How we ought to act at the moment of someone takeing there own life

           I’ve been rolling around in thought about Robin Williams’s suicide. A tragic course of events for sure. Well for us the public he always bought his A game, from the serious role in Dead Poets Society to playing Genie in Aladdin, but we only now see the role that he had outside of the public; the role of living with depression, anxiety, mental illness.  As I posted on Facebook last night this was a loss was not one that needed or ought to have happened.

            Having been in the place where I was just two steps from actually committing the act of suicide something stopped me. I think now several years latter that it was an inner longing of the hope I knew remained. I still cared some how. But to often it comes to the point where the thoughts, the plan, the letters the notes come about and hope and desire to live ends. I wish I could have been in the place of his death with Robin to talk to him to listen to his pain or as I say in pastor counseling/listening; sit in the shit with the person, dwell.

            In working in peer mental health I see the spark of hope persistently poking through as one client states of his depression ‘the frozen lake’. Some how kindling that spark that fire even in the frozen of a deep Alaskan winter.  But I know as a peer, a professional and as a family member, that at a certain time after you as a helper can not do more then hold hands with the person and call them to remember who they are from the soul. But it then is in the persons hands, giving it over to their soul their spirit to defend and concur the pain inside their brains.To kick ass and get the golden perhaps platinum metal of valor, honor and strength.

It pains me that only when the death of celebrity do we discuss the power that mental illness has to scare, to cause stigma, to be sad and scared. But we never discuss it when it is manageable and treatable when it’s the persistent sadness, lack of interest, the over sleeping the odd eating patterns the crying jags. When there are a many options for treatment and management. 

Likewise as a person of faith who is a peer, it is our God given duty, to love. Especially when people cannot love themselves. Not to heal but to love to simply love. To act as the way Jesus acted reaching out to less then desirable of society. To celebrate them as fellow children of God.

Anger with the Almighty

            One of the subjects and trains of thought I have been following for a long time is that of Anger with, and/or at God. When I first got really sick, as in I admitted it. God had not talked with me for a long time. I even sat in more silence then before to try and hear the voice of the creator to know that I was loved, especially when I could not love myself.  But still the profound silence remained. And not knowing what to do with that fact I became even more depressed crying “my God, my God why have you left me?”

            Well I know that I’m not alone in that anger and frustration with God. Heck even God in the person of Jesus prayed for the cup to pass to someone else. The prophets crying out with Gods displeasure often where going on gut and on strings of faith. I ‘caught’ somewhere along the line that it was not acceptable to be angry with God, I have no clue where though. But in a bible study the pastor who was acting as facilitator said ‘look to the psalms, lots of anger there. But likewise lots of hope, dreaming and praying’. Or as I like to think, nothing comes out of or exists in a vacuumed. As sweet is to sour the universe must hold a balance with itself.  So if there is love there need to be the balance, I often wonder if God is sometimes frustrated with us in our humanness.  Likewise as I was speaking to a colleague of mine at work today, if we are created to be in relationship with God in the image of human relationship, anger is normal.

            However I think the anger is more often a convenient mask for disappointment and frustration. I in my work within the community work with a young women and her family. She finally said yes to a residential treatment, where she could get the best help and go on trips to Dorney Park if she earned it. The facility was clean and bright, with trees all around. More like a retreat center then a residential program for youths with serious mental health issues. We got onto the property and 20 feet from the door she stopped. We played this game for three hours. Eventually I left with the mother after having the young women signed over to the facility.  As we where leaving she still had not entered.

As I found out latter that afternoon, as I celebrated the young women getting to the property, I found that in her refusal the child welfare branch that was involved took her to a shelter because they felt that residential needed to 100% voluntary.  I ran through a gambit of feelings, anger, frustration, disgust, but ultimately ended up on disappointed. I think the most extreme type of anger. The knowledge that the services are there but can not be accessed because of systems, money and personal choice. Freewill gives us this last one and I think that is where God often becomes sad, that we never fully experience all that is offered to us to succeed.

            For me disappointment and anger, also lead to distrust. But in the course of my own recovery and Systematic Theology (yes of all places) I figured out and accepted “our no to God, can NEVER overwhelm God’s yes to us”. So the anger and related feelings, might just be our rebellion to the extreme emotional feelings of what that complete yes from God is.

"I was much further out than you thought and not waving but drowning.”

Todays title is from a quote from Stevie Smith

Its been a while since I have been able to create a post to write for the blog. I guess its because I have been yet once again smacked again in the face and butt with depression. Depression has been a companion at different lengths away from my late childhood. I got the help I deserved in seminary and have been facing the challenge of acceptance a mental illness for two years. It has not been an easy walk, often with God being in silence. Radio silence. But i’ve stuck with the work of treatment and ‘staying in love with God’ and trying to hide my un-welness. I was good very good, I am still very Good. 

http://www.sevencounties.org/poc/view_doc.php?type=doc&id=8106

But yet I hurt and it breaks through to those who can see beyond the mask. I am afraid of a pattern developing that I will be ‘well’ for 6-8 months and then spiral back into dark deep depression. I remain fearful of what this means for me in terms of ordination. I know my call is firm and that as I have stated in my papers for UMC ordination who is the Shepard to those who are so afraid of the shepherds? Who goes out into the wilderness? 

As of the last three weeks I’ve been on a leave from my job and in an intense outpatient treatment program that teaches DBT.  Dialectical behavioral therapy (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dialectical_behavioral_therapy) focuses on mindfulness, loving yourself and just getting along better in the world. No small task for anyone let alone those of us who are in pits of all sorts. It’s a little more complicated then that but a lot of the coping mechanisms I see have parallels to Christianity and to Wesley spirituality. DBT for me is about allowing the Grace we already have into our lives and using it to expand our self’s on a path to wellness. One of the big coping skills is observing your breath. 

I have read in several places (all that escape me right now) that the sound of our breath is pronouncing one of the names of God, YHWH. We are born with breath and the name of our creator on our lips. So for me my interpretation of observe the breath is a way to also know that we are beloved and an integral part of something big, very big. Depression is isolating the chemicals your body produces or does not produce betray you, and it lies to you. Telling you of your non-belovedness. And worst of all you believe it. 

I have often been one who sees my ministry as in the mud. But what about in the muck that sucks you down so you cant move your feet? How do you act then, how do you minister and let go to allow yourself to be ministered to? (I’m still working on this one folks)

This round I have been blessed to not be so devoid of God where I have cried out for her to just come and dwell with me. I am guilty of demanding to know why if created in the image of God, why God would allow for chemicals to get messed up. I have yet to get an answer, but regardless God always remains. 

Moving from one stage of life to the next and so on, and for me from un-welness to wellness. I hope to write some more blogs about the experiences of this round of depression and the role my faith and personal spirituality plays into it(for this intake of the DBT program they asked about my spirituality and its role in my life. I was very impressed)

reflections on dark nights

        I have three saints’ well maybe four (not sure about Julian of Norwich, if shes a saint), saints that I follow, St. Francis, St Teresa of Avila and St. John of the cross. Three out of the four are known mystics; perhaps St. Francis was a different type of mystic. But anyways, I have been studying for CPE as well as personally about Dark Night of the Soul.  I thought that I would share with you my thoughts on dark nights of the soul.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_Night_of_the_Soul provides an overview. But I have more where that comes from!

I felt very connected to the town of Avila when I was there many years ago and could not explain.  As I learned more about her I came to know St. John as well and knowing that the deep separation from God that I had felt many times was not some freak thing that was happening to me. But rather I was one of many, many people, saints, sinners, great thinkers, and average folks throughout the ages who knew the obscure time. I feel as if I might be one of those persons whom were born with the awareness of the longing.  For me the multiple dark nights have always been a powerful redirection and reorientation in my life, but the experiences have always been incredibly painful during the process, and in the reentry process.  There is no length that a Dark Night must be or a maximum of when it must be over. Periods of dark night are also not uncommon over someone’s lifetime.  

A view of a dark night

To better understand the dark night of the soul has helped me to reframe and create new perspectives on life. The obscure nights helped me to learn how to be ok to be angry with God and to know that the pain is real and not imagined. I also feel that it helped me to understand and fully see the deep pain that is all around us, but that the pain is from humans not being able to know or even sense that deep connection that was embedded into them from God’s whisper into the dirt.

i carry you with me

            Today I learned some sad news. My camp the one where I lived life fully for the first time is being sold. So goes my dreams of a wedding there (I had the colors and the locations planed in my mind, I just needed the SO), the hope that my niece would get to go to MY camp, that others would get to go an have transformation experiences under the stars and with the fireflies. But this is not to pass in the way of life in this moment or in God’s plan. I think of all the memories I have of this place. How I had my first true telephony, how I found my first boyfriend, holding someone’s hair out of there face on there 21^st birthday at 1:15 in the morning. Canoeing with said boyfriend on the creek and finding a skull, ending Harry Potter with the 7^th book, How sweet the grass smelled when it was cut, dancing around the fire pit, breaking a window within an hour of my arrival. Driving my brand new car on its first journey in my hands from home to camp. I grew up a lot that summer; it was a major life bridge for me.

            I will not lie and tell you I have not shed some tears over this. I was just talking with my therapist about how much I loved that area because of all of the good that went with it. The peace, the quiet, the stars, even the crop duster.  All of it mattered and still does. Somehow I thought I would always have the physical place of my camp, but this is not to pass either. However I have camp in my heart. I have the friends I kept from there, the learning’s I did that summer, the pictures and the treasured relationships I had with the kids. Camp was a study in conflict management for me, intra and interpersonal. I keep them close to my heart all the time. I think of the e.e. commngs poem “i carry your heart with me”

A picture from summer 2007, when I was a counselor at Camp

i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                       

  i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

Staying in love with God...?

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I have been reflecting a lot recently on the section of “stay in love with God” from Three Simple Rules, a way of Wesleyan Living by Ruben P. Job. I have read it three times, once for me, once for pastoral formation and once again for supervised ministry. The rules are simple, do no harm, do good, and stay in love with God.  Now I have trouble doing all three, and argue quite vehemently about ‘do no harm’ as interpreted to ‘do the least amount of harm possible’ I’m not very popular with my classmates when I argue this point. I digress this is for another post. 

            But staying in love with God has been the hardest for me lately. As those of you following my blog have hopefully figured out, its been a crapy 15 months for me.  But for me the struggle with my mood disorder, and the complete disorder of my relationship with God and my own spirituality and faith has been heavy on my heart.  I say that I am angry at God, but that is the way to place a word to far more complex problems.  It’s a wondering, a wandering, a hopeing, a where the F* are you God!, and Hi God its me Betty, I’m leaving a voice mail…

            So I am trying to do my best to stay in love with God. Acting in a way that reflects the morals and values that I hold dear, trying my best to lift people out of the mess with there help. Trying to teach good, not evil and encouraging others in there own faith journey. But how do I stay in love with God when I wonder where God went. I know that God is, and that God loves me. But I miss the days when I knew God was around me.  It also does not help that I am trying to figure this all out well in Seminary, where God is 90% of the time the focus of academics. Even outside of the class room God is always in the conversation as we whine about our theology, bible, and practical theology classes, asking do we really need to know this random stuff about The Investiture Controversy?*

            So how does one stay in love with God when your not quite sure what that is now, how to let go of what it was, and how to mold it for the future?

                                                                                                               

*Throwback to Church History I, the main thing I remember from this class, in terms of uselessness for the history of the Church… (maybe it will be on Jeopardy some day)

Geting Brave

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*warning I drop an Fbomb in here*      

   This January term I am taking a class called “Ministry with Persons with Disability’s”, so far I am loving it. Today we talked about my area of passion Mental Illness/ Behavioral Health. We had a speaker in the morning who is an educator and pastor in the field of cognitive disability’s and mental health he also known the pain of depression. In the afternoon our instructor gave us a PowerPoint presentation and a women asked the question “why don’t people just tell”. I felt that pesky Holy Spirit rising in my stomach and told it to quiet down. But she went on and another classmate gave her answer and then the Holy Spirit burst forth and called me to tell my story.

            Telling your story of MI, is something painful, courageous, daring, stupid and a host of many other things.  I told they good the bad and the ugly. I discussed how I lost my job, got discriminated against in the seminary by people who I thought would care because they are Pastors by profession. And just how wrong I was. How I was wounded deeply by the church cut to my core, and how I felt that I could not go to church again because I was afraid to get hurt again the way I got hurt in the past. As a seminarian I know that one church does not reflect the entirety of the UMC or the whole Christian church, but it got me thinking about those not as ‘hearty’ with the stupidity of the church saying ‘fuck this shit’ and walking away forever. This hurts me even more then my personal wounding.

            But with the assistance of that dam pesky Holy Spirit, I got brave and preached it. I was not intending to preach it. My classmates thanked me for speaking out and offered encouragement. But also knew the grim reality’s that I and others like me might face in the shadow of the church.

            My favorite Gospel is Mark. I like how its quick and dirty and Jesus just does what needs to get done, its not flowery or sweet with a nativity story its dirty! Its messy, its crazy. Its also the gospel of the dimwitted disciples(another post to be made). But most importantly it’s the gospel of courage to me.

            Mark 16: 1-8, the original ending of Mark, recounts how the women came to do the final tending of the grave of Jesus. But then a young man dressed in white tells them

 “⁶But he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him.”

They end up running away in amazement and terror. But something happened, Marks not the only book that makes up the New Testament. We have acts, we have Paul’s letters and the other pastorals, so they must have told someone.  That or we have an elaborate fairy tales on our hands.  But I think that it is more that they took the courage of the faith they had in Jesus who was a great prophet to them, maybe they knew he was God.  They where likely still afraid and I would be, but they decided that faith was greater then fear. That the courage to share that faith was more important then the fear. 

       I am still afraid of a lot of things regarding my MI, how will I manage it as someone who will be losing there parents insurance in two years, might I have to go inpatient, how will I afford this, will the church let me ‘in’, can I get ordained, can I get a job in ministry, can I get a job period? Lots of fears will my potential future children have MI like me. Could I willfully and knowingly bring that upon a child?           

  But it takes all of my courage to walk on, to know that I will manage. I will make it work; I will find a church that will ordain me, a job in ministry. It will happen. It might not happen in the way I expect it to or plan it at all, but I have to have the courage to know that it will somehow work out. 

    

Shattered Moments

So this week well writing my report to my church on my process to ordination, I was conflicted. I have long had the benefit of having a loving supportive sending church, who have proven there support in many ways. But how could I quite tell time, I am really struggling with my call, who I am, and how I believe in God. I was warned that I would face my ‘seminary crisis’ everyone does. I escaped my first year and a half (four and a half semesters! Fall, January, Spring, Summer, and almost my second Fall) without it becoming apparent to me.

Then life as it has a tendency to hit me in the face, getting hit at my job as a chaplain at a psych hospital. Then an important person to me became severely ill and was in the hospital for the entire month of December. I started then to shield the truth from a lot of people. This tormented me, because I like to be a straight shooter.

            Then Jan. Term rolled around and I took a class called “Ministry and the Imagination: Come Holy Spirit”. Well I think that class opened me up to the roller coaster ride that was going to be the next several months. We discussed the qualities of the Holy Sprit and how she is a pest. I talked about how I saw her roosting in places you would not expect. I felt incredibly close to her then. But suddenly I stopped feeling close to her and to God. Being who I am, I was doing 15 credits at school, and working two part time jobs. I was sure I could handle it; I always had in the past.

            I started to slowly fall apart; it was sleeping a little more, crying a lot more, not doing my homework because I had no energy. I was getting to involved with patients emotionally, brining work home, and starting to wonder where God had gone in my life. I loved school and I loved my hospital job. But somehow I had forgotten to love me.I was starting to crack.

            I cracked and had a complete meltdown that knocked me out of my status quo for two weeks. But also kept me from living and just kept me existing. I went from cracked and broken to shattered, in the matter of a few weeks. 

       How do I tell the people above my home church who discern my call to the church. They want people who are not shattered, broken is ok, but shattered not so much. I am still hopeful that my ordination will happen someday. But how long will it take, will it be in the tradition that I love (most of the time)?

            So what do I tell them, I tell them that its been challenging, I tell them about my classes, how I learned how to knit, the process but keeping it all vague. Shielding the truth again. I dislike it but until we have a church that truly wants shattered people these fears of mine will continue for me and countless others.

Prayers inspired from "Aquainted with the Night" by Robert Frost

Acquainted with the Night

Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Obscureness

O God of all creation, both light and dark we come a seekers and children looking to you. But often wondering what about the times when you are silent, when our wells run dry, and our spirits ache for you to return to us again.  We do the prayers, the readings, the meditations, the reflections, but still not even a whisper of your voice. O help us through this time of obscureness and give us the faith and hope to keep listening for your voice and to feel your light in our times of darkness. 

Give Us Strength

For the times when we all have known the darkness of night, without knowing the promise of the dawn, give us strength. When the darkness persists even in joy, give us strength.

 When we see those in darkness, give us strength.

To sit with them in darkness and give them rest, give us strength

 Lead us to peace in the times of darkness, give our hearts respite, give us strength.

Give us the courage to keep walking in the dark without light, give us strength. God lover of our souls help us to remember this in our times of darkness. Amen

Written By Betty Gannon 2012

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