Healing in Chaos

The clouds were still gray as I entered the FEMA tent and took my place behind the table marked, “counselor”.  I had received a call about an hour earlier that several tornadoes had touched down in a local community and there was need of crisis counseling.  I made the forty five minute drive to what looked like the edge of the world.  It was what could only be described as utter devastation.   Outside of spending a week in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, this was one of the worst sights I had ever witnessed. 

With Katrina it was everywhere.  So after a while you lost your sense of perspective.  Every neighborhood saw the devastation, every family was directly touched.  The community pulled together and in the midst of the devastation you saw neighbors helping neighbors, friends weeping with friends, community organizations pulling together with such speed and efficiency it was almost uncanny.  Here though, after the tornadoes had passed only hours before was chaos. 

Crisis counseling is so much different than the counseling done in the office.  Much of the goal is helping provide a very pragmatic stability.  You are dealing with people in shock, and on some occasions you find yourself dealing with your own shock in the midst of it. 

This day however nothing was going as planned, the FEMA tent was full.  There were people just wanting to get out of the rain, and others who had just lost everything to the fierce winds.  I heard crying, yelling, there were emergency responders coming in and out.  It felt like we were all experiencing the disaster together and no one had a clear picture of what helping or responding really looked like.

I found my role becoming that of an advocate for those who seemed lost in the shuffle.  I began to walk up to individuals and ask what they needed.  The needs were all the basic kind that you would need after any disaster; food, water, shelter, and some semblance of safety.  We started unpacking the food boxes as they came, handing them out to countless faces.  Inside the tent it became eerily quiet as for the first time since the storms the community was engaged in some normal activity.

I sat with so many people that afternoon and heard some of the bravest stories of survival:  Fathers risking their lives for their children, families huddling together in prayer and utter desperation hoping that they would make it through the dark night.

I left feeling a sense of urgency.  I had witnessed what truly happens when things fall apart.  I had seen a community whose buildings and homes had been destroyed, but their commitment to one another strengthened.  I don’t know what the town had been like before, or what drama had been on the front burner the day before, but it was gone now.

It made me think of the families and individual’s that I work with.  In a very real way they were all going through their own private tornadoes.  Many had not experienced the compassion of their own community. For some it was because there was no “exterior damage”, nothing that you could assess with the naked eye.  For others it was because they were hiding in the rubble of broken relationships.  I began to realize that much of my experience in counseling wasn’t that different than the work of crisis counseling.  I learned that the underlying factor wasn’t what methodology was the most effective or what intervention gets to the point most quickly.  It was, rather, compassion.  I had gone to help the broken and found that they had helped me.  That instead of heading to disaster I was heading from disaster into a functioning community. 

My guiding rules in my practice of counseling have been very simple since then, counsel in compassion and become a student to everyone.

The Business of Risk

"Without exposure to potential failure there is no risk"

  -Brennan Manning

Someone to whom I owe so much respect and gratitude once gave me a compliment.  Which was followed by words that to this day echo in my head.  He described a trait in me, which he called a gift.  He said that this is your strength, but Jason often times your greatest strength is your greatest weakness.

I can be arrogant, brash, stubborn, inconsiderate and even selfishly cold.  I can disconnect from so much of the world when it hurts too much to open my eyes.  There are moments that I am proud of accomplishments or feel that I have made a change in someone’s life.  I was raised in a home where you had to stay ten steps ahead of everyone else to keep your head attached.  It means that often times I can describe what someone else feels before they do. I guess that’s one reason I’m a therapist.  It is my strength, but it is also my weakness.

I remember a time when trust was a foreign word.  I would look ahead those ten steps and see the motives, nonverbal comments, even a slight change in someone’s eyes.  It was how I protected myself from the world.  I could be in a room full of people and I could have conversations that would seem so deep and heartfelt, but I stayed safe. 

Safety, that’s one thing that I believe we all seek.  At the root of most disorders is isolation and fear of abandonment.  It makes sense.  We fill the gaps with just about anything we can to make it work, but often times we refuse to risk and hence we remain alone.  Risk, by it’s very nature, in a relationship of any kind means that we can be left alone or abandoned.  The possibility always exists.  Abandonment and loneliness don’t always mean that someone is even physically absent.  It can look like a paralyzing fear that drives a person to remove their heart or push the world away.  I know this well as I have done it at so many points.

Risk, however, is a passionate abandonment of the fear of being left alone, no matter how many times you have been left alone.  Risk, grief, and love are always connected. 

There is a beauty to grief.  It’s almost paradoxical.  When you meet someone you have an idea of who they are.  You, in your mind, fill in the blanks that you don’t yet know of the other person.  As you grow closer you are faced with a great dilemma.  Rarely, if ever, is the person we imagine the person we grow to know.  We must grieve one of two people, either the imagined or the real.  If we abandon the real person we will isolate ourselves in fear, only allowing ourselves to keep a hope alive that this person really is the person we hope them to be.  To grieve the hope of whom we might have, that is both beauty and risk.  It is the ability to see the faults in someone and to cleave to them as they are.  It is to learn to love, quite simply as we are loved by God.  Sometimes it connects and you both grieve the loss of who you had hoped for, simply to find that have grieved together and grown closer.  Other times, as is the case with risk, one may grieve the hoped for and the other the true person.  It is here where you experience a dark night of the soul.  To love is to grieve and to grieve together is intimacy at its climax.  Jacqueline Novogratz said it this way, “Grief releases love and it also instills a profound sense of connection.”  I believe that we often look for compatibility based on mutual interests, goals, or a myriad of other demographic nonsense, when in reality it may be that we are most compatible with those whom we are able to grieve with.  If you have seen my grief you have seen my fear, sadness and insecurity, and in some ways I have shared my heart and my soul.  When my grief is rejected I have experienced the dreaded fear of loneliness save that I have learned to move toward living and have abandoned surviving.  There is beauty in grief.  The risk is that I may grieve alone but that grief will lead me to a world that offers freedom and hope.  I am no longer chained to my fear and isolation.

Relationships will hinge upon this.  I have sat with countless couples, they always ask similar questions.  Sometimes it is, “will we make it?”, other times it is, “will they be the person I hoped for?”  The answer is always the same, can you grieve with each other and risk?  The happiest marriages I have ever seen are a mess!  They are a beautiful mess!  The reality is that at the root we are all a mess and to embrace another’s messiness allows me the opportunity to truly be embraced with all my mess intact.  I am not alone anymore.

In Hemingway’s, “The Old Man and the Sea”, Santiago experiences eighty four days of fishing with no success.  He was shunned by the other fishermen and even his young friend Manolin, was forbidden by his parents to fish with him because of his terrible luck.  Santiago, determined to succeed, risks.  He pushes his skiff in beyond Cuba and into the Straits of Florida.  Once in the Straits he hooked a Marlin, which he fought for days.  He was tied to Marlin and both were determined to survive. Eventually, Santiago captured the Marlin and stabbed it with a harpoon.  As he made his way home the blood of the Marlin attracted many sharks.  He fought off as many as he could, but when he finally reached the shore only the bones were left of the great fish.  Santiago, exhausted returned to his home and fell asleep.  When the other fishermen awoke and saw the massive skeleton they were amazed.  Manolin ran to Santiago’s home to find him sleeping.  When he woke, Manolin, promised him that he would fish with again.

Santiago risked….  He dreamed of the profit the fish would bring in, and the number of people it would feed.  He lost his dream but gained something deeper, his young friend Manolin.

This is where I leave you…  Who do you love?  With whom do you grieve…

Might as Well Face it.... You're Addicted to Love

Recently I attended two speaking engagements.  I had to speak on addiction in the first and on ADHD and Anxiety Disorders in the second.   As I researched these topics I came to one resounding theme, our hearts and bodies are crying, no screaming for more.  Every year more and more medications are prescribed for anxiety and depression.  Every day more and more people are faced with the fact that they are indeed addicted to something. 

When we speak of addiction we generally speak of a drug, or an action that produces a feeling of relief or reward.  So many approaches to addiction come in the form of avoiding a certain outlet.  You’re an alcoholic, don’t drink alcohol and attend a group or therapy.  You’re a shopaholic, don’t spend, freeze your credit card in a block of ice and call your support group.  The list goes on and on.  Now let me be clear, I am not advocating that we not deal with the particular issue that we find ourselves hopelessly and compellingly drawn toward.  Rather when we avoid one addiction we quickly find another.  The issue is not the outlet of choice.  That is the effect to the cause.

Recently I was in the airport, which seems to be a regular staple in my diet. While I was waiting for my flight I watched a child, who was obviously tired and completely over the airport experience, clinging to his mother.  She looked tired as well.  Her response to her child’s constant clinging wasn’t to hold him and allow him to rest peacefully.  Rather in her exhaustion she reached in to her bag and pulled out an Ipad. She handed it to the boy and immediately his gaze turned from the affection of his mother to the shiny touch screen.  He played nonstop for the next forty-five minutes.  He made no sound and was content with the electronic embrace of unlimited apps and Angry Birds.  I am not criticizing the mother.  When it’s late and you are sitting in those incredibly uncomfortable plastic chairs after being herded like cattle through one line after the other there will be exhaustion.  She after all was giving what she had to give in the moment.  She wanted rest as much as he did.  Actually, as I watched him playing I gazed around the corridor and I saw teens, adults, and even some of the more elderly adults sitting quietly texting, playing apps, surfing the web looking for something to fill the void of sitting in a sterile and transient environment.  We are wired at our core and from birth to seek stimulation.  It’s what we hunger for, it is what we are addicted too and this begs the question, why?

Eventually as my gaze returned to the little boy I thought about his original expression.  He wanted to be held, he wanted to feel safe and comfortable and he sought that from his Mother.  When we look for safety as children, and again this is a snapshot not a judgment of a tired mom, and we are given an engaging distraction what does this produce in us over the long term?

Over time our brain normalizes distractions and we crave stimulation once again.  Why do we crave?  Simply put, it is just who we are.  What do we crave?, I believe this is the grandmother of all questions.  In the moment we crave the thing that fills the immediate need, but under the layers of coping strategies, habits and yes addictions I believe we crave something more, something that can not be normalized.  If it cannot be normalized it must be greater than our need, infinitely greater.  

I have written in the past about my own childhood.  It was filled with anger, abuse and neglect.  I found my outlet in books.  My best friends when I was twelve were men like C.S. Lewis and Ernest Hemingway.  Lewis covered the constant grappling with God’s greatness and our inability to understand it in the midst of pain and suffering.  Hemingway covered the endless searching and pain that comes from seeking in empty places.  Lewis would dissect love and loss and turn it in to something greater.  He took children and put them in the hands of good but unsafe lion to be saved from those that sought to destroy them.  What a paradox that is to unpack.

Hemingway took an old man in a tiny boat and pushed him to the edge of his existence in an epic battle with the catch of his life.

Both men in their lifetimes fought through huge and painful circumstances.  At one point after the death of his wife, Joy, he even said that, “pain is God’s megaphone to rouse a deaf world”.  In the process of losing his wife he learned something greater than the philosophical and academically based idea of love, he learned of the experience of love and sadly loss.  He adopted his wife’s son Douglas and raised him as his own.  Years ago at a lecture I met with Douglas.  He was a cheerful man with a grand sense of humor.  He had become a pilot and loved adventure.  His childhood was a broken one.  His mother fled from the States with him, leaving behind an angry and abusive husband and finding England and Lewis.  Lewis was much older than Joy and had his share of adjustments to make from being a confirmed academic bachelor to a husband and Father.  Shortly after the marriage of Joy and Lewis, Douglas faced the loss of the one parent that stayed with him.  In the short time I spent with him I could see in Douglas a love and desire that cannot be learned it has to be experienced.

Hemingway who was known for his ability to avoid pain through the bottle and the typewriter took his own life, alone and depressed.  He was a regular haunt at a bar called Sloppy Joe’s in Key West.  I remember sitting under a picture of him having a pint just wondering what his days must have been like sitting in the same place.

I am in complete awe of both men as writers and adventurers in their own right but in the adventure of love I have found Hemingway at a loss. 

I remember reading Hemingway as a child and I felt like I was there in the moment with the characters.  Most of them were men that had suffered and were battle weary from rough lives full of loss and looking for that moment of redemption.  I related to that.  I was a child that had seen more than his share of abandonment and violence.  I had attended to overdoses and suicide attempts with some regularity by the time I was a man.

These pains, they build walls inside of us.  They drive us to look for safe stimulation.  Safe, in the sense that our hearts are not exposed.  We are masterful at composure in the right moments and brave with many risks but at the root we crave the very same thing that a little boy, unaware of an observer, sitting in an airport crave.  We want to be loved and accepted as we are.  We are worn and weathered and have so many complicated defenses that distract us from it, and turn those we love away, but it’s there.

I have often asked the question is it harder to know someone or be known by someone.  I believe it’s the latter.  I am terrified that if you knew the real me that you would run for the hills.  I’m skillfully avoidant, and carefully allusive.   These are the habits that you learn with a family that uses their hands for things other than embrace.  Deep down inside I believe that I am a lost cause and that if you knew the real me you would say the same.  At the low points in my life I’ve been told this very thing even to the point that I was not someone that one should cast their pearls before.   I lived for years with the notion that my train wreck was somehow different that yours or anyone else’s.  I thought that I was inherently flawed and I lived years swaying between trying so hard to make up for the lacking and just giving up and destroying any ground that had made.

The reality is that I am inherently flawed and that I shouldn’t be surprised when I fail.  My issue is that I thought that was the sum total of the man I was.  I was addicted to my own shame in ways that drove me to my own addictions.  I eventually became conditioned to the idea that I was and always be a lost cause.  I believed that I was a monster and I treated myself the way that a monster should be treated.  I disconnected, I disappeared, I caged myself so that I could do no harm to those who deserved more than a monster.  I had chosen the path of Hemingway and was headed for the same self destructive path that I had been raised to expect.

In the moments that came when I reached the bottom there were men, braver than Hemingway, more intact than Lewis that stood beside me and fought for me.  At first I remember being so suspicious.  I didn’t know what trust was much less how to offer it to anyone.  They were relentless, they would call and invite me for lunch, for dinner, for fishing trips.  They chased me down and would not let me be content with the monster that I saw in the mirror.

To this day when I am counseling I imagine them in the room and I wonder how they would handle things.  They have seen my tears, my terror,  my inner demons and looked at me as if to say is that it? Is that all that’s wrong with you?  We love you man!  These men have been the parents that stood with men when I begged like a weary child in an airport to be embraced.  Instead of distraction they handed me a new world a new life.  They mirrored the love that they knew, not necessarily from their own childhood memories but from the love they experienced from a God that pursued them just as relentlessly as they did me.  They taught me to love myself and to love Jesus.  They didn’t give me books but gave me the experience, the experience that Douglas had with Lewis and God still uses these men to this day as I am learning to pursue those that God brings to me, weary and broken carrying their own inner monsters and shame.

If addiction is a way of filling something that the action can never satisfy then it must be an endless void that we are trying to fill.  It will only come through and endless source and that endless source comes to us through those that He chooses to send to us when we are dying and broken on the side of road waiting for judgment.  It is at that moment when we have come to then end of ourselves and have no where to run, nothing to offer; it is in that moment that we are met by those that He sends and in the words of Lewis, we are, “Surprised by Joy”.

Journeys in the Storm

Ten years ago I began a journey that I would have never chosen for myself.  It began in the summer of 2004.  I had been surfing all morning.  I was at one of my favorite breaks and the waves were beautiful.  The swell was around six feet and the intervals were around twelve to fifteen seconds.  The soft winds were blowing off shore, which meant that the waves were showing a nice face.  I had made the forty-five minute drive and this seemed to be like any other morning.  I arrived at the beach by 6:30am and was in the water paddling out by 6:35.  It never gets old.  That first duck dive under a wave, when your face is completely submerged and you feel the power of the current sweeping the wave over your body.  Shortly after you emerge and without a moment’s thought you begin to paddle.  This is a process that you repeat until you reach the break point.  It’s that first dive though, it simply fills you with a sense of life, amazement and adrenaline. 

After a quick paddle I reached the break point.  I remember sitting up on my board and breathing in the peaceful and serene watery world that had completely engulfed my senses.  The swell, moving gently but powerfully met me with my first set of the morning.  I watched the waves roll toward me.  The first wave passed it was smaller than the ones to follow.  I waited patiently for just the right wave, the right moment. Then in a burst of momentum I paddled swiftly with the wave.  It picked me up and as quickly as it lifted my board I stood.  I remember just gliding down the face.  It was smooth like glass and I could hear the curl crashing behind me, pushing me forward faster and faster.  I pushed my board against the wave gaining momentum with each lunge.  It felt effortless, even natural.  I drank in the moment until the end of the ride.  As I drew closer to the sand bar I turned my board using the wave as a ramp and as the momentum pushed me ever faster defying gravity I left the water and for what lasted only a second I was airborne.  Quickly before gravity could steal the moment I twisted my body and dove back into the smooth warm water.  I repeated this over and over until the winds changed and the waves lost their graceful faces.

The sun was high above my head as I caught the last wave.  When I stood the nose of the board dug in quickly to the water and I found myself thrusted face forward into the base of the wave.  It was like being put in washing machine on spin cycle as the wave and it’s powerful current held me under.  It was just the right moment where the water agrees with the force of the winds and currents as I was held under water for what felt like an eternity.     Quickly I opened my eyes in the murky and turbulent waters, my hand quickly ran the length of my leash looking for the board to which my ankle was tethered.  As I found the board, still under water I grabbed it and held until it’s buoyancy could break the surface.  I was running out of breath as the board itself was held beneath the surface.  I waited, forcing my body out of a panic and conserving as much air as I could.  My tired limbs ached and my mind raced, until finally the current gave way.  I offered one last tired burst of energy and paddled the last stretch to the beach, grabbing hold of each wave as they pushed me closer and closer to the beach.  As the moment passed I didn’t find myself shaken or even afraid.  I chalked it up to another messy wipeout as I gathered my board and my senses and made my way back to the Jeep.

As I was driving home I made my customary stop at the convenience store.  I loaded up on boiled peanuts and a sugar-free Red bull.  This offered me a burst of much needed energy as I rushed to make it home.  I had to be at work in an hour and didn’t have time to waste by resting. 

As I made my way through the lowlands my body felt strange.  I remember getting very dizzy.  I thought I was going to pass out.  I waited a moment for the dizziness to pass but it held its course and I finally pulled over and stepped out of my jeep to the side of the road.  As I stood I remember a flood of emotions running through my mind, my heart was beating faster and faster and I drew deep breaths almost as if I had run a marathon.  This frenzy lasted about ten minutes and subsided as quickly as it appeared.  I pulled my wits together and continued my trek home.  As the day progressed I forgot about all about it and carried on.

Fast-forwarding a few months, I was driving with a friend.  We were on our way to a repair store.  The air conditioning unit at my house which had been on it’s last leg since I moved in had finally given up the ghost.  I am inquisitive by nature so I took the unit apart and found that the cooling fan had died.  So off we went to find a replacement.  As we drove the music on local radio station stopped and a weather bulletin boomed through the speakers.  A hurricane, which had been sitting off the Gulf Coast, had made an abrupt turn, defying the majority of the forecast models and was heading directly towards us.  We were informed that we had roughly three hours until the feeder bands would reach us.  The hurricane was listed as a category one and was expected to dissipate by the time it reached us to become a tropical storm.  We listened intently and were relieved with the news that we would only see tropical storm winds. 

As we reached the repair store, I described the motor that I needed and gave the serial number.  The clerk laughed and made a joke about disco being in style when they made my air conditioner.  I smiled purchased the part and we began our ride home.  Once again a weather bulletin sounded off.  The storm was strengthening and was now expected to be a category four by the time it reached land.  The National Weather Service was now predicting a category three hurricane to reach Orlando.  As we listened my friend Seth spoke up.  He said that it would be smart to pick up wood and supplies to board up the windows.  I agreed and we drove quickly to the next stop.  When we arrived we were amazed to see a line of cars waiting in line just to enter the parking lot.  We were apparently not the only ones grappling to prepare for the hurricane.  We parked quickly and made our way in to the store.  We picked up as much plywood as we could find, a saw, tapcon screws and several flashlights.  We made our way to the counter, paid and left. 

When we reached home we didn’t waste a moment.  We began cutting the wood and fastening each board over the windows.  We had enough for both of our homes and for our neighbors as well.  We worked intently not even noticing the first set of feeder bands.  Finally, as the winds picked up and the rain poured down we finished the massive project, and without a moment to spare.  Seth and I went in to my house along with his brother, some of our neighbors and some people I didn’t even know and we waited.

Within an hour the sky was black, the winds were consistently pushing at about a hundred miles an hour and I was at the door with my video camera catching every second.  The weather report came on the radio shortly after and announced that the winds were now at a constant speed of a hundred and twenty-seven miles an hour with gusts close to one-forty.  I was an adrenaline junky, to put it lightly, and my mind raced with ideas.  I mean, how many chances do you have to experience winds like that?  I grabbed my skateboard and an umbrella and ran out the front door.  I grew up watching a lot of cartoons and from my extensive research of Bugs Bunny I understood that umbrellas can make excellent sails.  I mounted the board, open the umbrella and was expecting the ride of my life.  The winds were so swift they tore the umbrella apart the moment I opened it.  Fortunately the wind pushed me along even without the sail.  The rain was so strong and was pouring so fast that each drop felt like a pinprick.  I lasted about three minutes and ran for the safety of my living room.  I watched intently as tree after tree toppled and power lines snapped.  We lost power around 8:30 that evening.  Fortunately, being outdoors men Seth and I had an adequate supply of candles, propane, battery powered radios and of course flashlights.  We filled all of our coolers with ice before the storm and put as many water bottles in them as we could.  The storm reached carried on for hours until there was an abrupt silence.  This was not the end of the storm and could only mean one thing; the eye of the hurricane was directly over us.  I stepped back out the front door and looked up into the dark sky.  The sky was clear and there were stars everywhere.  The wind was gone as we muddled around in the dark and eerie silence.  Everyone piled out and we all began to survey the neighborhood, each looking for damage and checking on the other neighbors.  This lasted for about an hour and the storm once again reared its ugly head.

The next morning, I was prepared for the worst.  The storm had passed but in its wake it left our town upside down.  I drove around with my video camera recording one pile of debris after another.  The roads were empty and quiet and littered with fallen trees, power lines, and anything else that wasn’t strong enough to withstand the torrent that had devoured the town the night before.  As I drove I began to feel light headed once again and all the symptoms that I had felt months before returned.  It lasted for about fifteen minutes and left just as it had before.  This time I was a little more aware and was a little shaken, as this was not just tiredness but something more.  It stayed on my mind a little longer but eventually faded as I was distracted by the damage of the storm.  As the week passed we realized that we would be without power for a while.  The gas stations were empty of fuel, water, and the basic necessities as were the grocery stores.  Finally after another week the power returned and life began to return to some semblance or normalcy.  Already there were two more storms forming in the Atlantic.  I remember joking about it and saying, “What are the odds of us getting another storm?  Really?  They’ll pass.” Unfortunately by the end of hurricane season that year we saw three more.   Just as a precaution we decided to leave the boards on the windows.  As slim as the chances none of us wanted to risk weathering another hurricane without the safety of covering.  The boards stayed on for the remainder of the summer and were exposed to all four hurricanes.  Somewhere in the middle of all of the madness, I woke up in the middle of the night.  I remember it vividly because to this day it still sends chills through my spine.  I woke startled, unable to move, unable to breathe.  My eyes were focused on the ceiling and I could see flashes of light pulsing through out my field of vision.  I panicked but could do nothing.  My mind was racing as I tried to take just one breath, but nothing..  Just silence and fear.  After about thirty seconds I began to breathe and was able to move, but the terror that went through my mind was unforgettable.  All of the what if’s were still coursing through my head. What if I hadn’t regained my faculties?  What if I had suffocated?  I stayed awake for the next two days out of fear.  I called my doctor and went directly to her office.  When I arrived I described all of the symptoms that I had been experiencing over the past several months.  She gave me a thoughtful glance and told me that I was experiencing panic attacks and night terrors.  I was not convinced but at this point was exhausted.  She prescribed some meds and told me to rest. 

After this I met with a counselor and this was again confirmed.  As we dug into my past it was more and more evident that panic and anxiety had been a constant staple to my mental diet.  I began to take the meds and over the next month I began to become much more calm.  My mind was working and focused in ways that it had never had before.  I could actually think even concentrate.  As I began to experience a mind that worked as it was supposed to I realized that I had been having panic symptoms since I was a child. 

These symptoms had permeated every thought and action as far back as I could remember.  As a student I had always scraped by, unable to study for long periods of time, I procrastinated as much as possible and my grades had always suffered.  My religious beliefs were based on fear more than faith and I lived in constant fear that I was not only a failure but that God must be angry and disappointed with me.  This is when I began to write.

Within three weeks of these understandings I had completed my first manuscript, Unshed Tears.  It was focused on how experiencing childhood abuse plays a major role in how we understand God.  If our first experiences with authority are abusive then we form the belief that all authority must be angry and abusive.  We choose not to live and enjoy the power of God but we translate Him into being the ultimate abusive parent just waiting for us to fail, then pouring on our hearts pain and anguish.  I had been in this frame of mind and survived with fear as my constant companion.  The journey of understanding that God is not an angry parent took time.  My faith moved from surviving an angry deity to being embraced by a loving, caring and nurturing God.  This pushed me to understand that even with the baggage of abuse in my past I had been given gifts that I had feared to even touch.  Yes, there was pain, but redemption looked less like having my sins painfully burned away and more like being loved to holiness.  I rested.  It was the first time in my entire life that I exhaled in relief and dared believe that God was not only all powerful but truly all loving.  All loving, in that He could actually love all of me.  He wasn’t surprised by my failures. As a matter of fact He was there, in the midst of my failures holding me, defending me like a roaring lion when no one else would.

This was not an immediate revelation.  God is patient.  It leaked in through the cracks of my life, my past and carries through to the present and to the future.  My world changed in amazing ways and it came through panic, fear, anxiety and paralysis. 

My burnout in one Masters program carried to an open door to a new Masters degree and a career that would give me the ability to walk with others who have been down the same ragged and broken path. 

So often we look for perfection as the moment that God will enter the picture.  It’s as if we wait to be good enough to win His praise and affection.  Thank God this is not the case, for we would be waiting in an empty shack in fear that we would never be met.  It was when God opened the doors in my broken world; in my complete and utter mess of a life that I realized that he wanted me.  Just me, the broken and humbled mess of a man that I was and am.  I came to a place in life where I had nothing left to offer, I had no drive, no ambition.  It was in this moment, the perfect moment to experience the ultimate judgment and rejection that God showered me with adoration and love.

Since that time I have experienced some of the most dreadful and heartbreaking moments in my life.  I have lost everything many times over and have seen the darkness that exists with in my intentions and actions.  I am utterly a selfish and self seeking person and left to my own devices I would do all the good works and actions with a darkened heart.   My main drive would be to work hard just to prove that I was ok.  Fortunately, God has allowed me to see the contrast between my inability and His unfailing promise to redeem me.

It was in losing everything that I realized that I was holding on to dirty rags.  The keys to my redemption were so much different than reality.  My actions always have motives; they have a heart tied to them.  God allowed my actions to be stripped away so that he could show me His heart, His compassion.  I am learning to truly love, to truly give with an open heart and mind.  My religion is no longer anger and fear.  I always have my moments but I can finally be honest without the fear of condemnation, and in honesty I can truly see what is embraced by God, me.

Safaris, Drivers and the Essentials of Survival

Standing at the edge of the Great Rift Valley in Kenya I looked out from the mountaintop.  I saw rolling hills that stretched to the horizon.  I knew that the adventure that lie ahead would be life changing. 

The driver was waiting in Nairobi.  He was a kind man of small stature.  He had kind eyes and it was obvious from the start that he had a true passion for his job.  Over the course of the following days he would introduce me to the Northern parts of the Serengeti. 

As we pulled out of Nairobi the buildings began to diminish in size, they became fewer in number.  Mile after mile Nairobi became less visible.  As we started our assent to the top of the mountain, which led to the Great Rift Valley, we passed cars and carts pulled by different types of animals.  The road curved and narrowed leaving little room for error.  The driver was experienced and he handled the bulky van with ease.  As we reached the top of the mountain I stepped out and walked to the edge of a tall cliff that overlooked the valley.  Rarely am I ever speechless but in that moment I knew that I was seeing one of God’s most beautiful creations.  The land seemed to go on forever. It was mostly empty of the modern sites that we are so used to.  There were no buildings, no highways it was like looking back in time thousands of years.

I stood there on the edge for ten or fifteen minutes in prayerful thought still in awe of what I was seeing.  I dreamed of a world that doesn’t exist to most of the world.  It was one of great animals that ran freely, with people that roam the land with little to few attachments holding them to one place.  I dreamed of sunsets that dominated the horizon with no obstructions and a night sky that was unhindered by the pollution of city lights.  As I was drifting further into my hopes of what was to come, the driver walked over to me and placed his hand on my shoulder.  He said simply, “my friend, it is beautiful yes, but there is more to see.  We should go.”  With that I took a few pictures and stepped in to the van.

We made our way down the mountain in to the valley.  Upon reaching the bottom I noticed that the road was roughly paved and that there were no buildings within sight.  I asked the driver where the closest town was.  He smiled and with a deep laugh said, “there is no town, only Nairobi is close now.”  For the next hour, as the mountain faded into the background, I sat watching the small brush pass by.  I opened up a small bag that I had picked up in Nairobi.  It was mainly full of essentials like a can of sugar free Redbull, some potato crisps, fresh passion fruit, and some other dried fruits.  I offered some to the driver.  He took a handful of Skittles and shared more about the area.  By this point we were off of the paved roads and from here on out we would not see pavement for several days. 

I sat back watching this new world.  On my right I saw a herd of Zebras standing together as we sped by.  Further along the road we came to what looked to be a small village.  The driver asked if I wanted any souvenirs.  I smiled and shook my head no.  I wanted to see more. He seemed pleased with this decision and told me about the village.  “Mr. Jason, this is one of the villages belonging to the Masai People.  He explained that the huts were constructed of mud and dung.  “The people live in these huts for six or seven months and then it is time to move and build new ones.”  I asked about the children.  Do they go to school?  He said yes.  “Recently the children have been required to attend a school, it is not far ahead.”

We passed through the Masai settlement and made our way deeper in to the sierra.  Along the sides of the road I saw men, women and children walking and playing.  They were wearing traditional Masai garments, which consisted of brightly colored sashes.  I was amazed at how alive and playful the children were.  They jumped and tumbled with one another as the Masai women sat together watching as they wove new fabrics.

Past the settlements, beyond the villagers we were now in deep sierra.  There were more and more animals passing by as we drove ahead.  I looked to my right and saw three elephants walking slowly away from the dirt road.  I took a few more pictures and the driver said, “those are only a few elephants, you will see many more when we reach Masai Mara.  As we neared the protected area of Masai Mara the driver began to slow down.  He pulled to the side of the road and said, “Mr. Jason, this will be a good moment for pictures.”  I looked around and saw nothing.  I asked what exactly I was taking a picture of.  He laughed with a deep and loud laugh.  “Mr Jason, do you see that concrete marker over there?  It is the border between Kenya and Tanzania.  If you stand on one side you are here, in Kenya and on the other you are in Tanzania.” I walked over to the obelisk shaped structure.  Sprays painted on it were two letters separated by a line.  T\K.  I assumed the obvious T was Tanzania and K was Kenya.  So I did the tourist thing and jumped back and forth between the two countries.  I think I was mainly thrilled at the fact that I could cross over without an hour of customs checks on each side.  The driver took a few pictures of me as he laughed. 

We boarded the van once more and began the next leg of our journey to the Masai Mara Reserve.  I saw another herd of Zebras one was facing away from the road.  I named her J.Lo for obvious reasons.  Finally we made it to the gate of the Reserve.  The gate was simple. It was constructed of stones and mortar.  On each side piled in stacks that were at least five feet tall were skeletal remains of various animals.  At the top of each was the skull of an elephant.  I walked up to them and was amazed at the size of the enormity of each skull.  The driver came beside me and explained that the skull is full of small holes, which makes it lighter than other bones.  This allows the elephant to hold its head up without being weighted down.

After a lengthy dialogue with the park officials the driver motioned me back to the van.  I jumped in and we were once more on our way.  The Reserve was teeming with animals.  I saw elephants, zebras, giraffes, even a few hippopotami bathing in a stream that snaked its way through the terrain.

After three more hours we made it to our destination.  I was staying in a place called Serena Mara.  It sat on top of a rolling hill and the view was breath taking.  The driver asked when I would like to take the first safari.  I laughed and said that I felt like we had already taken the first one.  He smiled and said, “my friend you have seen nothing yet.  Shall we go for an evening safari after dinner?”  I nodded with excitement.  He said that we should go by 5:30.  I unpacked my bags, walked around the resort and quickly finished my dinner.  It was time for my first Safari.

The van was equipped for the adventure.  It had a roof that lifted to provide shade and an open view of any animals that we would see along the way.  It also had four-wheel drive, which came in extremely handy on the drive to the reservation and would surely be useful in the safaris to come.

We left the reservation quickly.  It had rained for about an hour and a half before we left and though Kenya is located on the equator it was a cool evening.  I had a jacket with me and was ready to see what the sierra had to offer.

Within five minutes we saw a herd of wildebeests.  They were massive and the number of the herd was in the thousands.  I had flashbacks to the Lion King.  I asked the driver to stop the van and I got out to get a closer look.  The driver apparently didn’t often receive requests like this and he was a little apprehensive but throughout the drive we had found a common ground in our love for adventure.  He had been a driver and a scout for some time and in his free time would go out for days into the sierra to watch the animals.  He studied their movements, their feeding habits, and had become an expert in finding them.  At one point he spotted a cheetah in a tree that was at least two-hundred yards away.  He pointed, I looked and saw nothing. Then I grabbed my binoculars only to see of all things a cheetah lying on a branch in a tree.  I was amazed and quickly came to trust his judgment.  This was still early in the ride and I was excited to get a closer look.  I left the safety of the van and wandered closer to the herd.  They were magnificent!  They moved as one unit.  If one sensed danger the herd moved with him. They were in perfect sync.  I snapped a few pictures and the herd began to move.  I could feel the ground shake.  It was a moment of pure awe.  After the herd moved on I stepped back into the van and we were once again underway.

We came to a stream and the driver stopped.  He pointed to the water and explained that there were four hippopotami submerged.  I stepped out of the van again to get a closer look.  The stream had carved a deep gorge into the terrain and the ground was muddy and wet.  I stepped as close as I could to the edge and took pictures.  I took one more step and felt the ground begin to give way.  I realized in a split second that I was headed down into murky water and there was nothing to stop me.  The driver had explained before that the waters were full of crocodiles and hippos.  This was all that was going through my mind as my feet lost their traction and I began to tumble.  Just as quickly as I began to fall I stopped.  I felt a hand grip me so tightly it almost hurt, but in the moment I was relieved.  I turned only to see the driver standing solidly with my life literally in his hands.  He smiled and in a thick accent that was more reassuring than Morgan Freeman he said, “Mister Jason, it is not a good idea to be this close”.  We both laughed as I regained my balance.  As he laughed he told me, “it is nice to see someone who is not afraid that will enjoy the wonderful creation around him, but my friend I believe you may enjoy it more than your health can tolerate.”  With this he laughed again and exclaimed, “Oh Mr. Jason, you are going to survive this trip without swimming with the crocodiles.”  We moved on, and throughout the way he pointed out more animals.  Some were huge and some were common rodents.  His eye for the detail of the land paired with his confidence was more than reassuring.  Over the coming days he would point out Giraffes, Lions, Cheetahs and animals that I had never seen nor heard of.  I was in constant amazement of everything.  There was no getting used to it and at no moment did it lose its wonder. 

I asked more than my share of questions and with patient smiles he answered each and every one.

On our last day he told me that he had a surprise in store for me.  We journeyed to another reserve.  The reserves were apparently established based on the types of animals that inhabit the area.  As we entered the new area I began to see apes of all kinds running and jumping.  He pointed out each one and told me the names.  They were care free, playful and whether they noticed us or not they were unhindered by our presence.  We stayed there for a couple of hours and I was lost in the complexity of their existence.  Just from my limited time there I could see a social structure.  The mothers were gentle and compassionate with their young.  They grouped together holding their offspring as if they were discussing their daily routines.  The males sat off to the side in groups also.  There was the occasional display of testosterone as one would stand and let out a loud shout.  It was obvious who the patriarch of the group was.  He was an older more laid-back guy.  He just looked wise, as if he had seen his share and more of the world around him.  The other apes showed respect and gave him his own space and distance.  I understood how easy it would be to spend years just observing these tiny actions of community.

Finally we made the journey back to Nairobi.  I was tired but still excited.  We chatted the entire drive and I continued to learn from this new friend.

As I returned I gave so much thought into my time with the driver.  I am an adventurer at heart and often show too much readiness and zeal for a new challenge.  It felt comforting to have a voice along with me that was more experienced, more in tune with the thrills and dangers that this world contained.  I started to apply this to other areas in life.  I thought about counseling and how so many people come with questions, fears, concerns, even panic.  I realized that for those I was able to serve as somewhat of a driver through the terrains of life.  I sat for hours in the airport and even in a hotel in Ethiopia thinking about it.  The question eventually came to mind, where does a therapist turn when he needs a driver.  This felt even more pressing as this particular therapist was sitting in an aged hotel in Addis Ababa.  I felt completely alone and out of my element.  I wasn’t counseling but I was definitely not in my comfort zone.  It dawned on me that in a counseling room I was safe.  I asked the questions, I did the digging when necessary but rarely was I out of my safe zone.  Then I began to remember the words of the men who trained me.  Their gentle encouragement and at times their tougher challenges rang through my mind.  I missed them as I thought about the risks that they guided me through.  They saw me at some of my best moments and quite honestly at many of my worst.  I realized that these men had been my drivers and that I had come to rely on their wisdom even when I was sitting eight thousand miles away.  There have been times when I am so perplexed with a decision that I ask my self what they would do in that moment.  I think about their words, their expressions and many times their patience and grace. 

I believe that we are made in a way that requires us to need each other.  We spend most of our hiding our weaknesses hoping that our drivers won’t  see them.  We dive into isolation because it seems safer.  As I think back to the moment when I was slipping in to the muddy waters of an African stream I realize that this was not the first time a firm hand had pulled me back to safety.  I am learning slowly to lead with my weakness.  This I believe is the lesson that many of the best drivers in my life have taught me and in all their patience they allowed me to grow until I saw it for myself.  In the end, what do professors, supervisors, and a driver in Africa have in common?  They have all known me at moments when the illusion of my own control was fleeting.  They all extended a hand of safety to me when I was helpless and they all have ventured with me into some of the scariest moments in my life.  Ultimately they have mirrored God’s love to me.  They have been the reflections of the greater hand which so many more times than I can count has pulled me from the edge and with a laugh that surpasses a driver or Morgan Freeman has rejoiced at the opportunity to be with me as I met my limits and clung to Him for safety.