In the early days of photography, everyone looks grumpy.  There are several reasons for this.  First, it took awhile for the negative to capture the image, so the people had to sit still for a long time.  So they assumed a natural pose and waited for the photographer to tell them they were done.  Also, these were hard working people. They were busy fighting the Civil War (Which, incidentally, wasn’t so civil), there were economic issues, a country to build, and a whole lot of other things going on that didn’t necessarily inspire a lot of joy.  Finally, at that point in the history of photography, people didn’t realize how grumpy they looked.  It never occurred to them to fake a smile by saying “Cheese!”

Around the same time, this guy Maslow came up with a theory which he called the Hierarchy of Needs.  According to Maslow, people focused on safety, food, shelter, and other basic needs before they ever considered seeking something called Self Actualization.  In fact, up until the last couple of generations, most people hadn’t the foggiest notion of what it meant to be actualized – let alone to do it themselves.  They were too busy trying to provide food and shelter for their families.

Somewhere around the late 1950s and 1960s we began to hear about people who wanted to “find themselves.“ Their parents scratched their heads and wondered what that meant.  Meanwhile their kids ran off, grew their hair long, and explored the world through love, sex, and rock’n roll.  They were seeking peace and love.  It wasn’t long before a new genre of books was born.  No longer did one need a personal spiritual or psychological guru, they could now buy a self-help book and discover self actualization – without becoming a hippy.

It was about ten years ago when I noticed that some people expected everything to be fun.  Whether it was a three-week vacation in Alaska, or a quick trip down to the store, people seemed to ask: “Did you have fun?”

I wondered, “Why does it have to be fun?“

As a matter of fact, for the most part, my Alaska vacation was “fun.” But more than anything, it was relaxing, spiritually refreshing, insightful, and my soul was re-created.  There were “fun” moments.  There were “fun” times.  I laughed, I cried, I danced, I slept, I even howled with wolves.  But “fun” isn’t the first adjective I would use to describe that trip – and it isn’t the reason I went back the next year.

While I’m on this rant, why does a jaunt into the store, and maybe a couple of other errands have to be, um… “fun?”  Why can’t it just be about the errands?  Do I really have to be self-actualized while I’m buying milk, children’s ibuprofen, and getting the oil changed?  Is there never a time when I can just be – does everything have to be about me finding my inner peace?

Which brings me to my current state of seeking self-actualization.

As my regular readers know, this past couple of years have been, um… hard.  After pouring my heart and soul into my Church for the past 10+ years, they unceremoniously dumped me.  It wasn’t for any moral issues.  I kept my political views to myself.  I worked long, hard hours – and did extra things like my hardworking Dad taught me.  Sure, I made mistakes – but nothing irreversible.  I was trying to do the right things, but ultimately I found myself unemployed.  This made me grumpy.

Actually, I think I was grumpy before that – but I got more grumpy after being fired.

Here’s what I’ve learned about grumpiness:

• People don’t want me to be grumpy.  They will do everything in their power to slay the grumpiness.  They will offer entertainment, recreational drugs, diversions, TV, codependency, or any other distraction to stop the grumpiness in others.

• People don’t respect grumpy people.  Despite the Great American work ethic and rampant workalohism, people want you to look like you’re enjoying every minute, of every activity, everyday.  70% of the population is either taking prescribed antidepressants, or are self-medicating in some other way, but damn you if you look unhappy.

• If you’re grumpy, you must be doing something wrong.  Apparently, you are not self-actualized if you’re grumpy.  It doesn’t matter if God is taking you through a wilderness experience, you’re tasked with a seemingly impossible mission, or are experiencing a painful disease (physical, social, emotional, or psychological) – apparently, you are broken if you are grumpy.

• No pain, no gain.  It’s a funny thing to say – but you better do your pain thing in private.  We don’t want to hear about it.  We really don’t care about your personal gain.  Just don’t bring us down with your struggles.

• You can be grumpy when you’re alone.  In your car, tossing and turning in your bed at night, sitting in your office trying to finish that project – but don’t you dare be grumpy when you’re with us.

• No matter your work ethic, values, or personal/political beliefs – people will tolerate you, if you’re not grumpy.  Be joyful, or at least have the facade of joy – and you will be liked by all.  But show any grumpiness and you’re a dead man walking.

If anyone should understand grumpiness, it should be Christians. But here’s a great paradox: Christians go out of their way to put on a constant facade of joy.  Despite the fact that the Bible is filled with grumpy God-followers, church people seem to think it is their duty to never show signs of angst.  I wonder where this originated from?

I wonder how long it took Adam and Eve to regain their composure after leaving the Garden of Eden.  Not only did they bring sin – and death – on all of humanity, but they were cursed with hard-work, sweat, and the pain of childbirth.  They didn’t just leave, they were barred from ever returning.  Then one of their sons killed the other.  Was life always joyful for them?

Did the Children of Israel experience joy during their 400+ years of Egyptian captivity and slavery?  Do you think they might have had a few grumpy moments?  What about the Prince of Egypt, Moses?  I wonder if his 40 years in the wilderness – tending sheep – were always joyful?  Was David self actualized whiled holed up in Adullum’s Cave and hiding from Saul?  Reading through the book of Ecclesiastes, it’s quite apparent that Solomon sought joy and pleasure his whole life – until he finally found contentment.

Isaiah, Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Hosea, Habakkuk, Ruth – the list goes on and on.  These folks were on epic pilgrimages and lived lives of sorrow and discomfort.  Some of their sorrow was brought on by themselves, some by the situations they found themselves in, but often, their sorrow was part of God’s plan.  Jesus, himself, has been referred to as the Man of Sorrows.

In the 1800s, my great-grandparents left the relative safety and comfort of their lives to seek a better life in the West. They loaded up their belongings, at least what they had room for, and headed West in a covered wagon.  What hardships did they endure during that epic journey?  What dangers did they experience?  Half of those that embarked on this journey died along the way.  In fact, my great-grandparents came through the what is now Montana and Wyoming during their trip.  As they came to the banks of the Little Bighorn River, they helped bury some of General Custer’s soldiers.

I can say with frankness, that we have been into the depths of Hell.”

When we arrived in Oregon, we were burned out after five years of church planting.  We had a new son, who was just six weeks old.  We were stressed, we were tired, we needed a break.  We just left our closest friends and moved to the gray and dampness of Oregon.  We had no close family nearby, no close friends, and we were in distress.  It was a hard time – that got harder.  Needless to say, I was grumpy.

Now, almost three years later, I can say with frankness, that we have been into the depths of Hell.  As we begin to climb out, the demons reach up and seek to pull us back in.  Our bodies and psyches are damaged.  Our souls are wounded.  We are barely representative of who we were.

I’ve spent the past year trying to survive the Winter of my discontent, trying to keep food on the table, a roof over our heads, and retool for a new career.  Self-actualization has been the furthest thing from my mind.  I’m a little farther down the scale in Dr. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.  And I’m OK with that.

It would have been nice if our Church would have recognized that we are aren’t the enemy they envisioned us to be – that we are merely wounded warriors in need of recovery.  It would have been nice if our employer had provided resources for our emotional and spiritual recovery – recognizing their investment would not go to waste, and that we were still valuable to the organization.  It also would have been nice if those who were offended by my grumpiness had recognized, that like Job, I was having a hard time.  This didn’t make me a bad person.

As we crawl out of Hell, I can tell you will assurance that I don’t want to stay in Hell.  I can also tell you, from personal experience, that what doesn’t kill us will indeed make us stronger.  I’m not quite to the point where I’m fully recovered – that will take awhile – but I definitely have learned a few things in the past five years.

I’m glad they fired me.  I’m glad to be gone.  I never again want to be a part of any organization that treats people so poorly.

Also, while I still have some serious bouts of grumpiness, I’m starting to experience scattered joy, with periods of contentment.  I appreciate those who don’t take my grumpiness personally.

Dear Dad,

I’m sure going to miss you when you’re gone. I want you to know this now – because at your funeral, it will be too late to say it.  I want you to know how important you are to me, how much I respect you, and how much I appreciate you.  No one could ever take your place in my life.  I am blessed to have you as my Dad.

From my earliest memories, I know that I’ve always worshiped the ground you walked on. You were always the man I wanted to be when I grew up.  Through thick and thin, I’ve always known you were there. I could call you when my car broke down, and you’d drive across the state to get me – or anyone else for that matter.  If I had a problem, you usually had a solution.  You are kind, giving, and a lot of fun to be around.  You are the best Dad a kid could ever have.

Lately, I’ve had several men, around your age, in the back of the ambulance with me.  Each of them was facing his own health crisis.  It makes me think of our mortality, and the certainty of death.  Whether you live another 30 years, or face death sooner, I want you to know that you are loved.  You, Dad, will be missed.

The best part of that story is the look in your eyes when you tell it.

You tell a story of when I was just two or three years old, playing in the back yard with a friend. Like usual, when you came home from work, you found me and let me know you were home.  Apparently, according to your words, I dropped my toys, turned to my friend and said, “I gotta go, my Dad’s home!“  And with that I ran into your arms.

The best part of that story is the look in your eyes when you tell it.  I swear, sometimes I think the buttons are popping off your shirt – and I never tire of hearing you tell it.  I feel your pride when my Smiling Son replicates my actions.

Also from an early age, you let me work with you. Whether riding on a piece of heavy equipment, using hand tools, or working on the car – I learned so much from being around you and with you.  They say that common sense isn’t very common, but for me it’s normal – you shared yours with me and I treasure the learning and much as the knowledge.

No one could have a better Dad than I have – no one.

Sometimes you were a show-off, and often you were a smart-alec – but there is no doubt in my mind that you’re one of the smartest, toughest, and greatest men I’ve ever known.

You took us camping, coached our teams, and showed us how to handle success, and failure.  For a man born in a log cabin, with no running water or electricity, you have done very well for yourself.  I’m proud of you – and proud to call you my Dad.  You taught me wisdom, responsibility, and how to work hard.  You always gave more than you received, and in an ironic sort of way, you have always been humble in your greatness.

No one could have a better Dad than I have – no one.

I love you Dad.  I’m going to miss you.

Your Kid!  G

Commuting is one of the things I’ve missed over the past decade.  I know, this is crazy talk, but hear me out.  As I’ve mentioned before, I’m an introvert – commuting allows me time to prepare for the day ahead and process the day just passed.  But, as I’ve also said before, be careful what you wish for.

A 20 minute commute is OK.  A 30 minute commute, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, can be unbearable.  Currently, I get to drive 70 minutes, through some of the most gorgeous countryside anywhere!  30 minutes would be great – 70 minutes is overkill.  I’d gladly settle for something in-between.  The two-and-a-half hours of driving is killing me.

However, like all things that seek to kill me, I look for survival solutions.  I’m experimenting with routes, time-saving opportunities (e.g eating and shaving while driving, etc), and multi-tasking.  I use the morning drive to feed my soul and I use the late-night drive to feed my mind.  In the morning, I seek to connect with God, worship, and pray.  At night, I either use the quiet drive to digest the day’s events, or I listen to podcasts and feed my need for ideation.

Unfortunately, we are so polarized, that it seems we can’t agree on the solutions.

Through this process of ideation, as I’ve listened to various podcasts and radio discussions, I’ve been struck with a reverberating theme. We, as a society, are increasingly bogged down by bureaucracy – broken bureaucracy. Although no single individual is able to accomplish major change on their own, we, as a culture, tend to blame individuals for our failures.

Over the past several weeks, I’ve listened to several podcasts (liberal, moderate, and conservative) – each story I listened to, spelled out common problems we all face: the economy, religion, government, wars, international relations, AIDS, poverty, etc.  In each case, as I listened to the stories, I was very impressed at the largess of the issues.  In other words, these issues are so huge, that only a great community effort will enable us to solve the problems.

Unfortunately, we are so polarized, that it seems we can’t agree on the solutions.  While I may have my opinions, I do not claim to be smart enough to have the absolute answers to any of these issues.  I’m not sure anyone does.  So, instead of working towards rapid solutions, we argue, debate, and demonize for months and years and decades.  If one group’s ideas are rejected, it seems that instead of accepting the solution adopted, we (especially those whose values or solutions were rejected), spend our energy fighting the solution.  So, what happens, once a solution is decided (usually by a narrow margin vote) instead of working to see the success of that solution, the fight continues – and groups seek to sabotage the other groups proposed solution.

Instead of solutions, we are creating stagnation.  Then, amazingly, we blame the people who had ideas in the first place.  It’s quite amazing.  A man runs for president and then wins by a slight margin.  But because he is unable to accomplish the things he said he could, we point fingers and blame him for causing the mess.  Why don’t we point fingers at those who put up roadblocks?  Why don’t we blame the decades of mismanagement that led to the current crisis?  Why is it the new guy’s fault?

We need to step and face the real problem: massive bureaucratic stagnation.

The system is broken. Democracy is dysfunctional. Until we fix the system, we’re not going to fix the problems.

I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t understand.  I have images burned into my brain – that have wounded and scarred me to the core of my being.  I’ve seen things that no caring person should ever have to see.

The other day, a cop friend of mine was talking about some of the things she has seen.  She mentioned how they joke about using the MIB “flashy thing” when they retire – to erase all the things they’ve seen.

The next day, a paramedic friend of mine told me about a horrendous car wreck he responded to when he was still a “wet-behind-the-ears,” 21 year old, newly-minted, paramedic.  These images never leave us.

It was hard for us to come from a church that was trying hard to serve the community around us, to a church that seemed to be very ego-centric. In fact, even those within the church – regular attenders, and not-so-regular attenders – who were in need of support, were often ignored.  It didn’t help that my own family was going through our own personal crisis.  I was quite frustrated that the people who seemed to have it all together, wanted more; and those that were hurting and broken were being ignored.

In addition to my family’s personal survival struggles, I spent my time reaching out to the unreached, the hurting, and the broken.  As Jesus said, “I didn’t come to heal the healthy, I cam to help the sick.“

Over the past three weeks, I’ve been plunged back into the abyss of society’s broken people. The folks I see as a paramedic, are terribly broken, terribly wounded, and terribly lost – in many ways.  Due to HIPPA privacy laws and professional etiquette, I am unable to share great details.  But somehow I want to convey the utter brokenness of people in our midst.  While there are a great number of people who live in stable homes, in stable environments, and who have regular medical issues – there are many whose lives are so far removed from our own, that you may actually believe they are from another world.

People so poor, financially, spiritually, and socially, that they allow people into their homes who are abusing their children – just because they need a caretaker, or a companion.

People so poor, financially, spiritually, and socially, that they allow people into their homes who are abusing their children – just because they need a caretaker, or a companion.  People so broken, that they lay in their own excrement and urine for days on end.  People so broken, that when you first see them, you wonder how they even survive.

Emotionally, these folks are so broken that you see no soul in their eyes.  Physically, they often look 20-30 years older than their actual age.  Spiritually, they are lost.  No longer wandering, no longer seeking – just hopelessly lost.  They have been abandoned by their families, discarded by their friends, and swept aside by society.  They live in the nooks and crannies of our cities – wherever they can find space.

I’m not talking about the homeless tramps downtown, nor am I talking about the mentally ill who wander the streets.  I’m talking about the people who came from relatively normal homes.  But because of physical, emotional, sexual, or spiritual abuse, they have been broken, busted, and discarded.  Nothing short of a miracle could save them now.

As I drove home the other night, my own spirit was overwhelmed by what I’d seen that day. I reflected on the people I’d seen over the past week.  I reflected on people I’d seen over the past month.  They call 9-1-1 for assistance, but they don’t really have an emergency.  They need help, but it isn’t the kind of help a paramedic can offer.  And even though we take them to the emergency department at the nearest hospital, there really isn’t anything they can do either.  A few hours later, these people are discharged and sent home – but they’re just as broken, nothing has changed.

One lady told me she called for a taxi, but because she didn’t have the $10 for the cab fare, the taxi wouldn’t take her to the hospital.  She didn’t need an ambulance, but we don’t refuse people.  So, she called 9-1-1 and within minutes she had three firefighters and two paramedics in her living room.  There was nothing we could do for her, except take her to the hospital.  What she needed was caring family and friends, what she got was an impersonal cadre of emergency responders and a ride to the hospital.  My heart bleeds.

As I drove home the other night, my frustration with the Church, for being so damn egocentric, turned to anger.

We saw a lady the other day who, according to one firefighter/paramedic, had been transported by ambulance over 60 times in the last year. She was lying in a heap outside her front door.  She was so mentally exhausted that she could barely get on the stretcher.  We would take her to the hospital, they would evaluate her, and she would be out the door in a few hours – because there was nothing medically wrong with her.  The “system” is not designed to deal with these people.  In fact, there really is no system in place.  They take resources from those who may be having a true medical emergency, they cost the taxpayers millions of dollars, and they cycle through the system over and over again, until they die.

• Is it their fault that they’re broken?  No.
• Is it their responsibility to overcome their brokenness?  Yes.
• Do they know how to overcome their deplorable condition?  No.
• Is it a waste of money to send fire rigs and ambulances to their calls?  Yes.
• Can we stop sending emergency responders?  No.
• Is their a better way? Probably – I just don’t know what it is.

We walked into the middle of a tornado.  Four generations of women living in one desperate home.  The tragedy that was unfolding left everyone in tears.  It was a painful experience to be there – and yet, it was a privilege.  I held their hands, tried to help them make sense of death, looked them in the eye, and did my best to bear some of the weight.

My soul hurts for those who live lives of constant pain.

Later that night, lying on my bed, I wept. My soul hurts for those who live lives of constant pain.  My soul weeps for those who have the means, but not the will to step into these lives, and share the love that has been so freely shared with them.  I wept, because the pain is great.

Then Jesus wept.” John 11:35

More than a box of food, or a series of Bible studies, people need a friend – a genuine neighbor, who cares about them.  Someone who will listen, without judging – or trying to “fix” them.  Someone who will hold their hand when tragedy strikes, and someone who will walk with them, over the rough patches of life.

People need unconditional love – love on purpose, and without ulterior motives.

People need unconditional love – love on purpose, and without ulterior motives.  The kind of love God shares with us.  We need to pass it on to others, no matter how scary that sounds.

How much worse does it have to get?

Last week I met a man who blew my mind.  From all outward appearances, one would think this man was a freeloader on the system, but when I asked him what he did in his free time, he told me he attends speaker meetings, sponsors others, and is a lay pastor at his church.  Wow.  I didn’t see that coming.  That will teach me to pre-judge others.

A few hours later, a coworker asked me what we were doing for church, now that we have quit our church?  I explained that we were still taking the kids to their morning classes, but at this point, we hadn’t found a replacement.  His question haunted me.

His question haunted me.

This morning, during my quiet time, I was impressed to find a 12-step meeting to attend.  I haven’t felt tempted to drink for quite sometime, however, without a church family, I realize that I need spiritual soul-maintenance.  For over 10 years, church has supplanted my regular involvement with the 12-step program, but now I realize, I can’t wait until the void grows too big.

As I sat in the meeting this afternoon, listening to others share their experience, strength, and hope, I knew I was in the right place. I didn’t know why, or how, but following the Spirit’s leadings, one can never go wrong.

at church, people expect to be good, but in “the program” people just want to be well.”

One lady spoke about why church doesn’t do it for her.  She said that at church, people expect her to be good, but in “the program” people just want to be well.  It was at that moment that the light-bulb went on.  The Bible tells us that no one is good, not one – yet it appears that the culture of the Church, is to get people to behave – and be good.  But that’s impossible.

The difference is that in a 12-step fellowship, people know they are broken, they know what it feels like to be in Hell, and we know that our only hope is to live moment-by-moment, trusting God.

On top of this epiphany, I felt welcomed, appreciated, and loved.  I haven’t felt that kind of unconditional love for about three years.  It was good.

I didn’t go to avert an impending crisis; I went to prevent any future failure – by maintaining my soul.  Unlike church, I didn’t feel like anyone was trying to “fix” me.  I didn’t go just for myself, I know, that as a Dad, I need to stay healthy for my family.  To stay healthy, I need to stay fed.

I have a responsibility, as a husband, and a father, to stay healthy – emotionally, spiritually, and physically.

I’ve been ostracized before; who hasn’t, right?  Usually, I decide that I didn’t really want to be a part of any group that doesn’t want me there.  It’s always pretty simple in retrospect, but at the time, the rejection is intense.  We all hate rejection, but learning to live with it is a part of life.  We process, and we move on – like I said, it always seems simple in retrospect.

I’m not a church historian, so I don’t really know when it happened, but at some point the Church (uppercase), began to see itself as the keepers of the keys to Heaven.  For some reason, an organization that was created to invite people into the Kingdom of God, has transformed itself into one that pre-screens people to determine their fitness to be a part of the “chosen” ones.

Some churches have done a better job than others of establishing their domain and being keepers of the keys, others tend to be more egalitarian in their membership standards. This probably makes sense, some people like to live in walled communities, others prefer the wide and wild, open-spaces.  Which do you prefer?

The denomination we’ve chosen to be a part of has set itself up well as the only route to the Promised Land.  And now it appears it is circling the wagons and excluding anyone who doesn’t agree with their brand of church.  I’ll spare you the details.  I don’t even want to go there.  However, suffice it to say, the church brands itself as the only “true church,” but it operates in a very exclusive manner.  In other words, if you want to be a part of the “Remnant Church,” you’ll have to do things as we dictate.

As we have talked with our friends and family, we have heard three chief comments:

• Why don’t you just go to church somewhere else?
• Then change the church!
• Aren’t there other churches in your area?

These are very fair questions.  I’d like to explore answers, if you’ll indulge me…

Why don’t we go to church somewhere else? This is a troubling question actually.  First, we choose to honor the seventh-day Sabbath that has existed since the beginning of creation.  There are very few churches that celebrate the Sabbath as we see it.  So, right there, our options are severely limited.

it is easier to change an organization from the inside, than from the outside.”

25+ years ago, I was reluctant to join a church, especially the one I joined. But after years of study, thought, and investigation, I became convinced that the Seventh-day Adventist Church is correct in its doctrinal stance.  Still I was reluctant to join.  It was only after my brother explained that “it is easier to change an organization from the inside, than from the outside.” So, I have spent the past 23+ years working to make the church a better organization.  I’m tired of that task – it’s not working.

Yes, I’ve made mistakes, but my heart was in the right place.  I’m just trying to reflect God’s character.  Now, after being formally terminated, and my family informally excommunicated, we have spent the past year trying to reintegrate ourselves into another church community.  But we are learning that the dysfunction is systemic.  Yes, we believe Adventists have “truth” (lower case), but maybe (?) they are lacking the “Testimony of Jesus.”

And yes, there are other churches in our area, but besides not worshiping on Saturday, we are looking for a church that has a spirited corporate worship experience and an inclusive, loving, community.  Unfortunately, there are very few churches that have this either.

So, where does that leave us?

It is my belief that church attendance is declining because people are rejecting the exclusive, judgmentalism of church – but they are still searching for God.  There are probably more spiritual seekers than ever before, but people are rejecting irrelevant, superficial religion.  Understandably, it is often difficult to separate the church from God, and our complex feelings surrounding both.

Now what?  Now where do we go?”

As The Wife and I were talking about this last night, we were left with one question:  “Now what?  Now where do we go?”

Jesus said we will “worship in Spirit and Truth.” Many churches have truth, some have the Truth (John 14:6), some have spirit, and still others have the Spirit.  We are looking for a church that has Spirit and Truth.  We are looking for people who are as passionate, or more so, about their God as we are.

Returning to EMS after a 15 year hiatus is a surreal experience.  Next month, it will be 15 years exactly since I left emergency services to pursue an unknown path, it’s also been about 20 years since I’ve actually worked in the field doing hands on medical care.  As I return, I feel as if I’ve stepped out of a time machine.  The metaphors of Washington Irving’s Rip Van Winkle are very apropos for my current situation.

Irving wrote Rip Van Winkle in order to inspire Americans to form an identity that would set them free from English rule and culture. Irving uses his main character, Rip Van Winkle, to symbolize the struggle of early America. Many of the struggles Rip went through can be compared to the same struggles that America was going through at this time before and after the Revolution. Irving uses metaphors in the story Rip Van Winkle to describe the changes that the American society went through during the Revolutionary period.”  ~Posted by Digitaldisruption

Knowing, where I am, geographically, doesn’t change the fact that the landscape has changed. Most of the infrastructure, and some of the people look familiar, but everything is different.  I have this overwhelming sense of deja vu.  When I say overwhelming, I’m not feeding you hyperbole.  Two days ago, driving the ambulance through the neighborhood where I grew up, my mind began to reel – childhood, high school, paramedic school, failing/failed marriage, et cetera.  Seriously, it was as if my whole life flashed before my eyes, slo-mo.

Fame, fortune, and reputation are very fleeting.  This is my takeaway from the last three weeks.  No matter how much a person thinks they were all that, memories fade fast, and people forget.  Rip Van Winkle was well liked, respected, and even loved by his friends and neighbors, but after a 20 year nap, most of his friends and neighbors had either died, or moved.  He not only wasn’t recognized, but he no longer had a reputation.

Fame, fortune, and reputation are very fleeting…

30+ years ago, when I decided I wanted to be a paramedic, I made up my mind to be the best.  That’s me.  That’s who I am – an overachiever.

At the time I was a great backhoe operator, foreman of my Dad’s construction company, and just beginning the ride of my life.  Ten years later, with just a little humility, I realized that being better than everyone else wasn’t as important as being the best I could be, but as I moved from the field into management, I felt as if I’d achieved my goal of being the best.

Now, 20 years later, it’s as if I never existed. None of what I was now matters.  Yes, I have some experience, yes, I was a good paramedic, and yes, I made a difference in the evolution of EMS – but that was then, this is now.

Over the course of the last two years, I’ve been severely humbled. I tried very hard to be the best pastor I could be – meeting people’s needs, leading them to a better understanding of God, and not giving into their wants – and they excommunicated me for it.  After my divorce in 1981, I made a conscious decision to go to Hell, and I did.  I didn’t like it, so I found a way out.  It wasn’t easy, but eventually I experienced salvation from that “pit of despair.“  I got out.

In 1995, when I left emergency services, I knew it would be hard.  In fact, it was another painful wilderness experience, and I’m glad I went through it.  But a funny thing happened on the way to the forum, apparently, as a part of my character development, I needed to go back to Hell and re-experience some steps I skipped before.  I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.  Living in Hell is, um, uh… Hell!

As I stumble out of the woods, after a long autumnal nap, I feel as If I’m starting over. I’m relearning how to be a good paramedic, building new relationships, and relearning the landscape.  it’s a fascinating, if not exhausting process.   Even though I recognize the streets, the buildings are often different.  Though I recognize the equipment, it is often used in new ways I’ve never thought of – it’s all good, but confusing.  Everything is the same, though very different.

When Rip awakens after a 20-year nap, unaware of how much the world around has changed, he is startled to find that not only did the world around him change but he changed as well.” ~Posted by Digitaldisruption

It wasn’t until the 1960s that people began to realize that we needed to provide better emergency care on the streets of our cities. It wasn’t enough to simply send a driver, in an ambulance, to go get people and bring them back to the hospital or morgue. While some of the (mostly) men who drove ambulances, were pretty good at taking care of people, they simply didn’t have the training or skills to provide advanced life support medical care.

It was during the tumultuous times of the late 60s and early 70s that the paramedic program was birthed. The first, out of hospital, cardiac arrest save was performed by Buck Ambulance “cardiac technicians” in 1969. It was another four years before the actual paramedic program began to take shape. In the world of emergency services, it was an exciting time. I ran my first EMS call in 1974, got my EMT-Basic certification in 1978, and became certified as a paramedic five years later in 1983.

For many people, they have never lived in a world without seatbelts, airbags, and paramedics. If you’re younger than 40, you may not have known that ambulances haven’t always been staffed by skilled medical professionals. You may not know that ambulances didn’t always carry an array of 35+ medications, cardiac monitor/defibrillators, and advanced airway tools. You may not know that the death toll on America’s highways, from traumatic accidents, and off our highways, from cardiac arrest, has been greatly suppressed. Due to safer cars and highways, better hospital care, healthier living, and paramedic level care, hundreds of thousands of lives have been saved.

During the last couple of weeks, as I’ve gone through NEO (New Employee Orientation) and then entered the FTEP (Field Training & Evaluation Program), I’ve had a great overview of the current EMS system in the Portland Metro area. This is where paramedic level care was born, and now, 40+ years later, I”m feeling pretty proud of my colleagues – those that have nurtured and raised this baby. It’s all grown up!

I’ve heard some question the need for two paramedics on every ambulance, and I was disappointed that some counties in the area have backed away from that standard. Some have questioned certain policies, procedures, and system practices – but as one who was trained in the pioneer/cowboy days of EMS, then worked in management and training, I have a bit more of a perspective – I see the bigger picture. The EMS system in Portland has matured in a way many of us only hoped it would, back in the day. I’d like to buy dinner for all of those who helped shape the EMS system and helped it become what it is today!

Sure, there’s room for improvement, and many will continue to guide and steer the forward momentum of today’s emergency medical services system. In fact, many great patient care practices were passed on by the ambulance drivers of yore, and we’ve added to that process. I’ve actually been quite impressed at how some of the ambulance driver practices have been retained. I’m also quite impressed by the advances in the medical care our paramedics provide. All paramedics in Oregon now have at least a two-year college degree, and many have four-year and advanced graduate education.

I’m very impressed by the caliber of people working in the field.”

More than that, I’m very impressed by the caliber of people working in the field. Seriously, the caliber of people who went through NEO with me are outstanding. There were professional athletes, writers, artists, musicians, and experienced medics. I felt honored to be amongst them. And now, after working two days in the field, I’ve been quite impressed by the other paramedics, firefighters, and police officers I’ve encountered. I see a blend of well-educated, compassionate, professionals, who provide excellent service, quality care, and desire to cooperatively serve our community. It is awesome to see!

Yep! Our baby is all grown up – we should be proud! Paramedics, EMTs, firefighters, politicians, physicians and other allied healthcare professionals, EMS instructors, IT personnel, and administrators have all played a part in this. We’ve learned from our past, adapted to the challenges, fixed our mistakes, and pursued the vision of what could be. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that change is bad. The change I’ve seen, after being gone for 15 years, is awesome!

I’m humbled to be a part of such an awesome team!

Driving home from my first day of work on Monday, I looked over to see my old friend Steve*, driving in the lane next to me.  I haven’t seen him in over nine months, and the last thing he said to me was very hurtful.  Over the past several months, I’ve been struggling with forgiving him – strangely, it isn’t the first time I’ve had to work on this in my relationship with him.

We met at college through mutual friends.  One weekend, most of the others took off on a trip to Portland, and the two of us found ourselves standing on the sidewalk in front of the Conard Hall, wondering what we were going to do.  As we walked to the cafeteria, we hatched a plan to go backpacking.  It was one of the most memorable trips I’ve been on.  From that point forward, we became great friends.  A few years later, he was the Best Man in my wedding, and a couple of years after that, I returned the favor and served as his Best Man.

Sometimes, time and distance don’t allow friendships to thrive the way they once did – and I’ve noticed that priorities change as we mature, obtain a spouse, and begin caring for our offspring.  However, it seemed that whenever we reconnected, our friendship continued where it left off.  It was as if the pause button had been pressed and time had stood still.  Like a brother that he was, we could easily spend hours on the phone, or talking well past midnight.

Steve lived at my house for a short time in the 90s, while he pursued new employment, and looked to move his family back to Portland, from Seattle.  Although we were both focused on our careers – and I was a bit more driven than I should have been, we had some good times.  Looking back on it, I regret charging him “rent.”  So many people have helped us in the last few years, and at the time, I didn’t need the money.  I have apologized to Steve, but in my opinion, the damage was done.  I’m not sure he ever really understood my remorse over that.

After I sold my house, and moved to California, Steve and I didn’t have a lot of contact.  Again, time, distance, and different lifestyles created a chasm in our friendship.  However, it was during this time that I began to see an imbalance in our friendship.  It seemed that I remembered birthdays and other significant events, but that was usually never reciprocated by him.

In the Fall of 2000, I asked Jennifer to marry me.  Steve was the first one I called to tell him the good news.  We had a great chat, he was pleased, and it was good to catch up.  Later, we sent him and his family an invite to the wedding, but I never heard from him.  No card, no phone call, nothing.  I eventually learned to not take it personally, and I moved on.  I embraced the good times we had shared, and accepted that I was no longer a priority in his life.

Imagine my surprise, when in the Fall of 2007, I found myself pastoring the church where Steve and his family are members.  It was an opportunity to reconnect – and we did some of that.  When his son was involved in a near-fatal car wreck, I immediately drove to the OHSU Trauma Center to give my love and support.

A few months later, as a part of my ouster, Steve wrote: “Gary has failed as my pastor.“  That cut my soul like a knife.  Not so much because it wasn’t true, but it just showed how people can so easily misinterpret our best intentions.  Even our so-called best friends abandon us sometimes – especially when they don’t have their wants fulfilled.

But, as my regular readers know, I’ve been working through the issues and learning to deal with the feelings of betrayal and misunderstanding surrounding my termination last Summer.  It’s been a hard road, but for the most part, I’m learning to let go, move on, and forgive those involved.  (By the way, it helps having a new job – and being respected and supported where I’ve landed.  This is something I haven’t felt in years!)

Many thoughts, and many emotions went through my head as I watched his minivan disappear into the distance…

When I saw Steve driving home the other night, he looked sleepy and beaten.  Like many do, he was driving over the speed limit, but right at the point where a cop would be hard-pressed to give him a ticket.  But he didn’t look happy.  He looked exhausted, and as he weaved down the lane, I could tell he was either sleepy, or intoxicated.  Knowing my friend, I vote for the former.

I saw him the next morning on my way to work.  It was in St. Helens where he pulled out onto the highway, right next to me.  This time, I had time to honk and wave – but there was no response.  I honked and waved again, this time longer and louder, but he was very busy eating cereal, probably listening to the radio, and speeding off – this time over that magic speed that won’t draw the attention of the police, and probably fast enough to get pulled over.

Many thoughts, and many emotions went through my head as I watched his minivan disappear into the distance. I was listening to a Rob Bell podcast on serenity and peace.  I was trying to understand my feelings – which, generally speaking, is not an easy task for men in general, and me in particular.

I came to these conclusions:

• First, I was no longer hurt.  I realize that Steve is/was doing his best to survive this so-called life most of us live.  The peer pressure, on him, and others in the church, was intense.  Many of my allies removed their support, and joined the fevered pitch of the mob.  I can’t really blame these folks – they have years of history, it’s the only church they know, and they have to live in the same community with the others.  For many, it is their best opportunity of social survival.  Seriously, I understand.

• Second, I am no longer angry.  Anger often stems from hurt.  Letting go of the hurt allows us to not be angry.  When we don’t hold grudges, seek revenge, or demand “justice,” we can move on and not be stuck in the moment.

• Third, I have adopted a principle of forgiveness.  Over the course of the last several decades, I’ve learned that few people live up to my expectations, many will fail in their attempts at friendship, and some will deliberately, and accidentally hurt me.  Often, it is hurting people who hurt others.  In their attempts to overcome their own hurt, they will hurt those around them.  The best thing I can do, for myself, for others, and for the person who hurt me, is to forgive them.  This principle alone has brought tremendous serenity to my life.

• The final thought that went through my head, is a little difficult to understand.  In fact, it could easily be misunderstood.  I have a mixed feeling of compassion, sympathy, and empathy.  I don’t want to be patronizing or condescending, but I actually felt sorry for the former friend who drove past me twice this week.  I’m not certain why he thinks I failed him as a pastor, but I accept that I may have failed him – and here’s why:

When I arrived in Columbia County, I saw a lot of failure.  While the churches themselves were, um, surviving.  They weren’t thriving.  Jesus said that He came to bring abundance to our lives.  It was very clear to me, from early on, that the churches I was leading were not experiencing abundance.  In fact, there were some serious dysfunctions that most organizations will not tolerate in today’s society.

We are glad to be out of that situation…

It became my goal to help these churches move out of the rote of “doing” church, to the values of being externally focused, fully developed disciples, and thriving in our lives – personally, emotionally, socially, spiritually, and within our family systems.  Unfortunately, my desire to move forward in this arena didn’t match the congregation’s willingness to be led.  My lack of tact, combined with my unconventional methods and conservative theology, were a bad mix for a church that wanted conventional methods and liberal theology.

Now that employment has once again been regained, and a significant amount of healing has occurred, The Wife and I are able to say with complete sincerity, we are glad to be out of that situation.  We believe, that for our family at least, that was an unhealthy situation.

It will take us years to fully recover, emotionally, spiritually, and financially – but it will be easier as the distance increases between us and the disaster of 2009.  We still believe, with no doubt, that we were being obedient to the call, but we are learning to shake the dust from our feet.  And I keep stamping my sandals.

I pray that they allow themselves to be discipled…

For the past several days, I have been praying that my former friends in Columbia County, will continue to seek the living God and not cling to the idolatry of an inanimate church.  I pray that they find peace, balance, and serenity.  I pray that they allow themselves to be discipled and that they become disciplemakers. I pray that we come to a point, where we can be neighbors, in the truest sense of the word, someday.

I pray for my friend Steve – and please note, this post is not meant to denigrate, or be derogatory to him, or the church.  I’m just trying to process what I see as failure, and how best to help those I love.  For the time being, that will have to be prayer – which ultimately is the best response anyway!

I was there, but I don’t remember much about it.  They tell me it was hard – 36+ hours hard.  Then the nurses called the doctor and interrupted his night out on the town.  He arrived at the hospital shortly thereafter and decided that I wasn’t going to be delivered conventionally.  That’s when he did the C-Section on my Mom.  Not surprisingly, she gladly shared this with me whenever I was being particularly difficult.

But that wasn’t the end of the story.  Once born, it was discovered that I was born with a severe, bilateral, cleft palate and lip.  Although one out of 500 people are born with some sort of cleft palate, many are relatively unnoticeable.  Mine was one of the worst.  Of course this made for a difficult childhood – and I certainly wouldn’t want to repeat my teenage years.  Those years are hard enough already, but kids with differences – even subtle ones – never have it easy.  Interestingly, there are very few “normal” teenagers, but that doesn’t stop the ostracizing and abuse. 

My second year of college, at age 18 & 19, was a hard year.  Between loneliness, undiagnosed (and therefore untreated) seasonal depression, and testosterone-driven angst, I ended up making some poor choices, which led to an ill-advised marriage.  This marriage came crashing down around me two and a half years later.  At the time, which I barely survived, I thought this was the most difficult thing anyone could ever face. (By the way, I don’t think 19 year olds should be allowed to make major life-altering decisions like this.)

It took about five years to recover from the divorce…

It took about five years to recover from the divorce.  The methods I chose to recover only led to deeper crises.  Getting out of that cycle required major lifestyle readjustments, and walking away from some good friends.  Still, this wasn’t the hardest thing I’d ever done.

In 1995, I left a career I loved and was good at. Not just that, but I left the safety and security of a good job – a job I would have retired from last year. Turning in my letter of resignation, selling my house, and moving to California – it felt like I had jumped off a bungee jumping tower – without a bungee cord.  Several times I mentioned to others, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  It turns out, I was wrong.

A couple of years later, after making some really good friends, I packed up and moved to Michigan.  It was a repeat of 1977-78, lonely, and a gray-Michigan, Winter-induced, seasonal depression.  I wish I could say I handled it with fewer self-administered, medications – but, unfortunately, that would be a lie.  At least this time I didn’t make any life-altering decisions during that season of despair, and I spent less time wallowing, and more time recovering.  I must say, it was a much healthier end-result by appropriately dealing with the illness, not just treating the symptoms.

You know the saying,

“What doesn’t kill us, will make us stronger.”

So, now, with all this new found strength, my beautiful wife and I dove into entrepreneurship – we headed to Colorado to start up a a new type of church.  “A community for people who have given up on church, but are still looking for God.“  It was a great experience, we made some very dear friends, and then suddenly, it was over.  We thought it would be so amazingly successful, that the funding would continue.  It turns out it was too far out of the box, and the funding ended.  We suddenly found ourselves moving to Oregon.

Our second child was just born, we left the comfort and safety of a truly loving community, and now, once again, we are in a dreary climate without friends.  It was Hell.  H. E. L. L. I thought it was the hardest time of my life – but, again, I was wrong.  It got worse.

How could it get worse? Well, instead of dealing with the despair and depression in dysfunctional ways, we were able to establish healthy boundaries and we sought to reach out for help.  Well, unfortunately, it turns out the people we reached out to were not safe.  They didn’t like our boundaries, and they didn’t like us sharing our reality.  Long story short, they burned us.  Now, not only were we fighting for the survival of our family, but now we had people trying to take away our livelihood.

Under that pressure, I began to crumble.

Under that pressure, I began to crumble.  Instead of helping the situation, I gave them more ammo.  I’m a terrible politician, I’m not very tactful, and in the face of threats to my family, I got angry.  I pushed back.  In politics, anger is never an asset.  I made some mistakes – nothing immoral, nothing bad – but politically dumb.  So, again, I thought this was the hardest time of my life.

Once again, I was wrong.  I was terminated last Summer.

We found ourselves without an income, ostracized from the club called church, and without friends.  The stigma, the weather, and the financial pressures were intense.  I’d like to say I handled it with aplomb.  But I didn’t.  I’d like to say I was able to pull myself up by my bootstraps, laugh in the face of failure, and press on to new goals.  Well, one out of three is sometimes the best one can do.  Survival was all we hoped for at times.  Clearly, up until this point in my life, this past Winter was the hardest time of my life.

“May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, hard hearts, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live from deep within your heart where God’s Spirit dwells.” ~Franciscan Blessing

We have been devastated emotionally, spiritually, financially, and socially. Our marriage has faced incredible pressures.  My mental health was fragile, at best.  And spiritually, I have merely clung to a thread of hope.  Socially, we lost contact with most of our dear Colorado friends, and the new friendships we were developing here have basically evaporated.  Some were a part of our ouster, others were afraid to be associated with us.  We thought last year was Hell – it turns out, it was merely purgatory.

I’m really not interested in seeing if this pit of despair goes any deeper.

Suddenly, in the last few weeks, things have been on the upswing. After nine months of preparation, my National and Oregon paramedic certifications came through, I was hired to be a street-medic in Portland, and I picked up a part-time contractual position working on a cardiac research project.  It’s like it all came together in a perfect storm of respect, gratitude, friendship, and employment.

Old friends came out of the woodwork to congratulate me, post positive recommendations on LinkedIn, and give my new employer positive words.  Friends welcomed me back, offered support navigating the bureaucratic minefields, and generally just respecting me.  I haven’t felt this loved and respected for years!  On top of that, I’ll be doing some contractual, one-day-a-week, cardiac research work.  Things have definitely turned around.

Now, on this side of the chasm, I can honestly say that as the Serenity Prayer so eloquently states, hardship is truly “the pathway to peace.” Accepting that is the key!

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace…”

So, after much prayer, sulking, and cave dwelling, we can finally see the light at the end of this tunnel of love. We’ve discovered who are our true friends, we’ve made new friends, we’ve been able to better define our purpose and family vision – and the most importantly, we are getting out of a career that most find hurtful to their families.  We are glad to be free!

Thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart, to all those who have not abandoned us, gotten tired of our whining, and have remained with us through this journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. You are awesome!

(Yes, you!)