Saying Goodbye to a Home that Wasn't Supposed to Be Home

It's Saturday morning and I am sitting in my favorite Caribou, professing to do some work but really just trying to center my mind. It has been a full week, and this is my last Saturday as a resident of Minnesota. I am looking forward to the going home element of this move to Colorado, but have to admit that the leaving is much more difficult than I expected. There have been numerous opportunities to reinforce this strange separation anxiety this week.

First, the kids. Cole and Aimee are struggling so much with leaving the friends they have made here. Even now, Cole and Logan are running around St. Anthony somewhere (they said they were going to Walgreen's) and treasuring this last week together before we move. They are one day apart in age and have been like brothers since we first moved to Minnesota four years ago. As much as two 11 year old boys can, they genuinely love each other. You don't get those friends every day nor in every locale.

Aimee is away at her last youth retreat/activity with her Echo group from Woodland Hills Church. She makes friends easily, but I don't think she has ever had a group of friends who feed her soul like the ones she made this year at WHC. I don't know how much she will miss her small group and youth leaders (I think a lot) but I know I am having difficulty with pulling her away from this. She also has a great group of friends at school here, and one of those friends is having serious struggles with Aimee's departure. So much so that her mom is willing to help pay for a plane ticket to bring Aimee back for a week later this summer. I know Aimee and I have no doubts that she will have a whole crew of friends pretty quickly after school starts this Fall, but her story illustrates to me how many tentacles these decisions we make as parents end up having. And while I really hope to spend the rest of my life in Colorado, the timing is not as ideal as it seemed eight weeks ago.

Emilee, on the other hand, will stay and make her way in life in Minnesota. While this is probably the right thing for her, the idea of leaving her behind is difficult for us and for her. She is the girl who was going to be independent, out on her own, out of our house pretty much from the time she was about 12 years old. Now that it is reality though, it is a lot tougher than expected. My girl, the one who is wired so much like me that it is almost frightening, will no longer be within earshot. She has her own place, her own job, her own friends, her own path, her own life. I will miss her like I would miss my heart if it were removed. I am sure she has made a good decision and I support her and am proud of her. Still does not make it easy to leave. I know you read this from time to time Em, and I don't want you to feel sad or guilty when you do. I want you to know that my heart aches, but it is the ache of every father whose children have to grow up and go their own way. It is the right thing, but it is not an easy thing.

As for me, this place and this season of life have kind of grown on me. I love the Twin Cities. What other metro area has the kind of natural beauty within the city limits that Minneapolis and Saint Paul do? Lakes, trees, a mildly rolling terrain: you don't have to go away to live in wonder. Add to that an amazing diversity of people from Asia, Africa, and yes, even Europe, and it is quite simply an incredible place to live. Part of the beauty of the Twin Cities chapter of my life has been Woodland Hills Church. I love the people, I love the openness to new and different, I love the diversity, I love being a part of the Woodland Hills family. I will miss it and not entirely sure I can ever find a place like it, which makes it really tough to leave.

I will miss people. My old friends (Russ, Ken) and my once-in-a-while friends (Greg, Efrem, Marque), my cohort friends (Jenny, Chibs, Andrea, Erin, Deb) and my hang out when we can friends (Jeremy, Derek, Tahna). I will miss Jason and Lisa and those three beautiful kids. I would love to be closer to watch Ana grow up and become president of this or some other country (it is inevitable, I think...even if we have to change the Constitution). I will desperately miss the two friends who have walked with me through this rough stretch of life, Brent and Todd. Brent, if you could know how much your calls and encouragement saved my life when this fight with depression and anxiety began, you might be surprised to know that you are a superhero. And Todd, it seems like we were just getting started. I love your knowledge and your incredibly twisted sense of humor. I love your family and the times we have spent together. I love that we can both be about 13 years old together for significant stretches of time and it is perfectly cool. I am so happy for your new job adventure. I just wish it were in Colorado.

I will deeply miss Leta, my advisor and much more. She has loved on me through the frustration of not being able to write. She hasn't yet killed me, but she might before we are done! And I will miss Phil. My friend, you have become the human face of a loving heavenly Father to me. I don't know if I can fully explain it, so I will just let it stand alone. You are grace personified. Not perfection or deification, just good, broken grace. Thanks for walking the journey with me.

The capper to all this reminiscing is the picture that remains from our block. Our neighbors--next door and across the street--are wonderful Tibetan people. On Thursday night, before Carol was leaving on Friday, about 10:30 the doorbell rang. It was the younger woman and her mother dropping in to say goodbye to Carol. About twenty minutes later, the bell rang again. It was the grandmother--the one who doesn't speak English but has been one of the kindest and friendliest neighbors you could ever hope to have--and "big Tenzen" (a lot of Tenzens, this is the one who graduated 8th grade with Aimee last week) coming over to say goodbye to my wife. This little lady with the warm smile brought a scarf/shawl over and draped it around Carol's neck and over her shoulders and through her grandson told us it was a Tibetan tradition that means "good luck." She has one like it and will think of Carol when she wears it. It was a gift of love and affection, one that came with and produced tears. It is so tough to leave these wonderful neighbors. The grandmother was holding Carol's hand the other day and saying "sorry" over and over, letting us know that she was sad we were leaving. Incredible. Then she and Tenzen stood in the front yard Friday morning, waving until we disappeared down the street on our way to the airport. More tears. In fact, kind of like the tears that keep coming to my eyes as I write this. I love these dear friends and will miss them more than they can possibly know.

This is long, too long for blogging, but it needed to be written. Hope you can indulge me a little as this parting is very sweet sorrow. Next Saturday morning, I will be headed from Holly to Colorado Springs to show Emilee and Jared the sights before taking them to Denver and the airport so they can get home for Father's Day (the first time that getting home doesn't mean returning to me). It will be good, eventually. It will not be easy.

Thanks God for Minnesota. I will miss this place.

Feeling Cantankerous

I have been getting requests on Facebook to join the group, "Tell Obama We're Still a Christian Nation." So, of course, to get people really annoyed, I made my status something snarky like "Joe wonders what makes a nation Christian?" Which led to some responses, some sincere and others equally snarky. I especially like the snarky ones.

Seriously though, when was this or any other nation genuinely Christian? As I stated on Facebook, nation building is about gaining power over people in this world. Living the Kingdom of God, on the other hand, is about submitting ourselves to others in the name of Jesus, living a life of grace and peace and laying down our rights in order to demonstrate the genuine love of God in daily living. Tell me then, what nation does that? What nation has ever done that? Really?

Was it the marauding armies of "Christians" who wantonly slaughtered Muslims behind the banner of the cross...you know, the cross where Jesus willingly sacrificed himself? Was it the European settlers who took advantage of their superior fire power to deceive and destroy the inhabitants they found when they landed on this continent? Was it the "founding fathers" who wrote about freedom and liberty while enslaving countless Africans for their own economic benefit, deeming them (by law) as less than fully human, enforcing breeding and separation in order to make sure those "family values" we speak so highly of were never allowed to take root among the black slaves they claimed to own? Was it the preachers in this country who justified slavery, segregation, war and brute force when it was expedient for their own success and security? Is it the United States where millions of innocent unborn are slaughtered in the womb, many for nothing more than the sake of convenience? Or is it the other side of the argument where those who "speak for life" end up murdering to make their point? Is it the churched ones who reacted to the September 11th brutality by threatening and pouring venom on anyone who so much as looked like a Muslim? The churches who sent their young men and women out to "kill some Arabs?" Is it in the evangelical lifestyle of excess and affluence, taking mission trips to other parts of the world while walking blindly past the homeless guy on the corner? Is it in the multimillion dollar church edifices that house a weekly pep rally and do little to positively touch the lives of those who live in their shadows?

(One quick note: I am not able to answer the really tough questions about war and that is not the purpose of this post. Nations do war. The problem that I see is Christians who get excited about killing anyone, including an enemy. This does not seem to be the example of the Jesus after whom we claim to be named.)

I plead guilty to living the lie for too many years. Americanism is not "Christian," any more than is allegiance to any other nation, political structure or power. But I'm trying to unlearn the things that kept me from seeing the true Jesus. You know the one: the guy who lived a life of healing and service, who was a political separatist while working to bring life and hope to those who were victims of the political structures of nations and of religion. So forgive me if I don't get too riled up over President Obama, pastor gold watch, or any of the others who seek power here. I am trying to commit myself to powerlessness as humanity sees it so I can live a life pleasing to the God who provides legitimate power.

And whether I like the president's politics or the doctor's ethics, I pledge to continue practicing seeing the unsurpassable worth of each person I encounter in this world.

Thanks!

It's funny, I begged people to read my blog the other day because I wanted to get some dialogue about the whole Christian pop culture thing (the DJ urging prayer for American Idol winner which is now even crazier with Jon and Kate). It was one of the few posts in which I didn't spend much, if any, time on my anxiety and depression issues. That said, there were a number of responses about my "issues," and I want to say thanks to those who took time and were concerned enough to offer me some insight and some encouragement. I also want to update a bit.

I think the reason the post was not about my internal journey is that I seem to be doing better than I have in a long time. To the person who asked about Cognitive Behavior Therapy, that seems to be the catalyst for some real help. I have been seeing a therapist who specializes in this method/treatment and he has helped me face down some of the fears that were keeping me in turmoil. I have not had an anxiety attack in a couple of months (give or take) and have been doing well enough that the psychiatrist agreed to step me off the depression meds, which she believes weren't helping me much anyway. I know it is early and that this taking thoughts captive thing is a process that has to continue for a much longer time, but I am amazed at how much better things are going. Outward circumstances are still crazy: my grandma's health is still uncertain, we have to travel again this weekend, my thesis is still trying to be written, our oldest is moving out Monday, next week is the final week of school for the other two kids, Carol leaves for Colorado on the 12th, and we load up and head out on the 18th. Still no jobs, although Carol may be interviewing with a school in Colorado Springs in the next few days. So it isn't that life has miraculously gotten less crazy for us. But the way I do life is significantly changing.

So, again, thanks to those of you who took time to respond. I appreciate your concerns and your prayers. I hope someday to pay it forward to another person who has ended up at a similar place in their journey.

Grace and peace to you all.

Catching Up

It has been awhile since the last post. Life has been crazy. First I got really sick with bronchitis, the cough from which is still hanging on. In the middle of that, my grandma in Missouri fell and broke her hip and was not doing so well. This led to a whirlwind trip to Missouri and back this week. In the midst of all that, I have been trying to do some writing with very mixed results as well as finishing the Basic Communication course I was working in and trying to find work for next school year...so far an unrealized dream. All that to say that writing on a blog hasn't been a high priority lately.

First, the annoyance. While I was in Missouri I had some Christian radio station on in my car. I could not believe it when the woman who was hosting in the morning spent about five minutes explaining to everyone listening that they should remember to pray daily for the guy who won American Idol earlier in the week, that he would be under a great deal of pressure in the year ahead! GAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Laying aside the fact that I don't get why people are so into shows like this, what pressure is there in having your fifteen minutes of fame in the world of pop culture? This is insane! Pressure is losing your home. Pressure is facing torture and genocide. Pressure is fighting cancer or some other life-altering disease. Pressure is your child missing or your wife leaving. When someone goes on a stupid TV show and gets a recording contract from it, this is not pressure. So, go ahead and pray for this pop culture creation if you want, I'll hold my prayers for victims in Darfur, people who are homeless because of the economic crash and my friend who lost his wife to cancer a few weeks ago. Come on people, grow a brain!

Second, the realities of moving are setting in. Found myself in tears numerous times today as I shared in the worship encounter that is Woodland Hills Church. Quick tangent...WHC is going to open its doors in August for use as a homeless shelter. What megachurch is doing stuff like that? Another, among the many, reason I love this place. Leaving our church behind is among the most difficult parts of moving. Where else can I see a woman with Downs Syndrome dancing and raising her hands while we sing the Kirk Franklin song, "Imagine Me," on a typical Sunday morning? Woodland Hills has transformed church for me in this past year. It is hard to think of being 1000 miles away. Add to that the sorrow of saying goodbye to our daughter and parting with friends like Todd and Dawni and it is with a serious mix of emotions that we leave.

Finally, the thesis is coming along slowly. I am doing some analysis that I hope will be acceptable and demonstrate some level of intellectual credibility. Pray for me. I am pressing forward and will finish this. Or it will finish me. Either way, it will be done!

Congrats to Jenny, a friend from grad school, on making a huge life transition and moving to the Dominican Republic to teach this summer! I am so proud of you Jenny. I pray it is the continuance of the revolution that has become your life.

Backsliding and Back on the Horse

Sorry for that last post. Things piled up and I reverted to the old way of dealing with them. I really want to be committed to a new way of thinking and responding. So if you read the (now deleted) entry, I apologize. Now let's see how today goes!

Passing Scene

Some observations from a great day of worship at Woodland Hills yesterday. It was so good, I went twice!

1. I saw God yesterday. He was wearing a purple vest and an usher name tag. I was moved as I watched this guy, who has a familiar face but whose name I don't know, walk in with two women with pretty severe physical disabilities. The first one, he wheeled in in her wheelchair and found her a quality seat, even though the service was well underway. Then he went back out and walked in another woman who struggled along with a walker. It wasn't that he "showed" her a seat, he put his hand on her back affectionately and steadied her walker all the way to the seat he had picked out for her. He was love personified. I don't know this guy, but I see him all the time. I will never be able to look at him the same.

2. Some of the songs were tough for my voice to get around yesterday. Familiar songs with slightly varied arrangements in vocal ranges that were unfriendly to my voice. In the middle of it, I had a thought. Seems like we write songs and go looking for voices that can sing them. What if we listened to the voice and then wrote songs that fit the voice? Would everyone have a "good voice"? How much of life would be better if we first "listened to the voice?" Instead, it seems we create standards and go looking for people who can live up to them. Most people can't. I can't.


3. My heart's desire has been to go back to Colorado. For twenty years, Carol and I have tried to find a way home and nothing has ever worked out. Now it is happening, we're moving in June. I am experiencing a deep happiness at the prospect. Unfortunately, it means leaving behind a church where God really lives with scarred human hands and feet. I don't know if anything like it exists anywhere else. Greg is a good teacher and I can podrish his sermons. Unfortunately, the other parts of Woodland Hills can't be experienced online. It is a unique place where broken people put other broken people first and live out the love of Christ in really tangible ways. It is so big that nobody knows your name...except everyone does.

Making progress on the thesis. I'm pretty excited about where it is going. Hopefully in the next week a big chunk will fly out of my computer...a big chunk of my thesis, not a big chunk of my computer!

Pretty bummed about my Broncos. Finally going to be able to watch them every week next season and they will be unwatchable. As usual, my timing is impeccable.

Balaam and Me

While this probably won't be the bestseller on the level of Marley and Me, it pretty much sums up what has been running through my head for the last several hours. The Old Testament tells the story of a prophet named Balaam who had real trouble making wise decisions. Just when one of his bad choices was about to cost him his life, God began speaking to him through the lips of his donkey, or as the King James Version says, "his ass." Preachers for generations since have used the illustration of God speaking through an ass to make points with their congregations and shock people into seeing how God can speak in unusual ways. What no one has ever seemed to consider is the possibility of Satan doing the same thing.

This morning was the latest of many examples of my speaking like an ass. My daughter was running later than I wanted her to be in getting ready to go to worship and teaching at our church. To "encourage" her (read, "manipulate"), I puked out this lovely line: "See you at lunchtime, cause their is no way you're getting to Woodland Hills on time." I adore my daughter and want the very best for her, so where in the world does a snarky, stupid statement like that come from? I usually blame it solely on myself, but the class on spiritual warfare is at least teaching me that I have a partner in this kind of behavior. I allow myself to be Balaam's ass for less than noble purposes. Yes, Satan is speaking through an ass, and it seems that the ass is me.

Fast forward now to the service at Woodland Hills this morning, in which Greg is teaching on using our imagination to truly connect with God. I sat and gave mental assent to everything he was saying, all the while realizing that my imagination has been almost solely devoted to my destruction, to driving me away from God all these years. Oh, not in a "Satan-worshiper, ouija board" kind of way, but rather imagining me as an object of scorn and wrath, someone who will never genuinely connect with God because God knows that I am lowlife scum of the earth. See how difficult it is to imagine yourself in love with and being loved by God when you can't stomach the images you see in your mind of the kind of person you are? Not easy. But these are the voices and images I deal with moment by moment, nearly every day, and have for as long as I can remember. It's really no wonder that my brain and emotions finally short-circuited and have left me paralyzed inside.

My brain is busy, it is full. Unfortunately, what it is busy with and full of are generally crap. Stuff so trivial and so wrong-minded, that what comes out (verbally and nonverbally) is usually embarrassing and hurtful. And to sum up part of the teaching this morning, it isn't going to get better by simply trying harder to be better or even to think better. I forgot to turn off the faucet and now the stuff is overflowing. Before my mind and my spirit can contain anything good, I need to begin to bail, to create space. I think that is my primary need and purpose as we begin this six week "Animate" journey together at Woodland Hills. I have to create space by emptying myself of some sources of prejudice against myself in order to really imagine me being intimate with and loved by God.

So, here is the basic agenda for the days ahead: start unloading. First, I need to stop using the internet as a crutch to distract me and keep me unfocused. I have to cut down on my idle usage of this wonderful land of make-believe. Along those lines, I really must pare down the amount of time I spend using entertainment technology. I don't need to watch everything that is on TV, in fact, I don't need to watch much of what is on TV. Once I hear one sports talk show, I have probably heard them all, so I don't need the noise and clutter of constant radio blab. My physical appetites create grief because I sit and eat...not celery and carrots, for sure...and gain weight, which reinforces just how much I hate myself. So I need to create some space by eating to live, not living to eat. The sitting simply compounds my basic lethargy, so in order to create physical and emotional space, I really have to start moving and "resisting" (using resistance training to build some physical strength). The journey of imagination begins not with filling up with more stuff to imagine but rather reimaging by creating space for the realities of a new imagination to dwell. Convoluted? Probably. But I think I understand what I'm trying to say. I'll keep you posted as to how it works out.