Last week we saw in the news the tragic death of Robert Enke, a top German professional soccer goal keeper.   At the height of his career, Robert Enke took his own life.  It was only after his passing that details of his battle with depression were made known to the public.   Those close to Enke revealed that even though as a professional athlete he had access to a  medical and psychiatric support system that is beyond the reach of the average person, he was hesitant to admit to the problem.  Partly because of the stigma associated with mental health, and partly out of fear of how an admission like that would affect his career.

Reading about Enke’s experience made me feel that his life and mine are connected in the most unusual way:  We’ve both shared that split second moment where we had to make most unthinkable decision a person will ever face:  “Do I want to keep living?”

In that one split second that forever joined our lives, he had to decide whether to step in front of a train, where I had to choose  whether to drive in front of a truck.  Why did I turn back while he didn’t?  I don’t know.  I don’t think anyone ever will. 

But regardless, I feel that I now have a responsibility to share my story with others so hopefully they will never have to face that choice.

I have been asked often what is the difference between “clinical depression” and feelings of being “down” that all of us experience every now and then.  I need to be absolutely clear here:  I am NOT a psychiatrist and I am NOT qualified to give clinical or diagnostic advice.  I can only share from my personal experiences.  For me, the one signal that alerted me was the chronic nature of my depression.  It shadowed me day in and out, never seeming to lift.   As I wrote in my earlier post, when a person is face with a chronic pain, the most natural reaction is to seek relief.  And because the pain never goes away, the person keeps returning to the activity or substance that promises short term relief.  The result is obvious: addiction.

For myself, the first thing I turned to was alcohol.  Being a minister for almost 20 years, I had never been much of a drinker.  When  I first started drinking, it seemed to do the trick:  it didn’t take much to knock me out, and put me to sleep.  I was able to experience pain-free sleep for at least a few hours.

But, as with any addictive substance, the “effects” never lasts.  I ended up drinking more and more, but rather than relieving my pain, alcohol simply paralyzed my body, but the saddness, the pain never lifted.  I ended up even more miserable.   Much of this was happening while I was still a minister, so I had to keep my struggle a secret.  I was thankful that with counseling and medication, I was able to realize “early” that alcohol was not the answer. This did not take away my depression right away and my personal life would continue to spiral down before it hit rock bottom, but I was at least grateful that I was able to turn back before alcohol manage to fix its grip on me.

I have no idea who will read this, but my message to those who are in similar situations  is simple:  Please get help.  I know the temptation to try to “fix” things yourself is strong, and I know it is frightening to come out to admit to the problem.  I also have to be honest in admitting that not everyone will be able to understand or extend to you the kindness that you hope for.  I have experienced rejection and condemnation from some of my closest “friends”.  But the good news is that some will understand, some will go out of their way to be kind, real help is available and you WILL get better.  But YOU have to be willing to take that first step towards being well.

And you know what?  Regardless of what you may feel or think, YOU ARE WORTH IT!  You deserve to be well.  Please believe that.

My hope is that as more and more of us who live with depression and mental health issues share our stories, this will lead to more of an attitude and culture of kindness and understanding.  Which hopefully in turn will make it “easier” for people to seek help from those around them.

In a couple of weeks I will be giving a talk on the attitudes towards mental health in the Chinese/Asian religious community.   I hope some good will come from that.

Also, towards the end of November I will begin posting a new series of articles on the Lone Voice Workshop website written by people who live with mental health conditions.  The series will start with the transcript of a round table discussion I will be hosting with them.  The article should appear early in December on the Lone Voice Workshop site.  Please stay tuned for that.

Please feel free to connect with me further if you’d like to talk.  Thanks for reading.

Today I had some important banking to do for work, so I drove over to our branch, parked the car, walked up to the door and…

Nothing.

“What the…?”

Then I saw the note posted on the door.  “Darn!  It’s Remembrance Day!”

“Why can’t I get a day off on Remembrance Day too?” I muttered to myself, being annoyed at the inconvenience.

I looked at the watch, it was around lunch time, so I decided to stop by McDonald’s to grab a quick bite before heading back to the office.  I noticed that the lines at McDonald’s are shorter than usual, I guess because some people are not at work today.  “Well, I guess that’s one good thing that comes out of this day.”

It was then that I saw him.

He was a frail elderly gentleman, sitting by himself at a table, having coffee.  He was wearing his military medals.  I assumed he must have come from taking part in one of the Remembrance Day ceremonies around the city.  He sat there all alone, just staring into his coffee. 

Perhaps he was thinking of  friends and comrades who did not come home with him from the war.  May be he was thinking of what their lives could have been together.  Whatever it was, today meant a whole lot more to him than a day off for the banks and shorter lines at McDonald’s.

Every now and then life offers you fleeting moments where you see things truly in proper perspective.   As I stood there holding my lunch, I saw in this elderly gentleman all that I have been given.  The life I live today was made possible because of sacrifices made by him and others like him.  Because of them my little girl could leave her life of being an abandoned orphan and come to this country where she is blossoming into her future.   As it is so often the case in these fleeting moments of proper vision, I was left feeling grateful for all I have been given.

I put down my lunch, walked over to his table to shake his hand.  “Sir, thank you for all you have given to my family.”

He looked up from his coffee, with a weary smile said to me, “You’re welcome.”

May we always remember.

May we give our lives to build a world where never again will someone has to die so that others can live; where no one will need to be imprisoned so that others may live free. 

May we remember what we have been given, and live on to continue to give of ourselves:

“To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.”

Two nights ago I had the honor of attending my first Speakers Bureau meeting with the AIDS Committee of York Region.   I was there simply as a volunteer to use my experience and training in public speaking to help them share their stories and messages more effectively when they reach out to the community.  It was a small group of folks who are either infected or affected by HIV/AIDS.  They came to the disease, or I should say, the disease came to them in many different ways.  But they have one thing in common: They share a common courage in being willing to open up their lives and use their stories to educate, to tear down stigma, to build bridges, and to inspire others.

It was our first meeting together, and I took some time offering some basic ideas on public speaking and offered to go back to work with them more to turn their stories into messages to benefit their audiences.   But as I listened to them sharing their stories, it struck me that the language of the evening has a strong…biblical tone to it.  They speak of restoration of dignity, reaching the outcast, building bridges, etc.  One person said, “I think I was given this disease so that my life can be used for a purpose of helping others find hope.”

After hearing their sharing, I offered some final remarks and I caught myself coining an interesting phase.  I said to them: “Each time you get up and open your heart and share your stories, I hope you realize  it is a moment that is….sacred…without being religious”

Driving home afterwards, I was impressed once again that since joining the world of social services, how many times I have heard God’s voice speak, seen God’s hand work, and felt God’s spirit moves, all outside the four walls of the church.  My thoughts was drawn to Van Gogh’s famous painting, “Starry Night” (above), where he used yellow light to represent God’s presence, and he made it a point to show that the yellow light was everywhere, except in the church building in the painting.

I remembered it as clear as if it happened yesterday.

It was about 4 years ago.  I was driving on the 401.  An 18-wheeler (transport truck) pulled up right beside me.  For a long stretch, we raced down the highway side by side.

I remember the thought rising up inside me: “Go on…if you steer your car into the truck, the pain will end, once and for all.”

That was the precise moment, the precise place along the 401, where I decided to get help.

Being a minister for all these years, I have had the opportunity to counsel people who were suicidal.  During all those encounters, one question continued to haunt me: “How does one get to a point in life where death becomes at attractive option?”  I had never been able to figure that out.

Until that moment on the 401.

Outwardly, everything seemed fine.  I was successful as a minister.  Everything was going well.   There was no sign of anything seriously wrong. 

But inwardly, I was struggling with this incredible, suffocating weight of despair.  It started a few years ago as uncontrollable weeping spells out of nowhere, I could be walking along in a shopping mall, driving down the street, or wherever.  All of a sudden, this tsunami of despair would wash over me, sweep me off my feet, knock the wind right out of me, until there is nothing left to do but cry.

Eventually the despair became a physical pain.  There was no escaping it.  I opened my eyes in the morning, and there it was. 

I began to crave sleep not to rest, but to escape the pain…if only just for a few hours.   But sleep became a luxury that was harder and harder to come by.

Sunday mornings became hell.  I had to “perform”.   There were times when I had to speak in 3 services, in 3 different languages, and then I would go home and collapse. 

After the episode on the 401, I seeked counselling.  I was sent to my doctor, where I was diagnosed with depression and was prescribed anti-depressant.

I remember the first time taking that prescription to the counter at the pharmacy.  I felt as though every eye in the store was looking at me.  I remembered saying to myself, “So this is what it feels like.”

The counselling and therapy and medication did not turn things around right away, my personal life continued to spiral downwards.  Until I completely fell apart and hit rock bottom.

To cope with the pain, people who struggle with depression turn to all sorts of different things:  Drugs, alcohol, food, sex, pornography, some seeked the thrill of dangerous behavior to numb the pain, some turn to extramarital affairs, some spend money like it’s going out of style, some turn to gambling.

The activities may be different, but the underlying dynamic is the same:  It is an addiction to try to escape the pain.

When we hear of people getting involved in such things, it is easy to be judgemental and say, “How can he/she does such a thing?  It is so wrong!”

What we fail to understand is that for a person in that situation, the mind no longer functions with the “Right Vs. Wrong” grid.  Instead, life becomes a single minded obsession to simply stop the pain.

I do not say this to make excuses for others, like myself who had fallen.  I simply point this out so perhaps we learn to understand a little more, and with more understanding, hopfully what follows is a little more kindness.

Alice Miller wrote in her book, “Breaking Down the Wall of Silence”: “What is addiction, really?  It is a sign, a signal, a symptom of distress.  It is a language that tells us about a plight that must be understood.”

Wise words.

Today I am involved with the Speakers Bureau of the Canadian Mental Health Association – York Region Branch.  We share our stories with each other and we share our message with the community to bring more awareness and education about the reality of living with a mental health condition.

I approached the group and they have agreed to be featured as a first project of the Lone Voice Workshop.  I will have a sit down round table with them to hear their stories.  The script of that conversation (with names being changed) will be featured on the Lone Voice Workshop website.  Following that, some of the individuals in the group will write their own stories and they will also be published on the site.

Part of the reason of me starting this new blog and the related “Lonevoice Workshop” is to use this as a platform to share writings that will be helpful for others, ultimately inspiring others to become better people.  It is my conviction that part of learning to be better people is to learn to listen better, especially to voices that are marginalized by our society.   My hope is that with this first project of the Lone Voice Workshop, we will all learn to listen more, and judge less.

Stay tuned and please check back often.

Lately work has been a daily challenge of developing exciting future plans but at the same time trying to look for new funding and resources to make sure that we will be around in the future to see those plans through.  It has not been easy to keep the staff (and on some days, myself) motivated and encouraged, but I am learning SO MUCH throughout this whole process (ordeal?).  In the middle of all this, Anna and Taylor have been pillars of strength for me.  Every day, no matter how good or how bad a day I’ve had at work, seeing them at the end of the day puts everything in proper perspective.

Today is Taylor’s 5th birthday, so last night we were busy helping her prepare for her own big party at school with all her classmates.  Apart from getting ice cream, cupcakes and everything else, my favorite moment came when Anna helped Taylor sort out a small photo album she would take to school today for a bit of “show and tell”.   Anna printed out pictures from different points along Taylor’s young journey and arranged them chronologically for Taylor to tell her own “story” to her class.  As Taylor practiced last night by providing commentary to each picture (”This was taken in China when I first met mommy and daddy, I was 10 months old”, “This was when we took our first trip together to San Francisco”…), watching her, it occured to me that I am a witness of a miracle unfolding.  It is a narrative, a story of how God took a child abandoned on a pile of dirt the day of her birth, uniting her with us, and allowing us to watch her blossom into the beautiful young girl she is today.  As I watch her practice telling her story last night, I said to myself, “I can spend the rest of my life travelling the world and never see anything more spectacular than this.”

This morning, after dropping mommy off at the GO Train station, we had some nice Daddy-Daughter time (that’s what she calls it) by having breakfast at McDonalds before school.  She couldn’t stop telling me ALL the things she would do today.  She concluded by saying to me, being all serious: “Daddy, I am five now.  I need you to tell Ms. Kantor that I can stop napping in the afternoon.  Only the young kids at school do that.  I am a big girl now.”  What do you say to that?

I dropped her off at school, and as I turned to leave after our usual “hug and kiss”, she came running back to give me an extra hug.   I guess it was a special hug on a special day.  After the hug, she said, “I love you, Daddy!” and ran off to play in the gym.

Who says miracles don’t happen anymore?

Over the last year or so our agency had worked hard to try and save our funding from the Town of Richmond Hill.   Last night we presented our case to Town Council and hoped we can change their minds.

In the days leading up to last night, the situation had generated quite a bit of momentum.   People wrote letters to Council in support of us, they called us to ask what they can do. Between that and our regular “business”, the phones had been ringing non-stop.   I have been doing interview after interview with newspaper and TV to try to get our message out to the public.

Last night, at the meeting, quite  a large number of our supporters were there, and 17 of them registered to speak.  As new Canadians, it was not an easy task for them.  In addition to the language challenge, many of them came from countries where they were not allowed to have a voice.  It must have been such an intidimating experiece for some of them to stand up in Council Chambers to make their views known.  I was encouraged to hear their stories and how our agency had helped them in their time of great need.

In the end, we were told that Council had made up their minds two years ago and nothing anyone said last night made a difference.   As we filed out of the Chambers following the decision, I saw the disappointment on many of their faces.  It occured to me then that there was a greater casualty last night other than our funding:  For the people who spoke last night, they came in believing that in Canada, their voice count and can make a difference.  Instead, they were told plainly that it didn’t matter if they had shown up at all.

Last night we lost something far more valuable than the small amount of funding we were hoping to get.   In the minds and hearts of the many new Canadians who came out, they lost their vision of how things are supposed to work in Canada, their new homeland.

Last week was an exhausting week for everyone at the office.  After the Town Council handed down their decision to discontinue our funding by the end of this year, the office went into overdrive to try any means possible to get the decision reversed.  Everyone knew that we were facing a steep climb and long odds.  But it didn’t seem to matter.  We believe in the work that we do, and we will give it our all until there’s absolutely nothing left to try and no one left to call on.

I was sitting in my office, in between emails and phone calls.  I was exhausted.  I reached for my phone and typed a text message to Anna: “It seems like everywhere I turn in my life I am facing a battle.  I’m tired of fighting…”  After I sent the message, I said to myself, “I need a miracle…”

Just then someone came to see me unannounced.  It was a young Iranian woman.  After introducing herself, she told me that she’s heard of our funding battles in the news, and wanted to come by to tell me something.   She then went on to tell me an incredible story…

She came to Canada about 2 years ago, with no job, and no idea what she could do.  Someone told her about Helpmate (our agency) and that we have a specialized program to place new immigrants into volunteering opportunities to help them gain Canadian experience, build their social networking and improve their English.  She came to us, and apparently we placed her at a Senior’s home to volunteer.  Day in and day out she faithfully went, spending hours at a time reading and talking to the Seniors, many of them never said a word in return. 

One day, as she was reading to a Senior lady, who has not spoken a word for more than 7 years, suddenly she turned, and said to our young volunteer: “Please…I am thirsty…”  Everyone stopped what they were doing.  It was like the whole place grounded to a halt.  You could’ve heard a pin drop.

The young volunteer’s work was recognized and commended by the Mayor of Toronto.  She built from that experience and today she is in medical school, training to become a doctor.  She said to me, “I just wanted to come and tell you, it all started with what you guys do here at Helpmate.”

After she left, it occured to me that life is a daily miracle.  Every day, every where God becomes flesh and walks in our midst.  But “He came to his own people, but they did not want him.”

I have no idea what will happen with Helpmate going forward as far as our funding goes.  But as I sat and waited for a miracle, I was reminded that for that young woman from Iran, we were a part of her miracle.   Perhaps when it comes down to it, that’s what I sign up for, not to sit and wait for miracles to come my way, but to find ways to become a part of other people’s miracles, day in, day out.

Today was a big day at our agency.  We have to make a very important funding decision to try and get our core funding extended.  If we lose this funding, it will put our agency in serious financial troubles.

In many ways, I had worked hard for months to prepare for this presentation.  We have worked hard on our services and saw encouraging results.  We went through draft after draft on what to say during the presentation, going through each word with a fine tooth comb.  Finally we arrived at something that we were happy with.

This morning as I left the office to make the presentation, I looked at the staff and felt an incredible burden for them.  After all, their jobs (and mine, for that matter) can be on the line here.  I told them that I will try my absolute best and no matter what happens, we will continue to find ways to fund our work.

The presentation ended with the worst possible outcome.  We lost the funding.

It was a long, lonely drive back to the office.   By the time I got back, everyone had heard the news.  I really wanted to give a pep talk to “rally the troops”.  But I didn’t know what to say.

As I sat in my office trying to deal with what happened, one of our part time staff called.  She said she will gladly give up her part time salary and volunteer her time if it will help.  She said, “I believe in this work.  I want to stay with it till the end.  I’ll do it for nothing.”

As I have said before, one of the greatest blessings I have received in this field of work is to meet people who are truly passionate about what they do, who make daily sacrifices to make it happen.

Meanwhile…it’s time to get back on the fundraising trail…

“I want to know you/I want to hear your voice/I want to know you more….”

I am not sure why, but during the singing time in church today, this phase from a familiar song  jolted me.

It was a song that I must have sung a 100 times before.   But for some reason this morning, something about those words stopped me in my tracks.

“I want to know you more…”

Really?   I mean, do we really?

By definition, to know someone more is to find out something about the person that we didn’t know before.  Perhaps even to have a long held impression about the person shattered.

That’s what happens when you get to know someone more.

But it seems that so often, when I hear people talk about their experience of “knowing God more”, it is little more than confirming what they already “knew” about God. 

It’s almost like we start out with this mental image of whom God is “supposed to be”, and when we come across an experience that happen to confirm that image, we talk about it, and others join in, “praising God”.

I have been part of those “sharing of testimonies” countless times.  Often I wonder…are we really “praising God”, or are we simply “congratulating” ourselves for “being right” about God?

What happens to all those experiences that do not “jive” with who we think God is supposed to be and how He is supposed to act?  Why don’t we talk about those more?

In fact, I have observed that when we come across an experience of that sort, we often do the worst possible thing:  We take that experience , we push it down, we twist it around, we “shoehorn” it into this box we have in our minds labelled:  ”This is who God is”.

Do we really what to know God more?

Can we handle being wrong, terribly wrong, fundamentally wrong about God, about who He is, what He wants, how He works, what He does?

It is quite clear that in the biblical story, that’s part and parcel of being “God’s people”…God’s people in the Bible are often those who are most “wrong” about God.   And God, for thousands of years have had to say “That is NOT who I am…”

For some reason, the church today seems to be quite convinced that God doesn’t have to do that anymore…”We’ve got you figured out…thank you very much.”

Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why God has always had a “thing” against people creating and worshiping man made images.  Because once you create an “image”, you are saying: “Here, we’ve figured it out: THIS is what God looks like…”

The Bible says we were created in God’s image…I wonder if in the way we approach Christianity, the opposite is true, that we, in our own minds, have “created God in our image”

It seems to me, biblically, that a central part of the journey of faith is to be proven “wrong” about God.   Yet today we seem to be bent on proving to others how “right” we are about Him.

Meanwhile, we sing “I want to know you/I want to hear your voice/I want to know you more…”

Do we really?

Whew!  What a busy, busy weekend it was!  On Thursday night, I performed with a couple of good friends at a Starbucks in a fundrasing event for Canadian Free the Children.  On Friday, we performed again at a Canadian Red Cross youth event, trying to encourage the youth to make a difference with their lives. 

Then, to top it all off, Sunday morning my sister and I went downtown bright and early (and I do mean EARLY) to run the Scotiabank Toronto Half Marathon!  It was her first road race in 7 years, and it was my first marathon-distance race in a long, long time.   We had a great time running together and despite being runners and racing for many years, for the first time brother and sister crossed the finish line in a race together (in 2 hours, 22 minutes and 18 seconds!), basking in the upbeat music and loud cheers from supporters who came out to encourage the 20,000+ runners who took part in the event.

After the race, Anna cooked me a fantastic dinner in the evening to refuel my exhausted body.  After everyone had gone to bed,  I sat back with a beer, put up my feet and quietly reflected on the crazy weekend.  I was thankful for the opportunites to perform for a good cause and I enjoyed every step of the marathon experience.  But what I treasured most from the weekend was the fact that I was surrounded by friends and family…

Running a long distance race always put me in a reflective mood.  As I was sitting there, being thankful for those who had remained faithful as friends, I couldn’t help but think of that wonderful saying in Chinese:  路遙知馬力﹐日久見人心 (Distance will reveal the endurance of a horse, time will show the heart of a man)  It seemed especially fitting after I just finished a half-marathon. 

What can I say?  I am a blessed man.

Click here for a video from the Starbucks event