The Illness of Our Age

 

I was recently talking with a friend whose teenage kid struggles with anxiety.

He has major social anxiety that affects his interaction with peers.

She said that he sometimes couldn’t go on a walk with her

Without being on high alert for bears.

I asked if she meant literal or figurative bears.

She said both.

Literal bears could cross their path,

But the figurative bears of peers could cross their path as well.

 

Shortly after talking with her,

I received a text from another friend whose teenage kid struggles with anxiety.

The kid, weary from her struggles, had reached the point where she wanted medical help.

She was afraid, however, that she wouldn’t know how to function

If the medication took away the anxiety that had become her norm.

I told my friend that I completely understood, and

I shared the letter that I had written to my anxiety a few months ago.

 

A few days after that,

I was talking with Amelia The Niece about The Boxcar Children books.

I like listening to The Boxcar Children books because they always end well.

They provide just enough mystery to keep me engaged 

But enough predictability not to cause me major stress. 

That conversation led us to talk about 

Just how much times have changed since the books were written.  

There is an innocence to the books that doesn’t exist today.

Today, we question everything and imagine the worst in everyone and every situation.

Today, we live in a culture of fear. 

 

As I recounted these conversations to Joe The Counselor,

I went from being glad that I could provide Joe with an updated metaphor for anxiety–

A bear instead of a tiger–

To being amused at just how riled up Amelia got when talking about how Henry, the oldest Boxcar child, should have scouted out his grandfather before taking his younger siblings to live in the woods where they might not have been able to find food and water–

To being filled with emotion when talking about someone else being afraid of the void that would be left if anxiety disappeared. 

In fact, I was so full of emotion that I started crying uncontrollably and had to stop talking for a moment.

All of the compassion that had been building in me overflowed and I wept.

 

I wept for all who struggle with debilitating anxiety–

I wept for all who must watch persons struggling with debilitating anxiety–

I wept for all who struggle with fear–

I wept for all who must watch persons struggling with fear–

I wept for helpless–

I wept for overwhelmed–

I wept for sad–

I wept for abused–

I 

Just

Sat

And 

Wept.

 

When I finally caught my breath,

Joe asked how I felt.

I said I felt a little better…

But the anxiety for anxiety was still a weight in my chest.

 

Oh God: Anxiety is the illness of our age. So many of us walk around tense, shoulders up, afraid of bears, yet afraid to live without what we know. But you offer peace. Help us to find that peace, somehow, in the midst of it all. Help us to find rest, strength, and courage. And help us to be grateful for the persons in our lives who provide nourishment, safety, and comfort along the way. Thank you for those people, God. And thank you for therapy and medicine and all the tools you have given us to face the world. Amen. 

Funeral Questioning

 

I went to a funeral last Saturday.

The service was lovely—

A true tribute to an amazing woman—

And the friend whom I went to see spoke beautifully as she honored her mom.

Something happened at the funeral that I didn’t expect to happen, though—

And it wasn’t just a brass quintet 😊—

The minister delivered a message that moved me and made me think.

 

Let me see if I can summarize the message:

 

Sometimes life is hard.

And sometimes life isn’t fair.

Why my friend’s parents both had to suffer like they suffered is something we will never understand.  

Her father had Alzheimer’s.

Her mother had a debilitating stroke.

My friend, age 44, has been a caregiver for 20 years.

Sometimes, as my friend said, life sucks.

And sometimes life isn’t wrapped up with a nicely packaged bow like some brands of Christianity preach.

Life is a mystery.

Life is full of questions.

And Jesus himself was the master of questions.

Jesus was asked something like 300 questions in the New Testament.

He directly answered very few of them.

Jesus responded instead with a parable or question.

He asked something like 180 questions in the gospels,

And his parables often didn’t make much sense.

But what we know that makes sense is this:

Jesus, himself, grieved when his friend Lazarus died.

Jesus, himself, told the thief on the cross that he would be with him, that day, in paradise.

(Paul later explains a different version of when the dead will rise).

And Jesus, himself, said, “The greatest commandment is this: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.”

 

So if we are followers of Jesus,

Then we,

In the midst all the other junk—

The questions, the doubts, the heartaches, the fears—

Should be a people who

Question,

Grieve,

Love, and

Believe.

 

That’s who my friend’s mom was.

That’s who my friend is.

May it be who we are, too.

Amen.

The Great Thanksgiving

 

I grew up in a faith tradition that didn’t much believe in written liturgy.

Even though we had a set order of worship that rarely changed,

We believed, at our core, in the spontaneity of worship.

The welcome, announcements, transitions, prayers, and sermons,

Were all led by the Holy Spirit.  

 

As I’ve gotten away from the faith tradition of my youth,

I’ve discovered the beauty in written liturgy

And I’ve become a fan of writing out my words before saying them when leading worship.

I’ve also become a fan of the predictability of written liturgy.

There is comfort in knowing the words that come next—

The confessions, the songs, the prayers, the creeds—

They hold rich meaning and depth

Just as they hold me in the safety of their routine.

 

Some of the liturgy also makes me stupidly happy!

Every week that I’m in attendance at my church,

Without fail,

I begin to grin when we come to The Great Thanksgiving.

 

The pastor sings:

The Lord be with you.

We reply:

And also with you.

P: Lift up your hearts.

C: We lift them to the Lord.

P: Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.

C: It is right to give our thanks and praise.

 

And then, at least in one version of the liturgy, she continues:

It is our duty and delight

That we should everywhere and in all things

Give thanks and praise to you O Lord

In Jesus Christ….

 

And then she continues with something that I don’t have memorized. Yet.

But I have the whole conversation above memorized,

And I burst into song with it a couple of times a week,

Singing both parts to myself,

Or singing it with a friend,

And finding hope and encouragement and happiness

Each time that I do 😊.

 

God: May we be a people who worship through both spontaneity and plan. And however we find to worship, may we simply do it. For you are good. And you are working with us to create good. And that deserves a Great Thanksgiving. Amen.  

The HeART of Healing

 

A couple of weeks ago,

I had the opportunity to lead a grief support group for a friend.

I was part of a series called the heART of Healing.

Since the event was during my weeks of no voice,

And since my main gig is music,

I had to think of something different to do…

So, I thought, why not blackout poetry?

After all, it HAS become my spiritual discipline.

 

Nervous to undertake the activity with a group,

I did my best to explain it.

In short, I said:

Think of the page’s words as your word bank.

You can keep the words in order in true blackout style,

Or you can use the words out of order and draw connecting lines in modified blackout style.

It’s up to you.

Just sit with the words and see what comes.

 

And they did.

 

And what came, I later found out, was beautiful.

 

One woman wrote and shared a poem about her grandson who died by suicide a year ago.

She doesn’t talk much about it.

It’s too hard.

But she found words on the page to express a bit of her grief.

She read aloud…

“That I could hug you one more time.”

 

Another woman saw only one phrase on the page.

She tried and tried to find something more,

But all she could see was…

“I couldn’t quit sobbing.”

In those words, she saw a reflection of her reality,

And she realized she needed help.

Uncontrolled depression had overwhelmed her.

She was drowning in her own tears but she didn’t realize it until

She saw it on the page.

She is now getting help.

 

And a man, a poet and musician,

Suffering from bi-polar disorder,

Who hadn’t really left his house in a month—

For whatever reason, came to the session.

He had never heard of blackout poetry,

Yet he connected with it and found a life-giving outlet.

 

Friends: I know that blackout poetry isn’t for everyone.

And that’s fine.

Blackout poetry isn’t really the point.

Creating is the point:

Working with God to express a thought, feeling, emotion, or reaction—

Working with God to make something not made before.

Poetry, song, fiction, blog, cross-stitch, crochet, knitting, macrame,

Watercolor, acrylic, pen, ink, tin, a coloring sheet, a garden…

Creating is a process.

It is healing and transformative.

Not everything will be a masterpiece.

But everything will be good.

Because you will have created with God,

Who called God’s creation good.

 

Oh God of Creation: Help us to create alongside you. And thank you for the heART of healing. Amen. 

And Then I Cried

 Shortly after finishing Monday’s note,

I realized that I didn’t have a picture of Kay.

As any good 21^st-centurian would do,

I took to the Interwebs to look for a picture of this woman who had come to mean so much.

The thing is?

I found obituaries and old scholarship information,

But I couldn’t find a picture.

As I continued to search,

I came across an article honoring Kay.

At the end of the article,

Kay was quoted as saying:

 

“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through…I trust that you already know that my heart just aches for you…I know that all things work together for good to those who serve God. So I trust that as I act moment by moment to follow God’s leading, God will work through my decisions. In any event, I know with assurance that God is already working. God’s action is to bring about good things for you and for the body of Christ. There’s no doubt. We just have to wait. As we’ve all figured out for one reason or another, life isn’t fair and justice is hard to find. Mostly I’d like for you to get through it. It happened and requires you to work in order to get through it—but I pray that you get THROUGH rather than remain in it. So I hope you’ll spend exactly the right amount of time processing it all and doing what it takes to attend to it so that it will be well and truly over. I love you very much! You take my love and respect and appreciation with you where you go…I’m proud of you, you’ve been faithful.”

 

I screen-shotted her words.

And then I cried.

 

God: Thank you that our hearts and words live on long after we’re gone. May Kay’s words, today, bless and encourage someone who needs to hear them…seventeen years after they were written. Thank you, God, that you are already working and that your action is to bring about good in a world that seems to celebrate evil. You ARE good. And we ARE trying to be faithful. Amen.  

 

Oh! And by the way—

After thirty minutes of tears and searching,

I found Kay’s picture in a PDF brochure.

It’s not the best quality in the world.

But it will do.

😊

November 12th

 I woke up yesterday morning and noticed it was November 12^th.

At first, I didn’t realize the significance of the date,

But then I remembered:

November 12^th is the anniversary of the day that my friend and mentor, Kay Simpson, died.

 

I went to church with my band that morning in 2006.

We were warming up and preparing to lead worship when

We looked up and saw Kay at the back of the church.

Kay had been sick for a few days,

So we were surprised to see her.

She slowly made her way down the aisle and sat on the front pew,

Listening to us play all along.

She closed her eyes,

Held her hands in a receiving position,

And sat for a few moments taking it all in.

When it came time for her to leave,

We asked if she needed someone to take or follow her home.

She declined the invitation,

Said she’d be fine,

And quietly left before anyone else could arrive at church.

 

That was the last time anyone saw Kay.

She died that night.

Her enlarged heart had enlarged so much that

It finally gave out.

 

The days, weeks, and years following Kay’s death were hard on me.

The sights, smells, and memories often overwhelmed me

And left me feeling such a deep grief that I couldn’t function.

Yet now, 17 years later, while I still feel the sting of her loss and

Still remember sights, smells, and memories just like they were yesterday,

I am finally okay.

 

Grief is an odd thing.

It comes and goes on its own terms

And sometimes it leaves us flat on our backs in tears.

But sometimes, it’s just a tiny whisper about the date—

Telling us that there is something for us to remember—

Someone for whom we should stop and be grateful.

 

I am thankful for grief’s gentle nudge yesterday.

And I am grateful for Kay Simpson

And the impact that she had on my life as a minister and friend.

Amen.

Octopus

 Somehow,

And I’m not sure how,

I found out that one of my students, K, likes octopuses.

(This is the same student I wrote about a few weeks ago

Whose father died suddenly over the summer.)

Because I have a soft spot for said student,

I decided to give him an octopus book that I found in my classroom library.

 

I laid the book on my desk so that K would see it when he walked in.

He lit up the moment he did.

“A book on octopus!” he said.

“Did you know I like octopus?” he inquired.

“Yes,” I responded.

“How did you know I liked octopus?” he questioned.
“I just did,” I responded.

And then he opened the book and began to draw a shell from its pages.

 

About 15 minutes later,

Out of the blue, K said,
“Wait. Who is giving me this book?”

I said, “I am.”

He said, “You are?!”

“THANK YOU!

THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH.”

Then he came around my desk,

And gave me a huge hug.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“You’re welcome,” I said, smiling.

 

There are a lot of difficult, hard things happening in this world,

And thanks to the media,

We seem to know all about them,

All at once.

Quite honestly, it’s overwhelming.

But in the midst of all that’s bad,

There is still so much good.

There is still so much right.

 

May we be a people who try to hold to what is good and right,

Who smile at the simplicity of 1^st grader’s exclamation of their love for octopus,

And who take heart in the genuine sincerity of a child who has lost so much in his short life,

But who is determined to truly live nonetheless.

Amen.