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/