Just Five Years Ago

Yesterday I was interviewed as part of a local worship experience. It was fun, I enjoyed the experience, and the the topic is one I have passion about. This morning however, when I got up too early, I watched the online video of the presentation. I immediately noticed how very old I looked. In fact, I looked as old as I feel.

For several months I have been plodding along, just (barely) putting one foot in front of the other – living one day at a time. I believe I’ve aged about 10 years in the last three or four. It wasn’t that long ago that people typically guessed me to be about 10 years younger than I am. A few weeks ago, a clerk asked me if I was eligible for the senior discount. #sigh

Now...

When I watched this video I immediately became trapped between motivation and discouragement. There is a part of me that wants to push forward and lose the extra 20 pounds, start exercising, and strive to get enough sleep. Another part of me is ready to throw in the towel and become a full-time slug.

So, today I was a slug. I have three more weeks of time off – I wonder what I’ll do with that?

I told my wife this morning how tired and old I looked in the video and how discouraging that is. She just nodded – and then pulled out a photo from a few years ago that she plans to show our counselor. So, so hard to grasp reality sometimes.

Sitting in the counselors office with tears welling up in my eyes, unable to speak, and unable to process a single coherent thought.

The problem with being invincible is that is is a lie. Every superhero has a weak spot. Every knight has a chink in his armor. Every movie hero reaches a point of no return. Even Jesus was nailed to the cross. So, what next?

As I’ve thought and analyzed the situations that got us to this point, I’ve come up with several conclusions. Others may have their own conclusions and opinions, but until they sit down and talk with me – or convince me otherwise – this is how I see it.

• First, for whatever reasons, our last year in Colorado Springs resulted in burnout. Despite taking a one month sabbatical, I was spent, exhausted, and coming to the end of a great project. It was an awesome ride, and I think we could have gone further with more support, but I was no longer leading. Common Ground was done. (PS: Not excusing my state, just explaining. I could have done things much better.)
• Second, our move to Oregon came at a really bad time. I would never recommend bringing a non-native to the Pacific Northwest at the beginning of Winter. I would also never, ever recommend moving before, during, and after a child is about to be born. I interviewed an bought a house shortly before our Smiling Son was born, and we moved six weeks after his birth day. Bad, bad, bad idea.
• Third, my calling, my leadership style, and my theology did not match the church that hired me. It wasn’t a good fit – for whatever reason. But one cannot change their calling, leadership style, or theology. It is what it is. But plenty of better men and women than I have been put to death for a lot less – I don’t know why I expected any different.
• And finally, my requests for tolerance and understanding of our exhaustion, depression, and situation were virtually ignored. I remember the board remembers demanding and my overseers almost chuckling when I asked for compassion and understanding. I was mad; indignant, and really, really crushed by their lack of love and support.

But now what? What have I done to improve things – to move on, if you will?

To be honest, I didn’t handle the first months of unemployment well. Although I successfully regained my paramedic license, I spent a lot of time slumped in a chair, like a slug. I was grouchy, discouraged, angry, depressed, sullen, and generally not very stable.

And then I went to work as a paramedic. We narrowly dodged foreclosure on our house, had not accrued debt, and survived a time of great pain. It was challenging, those first few months, reintegrating back into a career I left 15 years earlier. In fact, I hadn’t worked in the field for over 20 years. I learned much.

But it was challenging. Long hours, too little sleep, much to learn, and a very different way to look at EMS. In fact, the last two years have been extremely challenging. When I was moved to the graveyard shift a year ago, it got worse. Each shift rotation takes more and more of a toll on my body, mind, and spirit. Consequently, it is killing me – and subsequently, killing my family. But I continued to trudge forward.

Last Fall, feeling at the end of my rope, emotionally and physically, I made an appointment with a counselor. I felt worthless as a husband, father, and human. I had no reserve and no will to continue on. Most of this was induced by sleep deprivation, some from working a job (as opposed to a career I am passionate about), and some from the loss of hope. It is mostly circumstantial, but it is very real.

Last Friday, as my Wonderful Wife and I sat in the counselor’s office, the counselor stated clearly my situation – which was simply a reframing of my thoughts. “You are exhausted, have no reserve, and you feel worthless. You are trying to do your job, take care of your family, and take care of yourself.” It was at this point where tears welled up in my eyes. She continued, ”You are trying to be responsible for everyone.” And she paused. “But you can’t do it – it’s impossible.”

For some time, I’ve thought about just quitting my job. However, as most know, it is really dumb to quit a job if you don’t have something else lined up. And in the current economy, that is even more important. It’s just that between the night shift, the long commute, and the toll it is taking on us, as a family, I’m not sure we can continue down this path.

“You are exhausted, have no reserve, and you feel worthless. You are trying to do your job, take care of your family, and take care of yourself.“

We are in the process of losing our house, and that will enable us to move closer to my employer, but that is still several months away. But as I sat there on the counselor’s couch, my wife’s gentle hand on my knee, I knew in my heart of hearts that I have to put my family first. Our unity, as a family, is more important than anything else. Anything.

I thought my promotion last year would solve some issues. More pay, better hours, passion within my skill set, et cetera. And it was. Unfortunately, circumstances being what they were, it was a rough month at home, and that took a toll on my ability to cope and present myself at work. The promotion was soon taken away.

I’ve been considering dropping to part-time at work, but we are seriously concerned about losing our healthcare insurance (damn it!). I’ve frantically looked for work that better matches my skills and passion, but every road is a dead-end.

For the past several weeks, I knew I was ready to break. My IBS kept flaring up, I get stir-crazy cooped up in the front seat of the ambulance all night, and I have no desire to verbally or emotionally connect with my patients. Then a couple of weeks ago, my shoulder issue began to flare up, and I pulled a muscle in my back. Last Thursday and Friday, I had a constant migraine headache – something that has been rare for several years.

Addiction?

Over the course of the last few years, there were a few times where I remembered the mind-altering effects of drugs and alcohol. I know I don’t want to return to that life, and I know it would destroy me, my family, and possibly end my life – but I was looking for escape. The urge was not strong, I was not feeling weak, but it was a thought that ran through my head a time or two.

In my line of work, we often encounter people who suffer the ravages of drugs and/or alcohol. It isn’t pretty, and in fact, these people are trapped in their addiction. But I don’t hate on them. I know how hard this life can be. I know how easy it is to want to escape. I know that people didn’t set out to become addicts – but due to generational curses, situational despair, and a society that values escape over solid, compassionate help – it is an easy ditch to fall into.

I have compassion, even when they are obnoxious. I will care for them, but I won’t necessarily tolerate the manipulation and crap they try to throw my way. Many of these folks have family and friends who lean towards enabling behaviors, and they let the addicts in their lives get away with anything and everything. I won’t do that – but it doesn’t stop my heart from breaking. And I believe that as a culture, as a country, we are failing these people. For some reason, we fail to offer the resources needed to rescue people, care for people, or even direct people who have fallen into the spiritual, emotional, psychological, and medical darkness of addiction.

Locally, emergency responders have noticed an uptick in suicides and suicidal ideations (attempts). One day last week, we transported about five people, who were so desperate they were contemplating suicide. During the same week, I heard of several other crews responding to hangings, self-inflicted gunshot wounds, and successful overdoses.

I understand that desperation. What does one do when they feel trapped? If I were single, I’d most likely quit my job in a heartbeat. But I can’t – I have a family to look after. If we lived 150 years ago, we could throw all of our valuables into a covered wagon and go west. We’d live off the land, eat venison and rarebit, build a house out of mud or alder trees, and plant a huge vegetable garden. But we don’t. We could live out of our car, but without a job, it would quickly run out of gas. We could probably live off of food stamps – we did a few years ago. But our society is such, that a job is really necessary.

Where does one turn when they are desperate? I’m not the only one who stays at my job for the healthcare insurance. I’m not the only one who continues to make barely enough to survive, for long hours, and with an ungodly commute. But at some point, the emotional and physical toll become too much. I see it in my patients, I see it in my coworkers, I see it in the news, and I see it on the streets.

We made a decision several months ago to let our home go into foreclosure. We’ve lost over $100,000 in real estate capital in the last five to six years, our house is worth a fraction of what we mortgaged it for, and we are earning an annual salary 30% lower than we were when we bought the house. We know we can move to someplace that better suits our current income, a place that is closer to my work, and a place that won’t be as nice as we’re in currently. Renting a place that is within our budget will take a lot of pressure off our backs. Living within a half-hour of my work, will save approximately two hours a day in commuting – which will really help with the sleep deprivation issue. I’d like to get off the night shift (I’m too old for this), but that is just a matter of time and attrition. Soon, that opportunity will come – and that will help immensely.

Yet, some are not able to make these sort of changes. If they are under, or unemployed, even a very modest living situation will be too expensive. Due to the mobile nature of our society, they may not have friends or family nearby who could help. Many people do not have the education or skills to know how to manage what meager resources they do have. Living hand to mouth, they eat at McDonald’s or Taco Bell, smoke away a large proportion of their income, and rely on expensive services to meet their emergent healthcare needs. Bill collectors, overdrawn bank accounts, and broken families are way to common for those at the lower end of the economic scale.

Those who were once firmly ensconced in the Middle Class, now find themselves struggling to stay afloat. Whether they made poor financial and real estate decisions, or like us, got caught up in the sweep of a global economic meltdown, they now find themselves trapped.

“We aren’t trapped, we’ve just lost sight of the possibilities.”

The other day we responded to an upper-middle class neighborhood to care for a well-dressed, educated, and employed person who wanted to kill herself. She was embarrassed, discouraged, and crying. I don’t know her story. I don’t need to know. But I do know that suicide is almost always the last desperate act of someone who cannot handle the pain any longer.

“If we, as a society and the most prosperous nation in the history of the world, could provide a better safety net and help those in desperation, I wonder how much less pain there would be?”

If we, as a society and the most prosperous nation in the history of the world, could provide a better safety net and help those in desperation, I wonder how much less pain there would be? What if the churches, charged in Matthew 25, could step up to meet the emotional, financial, and medical needs of those trapped in a life they never thought possible? Would more people be open to the spiritual help these churches are so intent on offering?

What if? What if my life ended? What would become of my family? My children would be devastated. Dev-A-Stated. The man they worship, their hero, their Daddy – gone. It simply is NOT an option. But, you know, that just adds to the feeling of being trapped. What does one do when they can’t move forward, they can’t go back, and they are trapped? What do you do when your own counselor tells you it is impossible to keep doing what you’re doing?

I’m reminded of the story of the Jews on the banks of the Red Sea. After a 400 year siege, Moses shows up to “deliver” them. As God’s mouthpiece, he demands freedom for the Jews. And after a few plagues, the Pharaoh is convinced to let the Israelites leave, but shortly after their departure, he changes his mind and goes after them.

Imagine standing on the banks of the Red Sea and seeing the hordes of Egyptian Cavalry and infantry closing in on them. They look to Moses and collectively cry out, “Why did you bring us into the desert to die? Were their not enough graves in Egypt?” They are afraid. They are trapped. They feel betrayed. On one side of them is the vast Red Sea, and they have no boats. On the other side are great mountains which they are ill equipped to scale. And to the other side, the bitter Egyptian army closes in on them.

Whether you face creditors, landlords, government regulators, IRS auditors, unemployment, mental or physical illness, addiction, family turmoil, or some other desperate need, you know the feeling. There’s no way out. You are going to die unless something changes – and there doesn’t appear to be any hope on either horizon. What now?

This is when God showed up – right when there was no other hope.

Suicide is the result of a loss of hope, a lack of patience, and/or serious desperation. All of these are understandable when you apply even just a little empathy. You could be the one who offers hope, you could be the one who shares your wealth – whether it is emotional wealth, financial, medical, or spiritual. You could be the one to spend a little time listening. You could offer to “fix,” but most likely, sharing a little hope is what people really need.

Allowing oneself to get to the point of no return is very scary. Quitting a job, letting one’s house be foreclosed upon, or even abandoning some preconceived ideas on what success looks like. The Jews in Egypt did just this. They left the security of their homes in Egypt. They left the beauty and bounty of Egypt – the water, food stores, and shelter. They struck out for the desert, where there was no water or food for the over one million people on foot. Seriously, what were they thinking?

But without these desperate measures, they remained trapped in a culture that was not conducive to their spiritual growth and betterment. Without abandoning their hope in the Egyptian’s control, they were dead anyway. But if you remember, from the time Moses first arrived, the Israelites did not want to leave. God had to harden Pharaoh’s heart, so he would make it unbearable for the Jews, and they would leave.

As one friend said once, people don’t change until the pain of not changing is worse than the pain of change. This is where the Israelites had come to realize it was time to leave Egypt – to go to the barren desert – in the hope there was something better.

We aren’t trapped, we’ve just lost sight of the possibilities. My vision grew clouded. I had no hope. I didn’t know where to turn. The weight on my shoulders was so great, my body began to feel the strain. I was desperate.

Today, I don’t feel desperate.

I requested and was granted a Family Medical Leave of Absence. There will be no income for the next month, we will have to pay for our own medical insurance, and our situation, really, has not changed. But I no longer feel trapped between a rock and a hard space. Between Scylla and Charybdis, it’s a very scary place to be. The weight on my shoulders is gone.

I don’t know what the future holds, but last night I slept about 12 hours straight, and I plan to do that again. I plan to start walking everyday, eating better, and getting my house in a better condition to sell. But the biggest thing I will do is to be less grouchy, and more available to my wife and kids. This is primary.

It will be interesting to see whether God parts the sea, moves the mountains, or slays the oppressive army that is closing in on us. He may choose to make us invincible, take away my weakness to Kryptonite, or teleport us to a a new location. Maybe we’ll win the lottery, be offered a great new job, or find solace in the poverty that threatens to overtake us. Either way, today I have hope again. Just knowing I don’t have to abandon my family, in their time of need, is enough to restore my soul.

Yes, we may be between that big rock and the ugly sea monster, but I’m not worried.

The kids and I did pretty well. I kept my head down and didn’t make too much eye contact. It wasn’t too painful.

When we got home I made grilled cheese, and my Wonderful Wife continued you rest. After the kids took a little nap, we took off for an adventure. I wanted a hike, we all wanted sunshine, and we thought the sandy banks of The Mighty Columbia would make for a good afternoon. It took three tries, but we finally found a beach that wasn’t covered by the overflowing river.

We laughed, we jumped, we explored, we played.

And the sun came out!

We skipped ricks in the river. We stacked big rocks. And Dixie the Dancing Dog ran like “a motorcycle without a speed limit!”

Then after a little sand dune climbing adventure, we walked back to the car.

The sun came out in full glory and the breeze blew through the trees!

When we got home, Mommy was still recuperating in her cave – so the kids took baths.

And Daddy made popcorn and smoothies!

We finished the day with a story, prayers, and a little cuddling with some nice piano music.

Mommy got a break, kids and I had some quality time -

It was a good day!

Some of us liked that plan. We like our open spaces, and uncrowded parks. Others, particularly Business, did not appreciate it. Oregon saw some hard economic times in the late 1970s and 80s. My Dad experienced two business failures during the 70s. We lost everything in the process. There are still a lot of people who blame Oregon’s economic woes on Governor Tom McCall. And, a lot of people still consider Oregon the place that rains all the time.

“It doesn’t rain in Oregon,” my Dad always says. “It never rains. It just drizzles all the time.”

In fact, the Portland area gets less than 60 inches of precipitation per year, far less than other parts of the country. But it’s true, a lot of that precipitation comes in the form of drizzle.  100% humidity – not torrential downpours. But the myth persists – and most of us are fine with that. Smaller than Seattle, warmer than San Francisco, but mostly forgotten and ignored, we natives get to enjoy the scenery without the crowds.

That doesn’t mean there hasn’t been growth. Indeed, 30 years ago one could drive across town in less than a half hour. Now? It will take you 45 minutes plus – depending upon the time of day. Rush hour was once confined to 4:30 to 5:30 in the afternoon, now it stretches from 3:00pm to 6:00 o’clock. And yes, Oregon is dreary and grey for about half the year – but when the sun does come out – it is stunning.

Often, our mid-February false spring will find Portlanders unhinged. Convertibles, motorcycles, and even boats on the river. The local trauma centers and EMS agencies see an uptick when the we break free seeking to cure our cabin fever.

This video, just released, brings all kinds of warm to my soul. Nostalgia, beauty, and culture – all wrapped up in about three and a half minutes.

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But that’s OK. The rest of you can keep staying away in droves. Those of us who have been here for the past four generations know that our weather helps keep the riff-raff away.

I was about 13 when my parents first took me to the symphony at Portland’s Civic Auditorium.  I believe they realized their boys were growing up and they wanted to share some culture with us before we left the nest.  What I remember most about that experience however are the rules.  There was a dress code, we had to be extremely quiet, and our blue-collar family definitely felt out-of-place amongst the pretentious Portlanders of the 1970s.

In particular, I went to the rest room during the intermission.  When I went to reenter the auditorium, the usher wouldn’t let me back in.  Apparently the lights had already been dimmed and the conductor was about to make his appearance.  I was frightened, intimidated, and disappointed.  This was a once in a lifetime experience, for which my parents had paid a lot of money, and I was going to miss it.  I overcame my shyness and pleaded with the man.  He took pity on me and quietly ushered me to my seat.

It’s unfortunate that my primary memory from that experience was almost being shutout from the music.  I’m thinking there was so much more there.

About 15 years later a coworker offered to take me to the symphony with her.  She had an extra ticket for a traveling orchestra at the Arlene Schnitzer Auditorium.  The seats were perfect!  In the front rows of the balcony with a perfect view of the musicians.  I remember closing my eyes and bathing in the music.  It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

Fast forward to last night when my Wonderful Wife and I took the opportunity to have a date night.  The Southwest Washington Symphony’s Spring Concert happened to fall on a night I had off – AND, our sitter was available!

The conductor’s words described why I love the symphony.  He was talking about Johannes Brahms and the piece they were about to play. To me, the idea that there could be a diverse collection of people in a single building, listening to music composed in the 19th Century, and performed by an eclectic mixture of musicians, who have been practicing for months to put a unique, but authentic reproduction of Brahms’ original intent, and yet, through this shared experience, we can each have a “personal Journey” – well, that’s just fascinating!

A Quickening

The three movements of the last piece took over 45 minutes to play.  Later, I realized that during those 45 minutes I was free.  I wasn’t a Dad, a husband, a paramedic, or a sleep-deprived, stressed person. I forgot about my taxes, the foreclosure, and my dead-end job. I wasn’t concerned with my children, the seismically challenged antique theater, or my developing sore throat.  I just bathed in the music and my mind transcended reality.

According to my date, and based on my twitching, I most likely fell asleep.  While not remembering that, I have no problem with it – unlike the date of the man behind me who vociferously chastised him for closing his eyes.  The audience was mostly unpretentious – there were people dressed well, and a few in jeans and sweatshirts – welcome to Longview.  People were coughing, talking, and clapping at inappropriate time.  There were musical errors too – but none of that mattered.  My soul was set free for 45 minutes of bliss.

To me, this is prayer.  This is a place where my Creator can speak into my soul.  When I allow myself the freedom to fully surrender, my soul transcends the minutiae of our temporal lives.

“There are two things that don’t have to mean anything; one is music, and the other is laughter.” ~Immanuel Kant

It wasn’t a question. I thought, I paused, I looked at him. Then I said, slowly, “Your problem isn’t medical.”

“You’re depressed,” I said. “You drink to self medicate. That makes your depression and anxiety worse. This all aggravates your bleeding ulcer. Then it just spirals down from there.”

He looked up at me. Our eyes met. “No one has ever told me that before.”

“The medical system doesn’t know how to tell you this,” I replied. “Your issue is emotional and spiritual, but you can’t fix it yourself.”

And this was the beginning of an even deeper conversation – with more eye contact and less shame…

As soon as I walked in the room, I knew we had a problem.  My first thought was, “this man is going to die – unless we figure this out.”

Weighing well over 400 pounds, this poor man was sitting on the edge of his bed struggling to catch his breath.  The fire district paramedics were working hard to help him.  They had already started to administer nebulized medication for his lungs and given him steroids to reduce lung edema.  They were frantically seeking for a place to establish IV access.  They finally got an IV in his shoulder.

But now the hard part loomed before us.  Not only was this man about ready to stop breathing because of his exhaustion, but we weren’t sure how we were going to get him to the ambulance.  It was going to take at least eight people to carry him, but eight people carrying a large man are just not going to fit through an older house – especially one stacked with boxes of clutter and stuff.  In the meantime, we had a bariatric ambulance responding Code 3 to our scene and another fire crew to assist with lifting.

We were also preparing to intubate this man if he were to stop breathing – this alone was going to be a challenge.

We did not have to carry him, nor did we have to intubate him. Everything turned out well – in fact, it was a relatively rewarding call. But I don’t like those type of calls. There was too much that could have gone wrong, and while the patient was in grave danger, I was very concerned about being disciplined by my employer. It shouldn’t be that way.

Three hours later, instead of being home in bed, I was attending a mandatory training session. The topic was stress, PTSD, and coping. Ironically, the speaker talked about sleep deprivation, good diet, and exercise to combat the stressors of EMS. These are three things that are difficult in my profession. And sitting there, after having worked all night, was just frustrating. I had now been awake for close to 20 hours, and I wouldn’t be home and in bed for another three hours. My peers, working for the other agencies, were attending during their regular shift, and they had just reported to work.

Sometimes, even though the information is valid, the irony of the situation its just hilarious.

I don’t do this job to get pats on the back, but a little respect and acknowledgment would be nice. I’d like to discuss how others would have dealt with the obese man who was on the verge of respiratory collapse, but it isn’t safe to ask questions. I’d like to get enough sleep, but I’m not.

We saved a life the other morning, but it wasn’t acknowledged by my bosses, they were busy issuing corrective action to other employees for being errant humans.

I’d like to care, I really would, but it’s just not safe.

I try to get exercise by walking around, but a combination of the weather, the need to be constantly moving to new posts, and the shear demotivation of the job and I only begin to feel more an more caged.  It’s really not a good thing – to take a highly motivated, relatively intelligent person, and cage them into the front seat of an ambulance for 12 hours at a time.

“…analysis shows that ambulance workers have a higher standardized mortality rate, higher level of fatal accidents, higher level of accident injuries and a higher standardized early retirement on medical grounds than the general working population and workers in other health occupations….more research should focus on sleeping problems, intrusion and hyperarousal among ambulance personnel.”  ~Research article

To escape this, I read, browse the Interwebs, or surf Facebook and the web.  Sometimes I can catch a nap – sleep being the ultimate refuge, but that is frequently interrupted and never guaranteed.  Sometimes I try to read something more longform than the news – but again, I never know how long that will last – and it usually is short lived.  In addition, it is difficult to concentrate at 3am with the radios chattering – knowing we could be the next crew sent out.

(Watch the video for some thoughts….)

The epiphany…

Sometimes I stay at work between shifts and sleep in the back of my 4Runner.  It works better this time of the year because it is cooler and easier to tuck into a sleeping bag.  As I lay in the back of my truck the other day, my mind was still racing from the night shift.  I was exhausted, but restless – tired, but not sleepy.

Normally my solution for unwinding has been the same as my solution for avoiding the chatter of life.  Check email, browse Facebook, catch up on the news, or see what paths unfold on the web.  But last week, as I lay in my portable RV/SUV, the raindrops hitting the roof – I was reminded how this is like camping.  In fact, this is why I bought the 4Runner 18 years ago – to camp in it.

Then I thought about my desire to live off the grid – and what it would be like to live a more agrarian lifestyle.  There would be time to think, or not.  There would be time to mosey, to chill, and to focus on one thing at a time.  There would be time to build relationships, have conversations, and generally slow down long enough to enjoy the life around me.

That’s why I like camping.  

There are no responsibilities beyond food, shelter, fun, and sleep.  And yet, here I was, lying in my sleeping bag with nothing on my agenda but sleep.  But I was about to pick up my tablet and fill my head with more information.  Instead, I chose to lie there and listen to the raindrops smack the roof of my SUV.

Was I still restless?  Yes.  Was I still anxious?  Yep.  But ignoring that and surfing the web would not fix that.  Lying in silence and seeking serenity would.  And as I lay there, I wondered if I could achieve the same serenity even when I’m around other people and the hub-bub of life?  Could I learn to life in the moment even caged in the front seat of  that merciless ambulance with four busy dispatch centers vying for my attention?  I wondered if I could sit in my living room, without distracting myself, and achieve the quiet I so desperately crave?  Then I fell asleep and woke up several hours later feeling like I’d been camping.

That night, as I sat in the front of my ambulance.  I didn’t endlessly browse Facebook and the web.  Yes, I checked my messages and notifications, I replied to emails and texts, but then I just was at peace.  It was a good place to be.

Two nights ago…

…I was tired, restless, and it seemed as if we never sat still very long.  We’d run calls in East Sandy, posted in Boring and Damascus several times – but never really long enough to settle down.  Barely long enough to use the restroom really.  We spent some time in Clackamas, Gladstone, and Oregon City.  I think we were in Lake Oswego for awhile.  We ran a few calls – but we were just going, going, going.  Finally, around 3am, we landed in Oregon City.  I tried leaning my head against the door and sleeping – it wasn’t working.  I found myself surfing the web, browsing Facebook – all that stuff.  I put the phone away.

I was so exhausted I thought about calling out sick.  I wasn’t sure I could do this.  I got out, walked around in the rain and sleet a little – but as you can imagine, that didn’t last long.  Again, I tried to sleep.  It wasn’t working.

I closed my eyes and prayed for peace and serenity.  I sought surrender, release, and serenity.  It was a battle.

Finally, I climbed into the back of the ambulance and stretched out (this is actually a misnomer because I’m 6’2″ and the bench is only 5’4″) on the bench.  I lay there – gently released from the confines of the chicken coop we call the front seat.  I slowly let go – I prayed – I surrendered to the situation, the exhaustion, the sleep deprivation, the lack of good food, and the chatter of the radios.  I let go of the confinement, the lack of exercise, and the desire I had for my own bed.  I missed my family, but I let go of my inability to be with them.  I prayed for my family and for my lack of ability to be a good Dad and Husband.  And then I fell asleep.

Two minutes later…

…we were dispatched to take care of a lady who fell.  Despite the short nap, I was rested and serene.

_______________________________________________________

Here are a couple of posts I came across in the last week:

• Be Still
• Spirituality is to Be Still and to Know

The reaction from the driver of the good car was very much the way I used to react when I drove nice cars.  There was anger, consternation, and much waving of the arms and lips!  Ooh, I remember those feelings.

“we put our stuff ahead of people”

It’s been awhile since I’ve driven really nice cars.  I bought my 4Runner in 1994, and about 100,000 miles ago it began to lose its shine.  But I do remember those feelings.  I remember trying to explain some the finer points of driving to other people who were altogether clueless.

That’s when it hit me.  I used to put the value of my car about the value of the driver person who made a mistake.  Why do we do that?  Why do we put so much emphasis on our own stuff, with no care about what the other person may be going through?

If I’m driving a nice car and have enough energy to get mad at someone else, that is an indication that my life might not be so bad.  If someone else is driving an old beater, and is so distracted by stuff that they didn’t even realize they almost hit me, that might be an indication that their life sucks.  Even if it isn’t true in every case, it’s a good metaphor.

A friend of mine use to deal with these situations reversing what she wanted to say.  Instead of swearing at the other person, she would whisper, “There goes an awesome child of God.“

And isn’t that the truth?  No matter what is occurring – a driver cutting you off, someone stealing your laptop, or damaging your luggage when traveling – we seem to put our stuff ahead of the person.  Why is that?

Same with doctrine in the church.  We seem to elevate our doctrines over the needs of the people.  Why is that?

Jesus healed a man who had been born blind, and the people we outraged that he’d done that on the Sabbath.  But Jesus reminded them that the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath?  Wouldn’t that apply with every law and commandment?  I think so.

What would it take for us to put others ahead of our possessions?  What would it take for us to put others ahead of our wants?

So, last night, as I lay in bed listening to the rain, listening to my heart, and listening to my God, I came to realize something.  But more important than realizing it, I came to accept it.  I really don’t want to write about it.  Though I’m an advocate of transparency, this one cuts really close to the bone.

Last night, I realized, and accepted, that I feel worthless.

Society doesn’t value this trait very much.  We all take great pains to avoid looking this way.  In fact, this is as the heart of pride, arrogance, and cockiness.  We go out of our way to look strong, capable, and powerful – in the process, we overcompensate.  Unfortunately, I’ve found, is that many of us struggle with feelings of worthlessness.

“Society doesn’t value this trait very much.”

Realizing how worthless I feel is more than just feeling worthless.  For me last night, it was about accepting that I feel that way – and have most of my life.  More so in the last five years however.  I’ve fought it, struggled against it, tried to fix it, tried to hide from it, and tried very hard to ignore it.  But guess what – those feelings persist.

There have been good days and bad, there have been good weeks, good months, and bad as well.  Because I have such little reserve energy right now, it doesn’t take much to set me over the edge of discouragement and depression.  Then it seems to take forever to climb out of that pit of despair.  Often, it feels like one step forward, three steps back.  A losing battle is a hard battle to continue.

But somehow, for some reason, last night was different.  I just surrendered to those feelings and accepted them.  Today, I write about them to memorialize them.  I want to erect this monument to that event.  Interestingly, I did not descend further into the pit of despair by accepting and surrendering to my feelings of worthlessness.  On the contrary, I rested – I let go.  I gave those feelings to God.  They are His problem, not mine.

It will be interesting to see how He handles this.  Either way, I feel at peace today.  I know, that as long as I surrender to the grave, Resurrection power awaits.  I have hope.