is the life you have the opportunity to live.  Live it.