Dec 27 2020 John 1:1-14

Today, in the common lectionary used by many churches we hear a different sort Jesus birth narrative. Christmas day, we hear Luke’s account, full of human-ness. Today, to round out the picture of Jesus’ complex nature, we hear John’s account, full of Jesus’ divine-ness.

Some of the preachers in my diocese agreed to record a sermon for an assigned Sunday, and we shared those recordings. This gave exhausted church leaders the opportunity to take a few Sundays off in preaching, as they’ve also figured out how to connect virtually, and be digital and social media wizards. Today was my Sunday. Here’s the text of my sermon, and below is a link, should you want to see it instead. Merry Christmas!

https://youtu.be/etqM_9Y2ENs

Merry Christmas.

I have always appreciated our tradition’s fierce insistence that Christmas is more than a day, it’s a season that stretches until Epiphany. This year, perhaps more than any other, I’m grateful to hold on to that sense of Christmas joy and wonder. So again, I say, Merry Christmas!

If you were able to catch a Christmas service, you heard the traditional story of Jesus’ birth. His parents were unmarried, she was a teen, they were refugees in a strange land, and effectively homeless. This is the context in which God chooses to join us. To me this absolutely illustrates that Jesus was fully human. His life carried all the human challenges, risks and emotions that our lives do. Through his fully human nature, Jesus fully understood our lives and our plight. That means, that through his fully human nature, God fully understood our lives and our plight.

Today we hear another sort of Jesus’ birth narrative, a very different narrative. It begins with a phase used earlier in Scripture, “In the beginning was the word”.

Word is a tricky word to translate as originally intended. In Greek, word is logos, or the basis of logic. Word is the mastermind behind the way things are, logos is the source and reasoning. And in John’s birth narrative, the word is Jesus.

In the beginning was the Word, was the source, the logic, the reason. We’ve heard that opening before; In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. This is no accidental repeat. With this opening, we are intentionally reminded of the very beginning. It’s the same beginning. God created heavens and the earth, and now we hear the Word was there too.

Looking back at the creation of everything, God created it not by conjuring, or imagining, or wishing it into being. God said, let there be light. And there was light. The creation narrative uses words or speech in very powerful ways. In Genesis, as in our day, words have the ability to bring things into being, things that didn’t previously exist. In current day, examples can be seen of things being created through words – both horrible and beautiful. Hate speech creates something that cannot be undone. Hurtful words to children create permanent scars. Words matter, and words create. And words can create things of beauty and worlds that previously didn’t exist. A spoken statement of love. A beautiful poem. Words create now, and Words created then.

So with these simple six words, we’ve learned a great deal about Jesus’ birth narrative through John.

1. We are to hearken back to the beginning – the very beginning, when God created all things. But as opposed to being created in the beginning, the Word was right there, all along.

2. Jesus, as the word or logos, is the mastermind, reason or logic behind all things.

3. Words create new realities. God spoke the heavens and earth into being, spoke us into being. Jesus is that new word.

From this multi-faceted and dense opening, John’s narrative story continues into something that has been referred to as a cosmic birth story. Where Luke’s telling with the manger, the inn, and the shepherds illustrate how Jesus was fully human, it’s fair to say that John’s cosmic birth story illustrates how Jesus was fully divine.

The Word was with God, the Word was God. As someone with a very strong sense of the tangible and logical, I am drawn to Luke’s fully human exploration of Jesus’ nature. As a fallible human, who knows I cannot do all, know all, understand all, I can appreciate John’s narratives that round out my understanding of Jesus – fully divine.

In the beginning God created heavens and the earth. In the beginning was the word. Have you ever seen photos taken from the Hubble telescope?. I’m not an astronomy nerd, and I couldn’t describe what you’re seeing technically, but I can tell you is that these photos are spectacular. They are photos of stars, and galaxies millions of years way. They have spectacular colors, and shapes, and are what I imagine God sees when God looks out over God’s creation.

During one of the Eucharistic prayers we hear the words, at your command, all things came into being, the vast expanse of interstellar space. These images are what I envision when those words are spoken. What we hear today, links Jesus to these same images. In the beginning was the Word.

So from Luke’s story, we get the image of Jesus fully human and from John, Jesus fully divine. And here’s the magical part of John’s story. It continues, and does a beautiful way of merging these two truths that seem a mutually exclusive. Fully human. Fully divine.

John continues, and the Word became flesh and lived among us. After hearing about Jesus, fully divine, in the beginning, with God, now John says that all of that divinity is wrapped up in human flesh, in this baby born to the unwed refugee homeless teen.

When I hear this, I get a picture in my head. Imagine a genie bottle being opened up, releasing all sorts of magic, but there are a few changes. First what’s coming out of the bottle is the vast galaxies, perhaps something you’ve seen from a Hubble photo. Second, run that image in reverse. So the vast expanse is being sucked back into the bottle. Finally, the bottle is an infant in a manger.

This human Christ child has all of this. This infant, this galaxy producing, from the beginning of time, God child who lived among us. It’s no wonder that the shepherds quaked with fear.

While there are other instances of God interacting with humanity – the burning bush, Daniel and Lion, the whole Exodus story, this is the first time God enters our world as a human. Theologian Richard Rohr says it well, “Christ is the image of the invisible God”.

Jesus Christ – fully human and fully divine. That’s pretty spectacular good news. But, there’s more. In the midst of John’s cosmic birth story we hear that “There was a man sent from God whose name was John”. While we frequently refer to him as John the Baptist, today, it’s more fitting to think of him as John the Witness. John who testifies to the light so that all might believe through him. This little bit about John falls in the middle of this amazing birth story. Why? Perhaps it’s because of John’s role, and what it means for us. John testified to the light, so that others might believe through him. The light John speaks of is a light that cannot be overcome by darkness.

Here’s where you and I come in to this story. It’s not just John that’s sent by God to testify to the light, to point people to the light. You and I are called, by God, to testify to the light. We can shine that light, and others can see it in us, and though us, we point others to Christ’s light, to God’s love.

This is the last Sunday of 2020 and some, many, would say good riddance. But through this strange 2020, there have been uncountable examples of Christ’s light shining in the otherwise dark year. Fire responders saving lives and property throughout our communities, medical professionals and chaplains showing up to give care, and love to people affected by the virus, store employees, mail carriers, business owners who carry on, despite the pandemic, for us. And the ways we have adapted with video church, delivered groceries, and video gatherings with family and friends.

If you think about it, there are hundreds of examples of seeing Christ’s love in others. Far from dampening it, the surrounding darkness of this year has just made that light even more stark, more bright.

That is what Christmas is about, and that is why we hear this interrupted cosmic birth story. Jesus, fully human and fully divine is a light that cannot be overcome by the darkness. And like John the Witness, we are sent by God to testify to the light, to let Christ’s light shine through us, to point others to God’s unbelievable and unending love.

So go be the light. Merry Christmas.

Dec 25 2020 – Merry Christmas (repeat, but worth) (I think)

This is something I wrote in 2018. Still true. Perhaps because it’s a universal, timeless truth.

This Christmas morning, in the quiet of the house, I'm thinking about Christmas mornings in the past.

As a kid in Evanston, waking up and running downstairs to find the presents from Santa in the stocking and under the tree. We weren't allowed to open anything except the stocking, until our parents woke up, seemingly hours later. With them, we'd rip through the presents, and then enter the late morning coma-quiet, playing with presents. From there, we'd make our rounds to visit family friends, and eventually return home for a lovely dinner.

The Christmas in college I spent in East Berlin in the home of a Lutheran family, torn apart by the Berlin Wall. Their Christmas was quiet, absent the cultural support and frenzy, and the genuine lit candles on the tree were as beautiful and risky as their faith.

The Christmas after my mom died in late November. It was hard to get in to the Christmas spirit that year, although I went through the motions.

The Christmases in Seattle with our small kids. Coming home from Christmas Eve Service to finish wrapping and putting out the presents. Those Christmases I was the one late to rise, much to the disappointment of the kids.

The Christmas morn I was awoken by church bells in Greece. The kids were worried Santa wouldn't find them. Santa found our balcony for the stockings, and all was good with the world.

The Christmas mornings with my grown kids and their girlfriends or boyfriends. The cycle continues.

Christmas mornings are full of a lot of external pressure for performance and perfection. And those expectations never are true or comfortable or helpful. It is supposed to be this beautiful morning where everyone gets along, and you get the right gifts. And when everything is perfect, you are finally complete. Everyone is happy, smiling, healthy.

But it's rarely really like that, is it? Someone isn't healthy or happy. Family doesn't magically become the Rockwell people you've envisioned. And the perfect gift doesn't arrive or isn't as perfect as you'd imagined. With expectations like that, it's really hard to arrive at Christmas afternoon with a sense of celebration. More often, we're disappointed that things didn't turn out the way we'd imagined, never mind that it was never reality.

For me, this is a constant struggle on Christmas, or any holiday laden with expectations. But if we can strip away those expectations, and just LOVE, it's a magical day. Love the imperfect family members, in all their imperfection. Love the aging parents or bickering children. It's who they are, and I'm a part of their life. Love the gifts or hugs given in love. Beneath the hype, gifts that are given or received by loved ones are a token of that LOVE.

On top of all of that, it's Christmas morning. God has entered our world again in this human form. God in Christ lives among us to show us what the Divine is like. And God in Christ lived among us to learn from us mere mortals, and show the Divine what humanity is like.

God doesn't expect our Christmas to be perfect. Christ's certainly wasn't. But God wants us to know we are loved, and to show that love to all around us. That is something to Celebrate.

Merry Christmas!

Dec 23 2020 Luke 1: 26-28

Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.  

I’ve always appreciated Mary, her humility and her strength.  This year, it seems even more so.  This morning’s reading retells the story of when the angel Gabriel came to Mary, telling her she was going to have a son. How can that be, she asked. Gabriel’s response was that with God, all things are possible.  

Some people, and maybe me at another time, would hold on to this commitment from Gabriel. With God, all things are possible.  And while I believe that, it’s tough. It’s tough because if it’s true, if with God, all things are possible, why is there hunger, oppression, war, pandemic?  I do not believe God wants these things, but I also don’t know why they persist, if through God, all things are possible. 

Holding on to God’s ultimate power leaves me perplexed.  Why aren’t things like I think they should be? No war, no hunger, no oppression, no pandemic.  Perhaps that’s because I’m not God, and although I think I have a pretty good list of things God should want and God should do, I also suspect there are plenty of other people in the world who also have lists of what they think God should want and God should do.  And with some of those lists, I’d find common ground. But with others, I suspect I’d find no common ground.  My idea of what God would want to do is fallible, and if not wrong, it certainly is not empirically right; it can’t be because I’m not God.  

So to hold on to the “with God all things are possible”, I think it’s a slippery slope to have that morph in to, “with my idea of what God should do, all things are possible”.  That’s a dangerous thing.  

Rather, I’m drawn to Mary’s response. Let it be with me according to your Word. I can’t know what God’s plans are, or why some things happen or don’t happen. I shouldn’t presume that if things don’t turn out the way I think God should script them, God’s impotent, or uncaring.  Rather, I should know that God’s providence is bigger than my imagination.  My job, should I choose to accept it, is to simply have faith, and respond that yes, here I am. Let it be according to your word. 

I suspect that everyone has things in their lives that are imperfect. That it would be easy or at least nice, to have God fix them, because with God, all things are possible.  It certainly is true in mine. My loved one has had a relatively stable few weeks, but is beginning to make choices that I fear will cascade into less stability. While I believe that with God all things are possible, it is dangerous for me to hold on to that part of this story without Mary’s response. I would love it if God would make this illness go away, or would give our loved one more stability.  But I’m not going to stop my prayers with what God should do, because that is just a thinly veiled substitute for what I think God should do, and as it turns out, I’m not God. 

Because all things are possible with God, I need to pray that I have the humility and strength to respond as Mary did. Let it be according to your word.  I cannot know God’s master plan.  But I have faith that there is one, and that I, if I can be more like Mary, play an important role.  I just don’t always know what that is. 

Dec 13 2020 Luke 1:46-55

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.

So opens some of my most beloved words from scripture. And there are a lot of ones I love. But this one is one of the best, as far as I’m concerned. Mary has visited her cousin Elizabeth, who recognized the Holy One in Mary. Mary’s response, known as Mary’s song or the Magnificat is Mary’s assent to God’s wacky request of her. The Angel Gabriel visited her, told her she was going to bear God’s son, and she agreed.

God is asking Mary for something big. Mary had the advantage of having an angel emissary. But the truth is that God is asking each of us for something. There are little somethings, and there are big somethings, and I think we each have both. The little somethings come in the way of how we behave, and act, and see the world. How do we love God and Love our neighbor every day? How do we show light in these dark days and dark time?

These little asks of God are hard for us because we sometimes don’t hear them. We’re too busy making our own noise. Noise that comes in over-busy monkey brain, constant talking, or even constant petitions and transmitting prayer to God. We need to stop and listen. I speak from first-hand knowledge. I definitely need to pause and listen more.

The little asks are hard because sometimes we hear them, but then are too busy to respond, or the request is inconsistent with our plans. I’m guilty here too. There have been times I know I’m supposed to stop and talk to someone on the street, or be compassionate to a frustrated co-worker, but I don’t. I’ve got places to go, things to do. But secretly, I know that nudge was God. Why, I wonder would I ever imagine my plans or intentions are better than God’s?

But however bad I am at responding to God’s small requests, there’s hope. I can pause and listen to God. I can stop and respond better to the Spirit’s calling me to love my neighbor, or love God. What is it going to cost me to do that? It might cost some time, but more challenging, it will cost me the illusion of control. At any moment, on any day, God’s will is what I should heed, not my own well-intentioned, and well-executed plans. To that, all I can do is recite the Lord’s prayer, every day, several times a day. Thy will be done.

In addition to the small, daily requests of God, God asks each of us to big and seemingly impossible things. All the time. We have the same problem of not hearing or thinking we’re too busy for these big asks. I also feel ill-equipped. I can’t possibly [fill in the blank].

But here’s the thing. We aren’t asked to do them by ourselves. God is with us. Always. And we are not asked to do more than we can do, although we are frequently asked more than we think we can do.

I’ve had this sense at least four times in my life, where I thought the task ahead was way bigger than I could do. I’d have preferred opting out of these, but that was not a real option. After my mom died, I had to move my confused dad from his home in Illinois to Washington, to take my turn being the adult child caring for the aging parents. We had to pack up everything he was going to take for his new life in a new state and new assisted living facility and get on a plane. Everything else was being left to be sold. He sort of understood what was happening. I didn’t think I could do it. And I did.

My sophomore aged son was tanking his high school year, and was going to drop out. Helping to parent the final three years of what should have been his high school years was incredibly difficult. I knew I had to. And I did.

At one point I was sensing that God was calling me in to ordained ministry. It was very complicated, as I still had small kids, whose Sunday mornings might look very different, and they didn’t ask for that. My husband doesn’t go to church, so that added another possible complication. I didn’t think I could continue or finish. But after seven years, I did.

For the past five years, we’ve been dealing with the deepening illness of our loved one, which began with another child dropping out of high school, car accidents, one of which totaled a volvo, a diagnosis significant persistent mental illness, multiple hospitalizations, and a tumultuous few years. Often, I don’t think I can do it. And I do.

I don’t say this because I’m singularly spectacular at hearing God’s big asks. Often it takes me years to understand it is God’s call, rather than just crappy luck. Often it takes counsel from friends, to remind me that this is all part of God’s ask. But looking back, these each were big asks. Each changed my life in significant ways. And I’m certain God is not done with me. Just when I figure out my current new normal, I’m learning to expect a new big ask.

By way of a quick update, our loved one returned from a trip to visit their family of origin. They’ve been back for a few days, and we’re all having a lovely time. There’s gratitude, laughing, shopping trips. They even made us dinner last night. While things are good, we’ll try to take some steps towards further community engagement, getting them out for more scheduled events, and normalize things like medicine management and exercise. Given the nature of the illness, this is not a permanent improvement, or indicative of things to come. It is a moment of grace and respite that will allow all of us to deal with the next episode.

This morning, I’m thinking about the Song of Mary, and God’s big asks of each of us. What is it that God’s calling you to do? Maybe you don’t know because you need more stillness. Or silence. Or a freer calendar. Maybe you do know and don’t think you can. Who’s God put in your world to help? Mary had Gabriel, Elizabeth and Joseph. Who’s your Elizabeth? In response to God’s request of you, what’s your song?

Dec 10 2020 Bless

One of the spiritual practices that the Episcopal Church has instituted during this Advent is a series of simple meditations to help become the Beloved Community. Today’s meditation focuses on the practice of Blessing. It reads, “Call or write a family member with whom you desire a closer relationship. Share with this person how they are a blessing”. I don’t have much immediate family remaining, surprisingly. They are all a blessing, for sure. My brother is definitely a blessing. He’s always had a heart of gold, and has probably always been the nicer of us two kids. I should learn more from him.

 I have in-laws, and they’re all immense blessings. I’ve learned a lot from that whole family, inherited by marriage. It’s interesting how different families of origin are. I always assumed that my upbringing and my family was the way everyone’s family was. Learning about and loving my husband’s family, it’s fascinating how very different upbringings are, even those that appear to be similar – two parents, white collar work, family meals,  

When my husband and I married, we created a new family of origin, melding his normal and my normal. Our son, born into this family, probably thinks it’s normal. It’s as if we had a cycle, like a wave length, that everyone knew and operated around. When our son was little, we fostered then adopted a girl. It was fascinating how her wave length was just a little different than ours. Her normal was very different than ours. None of these ‘normals’ is bad, it’s just interesting to me how we all think it’s what everyone does, and it really is never that universal. 

I’m thinking about families of origin because our loved one went to visit her family of origin, for what was intended to be a few months. As best I can tell, the visit was going well… until it wasn’t. Last night, there was yelling, name calling, and threats of turning our sick loved one out onto the streets. Needless to say, they’ve decided to return to our home. As I was told last night, we’re old and boring, but her family of origin is making her pretty upset. 

It will be good to see my loved one. To tell them what a blessing they are to me, even in the midst of name calling, and accusations coming from the illness. It will be good to again try to normalize the wave length of this normal. Now on to the logistics of rerouting prescriptions, a train ticket and a third party uber. All in a day’s work. And I’m blessed to do it.  

Dec 6 2020 Mark 1: 1-8

The voice of one crying out in the wilderness.

In Mark’s Gospel, the beginning of Jesus’ story actually begins with John the baptizer, as foretold in the book of Isaiah, in the Hebrew Scripture.  John was sent ahead of Jesus to prepare the way, to point people to Jesus. One of my favorite underused words is used to describe John, a harbinger or a person that announces the approach of another. 

John’s described as a man with fiery words and opinions, wearing rough clothing, eating locusts and honey. Icons of John show him with wild hair, and a wild look in his eye.  He is an icon for me of what it means to be a deacon. Deacons are to point people to Jesus, to work for justice and truth, and to speak hard truths to power, particularly when people are being hurt.  As a deacon, I have felt like I was a voice crying in the wilderness, wanting others to feel the loneliness of the orphan, to stop the abuse of the victimized, to comfort the homeless. Deacons are called to be prophets – not fortune tellers, but people who can paint a picture of God’s kingdom here on earth, and help bring people to that truth.   

And it’s such a short distance between being the impassioned prophet, and the maniac. Take John the Baptist.  If I encountered John in downtown Portland, I would probably chalk it up to deinstitutionalization, that horrible and incomplete social policy experiment where institutions were closed, turning nearly 500,000 significantly mentally ill people out onto the streets. Community mental health institutions were to pick up the slack, but that system was never funded nor implemented.  Now these people make up the majority of our nation’s unhoused population. 

In any case, there is a fine balance between prophetic voice, and madness.  My loved one, for example, sees a future that I cannot see. They talk about things that I do not understand, and their sense of reality is different from my understanding.  To be clear, I’m not suggesting John had a mental illness.  But I’m suspecting it might be difficult to tell the difference between Holy people through history, and people experiencing mental illness.  Not sure what that means, but it is interesting.  

Update – Our loved one took the train to Seattle to visit biological family, with plans of staying there for two months. I’ve heard it’s not perfect, but we stand prepared to help support them in their journey, and meanwhile will enjoy the peace in our house that remains.  

Dec 2 2020 Update

Yesterday, our loved one returned from the hospital after 30 days. It was a sweet day. They made me a collage, including a positive affirmation they’ve been repeating to themselves. They took care of several necessary errands, including getting a new bank card, and picking up medicine at the pharmacy. They did several things they definitely could not have done a month ago. The time in the hospital definitely did stabilize them.

We also had celebratory Dominoes pizza for dinner, their favorite. We all sat at the table and they entertained us with stories about the hospital, some very funny, some sad. There was a twinkle in their eye we hadn’t seen in some time. We also learned more about the auditory hallucinations (voices) that are in their head that result in the certitude that I’m stealing things that my husband is a pervert. We were able to talk about that, and express our deep sorrow that those thoughts ever came, as we’d never want to be those things.

We also were able to talk about medicine: its impact on them, and how it’s a very very quick ride from skipping one dose, to deciding they never need meds again. Regularity is critical, because the first symptom that returns without medicine is the thought that there’s nothing wrong, and meds aren’t needed. Who hasn’t missed one dose of a daily medicine? It’s horrible that the effect of this missed dose is so damaging.

Our loved one wants to travel to Seattle to visit extended family for several months. A previous visit did not end as well as hoped, so we are a little apprehensive. And we want to fully support their wishes and desire for self-determination. At this point, a casual offer to come was made, and our loved one is hopeful that further communication with the host will occur to make this trip a reality. It’s possible the offer won’t materialize, which would be very disappointing for our loved one. That dissapointment would be double edged, too. First comes the dissapointment that extended family does not follow through (wouldn’t be the first time), and then the practical dissapointment that our loved one would be again stuck at our home, without viable housing options.

Meanwhile, we are continuing with our pursuit of permanent guardianship, and steps slowly being taken in the legal field to arrive at a hearing. We’ve no idea when that might happen, but we’re taking baby steps.

In my work world, I have the opportunity to lead discussions about where people are seeing God in their world. During this season of Advent, we embrace -or at least tolerate – the dark. Four weeks of darkening days in my environment, ending with a day with only 9 hours of light. Throw in a pandemic and a persistent serious mental illness, and this Advent feels dark.

And yet, we await God incarnate. We have hope. I’m not sure of the right theological terms, but I tend to rely pretty heavily on the idea that through the Holy Spirit which is within us all, I don’t actually need to wait to meet God incarnate. I meet God in nearly every interaction I have with another human being. Yesterday, the pharmacist was really struggling, hours behind her orders including ours. But I waited for an hour while she tried to get to our order. Once we finally paid, the pharmacist apologized profusely. And what I saw was God incarnate, helping us get meds to keep my loved one stable.

At the dinner table, we laughed and joked and were serious about a 30 day inpatient involuntary hospitalization. God incarnate around the table.

Today, I get the opportunity to take socks and hats to people living on the streets. They will not always be grateful, or lucid. God incarnate.

This morning, I’m thinking about Advent, about darkness, and about the insistence that God incarnate is all around, all the time. More than a manger, that’s what makes these days brighter for me.

Nov 28 2020 - Luke 19: 41-48

[Y]ou did not recognize the time of your visitation from God.

This is the bit in Luke’s Gospel right after Jesus comes to Jerusalem and weeps over the city, and right before he enters the Temple and overturns the tables. Bad things will happen to you, because you did not recognize God’s presence in your midst. 

True, Jesus- God incarnate- was in their midst.  But with God’s gift of the Holy Spirit, isn’t God in our midst even now? Do we recognize it? As Jesus laments, do we recognize the things that make peace? 

Tomorrow, in my tradition is the first day of the new Christian year, the first Sunday of Advent. That would make today the Christian equivalent of New Year’s Eve day.  Today, I’m going to do all those New Year’s things that we do associated with the secular calendar on Dec 31.  

Review 2020 – Phew.  What a year!  My boss announced his retirement, we elected a new Bishop to serve as my boss, and I still really enjoy the good work I get to do in the midst of all of that change.

After having previously sold our house and car and moving into a downtown apartment, 2020 brought us to buying a house and car, and moving out of downtown into a lovely neighborhood.  

My sick loved one was hospitalized seven times, for a total of over three months inpatient hospitalization.  Over a quarter of the year. They remain in the hospital but are expected to return early next week. With better meds, and the assistance of our guardianship, they appear more stable than they have been for all of 2020.  

Upon their release, they plan to travel to Seattle to stay for a few months with biological relatives. My deep hope is that this is a lovely time to reconnect with family. Previous visits have not ended well, so I’ll prepare for a quick trip to Seattle, in case we’re needed to retrieve our loved one. And hope we don’t need to. 

Plan for next year – 

My day job will remain unsettled, as my new boss and pastor begins in the end of January.  I hope to help with a smooth transition.

We will be finished with building a second floor porch on our house. It’s mostly just for my husband and I, and will serve as a sleeping porch, and an outdoor respite, when things at home are cooky. It’s feeling a little like all of those home makeovers, when the couple is reintroduced to their bedroom, renewed and peaceful.  Good space really does make a difference, especially for me. 

My loved one will start the year on an extended visit. That will either work well, and help cement a sense of independence, or it won’t. With everything we do, we will aim to be nimble, and always supportive. 

We will likely have gained guardianship, which I suspect will make caretaking immensely easier.  

So back to Jesus and God’s presence.  I’ve no doubt God’s been present this year. I don’t always have a sense of peace, but frequently. And sometimes I feel peaceful in the midst of absolute chaos.  That must be God’s presence.  Next year, I aim to continue in my daily prayer, and also bring that sense of God’s imminence throughout my day. Happy New Year’s!

Nov 20 2020 Psalm 102 & Update

But you are always the same

This psalm is a litany of sadness. My days drift away like smoke, my bones are like hot like burning coals. I lie awake and groan. I wither like grass. Woe is me. I appreciate these lamenting psalms. They feel genuine and heartfelt. The fact that these raw emotions are in our Scripture give permission for me to lament. Some days indeed, I lie awake and groan. I know that I’m not alone. The psalmist, and people throughout time and space lament. It’s part of our human experience. And in the midst of our lamentations, God is present always. As the psalmist says, You are always the same. God will hear our groans, and be with us as we weep and wither. Like a good good friend, God will sit with us in our pain, sometimes able to speak to our sorrow, sometimes just being present, but unlike a good good friend, God is present at all times, in all places. 

For me, this feels like a perfect psalm for now. I weep, or groan, and those are acceptable feelings. Between the continued pandemic, political strife, or illness, we have plenty to lament. It’s as if we’re in a season of lament. This contrasts starkly with the upcoming holiday season. Marketers are trying to convince us that the season of ho ho ho is upon us. The advertisements look more out of place and ridiculous. Just by this jewelry or those toys and all will be well. Other years we may buy that line, but this year, it seems patently impossible. 

In my faith tradition, we celebrate a season of Advent, which is the time of preparation. We generally avoid “Christmas decorations” until the Christmas season, which begins on Christmas eve and continues through Epiphany, or the 12th day of Christmas. Advent is a time of stillness, darkness, quiet, preparation. This year, it feels like it could also be a time of lamenting. But that lamenting is not without resolution. Christmas comes. God is present. God is unchanging. In the midst of our emotional, societal and physical ups and downs, God remains constant. 

This morning, I’m thinking about the volatility of our life, compared with the constancy of God’s presence and love. My loved one remains in the hospital, and while the doctors will assess our loved one’s health weekly, it’s very possible they’ll remain in the hospital through November. 

Yesterday, we spoke to our loved one on the phone because they called and said they missed us. We talked about all sorts of normal things: the movies they’re watching, what’s for dinner, possible housing options upon their release. It was a delightful, and nearly normal conversation. The good call was the result of three weeks of hospital care and pharmacology, and distance between a young adult and their parents. (What child in their early 20’s would feel like they had to live with their parents?) The call left my husband and I with a reminder of why we’re doing this, and who we’re doing it for. Our loved one remains in that body, ravaged by this insidious disease. 

That conversation contrasts starkly with the conversation we had after their previous 7 day hospitalization. Upon exiting the hospital, they demanded cigarettes, and when I asked them to drink their brimming cup of coffee down so they didn’t spill in the car, they poured the coffee on the car. On the ride home, they rode with their hand out of the window, flipping everyone the bird. But from their constant stream of vitriol, they weren’t flipping everyone else off, just my husband and me. 

Supporting this child of God is not a sprint, but rather an ultra marathon. We cannot do it or justify it based on the sweet appreciation we hope to receive from our sick loved one. Often they lament, and they have definitely more to lament than I ever will. And their lamenting looks like anger. But at its core, it’s lamenting. For us, and for them, God’s love never changes. God remains the same. It’s that constancy I depend on, in the midst of all of life’s changes. I’m reminded of a beautiful prayer that is contained in our prayer service before bedtime. 

Be present, O merciful God, and protect us through the hours of this night, so that we who are wearied by the changes and chances of this life may rest in your eternal changelessness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Nov 14 2020 James 2:1-4 and an Update

My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favoritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ? For if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, ‘Have a seat here, please’, while to the one who is poor you say, ‘Stand there’, or, ‘Sit at my feet’, have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts? 

This is the first weekend in a long, long time, that I’ve not been dealing with weekend work obligations, or complications from my loved one’s illness.  It feels like time to sit with a cup of morning coffee, look out at the grey sky, pray the Daily Office, and reflect. And I must admit that I’m a bit distracted with what’s going on with my loved one. I’ll attempt the former prayer reflection, and conclude with the update.  

And to start, I’ll say that I love our tradition’s Daily Office. It includes prayers, and songs of prayer (also known as canticles), and scripture.  Every day, there are parts that are the same, praying the Lord’s Prayer every morning, for example. This creates a sense of rhythm for every 24 hours.  Every morning, I can know there is something the same as yesterday’s prayer time.   Every day there are parts that are different, with a seven day cycle, so the canticles on Saturday mornings are the same, creating a sense of weekly rhythm.  And there are parts of the morning prayers that repeat every three months (psalms) and others that repeat every two years (scripture).  Doing this morning prayer for any amount of time creates a sense of order in my days, weeks, months and years.  If I were to add in evening prayer, I’m sure this would be amplified, and someday. . . 

This morning’s scripture reading is from James, and is another great bit about not being judgmental.  If we value the wealthy over the poor, we are not really living Christ’s commandment of loving our neighbor as our self. When we read this in scripture, it seems easy to assent.  Of course, we should love the poor as much as the wealthy. To do otherwise seems uncharitable. We imagine the poor helpless widow, or the orphan child. Of course we should help them.  

The hard part is when we each think about our own personal judgment scale. What if instead of referring to the person in fine clothes versus the person in dirty clothes the reading referred to the young professional and the addict.  Or the kid at violin lessons and the kid in the gang.  Or the liberal and conservative. Or the pink cat hats and the red ball caps? 

We all have someone who’s considered the other, someone we judge as less.  And yet this reading continues that whoever shows partiality is convicted by the law. Now, more than ever, we people of faith need to love. We need to love everyone without judgment and without partiality. Period.  

And now an update.  Our loved one remains in the hospital. After much prayer and consultation with lawyers, investigators, and dear friends, we decided to pursue guardianship.  We talked with the lawyer a week ago, and yesterday had a telephone hearing with a judge, and were awarded temporary guardianship. A more permanent arrangement will require further investigation, and the appointment of an attorney for our loved one, and another court hearing. 

Guardianship means that my husband and I can have two-way conversations with our loved one’s care team, as opposed to be shut out because of privacy laws. We can offer our input, and it matters.  We can apply and sign on behalf of our loved one. It’s a lot of added authority, and with that comes a sense of the added responsibility. 

But in just 24 hours, we’ve been involved in more meaningful conversations than we have in the past 2 years. We’ve discussed previous hospitalizations with current doctors, and provided much needed and previously unknown information about effective versus ineffective medicine. We’ve talked with intake workers about possible independent housing options that previously we couldn’t.  We’ve talked with nurses, in response to our loved one claiming they were allergic to the only medicine that resulted in their ability to hold a job.  It’s been exhilarating, and I slept well last night. 

The responsibility is real.  The medicine our loved one believes she’s allergic to is both effective, and very strong.  It has significant possible side effects, some of which could be permanent. And yet, it’s the only thing we’ve seen that makes them stable.  All of a sudden, with a judge’s signature, our information and consent to the doctor means that our loved one is going to be forced to take a medicine that they dislike, at least while they’re hospitalized. And our loved one claimed to be allergic to the medicine, and with a simple call to us, that objection is dismissed and the meds are prescribed.  We also may have the authority, working with the doctors, to assure she is hospitalized long enough to get more stable. This is a level of responsibility and authority the State was clearly unwilling to assume. It was easier for a judge to sign over our loved one’s rights to us, than to the State.  And maybe that’s a good thing.  

In any case, it is a lot, to now be responsible for not only my life, but also my adult loved one, who has a lifelong illness. Our deep hope is that we can exert this authority just long enough to get them stable and more independently housed, and at that point step back and help them be as independent and happy as they can, from a place of more stability. And while it feels like a lot of responsibility, it’s also wonderful to be able to continue to help our loved one, more than the illness previously allowed. 

This morning, I’m thinking about God’s providence. How God is present with the court employees, investigators, privacy advocates, social workers, lawyers. I don’t know how next month or tomorrow will turn out.  But God does.  And with that knowledge, I will aim to do my part in God’s plan.  

Nov 7 2020 Update

So our loved one remains in the hospital.  They’ve finally gotten a bed in the inpatient unit, after too many days in the emergency room.  They refuse to see us, and have called only to ask for particular things they think they’ll need because they’re planning on moving out upon their release – social security card, money, socks.

It turns out that the investigator does not believe our loved one meets the criteria for a commitment hearing – harm to self or harm to others. I’d love to rant about how the stolen hammer to kill their husband, or the bottle cocked to throw at the police might constitute harm.  And I know there are lots and lots of other people who have actually harmed themselves, or harmed someone else, while my loved one hasn’t.  It’s incredibly frustrating, as this is their 7th hospitalization this year, ranging from 3 days to two months. Each hospitalization started with either a police or mental health assessment that they should be held and treated. But it’s a long way from a 3 day hold, to an actual commitment. 

Commitment means that a court has stripped away their civil liberties, and the state has assumed those inherent rights – freedom to come and go, freedom to take care as you see fit.  It is a really big deal for someone to be committed.  And while I’d love the assistance, perhaps I should be glad that my loved one isn’t as sick as those who are committed.  And I’m tired. 

So in mid-November our loved one will again be released from the hospital, and again – as of now – has no intent or interest in returning to our home. They have no intent – as of now – of allowing the hospital to share information about their treatment or release. Every preceding hospitalization has started the same, and every one has ended up with our loved one returning to our home; the alternatives are crap.   But it’s always been a bit of a hustle, to figure out when they’re being released, and what the plan is supposed to be.  We do get engaged when the social workers finally make a discharge plan when it involves us, but that seems to be late in the game. 

This time, things are a little different.  Mid-week, the investigator who suggested state commitment wouldn’t likely occur because standards weren’t met, contacted us to see if we’d considered or would reconsider guardianship.  This is another serious stripping of someone’s civil liberties, but it is done because they are incapable of making sound decisions. We haven’t decided, but either way, the next few weeks will be rough.  

Our loved one will still likely be released mid-November. If they change their mind and decide to return to our home, it’s only because there is no other better option, which will make for an unhappier return.  If we do decide to pursue guardianship, they’ll be notified, be given an attorney, and we’ll have a court date, after a couple weeks of investigation. If our loved one doesn’t want to provide a release of information for the hospital, I’m quite certain they wouldn’t be pleased with this option. 

As a parent, I absolutely understand we need to do what’s best for our kids.  This kid has a significant, lifelong illness, with significant lifelong implications. I want their life to be happy, and I want all the things we all want for our kids.  I don’t want to strip away liberties, but then again, I also don’t want them to be sick.  

This week, we decide how we want to proceed.  Regardless, we will also strive to salvage the relationship that is so splintered because of this illness. 

Yesterday, they called and asked for all of their social security money to be deposited in their own bank account. As their representative payee, it’s my job to help manage the money so it’s available for basic needs, so no. I was not willing to simply deposit the money in their account.  After a good amount of colorful language, we talked about coming to visit.  They asked us not to come today or tomorrow, but maybe later in the week.  All right, we said.  Please let us know if you need anything. And know that we love you.   I don’t need anything from you, was their reply.  Silence.   And then softer, I love you too.  

Nov 4 2020 The Practice of the Presence of God

We should not become weary of doing little things for the love of God. God regards not the greatness of the work, but the love with which the work is done. We should not be surprised if in the beginning we often fail in our endeavors. In the end, we will develop a habit which will naturally produce acts through us without effort, to our exceeding great delight.

Brother Lawrence was a brother in the Carmelite order in Paris, in the mid 1600’s. He was relegated to working in the kitchen, a role he did not like when he began. He practiced many spiritual disciplines, but eventually threw them all out. He claimed that to assume a practice created a sense of division, between his everyday life, and his spiritual life. It also created in him a sense of failure, assessing himself as a failure, when he couldn’t sustain a practice as other Carmelites, or when he didn’t sense God’s presence.

Instead, he decided to practice the presence of God in his every day world. While washing dishes, chopping and preparing meals. And with this practice, he increased his sense of God’s presence in the every day. Eventually others sought him out to learn from him.

I’ve always liked the idea of Brother Lawrence, but it was only on this little trip away that I read the book. This is how I want to be, how I try to be.

Sometimes I get swept up in a spiritual practice. Sometimes it feels like it does give me a better sense of God, or a learn something about God or my relationship with God. Sometimes, like Brother Lawrence, I feel like I am not doing it good enough. Or I act like a cad until I start my ‘practice’, as if there’s a switch that’s been flipped.

Some of my practices – morning prayer, writing and reflecting, are done in a way that imbue the rest of my day (or at least my morning) with reminders of who and whose I am. I can walk through the valley of the shadow of death, fearing no evil, as the psalmist says.

This morning, I’m thinking about all the little ways I can practice the presence of God.

Personal update – my loved one spent four days in the emergency room, because there were no appropriate beds open in Portland. They will stay in the hospital for five days and then be released, unless one of two things happens. The first option is that they agree to remain for treatment for two weeks. If they agree to this, they will likely stabilize enough that they would be released in two weeks. If they don’t agree to this, the other possibility is that an investigator will determine that they are a sufficient risk of harm to self or harm to others that a commitment hearing is scheduled. Commitment basically means that their care and decision making is assumed by the State, for a period of normally six months.

Yesterday, the investigator informed us that they were not likely to recommend a hearing, as our loved one did not meet, or just barely met the standards for commitment. The investigator also tried to obtain the voluntary 14 day extension, with a yes, no, maybe, no, yes, no response. Hopefully today, we’ll find out whether our loved one is scheduled to be released in two days, fourteen days, or whether we are required to appear before a judge for a contentious and heartbreaking hearing.

We’ve been to a similar hearing before, and we were asked to testify that our loved one could not take care of themselves, and were a danger to self. All the while, our loved one sat at the other end of the arbitration table, complaining bitterly about our treatment, lack of love, and lies about their competency.

In any case, our loved one does not currently want to speak to or see us. Once they are moved from the emergency room, it’s likely we will obtain no information about their care or release, unless we are asked to appear at a hearing. It is likely that our loved one will walk out of the hospital far from stable, with no housing, and no plans to return to our home.

I can do nothing about any of this. Except walk through my day practicing the presence of God. When I talk to the social workers, or try to talk to my loved one. When I get ready for morning prayer. When I go downstairs and get that first lovely cup of coffee from my hosts. When I check the news. God is present. Undoubtedly.

Nov 2 2020 Psalm 130

Out of the depths have I called to you, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice


After a very busy few days, I’ve escaped to the home of old friends out of town. I sleep, eat, return to daily prayer and writing, and sleeping more. Last week, I worked hard on pulling together our annual church convention, and with COVID, it was all online. That included figuring out how to assure the attendees of the meeting were the registered delegates, how to vote, worship, and celebrate our retiring bishop. There was a whole team working on it, and everyone worked and stressed. But the convention, held on Saturday went quite well, with participation from people throughout western Oregon. That would have been enough to warrant a few days of recovery.

Meanwhile my loved one was increasingly symptomatic. The police arrived at our home on Thursday night, in the middle of the night, because our loved one had called the police on us. They arrived, she screamed, they listened, they left, she yelled more.

Friday night, I went to bed early to be ready for Saturday’s convention. In the morning, we discovered that our loved one had taken a glass flower vase and thrown it into the street, leaving glass all over. We checked their room, and it was empty, a mirror broken in the bedroom. At that, I headed off to my 7 hour meeting.

When I got home, I learned from my husband that our loved one was outside the local hardware store, along with police and paramedics. I rushed up there. It turns out that our loved one had first walked to a stranger’s house about ½ mile away, and gone to the door asking for a hammer so they could kill their husband. The startled homeowner called the police. My husband had already called the police and alerted them to our loved one’s absence, so when they received this report, they knew who it was. Several hours later, our loved one apparently walked about a mile to hardware store, in stocking feet, and took a hammer and walked out of the store. They proceeded to the grocery store, where they stole some food and beer. By this time, the police had arrived responding to a call from the hardware store. When confronted by the police, our loved one resisted and threatened, and eventually was handcuffed and put in the back of a police car. When I arrived, my husband was talking to the police and our loved one was sitting in the car.

The plan was to transport them by ambulance to a psychiatric unit, and likely admit them. Being over 21, and refusing to give us information, we may or may not be notified of when and where they’re transferred, although I suspect the investigator will call to learn more, and we may get information then.

Meanwhile, my husband and I have been asked to participate in a parent subcommittee for legislation designed to clarify the standards for involuntary commitment, and since Friday, we’ve both written one page statements in support of the proposed legislation. The current legislation is vague enough that it has effectively been defined by the county, state and federal courts who’ve heard cases about ‘harm to self’, ‘harm to others’ and ‘unable to meet basic needs’. Where we live, it has been effectively defined as imminently at risk of suicide, homicide, or serious injury because of inability to care for oneself.

There is strong and committed opposition to the proposal, primarily from people with ‘lived experiences’ or people with mental health issues. Unfortunately, from my perspective, the people who are opposed to the legislation are not as sick or unaware as my loved one. My loved one may not homicidal, but I’m deeply saddened that I saw them walking away in handcuffs be immediately, an image I will never forget. They need treatment before they are handcuffed, and certainly before they actually harm themselves or others.

And so today, I rest. I pray. I cry out to God, and wait patiently. I’m not at all certain how this is going to resolve. I will take care of myself so I’m ready for whatever’s next.

Oct 28 2020 Ephesians 4:1-16

But speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and knitted together by every ligament with which it is equipped, as each part is working properly, promotes the body’s growth in building itself up in love.

First, I must say that St. Paul, the credited author of Ephesians wrote way too many run on sentences. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but I struggle with the point of his sentences, because I tend to find five or six points in one sentence, and I cannot get out of each rabbit hole fast enough to travel down the next.  Having said that, this is a good run on sentence, and while I cannot contemplate all rabbit holes, I can gloss over each, and make a summary conclusion for me today. 

We are each equipped with specific gifts and talents, and if we use those to work together in love, we all can grow together in Christ – the universal truth.  Whew.  

It’s funny, or maybe predictable, how my context absolutely defines how I understand Scripture. One week, I could understand this passage to be about my work context, other times it’s about my family life, and still other times it’s about my interior work. Given my week, I hear this section to be about my sick loved one, the gifts my husband and I are equipped with, and the process of building up love.  

Joined and knitted together.  I am inextricably joined to the rest of creation, including my sick loved one and my husband.  This I genuinely believe.  

With every ligament with which it is equipped.  I come to my family with an entirely different set of equipment than does my husband and kids. My gifts are no better or worse than theirs. My sick loved one has equipment that has allowed them to cope with a challenging past, including the foster care system, and all that inherent trauma, and now to cope with this insidious illness. I cannot always see their God given gifts and talents, nor do I understand how they’re used. But I know they have a whole tool box of equipment, for which I’m grateful.  

As each part is working properly.  Um, no.  After these past weeks, it is painfully clear to me that all of us and that all of our equipment is not always working properly.  And how it works or doesn’t work constantly changes and throws the whole system into flux. 

I’m reminded of the word homeostasis, the tendency to move towards a relatively stable equilibrium. In my world, my loved one’s behavior has changed, with an increased need to get out, and be independent. Their extended absences are frightening to me, in part for concern of their safety, and in part because it’s created a sense of instability because of its novelty.  

But as systems aim to reach stability, we learn to use new tools with which we’re equipped, to stay knit together. I desperately do not want to let a momentary instability unravel the knitting.  

And so we adjust. We respond to new circumstances, to changes in systems, so to reach that sense of equilibrium yet again.  I am grateful for gifts with which I’m equipped, my husband’s equipped and my loved one’s equipped.  I need to continue to work towards that knitting together, even when all parts aren’t working properly.  Because who am I kidding?  All parts are never all working properly!

Oct 25 2020

This is quite a roller coaster, this parenting gig. Especially parenting someone who’s really sick. Today was not one of my finer moments. And to be clear, I don’t say that to solicit sympathy. My actions were entirely defensible, but just not as kind as I want to be. 

Our loved one does not have a winter coat. Their last one was lost during an acute crisis in January 2020.  That, plus subsequent hospitalizations meant it wasn’t replaced.  Today, we were going to get a new coat, especially after a few days out overnight. I’d rather have them warm, if I can’t keep them here.  

We headed to Target. It was too much stimulation, too many choices, too many people, too much light and noise. They were increasingly unpleasant, withdrawn. We got a coat, and as my husband headed off to return something to the racks, our loved one headed off another direction.  I dutifully followed. Soon after, my husband called me, asking where we’d gone. 

Unfortunately, within earshot, I said that I always had to follow them. I was exasperated with their increasingly testiness, and they rightly heard my frustration. I’m sure it made me sound condescending, as if I was taking care of an ill-tempered toddler.  

But here’s the thing. Our loved one isn’t a toddler. They aren’t really ill behaving.  The illness is.  Unfortunately, my comment resulted in them yelling and swearing in the store, and storming out to wait in the car.  I’d set up an expectation of ill-behavior, and I’d gotten it.  

Not only is our loved one not a toddler, they want agency over their life.  Of course they do. They’re a young adult.   If our loved one had cerebral palsy, or a broken limb, we’d bend over backwards to give them a sense of autonomy and agency. Because the illness makes them testy and unhappy, it’s sometimes harder to remember that they deserve the same care and I owe them whatever agency they can manage.  

At parent support groups, there’s a standing joke or truth that this illness never or rarely results in casseroles being dropped off by well-meaning neighbors.  Sometime it’s attributed to stigma.  I think it’s less about stigma and more because we presume people will be appreciative, or grateful, or kind in response to our kind deeds. Or sweet in their illness.  That’s not the experience with this disease.  It leaves the victim with little to be appreciative or grateful or kind about.  

Today, I fell pray to the casserole maxim.  I didn’t afford them the same kindness I would have with other illnesses.  

What to do about that?  

I think it’s just a continual effort to remember that illness is illness. I take care not because of anything I’ll get out of it, but because I genuinely want to care for those who are hurting. I need to remember that in their hurt, they’re not always going to be sweet, especially when the disease is permanently damaging those very parts of the brain. 

I write this not to receive positive comments or sympathy. It’s a way for me to process the challenges of living in this house.  And a way to help anyone reading to remember that we help because it’s the right thing to do, not because someone deserves it, or repays it, or even acknowledges it.  

Oct 24 2020

 Ok.  No coat. No money. No shoes (slippers). Our loved one is gone again.  They've been gone for 3 hours. It's 49 degrees out, heading to a low of 29 tonight.  

I don't want this to be my new normal.  There's nothing normal about it. And yet, this is twice in one week.  I can't decide whether I'm more angry or frustrated or scared.  Probably all of the above. 

Now I'll bundle up, head out to see if I can find them near our home, and then possibly head back downtown. At some point this feels like I'm chicken little, crying out that the sky is falling.  Just kidding.  No really, the sky falling.  

All I know for today is that when I ball my hands up and rail at God, God understands. 

 

Oct 22 2020

 I've had a long week today.  

Yesterday afternoon, my husband and I went downtown Portland and somehow managed to spot our loved one, within about 15 minutes of riding around. They were wearing different clothes than they left the house in, 3 days earlier.  Sitting on a curb with legs outstretched, they looked forlorn and lost.  Upon seeing us, they wearily said, "can you walk me home?"   I believe they had little idea where they were or how they'd gotten there.  

Walking up to the train station, we learned that they'd taken the clothes out of the trash, and put them on.  They looked and smelled like it, a grey hoodie and black sweatpants, ill-fitting, filthy, and rank. No phone, no ID, no wallet, all of which they'd left the house with. 

Between dropping off to sleep on the train, we learned they'd been downtown years, or 2 hours, had been raped, or not, had eaten at every restaurant, or had eaten nothing. They'd slept in a fine hotel, or not at all.  There was no apparent confusion in this inconsistent retelling. Each statement was true.  As were the comments about the government, aliens, and money chained to their body. 

We got home, they showered and collapsed into bed around 5 pm.  My husband and I marveled that we'd so easily found them, and at what a wreck they were, and we headed to bed early too.  We were exhausted from three days of their absence. For someone with an already fragile brain, I cannot imagine what three days on the street, with no food, rest and lucidity would do.  

At 4AM we were awoken to the overhead lights, but no sign of our loved one. Obviously they'd turned the light on, but then returned downstairs. Apparently it was time to wake up.  We all ended up in the living room, where our loved one wailed, so sad about their pathetic life. About hating life. About how they'd been downtown for 156 years. About how they jumped off a bridge. About how they'd been attacked. About how they called the police and no one answered. Huge, wracking sobs of despair.  It was heart wrenching. We've heard that one of the best ways to think of this illness is that it's the same brain functioning that you and I have when we dream. It's just that we have the luxury of awakening, and leaving that behind. Not so in our loved one's reality. It's one long dream or nightmare, from which they cannot awaken.  

So now they're sleeping again. And we're trying to regroup and rest, getting ready for whatever's next.  Thanks to everyone's thoughts and well wishes, and next time you see someone like that in your town, think about their reality, their exhaustion, and their family. 

Oct 21 2020

A few thoughts this morning. 

First, today is the anniversary of my ordination. Nine years.  I love my work as a a deacon, making sure the church knows what the needs of the world are, and helping the people of the church get out there and meet those needs.  For everyone who's been involved in my journey, or given me the opportunity to serve, thank you.  It's been an honor. 

An update.  Our loved one remains missing. This afternoon, my husband and I will try to locate them downtown. I cannot imagine three days on the streets in Portland. Not only is it getting colder at night, downtown looks like a battle zone, with boarded up buildings, fencing, torn down statues, and graffiti, thanks to COVID and continued nightly protests. Restful sleep has been evasive for me, as I'm sure for my loved one. 

Finally, many have asked how to 'subscribe' to this blog.  Hopefully this helps.  Here's a screen shot of what I see when I go to the website "WWW.Hawley-Hill.blogspot.com" (caps not necessary).

This is not the screen you see from any particular post, but from the blog itself, Hawley-hill.blogspot.com. Right below the greenish banner, on the right side of the page is a box that reads "Subscribe to updates by email", with a place you can put your email.   Just enter your email, and you're good to go! 

Thanks to everyone who's read, who's prayed, who's worried. Stay tuned for updates! 

Oct 20 2020 - Complicated Musings

It’s been too long. I stopped writing back in the beginning of September, when our loved one left us a note explaining she was going to murder us in our sleep. Here’s what’s happened since then, and I’ll attempt to clear up some confusion about the system and us.

The police or doctors are the only ones who can involuntarily hold someone for a psych eval. Parents cannot force it. Even for a minor, a parent does have the authority to bring the child in, but the determination of needing to infringe on their civil liberties rests solely with the police or medical professionals. Our loved one is not a minor. We cannot force anything. We cannot make them  to the hospital. We cannot make the docs or police take her. We can call them when we’re concerned, and then they decide. Over the past 3 years, they’ve come and determined our loved one is not sick enough to warrant the taking of their liberties more times than they’ve taken her. 

In our area of the US, the bar is very high for that civil liberty  taking. Our loved needs to be at imminent risk of harm to self, functionally defined as suicide, or real harm to others, functionally defined as homicide. A murderous threatening note is not sufficient. Yelling downtown is not sufficient. Behaving ill is not sufficient. 

After the murderous note in September, our loved one was deemed by the mental health crisis workers to warrant an involuntary hold. They were held for 5 days at which time the court interviewed her, and deemed that they were not at imminent risk of harm to self or others, and released them. They returned to our home, and promptly stopped whatever meds they’d prescribed. 

They continued to live at home, and self-isolate, rarely interacting with anyone in the house, except in snarly mono-syllabic exchanges. We provided groceries, cooked meals, clean room, dry bed, and occasionally help connecting with remote doctors. We effectively provided a full-service mental health shelter for one. We offered to provide medicine management but that was rebuked. We offered to provide transport to the store to get them out, but that was rebuked. We offered to provide other outings like going out for dinner or for a walk, and those were mostly rebuked. I believe there was one lovely walk around the neighborhood. 

Their drug of choice is marijuana, which is legal where we live. In our parental observation, it’s the psychoactive portion of weed (THC) that seems to very negatively affect our loved one. We had successfully negotiated their use of a lower THC, high CBD strain of marijuana (who knew there’d be designer strains, with whole websites designed to match your needs for a particular effect with the stores in town that have that precise kind). This negotiation worked because we were willing to assist in the procurement of this lower THC. I’m not a fan of weed at all, but I understand the concept of harm-reduction, where you work to reduce the harm, rather than unrealistically try to eliminate the harm – like needle exchange programs. In any case, our loved one had run out their monthly money, so we purchased a very low THC weed, and provided it for them until they had  money. 

For several weeks, they were not taking prescribed meds, but just smoking very low THC weed. When they received their money, we presumed they’d buy their weed as they had been. Instead, they believed we should continue providing for free, and when we didn’t, they stole some that was in the house late last week. 

Saturday night, they purchased more weed (thanks to home delivery UGH), and purchased some that was higher THC than either the super low that we’d purchased, or the low that she’d previously purchased. Things went down hill from there. 

All through Saturday night and into Sunday, they went out in the neighborhood, posting Instagram videos. They’ve blocked us, but I have friends who’ve shared. Looking at the times of the Saturday videos, they didn’t sleep much Saturday night or Sunday. They left on a walk Sunday afternoon, while my husband and I were asleep, and they left the front door wide open. Then they got into an argument with a neighbor. It didn’t seem that horrible, but clearly they were increasingly agitated. 

They came back home Sunday evening at 6:00 to get some water, and then left, slamming the door. That’s the last we’ve seen of them. 

Since then, they have posted several disturbing videos on social media (again, I saw only courtesy of friends)  I have heard from several old friends of theirs who are very concerned for her, as well as strangers who are also worried. Thanks to everyone who’s reached out. It truly takes a village. 

A quick note about money. They receive social security and disability that is designed to provide for their needs. Sometimes they are equipped to make those decisions, other times not. As a result, Social Security would not award the money to them but to a payee. I am that payee. I receive the checks, that are direct deposited into a separate account, just for their care. They receive around $500 per month for food, rent, utilities, everything. To be fair, this amount could be higher if they were living independently, but that increased amount still doesn’t cover housing costs in Portland. They also receive food stamps which they manage directly. In April of 2019, they decided they needed a separate phone plan, for approximately $150 a month. Now there’s $350 per month ($500-$150). They receives $100 every two weeks for their own expenses. Now there’s $150 ($500-$150-$200). The balance ($150) is applied towards housing costs and utilities. It seems like we take their money because they don’t receive the full $500. But anyone who knows me knows I would not ever want to answer to Social Security about embezzling their money, and they audit every payee account. I can account fully, for every penny, except for the $200 they receive every month. 

So here’s where we are now. They were awake all night Saturday. They were out all day Sunday. They didn’t return Sunday night. My husband found them downtown Monday, only to be screamed at, and our loved one successfully lost him once they realized he was there. We have spoken with Police and Crisis Workers. They alleged they were raped on Sunday night. If that is true, that is horrible and I hope they seek help. In January, they alleged they were raped, and the Police took them to an ER where she refused a rape kit explaining it wasn’t that kind of rape. They alleged my husband raped them another time, and we were fully investigated by adult protective services. I am grateful for their investigation, and would gladly go through it a dozen more times; that system is built to protect the vulnerable, including my loved one. That system is biased towards protecting the vulnerable, and it should be. And it’s still hard every time. 

Our loved one spent a second night on the streets Monday night, unless they have been picked up either by the police or mental health professionals. During a previous trip to the hospital, they explained they were homeless, and refused to give their name, so not even their mental health providers knew where they were. Because they have not agreed to allow information be shared with us, we may or may not be notified if she’s arrested or taken to the hospital. 

So we participate in mental health support groups. We keep mental health and police folks updated on their status. We try to keep calm. We worry. We try to sleep. We think of strategies to support them during this crisis. To people who know them through social media, thank you for supporting them. Please know that what they say, they genuinely believe. They aren’t consciously making anything up, but neither is their truth the same as ours. Empathize with their feelings. Encourage them to seek help. Don’t try to convince them of a different truth, but neither fully believe their narrative. 

So now ending as I normally begin, a quick reflection on this morning’s psalms. From Psalm 28, The Lord is my strength and shield; my heart trusts in him and I have been helped. I can legitimately say that I trust that God’s got this. I don’t know what will happen to our loved one during this acute crisis; I hope they are able to accept the help they need. But regardless, I know God is with them, and God is with us. And I trust that tonight, I will lay down having done the best I can, and that God will be with us all. I am continually helped because of this deep sense of God’s providence. I don’t know how or why this chapter will be resolved. But I know it will. That knowledge is my help. 

 

Oct 3 2020 - Sacred Ground

I have had the great honor of participating with a group of deacons in this Diocese in a 10 part series on racism. It's ,hard, learning about all of the parts of our collective and individual stories that we'd never heard about - implicit bias, internment, manifest destiny. Today, I will offer the closing prayer for our 2 hour time together. Below is a litany, or call and response prayer I modified from FranPratt.com, a great resources of prayers for various occasions.




Loving and Merciful God, we acknowledge the hold racism and prejudice have on our national psyche.

Set us free from this bondage.

We acknowledge that violence has been matched with violence, and many are in pain and distress.
Bring healing to us all.

We pray now for the Church in the World, part of the body of Christ on earth, that it may be a voice of peace,

A light of love,

Working for reconciliation and unity,
Working for justice.

For all the ways we are complicit in perpetuating racism

Forgive us, Oh God.

For all the ways we have hidden the light of Christ

Forgive us, Oh God.

For all the times we have kept silent

Forgive us, Oh God.

For all the times we have capitulated to fear of ridicule and retaliation

Forgive us, Oh God. 

For all the ways we’ve given over to apathy

Forgive us, Oh God

For all the ways our own prosperity has blinded us to the needs of others.
Forgive us, Oh God.

We are gradually waking up

To the knowledge of our deep and hidden sins;\

Most particularly, to the sin of racism
Which has affected our culture, psyche, and practice.

We thought we could say, “Oh, those racist generations have passed on. The civil rights movement already happened.”

We thought we had leveled the playing field.

We thought we could ignore Whiteness.

We thought we didn’t have to see color.

But we know that we have more work to do,

To cleanse, heal and establish justice. 

We quit before the work was finished.
We were wrong.

Help us to see what we couldn’t see before.

Help us to examine everything:

To leave no stone unturned in our mission

To rout out injustice;

This work is messy. We feel overwhelmed and ashamed.

Help us not to minimize or shirk,

Nor capitulate to our fragile egos,
Nor be blinded by our privilege.

Give us strength, oh God, to continue the work.

Strength to be struck down but not destroyed, 

To be persecuted but not forsaken,
To be mystified but not despairing

Give us robust hearts,
Willing to take an unflinching look at the racism within us.



May Christ, who re-imagined death, give us inspiration for how to move forward.
Love triumphs over hate.

May Christ, who said upon rising from the grave, “Peace be with you,” bring us
into his kingdom.
Peace triumphs over violence.

May Christ, who did not retaliate but offered forgiveness, share with us his
vision.
Mercy triumphs over judgement.

We stand in solidarity with our brothers and sisters; all races, all skin colors,
all ethnicities.
Hallelujah.

We stand against racism and injustice.
Hallelujah.

And above all, we stand for love.
Hallelujah.

Amen



Modified from Litanies
from Fran Pratt http://www.franpratt.com/