Filling in that one blank

No matter what our chronological age is, we never really become an adult until we are asked to fill-in the blank that says, "Please list your next of kin." I think we never truly mature until the moment that we acknowledge our mortality.

I don't remember who said that quote first, but I remember hearing thoughts like this early on from my dear friend Ted, and then hearing it echoed later-on in meetings in recovery. For quite a while, I've believed the core of that thought - that childhood is connected to that "I'm gonna live forever" idea, while adulthood seems to bring with it an understanding of finite existence.

I had "the conversation" with Chris tonight. The one where I told him where the bank accounts are, where the title to the car is, what the passwords on the various email and phone accounts are. And I made out a list of who-to-call, "just in case." While there's a logical, rational part of me that says that this is just a cardiac catheterization, not "farewell," you moron, there's another part of me that knows all too well that while I trust God to catch my immortal soul, He makes no guarantee about this fragile earthly shell.

For that reason, there have been a thousand thoughts racing around my head tonight - and not all of them have been chock-full of gratitude, to be honest. For a number of years, I have had problems with "prayers for healing" - because I have known a number of good, wonderful, upright, humble and loving servants-of-God who sickened, were prayed for and anointed with oil and fasted-for and had every kind of spiritual sacrifice for them, and died anyway.

And there is a sick, untreated part of me that's stuck in justification-by-works thinking that says If those people, who were all-that-I-would-want-to-be, didn't get saved, what chance do you have? (This is not, as you might imagine, a positive or upbeat line of reasoning...)

The fractionally-sane part of me knows better. That part of me knows about faith which is the size of a mustard seed; knows about forgiving seventy-times-seven; knows about the woman at the well and the penitent thief and the disciple who denied and yet was welcomed. That part of me knows that it's not "me down here, and them up there" on some cosmic sliding-scale of righteousness.

I try very hard to listen to that part of my mind and heart. But I don't always succeed.

There is also a part of me that prays, begging for mercy. Not for me, mind you - but for Chris. He's been rejected so many times, Lord, I pray, please don't let this end for him when it's just truly beginning, OK? And for my sister Sue - it's a McDonalds' thing, Lord - she really deserves a break today, cuz she sho'nuf hasn't had one lately.

But it seems I am still a theological work-in-process, because I can still believe that God will take care of them more than he will take care of me. Deep down inside there's still part of me that thinks I've used up all my chances - even though the rest of me wants to shout that little part down and deny it.

I was reminded, in talking with my sponsor, Bob S., and several others tonight, that regardless how this procedure comes out, a couple things are still true. The first is that I'm God's kid; I've been on God's list, even when I was walking in darkness all those years. I never did buy the idea that I am somehow "predestined" to be this or that; I was reminded that God chose me, regardless of the times that I walked (or staggered) away. As Bob said, "You've been on God's side for a long, long time, Steve. You don't owe for the flesh, any more."

I was also reminded that my life is, and always has been, in God's hands. When I got up and was feeling wonderful, or when I woke up terrified of how things might be, or on those days when I woke up and didn't give a thought to God or God's plan - I was in God's hands all those times. What is any different about tonight? Nothing, of course.

I was also reminded that (despite the absence of a black shirt and a white collar or a pulpit) I've still been able to minister to a whole lot of people, in many ways and in many places. While many of the people I went to school with have been ordained recently, I've had a time or two (or nineteen) to consider how often I've had the chance to tend to God's critters, even without a formal degree, position, or designation. I tend to forget about that - especially as I have heard a number of my younger friends calling each other "Reverend" these days. But there's room at the table for everyone, it seems - fancy collar or no.

And lastly - just in case I don't get the chance to say it: though I am far from ready for this run to end, it's still been one hell of a run for a guy like me. I have honestly had eighteen years "in the bonus round," and the last eighteen very special months in the "Super Bonus Round."

As I was reminded tonight, heaven can be my home, but I don't have to be homesick, quite yet. Even so, I can honestly say that while I haven't gotten all that I wanted, I still have gotten way, way more than I could have ever deserved. To the love of my life, to my family, and my friends far and near, I can truly say this: Soli Deo gloria - to God alone be the glory, for this glorious mess.

Thoughts from the body-n-fender shop

Thursday night, 9 PM.

I was at the Thursday night Men's meeting when I started to feel this twinge in my left chest, and a little numbness in my left arm. I thought back over the evening - Chris and I had been to two standing-room-only restaurants before settling on "comfort food" at Bob Evans, and my first thought was "...too much caffeine for one evening," and gave it no mind.

When I got home, the little twinges were a little sharper, but nothing to be alarmed about. I took an extra aspirin (just in case, you know) - and (since I have been prone to 3-4 panic attacks a year) a half-doze of medicine for that, just to be sure - and went to bed.

About 4:30, I woke up, fully awake and alert, and realized the twinges were now what I would call between "discomfort in my chest" and "chest pain." The left elbow still hurt, and the left fingers were still numb. And then "the debate" started...

From what I have heard, everyone who has had a heart attack has had this debate in their head. It starts off with, "Well, how bad IS this, really? It's not really THAT bad, is it?..." And then that thought is followed by...

- Nah, it's not really that bad...
- ...but it's not going away.
- And it's been six hours since you took the drugs.
- If it was going to go away, it would have, by now.
- But it's not that bad. It's not even painful, really.
- But - you're over fifty, over-weight, hypertense, and diabetic.
- A four-star risk-factor list, if ever there was one.
- And you're eleven miles from the hospital.
- And who knows how far the ambulance would have to come.
- But if you go, you're not gonna get out for at least a day.
- And it's gonna be a pain in the ass.
- You hate IV's worse than the prospect of a gasoline enema.
- And your partner has had a long day, and needs his sleep.
- He's had a hard week.
- And he's not an early-morning person - you KNOW that.
- And a trip to the emergency room will not help any of that...

But the deal-breaker always comes back to this: Are you sure - absolutely sure - that if something happens, you'll get him up in time? And how bad's his day gonna be if he wakes up and finds the love-of-his-life cold and dead next to him, or sprawled-out on the kitchen floor?

And the answer (for me, anyway) always comes back to Well, that would pretty much suck forever and ever, wouldn't it?

Talk about God speaking to you in a clear voice....So, off to the hospital we went, at 5 AM.

Thank God, St. Luke's in Maumee, OH had an empty emergency-room and a "chest pain to the top of the list" protocol. As soon as they had gotten the blood tests back, they knew I hadn't had a heart attack, which was good. However, since we knew that they would admit me anyway (the ER doctor said, "An admission of diabetes and a complaint of chest pain means an automatic 24-hour stay at Hotel St. Luke's, for monitoring"), I sent Chris home. No sense in two of us having to sit around, doing nothing...

Part of the ER protocol for chest-pain is administering a drug called Lopressor, to ease the load on the heart. That drug, however, also screws up the chance to do any kind of stress-testing for 24 hours. So my 24-hour stay got stretched to 48, by mid-afternoon. And the next morning, they told me that the stress-test would have to be done in two parts (the double-scan would pump too much radioactive tracer into me in one day).

So that's why it's 3 PM on Sunday, and I'm waiting eagerly for the results of the second portion of the heart scan, so I can get the hell out of here. So far the only real benefit of this stay (other than knowing that I haven't had a heart attack) is to catch up on sleep and to see the Battlestar Galactica marathon and finale on Friday night.

I've watched about all the Food Network and National Geographic I can stand. I've had it with 99% of the nonsense I've seen on SciFi, and more Catholic priests and black gospel preachers than I would have ever imagined I'd watch. I've caught up on my sleep, and am ready to go out and hit the YMCA and a Thai restaurant, each with a fervor I've not found previously.

And I'm damn tired of sleeping alone, to be honest. I've grown accustomed to the big ol' bear I live with, and I miss him terribly. (No matter how unnatural a couple of the Sunday-mornin' preachers would call it...) I've been hearin' Can't Help (Lovin' That Man o' Mine) more times than I choose to, and I'm ready (as Richard Marx would say) for him to be Back In My Arms Again.

It's been a blessing, though, to see how the community of recovery has rallied around me. I called my friend Red when it became clear I'd be here for a couple days, and he sent out an email to his list of half-a-bazillion people letting them know I was in the hospital, and my room number. About ten minutes later, I got a call from a buddy I used to go to meetings with in Kansas - who used to go to meetings here in Toledo - who got the email and wanted to know what was up.

I did the same thing on Facebook, and got a similar response. Dozens and dozens of messages, prayers, and "listen to your damn doctor" texts from across the country.

And that's the way it's been all weekend - call after call, prayer upon prayer. If ever I needed reminding how I'm blessed, I would certainly have gotten that reminder this weekend.

And I have to commend the nursing and dietary staff at St. Luke's for making the very best out of a bad situation. The dietary folks have done a wonderful job of making "low-salt, low-fat" seem tolerable, and the nurses and nurse-techs have done a great job of putting up with a whiner like me. They have made an unfortunate stay into a more-than-decent experience, and who can ask for more than that?

(Note to self: next time you have to do this, have them shave your chest AND your IV arm, right up front, in the ER. The absolute worst part about having an IV is dealing with the hair-and-tape nightmare at the end...)

I'm debating work on Monday - frankly, I could use a day of downtime after my "Less Than Excellent Weekend" here. And The Evil Empire will be there when I get back, for sure. (Well, that was a short debate, wasn't it?...)

For now, I'm just giving thanks for another day above-ground, and (as my friend Bob L in Kansas would say) "sunny-side-up, suckin' air and sober." For someone who briefly contemplated the possibility of "cold and dead on the kitchen floor" on Friday morning, that's a pretty wonderful way to be Sunday afternoon.

Thank you, to all who wrote and prayed. I know it's a gift from God that I get this day, and any that are yet to come.

Update: I am staying here another day - I now have a cardiologist, which I didn't have before, and a tentative date for cardiac catheterization Monday afternoon. Prayers would be welcome.

"Heart and Soul" and nursery rhymes

OK, here's a freaky one, that has nothing to do with anything at all...

There is, in this video, a monotone-ish female narrative, and a melodic line. I'm going to suggest that most (if not all) nursery-rhymes will fit into the narrative rhythm, just as well as...well, whatever she's saying in the background.

Try it. Let me know if you find yourself hearing

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water
Jack fell down
And broke his crown
And Jill came tumbling after...."

or something similar every time you hear this song, from this day on....

Not a record to be proud of

Twenty-nine days without a post.

Not a sign of spiritual or emotional solidity, to be sure. Which, I guess, is what a friend would call "the God's honest truth of the matter."

My blogging absence started with not feeling quite well - a winter cold that turned into a sinus infection, then into a series of bloody noses and all kinds of plague-like symptoms that even grossed me out, at times. Started right about the time I signed up for a year of YMCA membership - which really annoyed me, at times. Sadly, however, I literally was too exhausted to even care, most days.

And then the announcement that we've been afraid of for more than a year came out: The Evil Empire will be closing our office by December 31st, and will be outsourcing our operation to their operations in Mumbai, India. The original target for the "transition" was originally in the June-to-September timeframe. But our offshore operations ended up with a surplus of India folks who have "transitioned" from another team (one of our clients, a national department-store firm, went bankrupt and ceased operations in December).

So we are creating "standard operating procedures" or SOPs (euphemism for idiot-proof job guides at the "...and the monkey pushes the button..." level of detail), and have begun the process of actually training the men and women who will be taking our jobs. I wish that I could say that I have been a resentment-free, willing participant in this process, but I have found more than a couple days when it took every fiber in my being to walk from the bedroom to the kitchen and sign on to the network at The Empire. (Could I call this chapter in my life The Empire Strikes Back, I wonder?...)

Then, my sister and brother-in-law have been even sicker than I have been - having both the respiratory and gastro-intestinal varieties of plague. Jeff is still without a job - although Sue has been sending out resumes and doing what she can. But she has been struggling with her own health, and both the advancing symptoms of fibromyalgia and the ongoing financial burdens of the now-abandoned condo (keeping enough heat on to keep pipes from freezing has still cost them almost $200 a month in this bitterly cold winter).

We do not have winters like my Canadian brothers and sisters - not even like br'er Ben up in Lansing. But the consensus of the long-timers here is that this has been the longest stretch of below-freezing weather that northwest Ohio has had in many a long year (some would say back to the epic Blizzard of '78). That has probably contributed to my bear-in-a-cave syndrome. Being sick and cold and cranky is not a pretty combination, even in a man of great character. In a whiney, self-centered bear like me, it's not been pretty at all.

But there is still much to celebrate.

Chris started his new job at a local hobby center at the end of January, and is vastly happier with his days and nights than he ever was with The Spawn of Satan Hotel. He has had a couple dances with his someday-future dream job in Champaign, but a recent trip there basically told him that the dream will still be deferred a while longer. However, our relationship remains strong, and I still thank God that this wonderful guy is in my life.

After a long-ish drought, a young man has asked me to sponsor him in the recovery process, and that has loosened some of the spiritual logjam in my soul. (I was beginning to believe that somehow I'd lost whatever it was that was attractive in sobriety, and nobody "wanted what I had." Thankfully, that doesn't seem to be the case...)

I wish I could find a faith community in which I could feel comfortable; partly I have resisted because of Chris' Sunday schedule, but to be honest, I just don't want to get into it, right now. But as Ash Wednesday came and went, I have to admit to missing the sounds of the "Holden Evening Prayer" and being a part of a caring face-to-face community of believers.

The liturgical calendar says that it is Lent - but it seems like the Easter Vigil - somewhere between crucifixion and resurrection. A time of waiting, a time of not knowing the answers, hoping for recreation, for new life. And, for now, a time for "trudging the road" - even when it seems like it is covered with cold molasses.

One day at a time, one trudging step at a time, trusting that we are moving forward - even when we cannot see the way.

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.

Taking a breather...

Just a quick update from the frosty corners of northwest Ohio...

This week marks a series of changes. Friday the 16th is Chris' last day at Hotel Hell; a local hobby retailer had an opening for a remote-control sales specialist, and Chris jumped at it. His schedule will be a bit screwed for a bit - he will have to work Sundays for a couple weeks, which has been our only "full" day off together. But he will be working 12-8 p.m., instead of 3-11 p.m., so I think it will be much better for his mental health. And being away from the children-of-God who run the hotel and the local-yokels who populate it and the waterpark will do him even more good. So we are celebrating that a bunch.

On Monday, I am starting a course of a new diabetic drug, Byetta. For me, it will likely be a double annoyance - a morning and evening injection, plus low-level nausea for the first several weeks. But it's a "first-step" issue - admitting that I am powerless over my appetite, and doing badly at blood-sugar maintenance - and the drug is proven as an appetite suppressant (in much the same way that chemo patients don't want to eat much).

I'm trying not to project how things are going to be, but I am also realistic enough to realize that I hate being the size and shape I am even more than I hate the prospect of (a) multiple injections and (b) throwing up, dead sober. One of my good friends shared his experience, strength and hope with Chris and I before Christmas, and last week my doctor OK'd the treatment. It's closer and easier (and cheaper) than lap-band surgery, too. So if you are the praying type, pray for endurance for me, please.

Much of the world is investing in the new digital-television revolution by purchasing digital TVs. In our household, we are the proud owners of an old-style 27" tube TV - a considerble upgrade from the 19" antique we each owned - and a digital video recorder with which to capture the new Supercross season. (That, thanks to CraigsList, was the sum total of our investment in the economic recovery.)

A recent piece of good fortune forced me to another realization about myself. Chris has Saturday, Sunday, and Monday free - his stint at Hobbytown starts on Tuesday. And the extended insanity of holiday and year-end payroll processing at The Somewhat Evil Empire has wound down considerably. So we were presented with the unprecedented opportunity of three whole days off together. Woo-hoo!

Of course, the three days comes dead in the middle of the worst cold-snap we have had in three years. My friends Peter, Erin, and Hope will laugh, but -13 F (-25 C) comes under the category of damn, damn cold down here in Ohio. (My northern friends have endured weeks of that temperature and worse, over the last month - but we've had two relatively mild winters down here, and have gone soft, I guess.) So our plans to travel south a couple hours to Columbus (where it's currently only -9 F) are somewhat tentative.

But back to the self-revelation. I asked Chris what he wanted to do with the long weekend, and he turned it back on me: "Well, what do YOU want to do with the weekend?" And I was just dumb-struck...I had no idea what I would do with a whole extended weekend and no commitments.

Since New Years Day, 2003, I have been working toward something. In 2003, it was working toward getting ready to go to seminary. In late 2003 and 2004, it was getting relocated to Chicago and getting into seminary life. In late 2004 and 2005, it was trying to salvage school, and surviving financially however I could. Late 2005 and through 2006, I was a workaholic deeply immersed in trying to restart my career.

Starting in October, 2006, I was relocating here to Ohio, and trying to salvage my sister and brother-in-law's home and jobs. In late 2007, my focus was on a new relationship with Chris, and trying to prevent my sister losing her home. But by New Year's Day 2009, school and ministry are but a memory, the job is fractionally stable, the home is gone, the relationship is solid, and I am working on digging myself out of the financial hole that seminary sunk me into.

And so the questions of "What now?" and "What next?" seem to be focused on self-care - something at which we've both been historically and notoriously lousy. And what else, who knows? My friends in recovery have so far only suggested the phrase from our Big Book which says "More will be revealed to you and to us."

For now, we will see where the weather puts us on Saturday, and (in the words of an old song) cast our fate to the wind.

Is this really an improvement?...

The mainstream church, Driscoll has written, has transformed Jesus into "a Richard Simmons, hippie, queer Christ," a "neutered and limp-wristed popular Sky Fairy of pop culture that . . . would never talk about sin or send anyone to hell." (Pastor Mark Driscoll of Mars Hill Church, quoted in the New York Times)

This article paints Mark Driscoll as the next new voice of the evangelical church. It showcases Driscoll's penchant for being cool and vulgar, and images him as a success. And then it delivers the worst news: But what is new about Driscoll is that he has resurrected a particular strain of fire and brimstone, one that most Americans assume died out with the Puritans: Calvinism, a theology that makes Pat Robertson seem warm and fuzzy.

Oh, goody. That's sure an improvement, isn't it?...

Of course, I could get irked about Driscoll's pre-occupation with all things masculine and sexual, showing disdain for anything that does not come from strength and testosterone. He tosses around language like "queer" and "chickified dudes with limp wrists” with abandon, and that still annoys me. But that's just not central, here.

The thing that is central to my concern is that predestination is one of the most un-Godly theologies I can imagine. I cannot believe, as the article states, that "Reducing God to a projection of our own wishes trivializes divine sovereignty and fails to explain how both good and evil have a place in the divine plan." This is the kind of nonsense that says that since God is sovereign, supreme and omnipotent, then it was God's will that directed the tsunami to kill a quarter of a million of His kids, believers and unbelievers alike. (Presumably the believers who died were predestined for hell, anyway.)

I have, in fact, always had a problem with the idea of predestination - mostly because of the annoying tendency of those who believe in it to believe that they are, in fact, among the predestined themselves. Thus good things that happen to Calvinists are proof of God's favor, and bad things just show who's really in and who's really out.

In short, they don't win any points with me.

Maybe I'm all wet, but as I remember, Jesus didn't spend a lot of time telling anyone that they (specifically) were going to hell. He spent a lot of time telling the Pharisees (who LOVED telling people they were "in" or "out") that they were liars and "vipers' brood" and other complex theological names.

I find no humility, no scrap of Christ in this "evangelical" theology. I find no trace of the Sermon on the Mount here. I admire some of what Mark Driscoll has done, even agree with some of what he has written.

But I'm afraid that the core of the message he shares is how Max Lucado described the soldiers who crucified Jesus - "close to the Cross, but far from Christ."

As sick as the silences

Shelly died last Friday.

She came to an AA meeting that I attended a week ago. It was not, I later learned, the first time she'd been to a meeting; she'd been plenty of times before, although I don't remember seeing her before last Tuesday. And she waited until the last ten minutes of the meeting to speak up about what was on her mind - a classic newcomer delaying tactic. But she finally spoke up - asking simple questions like "What's a sponsor?" and "How do you get a home group?" and just pleading for help in general. It was a moment of surrender, and it was a blessing to watch.

The compassion in the room for this desperate woman swelled up and poured out in her direction, almost as a tactile sensation. As the group finished the Lord's Prayer at the end of the meeting, a group of recovering folks descended on her like a cloud of recovery locusts, providing her a group-hug of acceptance and willingness-to-help.

A smaller group of folks (both men and women) took her out to the Waffle House around the corner from the meeting, and did what we always do when someone really wants help - they poured their hearts and their experience out to her. She left the restaurant knowing that there were people who were committed to helping her get sober and stay sober. She even called a couple of them, between Tuesday and Thursday.

But unknown to us, Shelly was already out of time. She'd been drinking and using since she got out of rehab at Thanksgiving-time, and her body was already weakened by the hard-living she'd done up to that point. No one knows whether she overdosed, or whether her body just wore out and wouldn't go on anymore. What we do know is that she went to bed Friday, and didn't wake up.

She was 31.

I was somewhat astonished, being in the same meeting at which she'd made her cry-for-help a week earlier, than no one was saying a word about it. (Of course, it was a "young people's meeting," and no one wants to look stupid or anything, do they? God forbid we should be uncool....)

Being the sensitive, tactful "elder statesman" that I am (read: "old fart"), I brought it - that the old AA blather about "jails, institutions or death" was still true, somehow, and that sometimes people run out of chances to get sober. I just could not leave the silence unbroken about the tragedy of this girl's death.

Coming home, I was reflecting on the meeting, and I was again amazed at what we as addictive people are capable of glossing over. Yes, a couple of people had been to the funeral earlier today, and were moved by it. And yes, a majority of the people there were just getting their court-slips signed, and none of this really had anything to do with them. As my sponsors have often said, "The reason the armed forces keep recruiting 18-year-olds is that they are the only ones who think they are bulletproof."

But I'm still annoyed. Yes, I know it's part of dealing with people in recovery; most of us don't make it. And yes, I know that all I can do is keep sharing the message, and not being annoyed that the seed often falls on rocky soil. But it still annoys me (and if the truth be told, hurts, a little bit) to see the gift of sobriety given the "yeah, yeah, I know" treatment, and the death of this woman dismissed so casually.

Life just means too damn much to me these days, I guess.

A prayer for the new year

God of all of us, God of many names and many peoples, hear our prayer for the new year just begun ...

Give us the kindness to hear with compassion, to offer support, loving comfort and care.

Give us the courage to do what is needed, and the wisdom to choose what is right and most fair.

Give us the vision to see what is possible.

Give us the faith that will help pave the way
for a present that is hopeful and
a future that is peaceful.

And please, dear God, give us the heart to bring joy to each day.

For these things, God,
and for the secret cries of our hearts known only to you,
we ask you in faith, and in hope. Amen.

Happy New Year, from our home to yours.

Steve & Chris

(The image is Apollo Sunrise from the Apollo 12 flight, courtesy of NASA.)

Christmas blessings

In the Eastern time zone, as I started writing this, it lacks a few minutes of Christmas Day. For a Christmas eve, it's been an interesting day.

At The Evil Empire, Christmas Eve is simply the 7th day before the start of new new payroll year, so it was pretty much business-as-usual (read: organized chaos). The work day yesterday ended about a quarter to midnight, and I was grateful to be working from home today - not commuting into downtown Chicago in the freezing rain.

Christmas lunch with Chris, Sue and Jeff was fun - Chris had to work 3-11 this evening, so we got together at a local restaurant, courtesy of Chris' brother, who sent us gift-cards despite our plea for no presents. Sue has really been struggling physically, and so it was good to see her smiling and goofing around (something she does with Chris even better than she does with me!). Food was a good solid "A" grade, but the smiles and laughter were frosting on the cake...definite extra points.

Christmas eve dinner has been consumed, with a mess of shrimp and pulled pork (my brother-in-law's family tradition. My contribution was green grapes and peanut-butter cookies, both dipped in white chocolate. Unfortunately, the major theme for dinner was the status of various football bowl games, as covered in exquisite detail on ESPN on our hosts' 60-inch HD TV. Truly a spiritual night...

Chris is home safe after work - too late to do Christmas Eve services, sadly - but the tree is lit, and an assortment of contemporary Christian Christmas music is serenading us as he winds down. And I am blessed, as ever, by the absolute impossibility of the heart of Christmas - that an infinite God would become finite, in order to be "God with us."

So as the dawn is comin' on on Christmas Day, may every blessing be yours.

A painful, and embarrassing, confession

I sent this to my church's email-devotional list today. It may well be the last devotional I'm asked to send to this group of church folks.

Frankly, I'm not sure that I care. I need to share this sense of being convicted that I got, courtesy of Waving or Drowning? Several of his recent posts have hit home with me, but this one just nailed me. Hence, this confession today:

"Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me." (Matthew 25:34b-36, NIV)

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I've been pretty loud-mouthed, over the last several years, that the church is spending an awful lot of time and an incredible amount of money dealing with topics which are very, very distant from that to which the Gospel calls us to attend. I bring this particular passage up now - despite the fact that this is the season of Advent - because there are some things being done in the name of the Child we are waiting for, and they aren't pretty. And it's interesting, because the passage above is what Jesus himself said would define us - that how we addressed this passage would "separate the sheep from the goats," Matthew tells us.

I've been asking myself how to make the point - when an anonymous writer was quoted in Burundi saying what I've wanted to say all along. Read those two verses above (aw, go on, read the whole of Matthew 25:31-41), and then see how they were heard by a man in one of the ten poorest nations in the world:

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I was hungry,
And you formed a humanities group to discuss my hunger.
I was imprisoned,
And you crept off quietly to your chapel and prayed for my release.
I was naked,
And in your mind you debated the morality of my appearance.
I was sick,
And you knelt and thanked God for your health.
I was homeless,
And you preached a sermon on the spiritual shelter of the love of God.
I was lonely,
And you left me alone to pray for me.
You seem so holy, so close to God –
But I am still very hungry – and lonely – and cold.
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For the last four years, my family has forgone Christmas presents, because we just couldn't afford them. Now that my sister's home is gone, we are not spending money to keep that thing alive. And a person I work with recently said, "So now you can go back to giving Christmas presents, right?"

But reading the passage above, I just can't. Others are in need much more desperately than I, or my family do, right now. Reading that passage above, I really don't care whether the economy recovers or not. My spending won't save the country, but that same amount of cash might make a difference between starving and not starving to someone.

So I've told my family - all of them - that there won't be any presents coming from me to them this year, either. I'm not doing this (or sharing it with you all) because I think I'm some sort of goody-two-shoes; anything but, in fact. I'm simply doing this because of the guilt and shame I feel over my past actions. I have never, ever felt the conviction-of-the-Spirit in the way I felt it, reading these words tonight - not about any sin I have committed, ever (and trust me, there's a good long list of those).

So a good part of that money is going to the local food bank, downtown. Another part is going to organizations that are working to help the poorest people in the world. And my voice is going to be raised against all the people - everywhere - who still say "we can't afford to do this."

Because let's face it - we can. We have been able to do something about it, too - for a while. We, as The Church and as a nation, have simply chosen not to. Those who profess to follow Christ have spent an awful lot of money as The Church - especially in the last six months. And yes, before you say it - others have spent just as much money on those same topics. But to put it simply, they aren't the church. We are.

We have a calling. We are called to act with justice and love. But our man in Burundi is still hungry, and lonely, and cold.

In my Catholic youth (it's OK, for my Lutheran friends - Martin Luther grew up Catholic, too...), there was a phrase that we repeated during the Mass: "mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa." The English translation of the phrase said that the faithful acknowledged that they have sinned “through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.”

This is my confession to you all - that I have lived a life of excess, while others have starved. And this is my first step at redemption. I don't know that I will ever live long enough to make amends - but it starts now.

If you are convicted by this passage, as I was, perhaps this can be your moment of truth, too.

Mea maxima culpa.

Christmas vs The Shopping Season

It was funny to hear Chris say it, even if it was true.

"You know, now that I don't have to go shopping for anyone, or worry about how I'm going to pay for things or anything, Christmas seems a lot more like - well - Christmas."

I'm not sure whether this is the fourth or fifth Christmas that our family has not done the whole "bury each other in gifts so we can prove to each other that we care" extravaganza. Now that Chris is part of the family, he is under the same "vow of poverty." And at first, it was a little rough - mostly because sister Sue blew it last year in his honor. But now that we really, really have him convinced that there will be NO gift-giving - period - he's a changed man.

You see, last year, he spent the month of December trying to get ready to close on his house's sale, and packing to move up here, and budgeting "tight" to save as much money as he could before he got a job up here. So he made me promise that "this year was going to be different."

And it is. The tree and decorations (which have been in storage since I packed them up for seminary after Christmas 2002) are up, and they are beautiful. The outside lights are up and on, and while it's not exactly a Christmas Vacation display, it's clear to see which apartment is ours from two blocks away. The Christmas music, from Steven Curtis Chapman to Wayne Watson to Vince Guaraldi to Eugene Ormandy's Messiah, are on the ol' iTunes loop. And our days and nights are focused on the Christ child to come, and the Star who's arrival is pending in the East, and not on what's hot on people's shopping list.

And it's good.

People at work are astonished - "how are you ever going to get your shopping done with your work schedule the way it is?" is the question of the month. When they hear that "I simply don't have any shopping to do - we aren't exchanging gifts," I'm often viewed as if the Grinch had stomped his way across our lives. One person, in fact, had the nerve to say, "How are we EVER going to have an economic recovery if people keep thinking like YOU are, you selfish bastard?"

I wanted to tell him to sit down and watch A Charlie Brown Christmas. And listen carefully. But I simply told him, "It's not up to me, today."

Thank God.

A long time between drinks

"I thought that when I got sober, God would open up the gates of heaven, and let me in...but He didn't. Instead, He opened the gates of hell, and let me out." (Bill S., Atlanta, GA)

"I know for sure that Jesus Christ saved my soul - but you people, and AA - you saved my ass." (a wise fellow whose name I cannot remember)

It snuck up on me, this year.

In fact, even though I have the date circled on the calendar, life has been moving so fast that I haven't really been thinking about it. And, to be honest, I had missed the Monday night meeting because of my month-before-year-end dance of death with my employer (who has come to be known as The Evil Empire, once again).

So it wasn't until Tuesday night, in a meeting, that someone said, "Hey, they announced your anniversary at the Heatherdowns Monday Night Men's meeting - congratulations!"

December 12, 1990. Eight thirty in the evening. The Chapter Five Club on Airport Highway in Toledo. The night my life changed.

There are lots of things that are unchanged about my life from that day to this. My ability to control my weight, my big mouth, my tendency to "boot up" each morning in selfish-and-self-centered mode, and my seemingly unending addiction to praise and encouragement - none of them have waned all that much. As my old Southern friend Sam used to say, "Ah ain't much, but Ah'm all Ah evah thaink about..."

But despite all my character defects (or, as my friend Michael D. would say, "my charming eccentricities"), and my best efforts not to work the program of recovery over the years, there is one thing that is different: by the grace of a loving God, I have not had a drink or a mind-altering drug in eighteen years, today.

"It is," a friend said, "a long time between drinks, really."

I'd like to think that the worst of the man who walked into the meeting on that night in 1990 died there. My prayer ever since is that any part of that man that walked out of that meeting was worth saving, and remains worth working on. I haven't done anything perfectly, and I haven't done a lot of things right - but as folks in recovery say, "Not taking the first drink is a good start..."

So when a fellow asked me to moderate a meeting tonight down at the Open Door, a transitional-housing project for men getting sober, I knew what the answer had to be. I'd been told time and time again, "If AA asks, and you can possibly do it, the answer is 'Yes'." It didn't matter that the car was in the shop, or how rested or tired I was, or anything else. So I hopped in Chris' truck (yeah, picture me riding to the inner-city in a '96 Ford F-150 pickup), and rode down to Kenilworth and Cherry St.

The topic was perfect - "going to any lengths to stay sober," especially around the holidays. So many of the things those men shared took me right back to that first Christmas season, and how impossible it seemed that I could stay sober for anything like twelve months in a row. For the second time in two days, I walked in with a medium-sewage-brown attitude (thanks to my inability to practice the Serenity Prayer at work) - and walked out thanking God for everything under the sun and moon.

I'm thankful, tonight, for the men who have mentored me along the way - including Bob S. (my first, and current, sponsor), Gene E., Bruce F., Nick T., Barry H., Tom S., and hundreds more who have graced my journey. But I'm even more grateful for the men - young and old - who have had the courage to reach out to me before they took the first drink. Every man who has asked me to sponsor him; every person who had the courage to call me instead of choosing to drink; and every person who has shared their sober life with me - they are each very special gifts from God - gifts of love and grace.

Back when I lived in Kansas, AA anniversaries ("sober birthdays") were a big deal. The Lenexa "Little House" Group had "birthday nights" on the weekends, where people celebrating an anniversary could get up and share their story. Frequently, a group of us would go out for dinner before-hand, or out for pie and coffee afterwards. The celebrant would buy a birthday cake to share, and it was just a big deal. But since I've been in Toledo, I've just never found anything like that. So it doesn't seem like as big a deal - but I know in my heart that it's still a gift of grace.

So in about six hours, I am taking the morning off work. I'll be at the Early Bird meeting at 7:30 AM - partly to get the "Woo-HOOO!" factor, but mostly to testify to folks who need to hear it that this impossible thing called twelve-step sobriety really, really works. Then, hopefully Chris and I will visit the "Homespun Holidays" at the Wildwood Metropark Manor House, and I will take him to lunch and then in to work. He asked me tonight, "Is this something where I should be getting you a card, or taking you out to eat? Because I think this is something worthy of celebrating."

He's right, of course. People like me - people who have lost the power of choice in drink, who have been saved from a living hell by a loving gift of sobriety - get to celebrate every day we wake up sober. But this year - this day - the celebration will be getting to share my life with my partner, my family, and the community of recovery. Oh, yeah - and continuing to give it away, one day at a time.

Soli Deo gloria...

Seasons of love

I started this on Thanksgiving eve...and it's now Saturday night. So this is going to be one of those work-in-process posts...

First and foremost, happy Thanksgiving to you all. Part of the blessings I give thanks for is getting to share my life and my loves (and occasional snarkiness) with each of you. Your responses and comments continue to bless me, well after my writing has been forgotten.

I was leaving my apartment/office to go to my sister's place, to help make broccoli-cheese casserole, cranberry-nut jello cups, and turtle pumpkin cream pie when I got a call from Chris about the attacks in Mumbai. My employer has hundreds of workers in Mumbai, about a dozen of which are members of my client team. Naturally, I called the office, and no one had heard anything about it, so I asked a co-worker to pass word on to one of our team leads.

Sadly to say, when I got home at 10:30 from Sue & Jeff's, there was no note of condolence or caring sent from any of our leadership. (Nice work, folks. ) While working with our Mumbai team can often be an opportunity for growth, they are part of our group - and that should count for something. So I took the time to send out a note to everyone I knew from Mumbai - wishing them well, letting them know they were being thought of and prayed for, and hoping for their safety.

It's thoughts like this - of caring for those we know - that are closest to me this extended weekend. One of the blessings of the week started off with coffee and a sandwich with a dear friend today. Our lives tend in slightly different directions these days, but whether five miles apart or a thousand, we have managed to remain connected in spirit across more than three decades. That, by itself, is an incredible gift. Another friend frequently comments on these ramblings from his new home in Florida. His marriage has endured for 18 years, and he has definitely seen mountain-tops and valley-floors in those years. That is another friendship that endures across time.

I think of my loving friends from Kansas, from Chicago...from seminary, from church, from work, from the community of recovery. They feel close to me, even though our contact is not nearly as much as it was a year or two ago. Our lives are diverging - and yet so much of me is anchored there.

It was funny that we were listening to a Travel Channel program on barbeque across America as we were cooking Wednesday night, and there on the screen was Arthur Bryant's BBQ in Kansas City (the very best), Gates BBQ (where everyone is greeted with "MAYAHHEPYOO?!?! ("May I help you," for those who are uninitiated) and so many other Kansas City BBQ landmarks. I could just imagine Natalie, Eric & Laura, Ed & Becca, Sandy, Cherri, and so many others gathered for a plate of the best - and it transported me 750 miles in seconds....

(To be fair, though, if I was thinking of Natalie, the image would have been at Rosedale's, down on Southwest Trafficway. A lot easier to get to than Bryant's, and brisket that just can't be beat...)

And I can't think of Kansas City without thinking of my dear friend Norma and Stroud's Restaurant ("we choke our own chickens") and so many other adventures. ( I keep trying to get my friend Ted to get to Stroud's when he goes there periodically...perhaps one of these days he'll make it.) Norma and I started school together at St. Paul School of Theology in KCMO back eleven years ago (can you believe it?...) in September 1997. We have had the blessing of sharing in each others' great joy, and great sorrow, and back to joy. What a long, strange trip it's been, sister...

But this isn't just some gastronomic reverie - my mind simply ties beautiful people in disparate places and great food together in a remembrance that is both tantalizing and holy, at the same time. (As someone once said, "My mind is an interesting place to live, I guess...I don't always agree with it, all the time, but it sure is interesting...")

Chris and I have been reflecting a lot about times and places, lately. It was the end of September last year when I was first introduced to him. It was a year ago the beginning of November when he met my family for the first time...and a year ago next week that his house in Springfield sold, and he made the decision to move up here "to pursue a very special relationship," as he said at the time...

My sister wrote this to Chris in her Thanksgiving note to us:

Well, around a year has come 'n' gone. It's been interesting! We are definitely not afraid of change. I just wanted to tell you that I'm so happy for you n Stevie. He was alone for a long time, and he's got a lot to give and I'm so glad he's got you in his life, and vice versa.

I never thought there would be room in my life for "another man", but there is and I'm glad it's you. Welcome again to "the family".

Now there's something to give thanks about...

In fact, all the people to whom I have introduced Chris have all been genuinely glad to meet him and welcoming - which is both a credit to Chris and a tribute to my friends, to be sure. In this day and age, that is still an incredible gift of grace.

Two years ago, I couldn't have imagined meeting anyone I would consider sharing my life with, ever again. I had quite simply given up hope of that happening. People I know in the recovery community would hear me whine about being a solitaire, and say, "Awww, don't worry about it - celibacy is non-fatal, and it's ultimately treatable." However, I had all but accepted that for me, there would be no treatment. I couldn't see how it could possibly happen.

Today, I simply cannot imagine life without this man in my life.

I know that, in the eyes of the probate court, or the emergency-room nurse, or the judge or the clergyman, we are just two people sharing an address.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

So tonight, as I go back to assembling a too-large Christmas tree in a too-small apartment, I'm giving thanks for many, many things - but most of all, for a life-giving love that I believe could only have come from God.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Done with....graceless politics

(see the original here)
I have been taking a bit of a blogging sabbatical. And, as Pete Seeger once said, "it turned into a Mondical, and a Tuesdical..."

It hasn't been that I haven't had anything to say; quite the contrary. But I have been so overwhelmed with so much raw emotion that I really couldn't put my thoughts into focus until today. Two blog posts have brought the issue into sharp focus.

I know the author of one of the posts. In it, a person who considers themselves a Christian spews every kind of poison and vituperation about the US president-elect, forecasting a fall into socialism and communism, doing the whole Osama/Obama thing, and basically predicting the end of American democracy and capitalism. This person basically echoes the most absolutely divisive, abusive portions of the weeks-before-the-election nonsense - including the nonsense that Barack Obama is a Muslim and is sold out to al-Quaeda.

It's clear that this person is so blinded by party-line hate that they have lost all sense of proportion - and that there is no sense in confusing them with any facts, or indeed any questions about what they believe to be facts (like, what was a Muslim doing as a long-term member of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago?).

I won't even link to their post; I don't want to give them any more traffic than they get already. But it brought into sharp relief the divisiveness and hatefulness that has stampeded into the American psyche in the last ten years - a hatefulness that seemed to swell and crescendo in the last three months.

And, God help me, I started to buy into it. Those hateful bastards!, I found myself shouting at the radio in the car. How could morons like that be that way?!? I found myself listening to news programs and getting furious - absolutely furious - about the misinformation and the sheer evil that was being spewed in the name of "righteousness" and "defending America."

That's when I realized it: I was getting hateful - about hatefulness. How sick is that?

That's when a voice of pure grace came through - courtesy of this post from the I Am Done with... blog. It put into clear focus just what I've been "done with."

Graceless politics.

Look at these faces:

These are not the faces of two enemies, no matter how much some people would like to paint them as such.

These are not the Godless Muslim Socialist and the Right-Wing Whack Job.

These are not the Right One and the Wrong One, or vice-versa.

They are two men who are, I hope, dedicated to their country and to their ideals. They both profess to believe in God.

And - despite language about "landslides" and "mandates" - both of them would have been leading a nation that is neither red nor blue, but decidedly purple.

So what I am "done with" is this idea of " Us" and "Them." I am done with the idea that people who disagree with me - regardless of the topic - are The Enemy. I am done with the idea that the world is going to end because of the results of the election. And I am really, really, really done with the idea that we could be any worse off in 4 years because of the election than we are now (James Dobson and Focus on The Family notwithstanding).

The fact is, regardless of who won the election, we are very likely to be a lot worse off in 4 years than we are now. I don't believe that any one president could possibly undo the evil that we have done to ourselves in the name of greed and selfishness in the last decade.

And I believe that the so-called Christian church, in their rush to focus on their own very specific agenda of the last dozen years, has absolutely failed to address the fundamental sins of selfishness, self-centeredness, and conspicuous consumption that have led us to this point. Yes, we may be safe from same-sex marriage in the near term - but I hate to tell you: that's not what got us to the edge of economic and social disaster, folks.

I found this passage from the "I am done with..." post particularly appropriate:

What I am saying is we don't have to vote for someone we disagree with, we don't have to support them but we do have to love and extend Grace to them if we are going to call ourselves followers of Christ. The Religious Right is known as a legalistic, moralistic, loveless, extreme of the Republican Party because there is no Grace shown to anyone that opposes them. That is not Jesus.
(emphasis added)

Are you hearing this? You and I are not simply proponents or opponents on this topic, or that one. We are individuals. Human beings. Members of families. We are your brothers, sisters, parents, neighbors, and co-workers. We are all "children of the Heavenly Father," as the old hymn says (even the group of us who don't believe in that same Heavenly Father and won't sing that hymn). And those of us who profess to follow Christ need to remember that Jesus came with a new set of instructions:

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. 35 By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another. (John 13:34-35, NIV)

Note that it doesn't say "that you love the folks who look like you" or "love the folks who vote like you, or go to your church." But it does say that everyone else will know that we are Jesus' disciples - if we have love for one another. Not if we vote the right ticket; not if we go to the right place to worship or listen to the right preacher or exclude the right undesirable folks.

I'd issue a challenge to every person who is both a believer in Christ and a politically-active person: that we read those two verses - twice, slowly - before we write or speak anything (anything) - about those who might disagree with you.

It will be interesting to see how the political landscape would change if we all would practice that tiny little portion of what we preach.

A note of sanity...

I've been amazed at the anger I built up before the election.

I've been afraid of it, actually. I found myself shouting at the walls when Chris wasn't around; shouting at the insanity on some of the radio stations; talking back to some of the moronicity I heard, even on respected stations like the BBC. And, being the conflict-averse person I am, I just shrank back from it all. I didn't want to get into the shouting-matches. Yes, I am a coward.

And then, catching up on blogging after a week away, I found this. I won't say anything more - because to do that would reduce the impact of what's being said here. If you know someone who is vocal on this topic, ask them to respond - preferably in writing - to the questions posed here. Thank you, Keith Olbermann, for your brave words of compassion and your plea for honesty on this topic. And thanks to Eugene at Paradoxy for the hat-tip:

Belated All-Saints Day reflections

I wrote this on Sunday - before the work week got crazy; before I found out about "the letter from 2012"; before the election insanity peaked; before the world changed. So forgive me if it's a bit behind the times. We'll catch up with all that pesky "reality" in a little bit. But for now....


As I write this, I am sitting at the trailhead at Island Lake State Park, outside of Brighton, Michigan. It's really too cool to sit out at the picnic table - I really shouldn't have trusted the weatherman, and should have brought the coat along anyway - so I'm sitting in the cab of Chris's truck, laptop on my lap, looking off at the falling leaves and gently rustling pine branches.

Chris is off on what will likely be his last Michigan bike ride of the year. We woke up early, thanks to the death of Daylight Savings Time, and I just spontaneously said, "If it's halfway decent out, let's get you up to Brighton for one last ride." So we piled his bike and my laptop bag into the truck, and off we went.

On the way, I made him pick up breakfast at Tim Horton's (the breakfast sandwiches are proof yet again that "five million Canadians can't be wrong"), and led him on a ten-mile detour out to Secor Metropark. The trees form an arching tunnel overhead as we rode from Bancroft Street to Central Avenue, showcasing the last of the fall colors in a brilliant show of yellows, golds and oranges, with the occasional flaming-red sumac thrown in as a kind of Divine exclamation-mark.

It's All Saints' Day, and for the first time in a long time, I missed being in a worship service today. In the recovery community, November is traditionally "Gratitude Month," so the combination of the day and the month has me thinking about the people who have died or who are out-of-sight for whom I'm grateful.

I'm grateful for the men who taught me to be a man, once I finally decided that getting sober and growing-up might be a good thing. I'm thankful for my sponsors - Bob S., here in Toledo; Bruce F., Nick T., and Barry S, in Kansas; and Tom S. in Chicago. I'm especially grateful for Bruce, who first told me that my sexuality was something I was going to have to deal with at some point (more than a dozen years before I was ready to hear it) - and for Tom S. and his partner, Michael D., who were ready to lead me out of the closet and into the light when I finally ran out of denial. Though all but Bob S. are hundreds of miles away, their voices live on in me, and it always brings a warm feeling and a smile when I hear myself speaking their words in meetings.

I'm forever grateful to Jeff Wise, a high-school and DeMolay friend who, when I was finally ready to hear words of grace, directed me to the pastors at Epiphany Lutheran Church. I'm grateful to Emile Boselli, a DeMolay brother and Church of Christ pastor-in-training, who first introduced me to Max Lucado and the incredible images of grace in the book Six Hours One Friday. But the man I'm most thinking of this weekend is my pastor, mentor and friend, Tom Housholder. His life, his servant faith, and his willingness to share his struggles gave me an image of Christ and Christianity that will endure for my lifetime. When I was introduced to Henri Nouwen's image of "the wounded healer," I recognized it instantly - because I'd seen it for years in Tom Housholder's life and ministry.

Another man I miss greatly is Jerry Amundson, another surrogate-father who I met through his son, Eric. Jerry was a big bear of a man whose only real surrender in life was at the very end, to death itself. He was a soldier, a talented artist and businessman, a loving father, and a man who displayed passion in every area of his life - whether it was love for his wife and kids, hunting and the outdoors, or for his favorite Kansas City barbeque. I pray that someday people will see in me the kind of passion he displayed for those he loved, his life and his God.

And today, more than most days, I'm missing my mother. Mom was one of those persons who knew the motto of the Dead Poet's Society long before the movie came out - "to suck the marrow out of life," to enjoy each and every moment that one possibly could. Looking back, she also understood that classic line from Auntie Mame - "Life is a banquet, and most poor bastards are starving to death." Her gifts of humor, spontaneity, and physical displays of affection (she was a hugger way before it was cool) continue to give to this very day. Her "what the hell, let's just go somewhere" attitude is at least partly why we are in Michigan today - because she passed on to me a drive to never miss a chance for joy if it was at all possible.

There was a moment, last Monday, when I really wished Mom had been around to share a moment with Chris and I. We had wanted to have a kind of anniversary dinner for a couple weeks, but this and that and the other thing just kept us from doing it. But finally, we had a night when nothing else was in the way - and I took Chris up to Eddie Lee's (up on the north side of Toledo, near Sylvania) for some classic prime rib.

Neither Mom, Chris or I had ever been there, but when we walked in I knew - this was Mom's kind of place. Not fancy-schmantzy (though she also got a kick out of that), but a nice joint. She would have loved the French onion soup - the baked kind, with the cheese baked onto the side of the bowl - and there was the bread-basket with warm rolls and the little bread-stick crackers that she loved to munch on before a meal.

We didn't want to spend a bunch of money, so we split a prime-rib dinner. (Yeah, Mom would have said "Just go ahead and have a dinner, for cryin' out loud- live a little!") But I think she would have been smiling as we reveled in the perfectly-cooked meat, quickly dipped in au-jus seasoned with just a bit of strong fresh horseradish. (Eddie Lee's is definitely an under-sung treasure in Toledo dining.) And she definitely would have approved of how much joy it was to just be, without any deadlines or gotta-do lists, to just sit back and celebrate the end of a good three days together.

My faith in an afterlife is what encourages me, this day - knowing that Tom, and Jerry, and Mom, and Chris's grandmother and uncle, and so many other people who have encouraged us both along the way are with us today. I trust that they can see what has come up, and gone down, in our lives - that they celebrate the victories and the joys, and mourn the losses and sorrows with us. I really wish that they were here to share this time with us. But I know in my heart that they are here, and smiling, nonetheless.

It is a day of faith, of hope, and definitely of loving remembrance. Top that with great food and great love, and you really couldn't ask for anything more....

A prayer for healing and acceptance

Dear God, be with America as it votes for leadership today.

Help each of us remember that the person next to us in line is our brother or our sister - regardless how they feel, regardless how they act, or what they are chanting or singing, or for whom they vote. They are not the enemy; they are not "them" or "us." They are "We, the People...." and they are children created in the sight of God.

Be with those who man the polling stations. Theirs is a thankless and unenviable position, and their day will be long and horrifically busy. But they are the ones who help make democracy work, Lord, and we give thanks for them. Encourage them to carry on, honestly and thoroughly, so that no shadow may fall on this day in the life of American democracy. Let us not become what we have so long despised in other countries, Lord.

Let every person who faces a daunting line be emboldened to stay, and to vote. Let every person who is voting for the first time make the commitment to stay, and to cast their vote, regardless of the obstacles, Lord.

And then let there be healing, Lord. Let the lines which divide us, built by the media and by hatemongering on both sides, dissolve. Your people have often prayed, "Let the walls come down," and there is no day which this needs to happen more than today, Lord. Our problems are bigger than "them" or "us" or "those people" - our unity must be bigger, as well, Lord.

Guide and shape this day, Lord God. Regardless what the fearmongers say, regardless what the pundits and the polls say, you are still in control. You know that; remind us, please, of that eternal truth. Amen.

"Oh, you're one of those..."

I have been avoiding politics like the plague lately. And, if you have a pulse at all, you know how tough that is.

I don't avoid it because I don't care - anything but, in fact. But as you might notice, it's awful hard to have a civil conversation with people about much of any topic these days. And there's one phrase that seems to be at the heart of it.

"Oh, you're one of those...."

It's a way of dismissing an entire person by recognizing their view on one particular hot-button topic. It's a way of saying, "Now that I know that you're 'one of those...', I don't have to listen to you any more, because I know how you are. You're just one of them. "

I've been hearing it for a while, but the place I really felt it like a slap was when I came out to some people that I knew from seminary. One fellow (who will remain nameless), who is now an ordained Lutheran pastor, had been my classmate in multiple classes; had given and received communion from me; had attended chapel with me. He had heard how much I wanted to serve God, and how hurt I was when the whole house of cards imploded on me.

But when he found out I was gay, his words were, "Oh, so now you're one of those Godless queers, eh?..."

Needless to say, that was the end of our conversations, on any topic. Without asking, without even thinking, I became one of them, one of those Queers With A Homosexual Agenda, and that was that. Never mind about how I really felt, what I had experienced (in and out of the church), or what it had taken to get there. I was one of them, and that was that.

Several weeks ago, I was with a couple friends - people I had known for years. One is a local politician, one is a former Marine, and one a philosopher and metaphysician of many trades - although describing them just that way is vastly oversimplifying any of them. They all tend to be somewhat conservative in nature, and I care deeply about them. We have traveled similar roads in a fellowship for several decades.

It was shortly after Sarah Palin had been nominated as the Republican VP candidate, and one of my friends was crowing about what an impact the nomination had made. We were talking - and, as these things often do, it heated up quite quickly. I don't remember what I said, exactly, but one of them turned to me, and said, "Oh, yeah, but you're just one of those tax-and-spend Democrats..."

And I honestly don't remember what he said after that. I remember just shutting down - like someone had kicked the plug out of the wall. I don't know that my younger friend meant to be quite so dismissive - but I instantly had this overwhelming sense that whatever else I said wasn't going to mean anything. And just that quick, I was "done." The conversation was over.

I left them to celebrate their political moment-in-the-sun, and walked off somewhere else. I'm sure they didn't even notice it - the conversation kept on despite my withdrawal. But the question in my mind lingered..."Gee, wonder what he'd think if he knew I was one of those 'Godless queers,' too?..."

(Actually, I'm pretty sure I don't really want to know. I'd rather not ask. Sometimes silence is golden.)

In Toledo, we're close enough to get Michigan NPR stations, which carry the BBC News overnight, and I often listen to them coming home from meetings. (Yes, I'm one of them, too - One Of Those People Who Listen to NPR and the BBC...) . The BBC has been sponsoring the BBC Talking America '08 Bus, traveling across the US talking to people about the nation and about the election. A recurring theme in the reports I've heard from "the Bus" has been how the US has become absolutely polarized over politics - to the point of people seemingly despising other people simply because of who they would vote for. Families divided, not speaking...in some ways similar to the way the US was over slavery in the 1860's, only with fewer guns (at least, for now). The death of civility, at least on this topic...

Listen for it. Listen for how many times you or others are declared to be one of them. Listen for when you do it, too. I know I'm not innocent, in this area, either.

These are people. Your people. My people. People whom we've known....in many cases, for years.

They are no more one-dimensional or one-issue than you or I are. Like them, I am not defined simply by where I live or who I support politically or whom I live with or whom I worship. I am not just a set of stereotypes. I am not just one of them...

And neither are you.

I pray that we can get back to seeing each other as human beings, and not as simply supporters of issues or purveyors of stereotypes.

We're all so very much more than that.

A time apart, to rest and reflect

As I write this, it's Sunday mid-afternoon. After a particularly hideous night dealing with local trash at the waterpark/hotel where Christopher works, and a week of dealing with the wreckage of the past at the condo on my part, we decided a rather-spontaneous "vacation day" was in order.

So we slept in, drowsing and listening to the excellent "Sunday Jazz Brunch" (8-12 noon Sundays on the local 101.5 - The River), then loaded up his mountain-bike and my PC and got in his truck to ride north.

We journeyed along the wooded areas around Toledo to see the beginnings of fall colors - to revel in God's magnificent skill with a color-palette. From there, we drove to near Brighton, MI to Island Lake State Park. There are a pair of particularly wonderful mountain-biking trails there, and a chance for me to sit down and just mentally detox. While Chris is off riding, I am here at the trailhead, writing, reading, and enjoying a beautiful day of "Indian-summer."

It's been a draining week.

Chris made his decision, last week, that he was just pushing too hard to try to get to his dream jobs - which are out there, sometime in the future, but not on the immediate horizon (pardon the pun). As I posted earlier, the dream is not dead - but the economy seems to have ensured that it is deferred, at least for now. So that was one emotionally-charged decision made last week.

In the midst of that decision, it became clear that we needed to make a decision about what we as a couple were going to do above our living arrangement. While Chris' one-bedroom apartment is comfortable for one, it's pretty close-quarters for two on an ongoing basis. But the lease runs through December, and the one lone nibble we had on subletting it crumbled about the same time we decided not to go to Champaign. But shuttling back and forth between the condo (where my internet connection was, thus where I had to work) and the apartment (which has become "the rest of my life") was getting increasingly obnoxious, now that Sue and Jeff are mostly out of the place.

So this week, it was my turn to start moving out. We got a larger storage unit - to store what I would keep once we had a 2 bedroom apartment, and moved from our former unit to the new one. I'm glad to see that the winnowing-down process we've been doing is finally showing progress - it only took us about 2 hours to move stuff out of the old holding-cell into the new.

I finally got new cable/internet/phone at the apartment on Friday. Once I knew the online connection was working, I started the process of changing his address to "our" address. We will stay in this place until springtime, and then start the process of looking for something more permanent - work and residence-wise.

(It's been pretty clear that the relationship had reached "permanent" status a while ago.)

A recurring theme over the last weeks has been to pick out the few books that I would want to keep with me during the five-to-six month stay in the storage-deprived apartment. Here's a few from my list:

• Wounded Prophet by Michael Ford - a excellent biography of one of my spiritual mentors, Henri Nouwen
• The Wounded Healer and Return of the Prodigal Son, the classic texts by Nouwen
• Ragamuffin Gospel and Abba's Child by Brennan Manning - number two in my "spiritual mentors" trinity
• Messy Spirituality and Dangerous Wonder, by Mike Yaconelli - with great thanks to Renee' Altson - completing my "earthly trinity"
• Gentle Closings: How To Say Goodbye to Someone You Love, The Gentle Closings Companion, and Where Is Heaven? Children's Thoughts on Death and Dying all by Ted Menten - better than most of the pastoral-care books I've read, so far
• In Ordinary Time by Roberta Bondi - a great one when it seems like God's voice has gone silent, and
• stumbling toward faith, a classic of faith despite every reason not to have it, by Renee Altson

There's more in the box, but they aren't leaping to mind.

I had to give up on the music-digitizing process, for now. At some point, I will have to replace the CD/DVD drive in the desktop - it's clearly starting to fail, because the error-correction routines are slowing the process way, way down. But there's four boxes of books to go, and a box and a half of CDs - 2 boxes of books and about 3/4 box of CDs each to the church and the local public library.

Interestingly enough, there is a large ELCA congregation in Maumee, to whom I originally offered my resources - but their education/library director never bothered to return my repeated calls. Epiphany Lutheran in Toledo is smaller, but hosts a half-dozen AA groups a week, and was the start of my journey back to faith - and their Christian education director was ecstatic when she got the last delivery. So, it's sad, but it's a case of "who loves ya, baby?"

The Toledo-Lucas County Public Library is one of the gems of living in Toledo. While I can't speak to their staffing situations (their management caused my former wife and a lot of library professionals unspeakable agony back in the late 80's), they seem to have come light-years in the collection and technology departments. The ability to browse their collection online, including ALL of their music and video offerings, and to request items to a local branch in a day or two, brings them right up there with library systems four and five times their size. (When we were looking at moving to Champaign, one of the big down-sides to the move would have been the differences in the public libraries). So I am very glad to be able to send some of my books home to them - either to their collection or their book-sale, I don't know (and don't care) which.

The thing that pains me is some of the big stuff, which is really worthwhile, which we can't sell because of the no-garage-sales clause in the condo association, and I really hate to just give away because they're too good NOT to get some value from them. And I can't bring myself to just give them away - although that may very well be what happens in the end, because I'm not moving this crap again.

I like the idea of FreeCycle, but getting a thousand emails a day (only a mild exaggeration) is a frustration. So we will start with CraigsList, and move to FreeCycle after that. We have two or three weeks to get it out - two would be preferable. It would be very nice to be done by Reformation Day, October 31st....

There are a hundred other topics I need (and want) to write about -

• the housing crisis (which has not stopped being a crisis, even though the stock market and credit crunch has vastly overshadowed it)
• the credit crunch - and how it may finally bring about the death of conspicuous consumption (albeit too late to really help anyone)
• how we are going to teach an entire generation (or two) the difference between "needs" and wants - and if it will take an honest-to-God Great Depression to make it stick
• why an awful lot of people of deep-and-abiding faith continue to ditch The Institutional Church; and
• living between Death and Resurrection - and why most churches don't recognize Easter Saturday when it happens in October.

On the first two topics, there are still an awful lot of people who are asking, "How the hell did we get here?" I'd like to recommend three very powerful, very informative stories - each will take about an hour of your time, and each one is absolutely worth it:

• Chicago Public Radio's This American Life has done two very insightful, powerful programs on the economy - "The Giant Pool of Money (talking about the fundamentals of the housing crisis) and "Another Really Scary Program About The Economy. Both should be required listening - especially if you think you know what caused the whole sub-prime crisis.


• Dick Gordon's The Story on NPR had a particularly powerful program called "Blowing The Whistle" (click on the link to go to the archive to listen). The second half of the program is an interview with Bill Thornton, a real-estate appraiser who had to get out of the business because his practice of giving reasonable appraisals didn't support the housing-market insanity. For 20 years, he was a home appraiser. But as prices climbed during the housing boom, lenders stopped calling him. Yet when he recently heard how Wall Street helped create the housing and financial meltdown, he realized that losing his business wasn't exactly his fault.

Powerful, painful, and yet so informative. I'd really, really recommend you set aside an hour to listen to the first two, and a half hour to listen to "The Story."

It might just open your mind to some new ideas about what's been happening...