It still hurts, even now

When I was active in Kansas AA (before my abortive trip to Chicago and seminary-land), I would get asked to speak at "open" AA meetings - those meetings which are open to anyone, not just those with a desire to stop drinking. When I got asked, I almost always said "yes" - because that's what I was taught. If you're asked by AA, and you can possibly do it, the answer was "yes."

A fellow frequently joined me. He was a year "younger" in sobriety than me, but otherwise we were nothing alike. He was barely a high-school graduate; I was "the college boy." I'd never even gotten a DUI; he was a guest of the Kansas penitentiary system twice. I'd only done marijuana once; he was like "Mikey" in the Life cereal commercials - he'd try anything (and liked it all, too). Folks got such a kick out of our duo, they nicknamed us "The Choir-boy and The Convict." We had vastly different stories, and yet had grown to be fast friends in sobriety.

Since I'd been in Ohio, I'd only gotten to "tell my story" once in 2-1/2 years here. So I was whining about how "no one wants what I have, evidently" and a fellow immediately snapped me up to speak at a meeting a week ago Sunday. It would also be the first time that many of the men in my men's-meeting circle of friends would get to meet Chris - and the first time Chris would get to hear much more than snippets of my story.

It went great. There was so much I wanted to share, but you can't fit 18 years into 60 minutes in any kind of detail. Chris was delighted to meet folks, and to put faces to names he'd heard about. I didn't save anybody, but it was good to do, and several people said they were glad they got to hear my story.

The afterglow lasted through the next day - and on my way to Monday Night Men's, I thought, why not call my friend and see how he's doing? I had to admit, it would have been cool to have him there, to split the meeting with him and all my new sober friends in Toledo. So I called him up to share the joy.

What I was greeted with was a slurred, stumbling voice that I barely recognized as my friend's. And it was pretty clear his incoherent speech was not because I'd woken him up out of a sound slumber.

He was loaded. Whacked out on pain medication. He tried hard to ignore it, to act as if everything was fine. And after the shock passed, I tried to do the same. But I knew. I knew.

I've been afraid of this for a while. I'd asked him what the hell he was doing with Percoset; I told him that he was out of his mind when he was considering low doses of methadone to deal with his back and leg pain. He told me he was going to meetings, that he was doing everything through the VA Hospital, and he was doing it all exactly as prescribed.

But he's either had a stroke, which he denied, or he was just plain loaded.

I got to the meeting in shock, and when they asked for a topic, it just tumbled out. "I know I'm not responsible for his sobriety; I know I can't change him or fix him; I know I have to just let it go and go on. I know all of that. But right now, I know our relationship is never going to be the same. It feels like a part of my past died tonight, and it just hurts. And you people have told me for 18 years that when it hurts, it needs to come here. So here it is."

Not everything that happens in sobriety is joy and fun and coffee-n-cookies. Sometimes it just hurts, dead sober.

There's lots more, where that came from - my little encounter with my friend came the night before we found out that my job situation is being "offshored" to India between now and September 30th, probably closer to June 30th (maybe even sooner than that). But the fact is, it's not worth drinking over. It's not worth gorging myself on pizza or whatever, either.

Today, all I can do is take care of myself, do the best I can for my partner, and live for today to the fullest degree possible. And, of course, keep on sharing. Once again, I find myself praying a prayer that I was given a dozen years ago, when another friend threw himself off the wagon:

Dear God, please find my friend someone who can help him - because I can't. And please send me someone who needs my help - for exactly the same reason. Amen.

God blessed the broken road...

Every long lost dream
Led me to where you are
Others who broke my heart
They were like Northern Stars
Pointing me on my way
Into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That lead me straight to you....

(Rascal Flatts, "Bless The Broken Road")

They stood at an altar in a rather untypical country church in Holt, Missouri, north of Kansas City. She was beautiful in a champagne-cream colored pantsuit, and he was clearly a country-boy wearin' a handsome black suit out of deep, deep love. Her Methodist preacher friend and his Baptist pastor stood before them, their family and friends - but you didn't need to have the professional holy folk to know that God's spirit was on that place, and that couple.

Norma and I had started seminary together, way back at St. Paul School of Theology in September, 1997 - almost exactly ten years earlier. Church folk like Tex Sample, Gene Lowry, Warren Carter and Harold Washington were some of the salts-of-the-earth who accompanied us on our way as part-time students. Norma and I walked through the death of her mother, and later her father, and struggles galore. We both have struggled with our faith, our call, and our respective denominations' candidacy processes. And through it all, we have grown as close as friends can be.

There was different times when I think each of us thought that the other might be a candidate for the "Spouse 2.0" program (though it was a number of years before I could admit to myself, let alone tell her, exactly why that wouldn't work). But even that revelation only gave us more to laugh about. We are folks who love to laugh - and there sure was a lot of that this weekend...

Her dear friend and mother-of-the-heart, Gertrude, was there from Marshall MO, as was her daughter Becky from Phoenix, looking lovelier than ever, and her dear friend Rose from St.Paul, MN. As both Norma's parents had died, it was my honor and privilege to fly out from Ohio to walk Norma down the aisle, and to present her to her husband-to-be "on behalf of her family, her friends, and the family of faith."

(To be honest, it was tough to say where one group left off and the next one started...)

I don't know where the first reading came from, but it began with both truth and hope: "This is not my first marriage; but it is my last." One of their marriages had ended in divorce; the other, in death - but on that day, the focus was on new life, new hope, and a love that had grown out of friendship.

And after their vows were exchanged, a handsome young man and his wife sang Rascal Flatt's beautiful ballad, with the chorus that seemed so appropriate. (You can hear the original version over here.)

Earlier that day, as I was visiting with friends in south Overland Park, KS, it had started to pour down rain. Knowing the reception was to be in an outdoor tent, at the end of a long gravel road, my first thoughts were hardly spiritual ones (having a lot to do with raw sewage and unbridled copulation). But almost immediately on the heels of those unholy thoughts was this passage from Scripture: In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world (John 16:33(b), NIV).

Once I heard that, I knew it was gonna be all right.

And it was.

From the rehearsal, to the preparation, to the ceremony and the reception, it didn't go exactly as it might have been planned, but it went absolutely beautifully. It did my heart good to see Norma finding peace, friendship and love after seeking it for so long. The whole thing was the answer to a whole bunch of prayers I have prayed for my dear friend.


Norma and Clayton. September 15, 2007. May every good and beautiful thing come your way, my friends. God has indeed blessed every mile of the broken road that has led you to each other.

A wedding weekend...

I will be mostly offline for the next several days - I leave this evening for the Kansas City area. One of my dearest enduring friends, Norma, has found what seems like enduring love, and is getting married Saturday. Since both her parents are dead, she's asked me to give her away (knowing that I love to do the "dad" thing, and have been told I'm a "mother..." repeatedly...).

So I will be in town for a number of quick visits with old friends, a brief Saturday morning reunion with the recovery community at the Little House group in Lenexa, and services at my former home church Sunday morning, wrapped around the rehearsal Friday and ceremony Saturday.

Life has changed dramatically since I was last in Kansas - in a number of ways. So it will be good to catch up with many friends who for I've not seen in more than a year. Everything about this trip has been kind of last minute, but I'm praying that it will all come together. Norma is a sweetheart, and she and I have been "trudging the road" since I started at St. Paul School of Theology back ten years and two weeks ago (wow...). We both definitely "have seen fire and rain," but we've slogged through - and I am richer for her presence (even if mostly virtual, these days). I wish every good thing for Norma, and Clayton, even as I envy them their relationship, just a tiny bit...

See you all on Monday.

One of the best honors I could receive

We are average Americans. All sections of this country and many of its occupations are represented, as well as many political, economic, social, and religious backgrounds. We are people who normally would not mix. But there exists among us a fellowship, a friendliness, and an understanding which is indescribably wonderful.
(from Alcoholics Anonymous, "There Is A Solution")

This passage from the AA textbook also is perfect for the people I have encountered in the blogosphere. Rich, poor, faithful and faithless, gay and straight, every color of the rainbow - and yet we find fellowship out here in the digital kingdom. I am blessed by all the people I have found "out here."

Right about the time I went into my blogging funk/hiatus, I got a particular honor from two different people: both Hope and Poor Mad Peter nominated me for a Thinking Blogger Award. The TBA's are designed to point folks to blogs of note which might not get found on the regular search engines, which is a very democratic way of doing things. Thank you both, Hope and Peter!

(Now, once upon a time, I would have said something on the order of "They nominated me...but they've sobered up now, so it's all better," or some such self-deprecating nonsense. However, one thing that has come from sobriety is the act of just saying "thank you" and being grateful - and that is what I'll do.

After all, there is a truism that if one person calls you an ass, pay them no mind. But if two persons call you an ass, you'd best get a saddle. So if two talented and clearly inspired writers made this same choice, who am I to argue?

Or, as the late Gamble Rogers' character Agamemnon Jones once said, If your work speaks for itself....don't interrupt.)

So my apologies to both Peter and Hope for my extreme sloth, and thank you. If you weren't already Thinking Blogger winners, I'd back-tag you both.

Here is how it works (sort of like a meme):

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that tickle your grey matter. (I loved Hope's line: I have grey matter? I thought it was all black and white! :) )

2. Link back to this original post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme;

3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

When looking at all the blogs I read and trying to decide to pick just five seems insane, not to mention playing favorites - since there are lots more than 5 blogs I read which are "thinkers." But pick I must, so here they are:

1. Penni at martha, martha is the first one to come to mind. She is not only a friend, but a mother, a nurse, and a peson who embodies a thinking faith. If I ever would go back to the Catholic Church, it would be if I could find a church full of people like Penni. She's a sister-of-the-heart in this virtual world, and has won a number of Catholic Blogger awards.
   
2. Rick L. at a new life emerging is a man who I would not only like to meet in person but would love to have as my pastor. He understands Jesus in ways I only wish I did. I never visit his blog without being inspired to pray more, read more Scripture, and live better. In many ways of the mind and heart, he and I are what Dan Fogelberg calls "twin sons of different mothers." When I need pointing back to an authentic, loving Jesus, I go here.
   
3. Erin at Biscotti Brain. Erin's interests run all over the map, and she has been one of the folks who has both inspired me and kicked my butt. She's also been one of the accountability partners who draws me out when I start withdrawing from the world.
   
4. Tom at PurpleScarf (by his own description) has been a soldier, a lawyer, and a computer professional. He's also a Jew by birth and was a Catholic by practice until he left the Archdiocese of Chicago on matters of conscience about their treatment of GLBT folks. He has a sharp wit, and an arid sense of humor. Probably one of the most stalwart defenders of civil rights that I know, and one of the best-reasoned proponents I've heard for GLBT rights and gay marriage. I'm proud to know Tom and his partner Michael. (Like how I slipped that one in there?....)
   
5. [rhymes with kerouac] at Today At The Mission is a man who lives the Matthew 25 commandments about feeding the hungry openly and honestly. His posts give a raw and clear image into what it's like to share life with people in a homeless shelter. And if you have not read his Following Jesus Manifesto, click on that link right now and read it. And then pray that you can live that way, too.

And, OK, so the rules say five. But if there were another five, I'd list Bobbie at Emerging Sideways, Natala at And That Has Made All the Difference, TK at Bumbling Forward, Adam Walker Cleaveland at PoMoMusings, Jeff Jacobsen at So I Go...and I'm still not done. But I'm gonna quit, for now.

A special plug for non-blogs goes to Tim B's Flickr site, KC In Focus. Click on that link, and check out "Your Favorites" and especially "Christmas at Atonement 2006." He is a marvelously talented photographer, and I turn a rather un-Christian shade of green with envy when I see his work. His images of Christmas at my former home congregation are some of the loveliest views of that congregation and that worship space I've ever seen.

And a note of thanks goes to recent new-friend Kyle W., who also paid me a supreme compliment in an email thread we've been having: Sorry it has taken me so long to respond to this. Every time I open your email I click on one of the links you gave me and end up going on a blog reading spree, clicking on links that people have. Wow - thanks, Kyle.

Now, to the new nominees, go and tag ye likewise! And to the rest of y'all, go check 'em all out!

The very best promises

No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us - sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 84)

This is a post that starts out sad, and gets a whole lot better. It starts with a backward glance...

On April 17, 2004, I stood outside the offices of the Central States Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA), near downtown Kansas City. I don't even remember the time, any more...it was early afternoon. I'd come back from seminary in Chicago to my home synod office (like a Diocese office, to my Catholic friends) to appeal the decision of the Synod's candidacy committee five months earlier. In November, 2003, they had told me I would not be eligible to proceed toward ordained ministry. I'd protested, asked to be reconsidered, and I had a fist full of letters, testaments from professors, fellow students, and members of two churches in Kansas and one in Chicago about my gifts for ministry. Surely they would see the light...

I still remember the woman who chaired the committee looking across the table and saying, "Steven, because of actions in your past, you do not meet our requirements for financial stability and fidelity. And because of that, you have no 'gifts for ministry,' as far as this committee is concerned." And with that, they thanked me for coming, and my interview (and my 7-year meandering path toward ordination) was over.

Now, I had in my head every syrupy-sweet phrase that people of faith say at times like this. I knew what to say - I'd been trained for this, after all. "This too shall pass, Steve...Just trust in Jesus, Steve, and He'll bring you through...God never shuts a door but that He opens a window, you'll see..."

But at that moment, I didn't care. I wasn't having any of it. All I knew at the time was that I had pursued a quest, one that a whole bunch of people had supported with their dreams, their wallets, and their prayers - and it was over. In my eyes, I'd failed - and in doing so, I'd let down my friends, my church family, God, and myself.

For about 10 minutes, standing outside the church offices, and then sitting in my car in the parking lot, I really wanted a drink. I hadn't had a desire to drink in years - but that moment, I really wanted one. A bunch, in fact.

I can't tell you exactly what happened... but I know that the voices of the saints in my life started talking to me. From 750 miles away, old Jon P., and my first sponsor, Bob S., chimed in, and said, "There is nothing bad in your life that a drink is going to make better." The voice of my first ministry professor, Tex Sample, reminded me, "No matter how tragic the circumstance, the Word of God is hope for those who struggle - and trust me, you will struggle." I thought of the congregation of Atonement Lutheran, waiting to hear me preach at the 5:00 service that evening. I thought of a lot of people - brothers and sisters in sobriety, brothers and sisters in Christ - and somehow, despite all evidence to the contrary, a modicum of sanity returned.

That didn't mean that anger, resentment, and bitter disappointment didn't follow. The hardest task of that day was going to my mentors, friends and adoptive parents, Tom and Delphine Housholder, and telling them that no matter how much I wanted that dream, it wasn't going to happen. There was a lot of anger, shock, and tears that afternoon.

It's been a long three years since that day - some of the darkest times I've had in sobriety. There were many months when I was absolutely unable to endure the thought of walking into another church again; weeks and months when it seemed that God had, if not forsaken me, then at least turned a deaf ear to my cries. There were a whole bunch of nights when I found myself hammering at heaven's door, and a whole lot of mornings when the thought of getting out of bed was almost unendurable.

And yet, on this sunny day in April, there seems to be some considerable light at the end of the tunnel.

I know today that I did not fail in my service to God. Perhaps I could have saved many thousands of dollars, and much frustration, if I'd listened to my fellow-student Chuck Murphy and simply stayed in Kansas, gotten a degree at St. Paul in KC, and kept on working with AA folks there in the Kansas City area. But, as I learned in recovery, I needed to take every step I took to get where I am today. And I'm grateful for the lessons I learned. Even the ones that hurt...

After all, if I'd not been in Chicago, I would have never encountered Micah and Laura Jackson, the first bloggers I ever met in person. And I never would have thought to use the community of the blogosphere to pour out my struggles, laughter and tears on this journey. Of course, my eternal self-deprecation would still question the worth of all these bits and bytes that I've bled-out all over the 'net. But today, I know those thoughts are the voice of the Liar. In fact, knowing that is one of the gifts I've received straight from God (if you'll pardon the pun...).

The fact is, I can't go a week without hearing from someone who Googled something, or followed a link to a link to a link, and by some Divine coincidence followed some digital bunny-trail to my blog, and there found something they desperately needed to hear in one of my posts. People struggling with faith, with failure, with sobriety, even with their sexuality - from all over the globe - have all come here and found what they needed. Could I have done that from some pulpit in a tiny rural Lutheran church in Longforgotten, Nebraska? I don't think so...

The other thing that I need to give thanks for is this. Over the last three years, my sister Sue's health has deteriorated considerably. And in June of last year, she hurt herself at work. In November, she was eventually declared disabled for the work she had done for almost 20 years. A month later, her husband was laid off from his job for four months.

Now if I'd gotten my way three years ago, I would have been on internship right now, most likely in some tiny church in the rural Midwest (probably not far from Longforgotten, Nebraska, come to think of it). I would have been living hand-to-mouth, flat broke, and completely unable to move here to Ohio last October to help my sister and brother-in-law when they needed it. As much as I struggle with the work I do right now, and I struggle with so much of The Evil Empire, I am grateful beyond measure that when the time came to make a decision, I could do "the next right thing." God's plan is God's plan, not mine - for which I'm thankful.

And to be rigorously honest, if I'd never left Kansas I'm not sure I would ever have been able to come to terms with who I am as a gay man and a child of God. It took every bit of the last two years to come to terms with that, and to see how God can use me in the gay Christian community. Nearly every day, I am put in touch with someone with whom I can share my struggles (and, thank God, my victories) in accepting myself as a beloved and accepted part of God's magnificent creation - just as I am, the way I was made. Tom and Michael, God definitely gifted me with your presence, your patience, and your encouragement. It's because of your mentoring that the closet door is behind me (even if I did have to pull Tom's boot out of my butt, once I got out...)

I'd be remiss, looking back over the last three years, if I didn't point out some incredible friends who have commented, linked, emailed and generally lifted me up along the way from across the country and around the world. In addition to Tom and Michael (noted above), I'm grateful to count as friends these digital sisters and brothers:

Rick at a new life emerging
Peter at Another Country
Erin at Biscotti Brain
TK at Bumbling Forward
[rwk] at Daily Life in a Homeless Shelter
Bobbie at Emerging Sideways
Penni at Martha, Martha
Chris at Radio Rebellion
Tim at I'm A Foto Nut

When my voice has gone silent, when I'm hopelessly contemplating my navel, you folks have been the ones to say, "Helloooooo.... anybody home?" I am grateful to the digital community of faith for these especially, but to everyone who has dropped in and left a comment, an encouragement, or a link to something truly funny/tasteless.

I could not look back over the last three years without giving thanks to God for the sisters and brothers who have lifted me up, taken my emails and phone calls (even late at night on the road!) - Eric, Natalie, Neil and Mary Lou, Sandy, Ed, Cherri, Pastor Joe and John, Barry H., Mike M. and a host of others in Kansas; Nathan and Laura in Ankeny and Momma Delphine in West Des Moines, Iowa; John Z. in Florida, and Ted in Ohio. You have been the wind beneath my wings and in my sails, and many of you have helped me literally stay off the streets, at times. God has blessed me with your friendship beyond my ability to describe.

Lastly, to my sisters, Sue and Sandy: I almost lost you, 10 years ago. I thank God that you and your husbands are in my life today.

Soli Deo Gloria - To God alone be the glory...

People who normally would not mix

We are average Americans. All sections of this country and many of its occupations are represented, as well as many political, economic, social, and religious backgrounds. We are people who normally would not mix. But there exists among us a fellowship, a friendliness, and an understanding which is indescribably wonderful. We are like the passengers of a great liner the moment after rescue from shipwreck when camaraderie, joyousness and democracy pervade the vessel from steerage to Captain's table. Unlike the feelings of the ship's passengers, however, our joy in escape from disaster does not subside as we go our individual ways. The feeling of having shared in a common peril is one element in the powerful cement which binds us.
(from Alcoholics Anonymous, "There Is A Solution," p. 17)

My friend and co-worker Dave G.'s last day as an employee of The Evil Empire is today. He hasn't even left yet, and I miss him already. But as I contemplated our brief time together, I thought of this passage from the AA text, and how it also applies to my relationship with Dave, as well.

I was at an AA meeting Thursday night when I thought of Dave. My sponsor, Bob S., and I were talking with a new guy named Jon at the end of the meeting. Jon was 25 (maybe), a college dropout, and only 12 days sober; then there was me, nearly 50, 16 years in recovery, and a college graduate; and Bob S. is 76, nearly 46 years sober, and a life-long tool-and-die man who didn't finish 8th grade. Bob's known me since my first night in the fellowship; we'd never seen Jon before.

Yet we understood each other perfectly, because we had been given common experiences which gave us a special fellowship and a common "language of the heart."

In many ways, it is the same with my young friend Dave and I. Dave is 23 today (happy birthday, brother!) and I am a month away from fifty. Dave naturally multi-tasks on about twenty different channels, while I have trouble walking and chewing gum at the same time. (A geek friend of mine would say that Dave is definitely USB 2.0, while I am closer to RS-232 serial.) He is a trim, attractive young man in the prime of life - and I am (to be kind) somewhat past that. He is quite comfortable with social drinking - he will likely never grace the tables of the fellowship that I attend regularly.

Externally, we could not be more different.

I've only worked with Dave for about 8 months now - and due to the virtual nature of our work, I think I've only actually met him in person about twice in all that time. But like so many virtual friendships I've already made across the blogosphere, we've managed to develop a special relationship despite the physical distance.

Poor Dave was recruited to The Evil Empire out of college in June; I came here after my ministry career plans soured, eight months earlier. Dave got drafted onto The Client from Hell team, and sometime in his first week or two he got stuck with me, as I was (a) trying desperately to get our weekly payroll operations completed and (b) trying to provide him with a mind-dump of what I knew about the operation and the system we'd been stuck with.

It's a tribute to his durability and resilience that he didn't run screaming from the building....

The crucible that forged our friendship was a series of crushing system failures, our impending year-end processing, the simultaneous effort of recoding a significant portion of our system, and his providing technology to Band-Aid our system together until the recoding was complete. As part of his trying to create specifications out of thin air for the "panic-code" projects we needed, Dave and I spent a lot of time on the phone and in instant-message-land. We discovered a common love for science fiction, dry humor and a certain level of cynicism, and an appreciation for just how much good material Dilbert would have found at our firm. Dave's experiences with many of the folks in EE-Land (like my own) have often been very much like this classic comic:










Which brings me back to my opening quote: We are people who normally would not mix... The feeling of having shared in a common peril is one element in the powerful cement which binds us.

It's true that if we had met at a restaurant, or a theatre performance, we would likely never have connected. But we have been through wind, and rain, and fire together - and I have to say it has been a blessing to "trudge the road of happy destiny" with him. In fact, I don't know that I would have made it through without his help - period.

When he first told me of the call from the recruiter, and the offer of a much more lucrative position, he said something to the effect of, "Leaving the job won't be hard - but it will be tough leaving the people" - and I know that many people feel the same way about him. It's amazing that when people of goodwill band together to do good things, a special bond forms that (like the rope of three strands) is not easily broken.

Though Dave's last day as a fellow employee is today, the virtual community of the Internet will ensure that we will be no further apart than email or instant messaging. He will join the binary band of sisters and brothers I have been blessed with in the virtual world - digital disciples working toward a more peaceable kingdom. But in our little band of co-workers, he will leave a hole not easily filled, and I will miss the laughter at work most of all.

The words of singer/songwriter Wayne Watson, perhaps, say it best:

Sometimes I'll think about you
Some old memories'll make me cry
Remembering the good times makes me laugh
But all in all, I'm richer for the happy and the sad
And thankful for a season in your path.

Fare thee well on all the roads thou must travel, my young wizard friend...