A list of what makes me happy

Recognizing that happiness is ephemeral, a fleeting phase that no one can grasp and hold, these are some things that makes me happy, temporarily, so I can possibly get clues as to what makes my life balanced:

-Understanding new ideas
-Teaching these ideas to others
-Good movies/stories
-Being attacked for doing good
-Sex
-Beautiful nature
-Taking pictures of beautiful nature
-A really good sleep
-A multi-day spiritual retreat
-Helping others
-Feeling needed
-Being "in the zone" for writing

5/4/17-- Thoughts

So I'm in a regular schedule now.  Monday through Thursday I have work from 5pm to 11pm.  Fridays I take the day to pick up, organize and distribute food to camps.  Saturdays I hang out with my wife.  Sundays I have a Bible Study I lead and I guess I will be working for a couple hours after that.   That's it.  A lot of time to write, if I want it, since Diane is working Mondays through Fridays now. Looks like we have a solid plan to catch up on our bills with two of my kids pitching in money to help as well as a couple of the folks who live with us. The outline of survival seems pretty good.

And my mind can't focus.  I can write for my Bible studies, because I have a time limit and I have to come up with something every Sunday.  I am in a place to read and listen to smart people talking, but I have no energy to write.  I have no anger to fight injustice with.  I have no drive to seek out the needy.  I don't even care about movies.  I can just get on social media, post paragraphs of poetry or theology or puns and that's it.  I respond to people in need, and usually other people help.  Which is good.

But I feel that I'm without purpose.  I feel that my time is passed, that I succeeded for a time, but now everything I started has run out of time.  I have no new ideas, no fight, no wrestling match that I feel I need to jump in.  I know what I know and most people don't and that's enough.  I've done what I've done.  I feel that my life had great purpose, great strives and now... I'm unnecessary.

Okay, so I suppose I'm dealing with depression... still.  And I'm abusing whatever two or three readers here.  Sorry about that.  

A friend of mine asked me, "What are you happy doing?"  My response to her was, "Being alone?"  I have been overwhelmed by people for a long time, but being alone doesn't seem to help.  Instead of constantly trying to control myself, or forcing myself to respond, when I'm alone I just feel empty.

I've never felt empty before.  I always had things to do and before I had things to do, I had ambitions or goals, often lofty ones.  

Since she asked me the "happy" question...

BTW, I've always hated "happiness" as a goal.  That seems so self-centered, so ridiculous.  Can we improve the world through our own happiness?  

I've always considered that there were two moral systems at work in each human brain: karma (you reap what you sow) and mercy (love everyone without exception).  But there is a third: self-thriving. The one that comes out when we are in survival mode.

It is this third (which is really primary) moral code that comes up in self-help books, it is what doctors mostly draw on when they tell you to quit our bad habits.  But this third moral system is what has always been weakest in me.  It's what has been so weird and new about this travel I've been on-- focusing on my own health and well-being?  That's just foreign to me, something I have to learn from the beginning.

"Happiness" is the core idea of that self-thriving moral code.  We must have what we need to survive and then we should be "happy."  Happiness has never been my goal.  In fact, my ambitions have always been about me changing my world for the better, and then I am content.  Not "happy", that is ephemeral, passing, impossible to grasp.  There is no permanent state of "happiness" so why should we strive for it?  Rather, we should have a way of life in which we can be content.  Satisfaction has always been my goal.  And I am satisfied if I accomplish something worth accomplishing.

I am in a place where I am not sure that I can accomplish anything. My new ideas are too new, and my old ideas are too old.  I don't want to join someone else's work because I don't think it will accomplish much.

I am kind of excited about working toward a homeless speaker's bureau, give folks on the street an opportunity to represent themselves and to create conversations with neighbors.  I love that.  Another thing is to contact churches to find out what work they are doing for the poor.  I used to do that, and accomplished a lot in that area.  But I am so frustrated at churches, and the fact that they all do the same thing, while accomplishing very little.

I am frustrated at the city for refusing to step up for the poor, but I think no one can make them listen.
I am frustrated at advocates (including myself) for dropping the ball and allowing what little we accomplished to fail.
I am frustrated at people for being so concerned about certain causes that we have forgotten about the people who are in need right now.
I am furious at the continuing sweeps, a legal body which makes things harder for the most vulnerable in the county, and people are being paid tens of thousands of dollars a week to harm the homeless.

And I feel that all I can do is watch it happen.

You know what's most frustrating?  I am at sea about prayer.  I feel no desire to pursue it, as if God himself had his hands tied and he and I have nothing to talk about.   That's bad theology, but it's where I'm at for now.

For now, I guess I will pay off my taxes, catch up on my bills, and try to write, even if only a little bit.  I will help in the little bit I can.  And I will wait, because I think an explosion will come. 

A Stupid American Travels to India

Calcutta in the 80s is now Kolkata, but Howrah and Dum Dum are the same.  Uluberia you can see in the red line.

When I was 19, I decided to travel to India.  God was involved and my church and my father, but I was the one determined to go.  I was planning on going to a Christian school in India, so I filled out the long application in plenty of time and sent it off, waiting to hear if I was accepted.  In the meantime, I got my passport and shots, arranged for the finances and waited.  And waited.  It was 1985 and international mail to third world countries was just terrible.  A week before the school was supposed to start, I was still waiting.  I told my parents that I guess I wasn't going to hear back, so I wasn't going to go.  I was severely disappointed.  I was ready, really ready to go, but nothing.

You saw this coming.  Four days before the school was supposed to start, I received an acceptance letter on onion skin paper.  I paced like I've never paced before in my life.  I'm pretty sure I burned a hole in the carpet.  And I decided to go.  I packed quickly... (should I take a camera?  Absolutely.  Should I take my electric typewriter?  Of course! What about my boom box?  Oh yeah... with a set of cassettes.) Before I left I got all my money in traveler's cheques and sent a wire to the school in Calcutta when my flight was scheduled to arrive. I climbed aboard the plane and I was quite nervous (my first plane trip), but the take off was fun.  Like a rollercoaster. (Landings still bother me.) Then I was off to San Francisco.

I had to go to SF to get my visa and that was where the Indian Embassy was on the west coast of the U.S.   I landed in the SF airport, got a taxi who drove me in circles for a while before dropping me off at the embassy.  I marched in at 9 in the morning, went to the counter and said I wanted a visa.  He said, "Fine, no problem.  Just leave your passport with us and we'll get you a visa in a week."  No, you don't understand, I explained.  I need one today.  I'm supposed to go to school in just a few days.  "I'm sorry," he politely explained, "but our policy is that it takes a week."  "Why?" I said in my best pushy American accent (my normal one).  "You are here.  The stamp is here.  I'm sure you can work this out."  He said firmly, "No. It takes a week."  I thought for a moment and said, "Okay.  I understand.  Well, the next place I go to is India.  So I'll just sit here in front of you until my visa is ready."

And I sat there all day.  I had snacks in my suitcase (I had no where to put it), so I was good.  At five o clock the embassy was closing.  And they handed me my passport back with the visa in it, glad to be rid of me, I suppose.

Back on a plane, with a stop at Korea and another in Thailand. Overseas plane rides are quite long and quite dull.  Nowadays we have computers and hand held devices, but then, you read a book. I brought a collection of short stories by Saki.  You might be able to read, assuming you could focus on the book amidst the babies crying, people talking around you and (God forbid!) to you.  The food was delicious.  Really.  American flights are awful for food.  But on Thai Air, it was wonderful, and everyone was so polite and... well, it was my first flight.  If it weren't for the length, I would have loved it.

Finally, I arrived in Thailand, ready to get my next flight to Calcutta.  Unfortunately, it was monsoon season, so the Dum Dum airport (yes, that's the name of the Calcutta airport) was washed out.  So the airline would put me up in a hotel for the night.  So my first night in Asia... my first night out of North America... was in a five star hotel with a wonderful breakfast, all paid for by the airline.  Things have really changed since 1985.

The next day, caught the flight to the Dum Dum airport (how can I not say that airport name as often as possible) and arrived promptly in India. As I walked off the plane, down the runway to the airport, the humidity is what really struck me.  In the face.  Like a hard slap. I am from Southern California, so I'm used to desert heat, but this humidity is something I'd never experienced.  Completely oppressive.  I was unfazed, though, I had stuff to do.

I proudly showed immigration my brand new visa, and then went to customs.  Customs was confused as to what to do with my electronics.  They weren't sure what the electric typewriter was until I took off the cover.  They weren't impressed at all.  Instead, they explained in a strong Indian accent-- well, it wasn't strong at all, as I was later to find out, his English was excellent and quite understandable-- that if I was interested in taking these items out of India, I had to make sure that I had this receipt he was going to give me, otherwise I would have to pay a tariff on them, which was quite expensive.  I made sure to place that receipt carefully in my suitcase, next to the electronics, to make sure I had it when I left the country six months later.

Free of the lines, I looked for anyone holding a sign or looking for a blonde-haired-blue-eyed American with a funny looking hat.  I looked and waited and no one was there.  I was disappointed.  I really thought that someone would meet me.  After all, I wired them almost a week ago.  And I'm sure that they called the airport to find out the flight was delayed.  But this was the day before the school was about to start.  Perhaps they were too busy.  So I went to the taxi station.

A lot more taxis now than there used to be.

"Hello!" I called out to all the drivers in line, as if I were an older woman looking for a servant.  "Excuse me?  Could any of you take me to Uluberia?"  One driver had enough wherewithall to quickly say, "Yes, yes, I'll take you" while the others were trying to understand what I said.  "Where?"  I repeated, "Uluberia"  I showed him the school address and he took it to the other taxi drivers who gathered around discussing where this insane American wanted to be driven to.  One man seemed to know just where to go, so he explained it to my driver. "Okay," my driver says and motions me to get in the taxi.  I put my suitcase on my lap and we headed off.

Meantime, the school I was attending was in an uproar.  They had just received my wire, about the time I had climbed into that taxi.  The school was run by an American, a woman from Darjeeling and a Filipino.  Of course, they had no phone they were in a village about fifteen miles away from the city, and it would be an all day trip on the train for them to get to Calcutta and back. But one of them agreed to go the the city and look in all the main hotels to see where I was.  They had a prayer meeting where they pleaded with God for my safety.

I really appreciate those prayers because I realized that this wasn't just a trip from downtown to the suburbs.  After we got out of the city, there was only one lane per road.  So if there was any cross traffic, like, say, a bus, we had to get off the road and wait for them to pass.  It was soon dark and we were still driving.  After two hours I wondered how long this was going to really take.  And I was in a desperate state, in need of a bathroom.  Every time a bus passed us, especially when it was dark and there wasn't enough room on the side of the road to pull off, I found that I almost relieved myself there.  Frankly, there didn't seem to be any rules for driving on these roads at all.  But they still didn't drive very quickly, it seemed to me. 

Another hour later, they slowed down, rolled down their window, and asked a man "Uluberia?"  He said something, but they seemed satisfied.  They then asked him about the "Mission House" where the school was.  He shook his head no.  They asked three more people until they finally found someone who knew.  They rolled up at a gate with a sign on one side of it, "Uluberia Mission House".  I gratefully got out of the back of the car with my suitcase and stretched my legs.  The gate was closed and it took five minutes for my driver to explain what was going on to the guard at the gate.  I could imagine the conversation didn't make me look too good.

The gate eventually opened and a white face came out to meet me.  "Are you Steve Kimes?"  I said that I was.  "I can't believe it!  We were just praying for you!  Did you take a taxi here?"  Yes, I replied, from the airport.  "Really?  I don't think anyone has taken a taxi from Calcutta to Uluberia before! Why didn't you take the train?"  The answer to that was, of course, I had no idea about trains being a thing in India.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you," I said breathlessly, "But I could really use a bathroom."  "Of course" the white man said and led me to his quarters and indicated a door.  On the other side of the door there was not a bathroom.  There was, however, a hole with bricks on either side of it.  I stared at it for a while.  Not sure what to do, but too desperate to  think about it too long, I sat down on the hole and relieved myself. 

Feeling much better, I went to the main room and told him, "Did you know there's no toilet paper in there?"

Balance, 1

I have said that my goal is "balance".  Now I realize that I've never defined what I meant by that word.  That I want to walk steady?  That I want to be a gymnast?  It is my goal to be able to carry bowls of water on my head? 

Rather, I am saying that my life has gotten very focused on certain ideas, which did not allow me to have other, positive, ideas in my head at all.  I had to ignore parts of a normal human life in order to obtain the parts I was focusing on.

For instance, I had read many books about many saints and it was my goal to become one.  This is not out of the question for someone to do, as it has been attempted and accomplished by others in the past. My goal was to live for the poor, which is noble and helpful and to follow Jesus as much as possible.

My idea of balance was to care for my family at least as well as I cared for the poor.  My wife deserves some rest from community life.  My children deserve my attention to help them make the transition from teens to adults.  I should finish the work I began: withdraw from the work, close the house, transition.

Balance is a matter of health as well as life. 

I have two big questions: what does this balance look like?  What are the goals I should pursue, personally, spiritually and in community?

The other is: can I actually do this?  Is balance something I can accomplish?  Or will I lapse back to a life of extremes, seeking that martyrdom I have unintentionally evaded?  That second is beyond me, so I’ll focus on the first for a bit.

3-12-17-- Figuring Things Out

There have been times in my life in which certain responsibilities have been lifted from me, and I have more freedom to be.  This is one of those times.

Of course, I can't leave well enough alone and just relax and say, "Hey, I can be who I am!"  No, I have to pick at my freedom like an old scab because it itches.  So I am asking myself again:

What am I supposed to do?

Who am I supposed to be?

How does it look to be "normal" for me?

I'm pretty sure the first question is that I'm supposed to prepare for the next stage in my life.  This will be to slow down on helping the homeless, give over Anawim to others, sell my house and give my wife the rest she deserves.  I'm realizing that this isn't as easy as I thought, so having a year and a half to accomplish this makes sense.  Especially because I need a different income for this preparation year, and those in my house are working on how to work and have money to pay bills.

Another thing I'm supposed to do is rest.  I spent a lot of time talking about that already.  Just to say I'm still tired, still depressed, and my body pain is increasing.  Nothing unusual given what I wrote before, and I don't feel bad about this.  I just wonder how much I should actually work.

The second question is trickier.  I had a deal with God that I would work for Him and he would pay the bills.  So even though I worried about money sometimes, it was pretty much taken care of.  Now I'm dialing back on ministry (not quitting, though) and I wonder if the bills will be paid.  The donation money has been cut back as I cut back on my work, but we still need money to keep the ministry going under other leadership.  Hmmm.  I wonder what's about that.

And there are as many opportunities to get involved in helping folks on the street as there always has been.  How much should I do?  Should I limit myself to Fridays food distribution?  Or should I get involved in other things?  Training?  What about personal connection with folks?  I guess that will work out.  And I'm still tired, so I don't feel strongly to jump into anything with both feet.

That final question is a tricky one for me.  I've lived the last 35 years striving to be a "saint", a "spiritual athlete" in the path of Jesus. I am not giving up on Jesus, but what does it mean to be a "normal citizen" for Jesus?  What is "normal"?  What is balance?  It is different for everyone, but I have no idea what that looks like for me.

I'm fine today, I have no serious worries.  Just questions that I don't think I can answer.  Maybe that's what "normal" is.

3/2/17-- Doing Better

I have had two full months of "rest".  By which I mean that I stopped the other work, apart from distributing food, and started a new job.

I found that I had to learn how to rest, because I'm not good at it.  Frankly, rest sucks.

I'm doing a bit better working part time as a cleaner.  I haven't gotten time on my own like I wanted, because in this "training period" I have been working with others whom I feel I have to entertain (simply out of my own habit).  But I've only been working an average of 15 hours a week, so it hasn't been too onerous.

I have learned that when vacuuming long halls, the most essential thing is cord management.  I'm sure there's a spiritual principle here, but I haven't figured it out.

I have learned that those who work very well are the people you don't want training you, because all they want to do is work, not teach.

***

The work I'm doing is cleaning apartments, hallways and offices.  It's strange because I feel that I'm on the opposite end of disgust from my previous work.   Before, I had to learn to push down my disgust at how others were living so I could help them.  Now I am cleaning apartments so a person who would be disgusted by a eyelash in a drawer in their apartment they just rented wouldn't be offended.  It's a strange transition.

***

This has been the "worst winter in decades" in Portland.  So much ice and snow and cold.

I feel guilt because I wasn't there for everyone, the way I should have.

But I have nothing to feel guilty about, as well.

No, I couldn't open the day shelters, but I made sure that shelters were open during the worst times, made sure they had enough food and enough blankets.  I spent a lot of time on the phone in the worst nights and I spent a lot of time transporting goods.  And I scanned the streets looking for the homeless who might be in danger.

Then there is every Friday in which me and my friends gathered thousands of pounds of food and distributed them broadly. I have nothing to be guilty about.

But my lack of activity eats at me, still.

Stupid brain.

I guess I still have a ways to go before I can achieve any kind of balance in my life. 

A Review of Elvis' First Album

In 1956, when Rock'n'Roll was released, Elvis was already well known, as he had released a number of singles for two years.  This is a collection of some of those singles as well as his versions of other songs that were known at the time.

Some consider Elvis' first single, That's All Right, to be the first rock'n' roll song. Well, if we consider Rock 'n' Roll to be the white version of 40s and 50s rockin' soul, then I suppose so.  But Elvis' version was a toned-down rock from what Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Big Mama Thorton, Ike Turner, Fats Domino (although he was really doing boogie woogie) and Little Richard were already doing for years before.  Even Bill Haley and the Comets, a country band that decided for a couple years to borrow on the black sound, released Rock This Joint before Elvis hit the scene.

This album of Elvis songs was compiled a couple years after he hit the scene with his first single, but it's a good collection of his early work.  He has a great voice and his stuff is smooth to listen to.  It may have been insane to white kids in the early 50s, but it seems so tame compared to Little Richard.

I like Elvis' version of Blue Suede Shoes better than Carl Perkins, but I think that has more to do with production than performer.  Carl's version is rough and a bit hard to hear.   It's easy to see who was the favored one at Sun Records.

"I Got a Woman"   This one was written by Ray Charles based on a gospel tune "It Must Be Jesus".  In the original, it's Jesus taking down the names of the righteous and, well, Ray certainly did a makeover on that.  But Sun Records did a number on this song, changing it up from a simple big band rock to something that mixes and rocks and quiets down and really gets you going.   You can hear some early Beatles influence here as well.

"I'm Counting on You" was written for Elvis and really focuses on his vocal performance and his sultry voice.  And he's really got it here.  The lyrics aren't so great, the back up pretty simple, but his vocal work is really nice.

"You're Right, I'm Left, She's Gone"  Basic country song, influenced more by Hank Williams than the rock background.

"That's All Right"  This was written and released by Arthur Crudup ten years before this album.    The original is so very similar, Sam Phillips didn't do much of anything to change it.

"Money Honey" was written for and released by The Drifters in 1953.  In my estimation, they do a better version, but I'm a real Drifters fan. I like the echo effect they give Elvis on the chorus, though.   For Elvis' song, they up the tempo slightly and put the booogie woogie piano at the forefront-- all to good effect.

"Mystery Train"  Written by Junior Parker who recorded it with Sun Records in 1953 based on a Carter Family Celtic standard, "Worried Man Blues."    Great blues song.   Elvis' version is sped up and given some country pickin' instead of the sax.   To me, this is a perfect distillation of why Elvis' worked.

"I'm Gunna Sit Right Down and Cry" Another, less successful, blues song.   It was a pop ballad before Elvis made it his.   The Beatles did a powerful version with their sound in 1962.

"Trying to Get You"  Released by The Eagles (no, not THAT Eagles) in 1954, if you listen to that recording you can really hear Elvis' sound all put together, in a group vocal.  Great sax in that version.  Elvis' version, in comparison, is fully guitar rock, taking out the piano and putting the guitar right in front.  I like both versions.

"One Sided Love Affair" Very boogie woogie, and Elvis is really owning those vocals.  He's almost a southern preacher, here.  Originally recorded by Bill Campbell, but I couldn't find it.

"Lawdy Miss Clawdy" A Lloyd Price song that introduced the New Orleans sound that we usually associate with Fats Domino (who played the intro on Price's version).  This recording replaces the sax solo with a rough guitar solo, which is tough to choose between.  But I have to give the vocals to Lloyd Price.  He smoothly takes control of the song, while Elvis sounds like he's trying a bit too hard.  Both versions are good, though.

"Shake, Rattle and Roll" A Big Joe Turner song made famous by Bill Haley and the Comets.  Honestly, I've been a long fan of Joe Turner's version with the piano at the forefront and the sax echoing the vocals.   Elvis' version ups the tempo, but it doesn't improve the song as a whole.  It just feels noisy in comparison to Turner's version.

In general, I feel that rock n roll of this era is really a time of singles, not albums.  There are some masterful singles on this album, but some of the songs I don't care for as well.  I made a playlist of the old rock n roll of this era, and that's how it works best for me.  Hearing the best from the late 40s through the 50s and ignoring the mediocre.  Certainly this album has some of the best songs of the time-- Mystery Train, Blue Suede Shoes, I Got a Woman, and That's All Right are fantastic.  But the album as a whole doesn't work for me, because I hear all these songs in the background, some of which are better.

2/5/17-- Changes

There is a shift happening in my world, a ‘click’ in my mind, recognizing that something is going to be different.  Not just a season of difference, but after this nothing will be the same.

Today is the last day of Forgotten Realms.  But the camp is as it always was.  Too few people in the camp helping, ready to do the work necessary.  Too few advocates ready to help, many making promises that no one delivers on.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  Tomorrow, or the next day, advocates will condemn the camp, without ever having understood the work that myself and especially the leadership of the camp put into it.

Tomorrow I will begin work as a cleaner.  I don’t see this work as an end, but as a means to an end.  I will have time to explore my mind, to see where I am and where I should be. 

In a year and a half I will be preparing to move to a different place.  We will put our house on the market and I expect it to sell well.  At this point, a good chunk of the money will go for charity, housing people who otherwise cannot be housed.  And Diane and I will establish a place for her and I to live outside of community, with space for our children to visit or live, as necessary.

I wonder who I will be in a year.  I wonder if I will have learned humility at that point.  I wonder if I will still see myself as the smartest person in the room, or I will accept my fate as an older man who has done his work but can no longer keep up with the times.

I wonder if the world is a bit more compassionate because of my work.  I wonder if I have really accomplished anything.  So much that I began it seems to have fallen apart.  And the work I have done has finally caught up with me.

I have PTSD that isn’t associated with a place or an experience, but certain people.  I don’t hate these people, and I do what I can to help them, to love them, I pray for them, but every time I see them my chest tightens and I fight an urge to run.  Because if I don’t run, I will yell or scream in their face because they have hurt me so deeply.  They have torn apart the work that I associated with my being.

I wonder if after I get some rest if I would be able to forget these pains, to leave them behind.  I wonder if I would be able to meet these men, shake their hand and honestly ask how they are without the parade of emotions behind my eyes.

I would love to have my self of twenty years ago (ambitious, energetic, passionate), my current self (exhausted, weary, ready to give up), and my future self (who is a mystery), sit us all down at a table and have a conversation.  Perhaps my daughter could host a conversation between us:

“Older Steves, what would you wish the younger Steve to have done differently?”

“Young Steve, do you approve of the changes the older Steves made?”

“Youngest and Oldest Steve, do you feel the middle Steve to be a coward? A weakling? Too easy to give up? Or do you think he is brave in some way?”

“Middle Steve, do you resent the younger Steve?  Do you admire the oldest Steve?  Or the other way around?”

Perhaps all three of us would end up in some pacifist fistfight.  

Lessons I Have Learned (2016)

When I am exhausted and I cannot endure a moment’s more compassion, a moment’s more mercy, a moment’s more sacrifice, somehow, I find a moment more.  That must come from God, for I have often come to the end of myself.

True obedience to God always leads to love.  If we do not love, our obedience is mistaken.

When I have truly loved, there is someone who will hate me for it.  I know when someone hates me that I must be loving the one who really needs it.

Love is often confused with desire.  True love looks at the undesirable and we become beautiful, majestic.  Once true love has touched, only then will others see our worth.  But love always comes first.

I often speak to a person what I see they will become, rather than who they are.  I speak the truth that I wish to be a prophecy.   They might say to me, “You don’t know who I am.”  But I do.  I know the seed that hides deep within them.

Those who only look at someone’s past and judge them by that does not know the human being.  Because human beings never stay the same.  We should judge a person by who they will be, not who they were.  Who a person will be depends upon their hope.

Some people hate themselves because they belong to a group of the hated.  We need to open their eyes to show them the love of God, who holds the hated and restores them.  The outcast should never believe society.  But society’s lies strike the heart, and beat it.

When I was young my zeal for God that I prayed, “Squeeze out my life like juice from pulp.”  When God answered my prayer I realized I had nothing left.  Then God stared to use me.

The people who tell you to slow down, to be wise, to be cautious are fools.  Unless we jump into action, we will never do anything. 

It is almost always better to ask forgiveness than permission.  (But don’t tell my kids that.)

Silence is my garden and gardens nurture my soul.  It wasn’t until I had vanquished my youthful energy that I understood this.

One of the greatest loves I have been able to give is to look into the eyes of a grieving person, listen to her sorrow and say, “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry this had to happen to you.”  Yes, she will weep.  But I know it is the beginning of healing.

I am an arrogant son of a bitch (sorry, mom).  I manipulate people because I think I know what’s better for them than they do.  I am full of pride.  But I also really care about people.  I don’t know, in any given moment, if I am blessed or damned.  Probably somewhere in the middle.

I gave the poorest of the poor more than I had.  I probably gave to my children less than they deserved. I know that I often had nothing left to give to my wife.  Some call me a saint.  It is my wife who is the saint.  I’m just working.

The Cost of Freedom

I remember when Fred was staying in our house.

It was his deepest desire to just meditate and read scripture and focus on God.  He is the most natural monk I've ever known. Even today, he spends time in his room, reading the same passage, day after day, atoning for sins that only he knows.

Fred's problem is that his schizophrenia demands that he stop eating and drinking in atonement for his sins.  Not like a meal fast, or a three day fast.  His mental illness convinces him that he will recover from his mental illness if he stops eating completely.

I was able to convince his caretakers to not jump the gun, but to give Fred what he wanted.  That if he would drink and eat daily, they would allow him to not take his medication, to not force him to be committed.  Again.  But if he became ill from his lack of nutrition, then he would be committed and have to be locked up and forced to take medication.

Fred is the nicest person in the world.  Kind, extremely gentle.  But when his mental health deteriorates, he spirals.  He would strip his clothes off and walk around the house in the nude.  As the father of two daughters, I didn't care for that one.  He would walk around the block, spinning multiple times at each corner.  He would touch his Bible, then again, then again, before he would open it.

Later, he would stay out in the rain all night, soaking wet, wrapped in a blanket.  It was summer, but it didn't look healthy.  Fred, however, was content, making loud grunts with a smile on his face.  Not in a nasty way.  But we could see in his eyes that he was spiraling.

Like I said, Fred is the nicest person in the world.  Everyone loves Fred.  So when he started to lose it, others couldn't bear to see him suffer.  Mind you, Fred didn't think of his life as suffering.  Suffering was being forced to take medication.  Fred was joyful in his freedom.  But he wasn't the same.

I was screamed at by housemates for allowing Fred to spiral this far.  But I knew what the alternative was.  Still, he wasn't healthy.

For one, he wasn't sleeping.  And, it turns out, we would watch him eat and drink.  But he would go outside and spit his nutrition in the dirt.  Took a week to figure that one out.  I would threaten him with being committed and then he would eat and drink.  But he ate like a bird for forty days.  Longer perhaps.  Barely drank anything.

The point was to give freedom until freedom cost him living.  And that time came, and we called the social worker.  We all agreed that I would drive him to the hospital and have him checked in, where he would be committed.

We waited for three hours in the emergency room, where I had to convince Fred every few minutes to remain and wait.  When they saw him, they didn't believe there was anything really wrong.  Until they saw his medical record.  Then they committed him immediately.

I saw him checked into the ward.  Professional, kind people who took no backtalk.  Fred was checked into his room and offered his medicine.  He refused.  They offered again.  He refused.  So they prepared an injection, and security guards were called in and forced him down while they gave him the injection.

To see this kind man, this gentle, thin, bare man screaming as they held him down, forcing him to take medicine that he knew would destroy his soul...

It took another eight months, but a suitable place with the proper incentives were found for him to take his medicine willingly.

When I come to visit him, he is polite, but he is clear that he really wants to get back to his prayer, his scripture.  He is a content monk.

1/29/17-- Musings

Bad day today.  Remained angry and exhausted all day.

This is because I spent the last two days with people, working and helping and training and doing orientation for my new job.

Two days?  That's all I get of energetic life?

***

I was offered a few entry-level jobs, and the one I pursued is cleaning.  This means I can spend time working and meditating, without people, for many hours a week.  That sounds exactly like what I need.  We'll see.

It also means that I am no longer boss of myself.  Someone else will tell me what to do.  Well, this should be interesting.

***

I did accounting for Anawim this last week.  I realized what I was doing for all these years-- turning cash and relationships and connections into help for the needy.  I was more a philanthropist than a pastor.  That doesn't bother me.  You could say the same thing about Jesus.

1-4-17-- Love and Self-Love

A statement that I have always been frustrated with:

"We are taught to love others as ourselves.  This means we must develop love for ourselves enough in order to truly love others."

I don't think so.  The passage assumes that we already love ourselves, to a degree. We eat.  We sleep.  When we feel bad, we pursue activities that help us feel better.  Even if we commit suicide, it is because we can no longer live with the world or ourselves and suicide is an escape, an act of self love even though it may look like self loathing.

The moral principle is a generic foundation of ethics, repeated by every ethical teacher.  The presentation by Rabbi Hillel might be clearer: "Do not do to others what you would not want done to yourself."  In other words, if something harms you, then you might guess that it harms others as well.  If you are angry at disrespect or being judged without evidence, then perhaps these are activities we shouldn't do to others.

What Jesus is not saying, when he says, "Do unto others as you would have done unto you," is to feed every sauerkraut because you like sauerkraut.  It doesn't mean that you try to convince everyone to quit their addictions the same way you did, or that everyone must follow the same religious practices that work for you.  It means that we should reflect what makes us, as a human, tick, and to help provide that for others.  Feed people who are hungry.  Get children out of war. Give everyone respect.  Listen to others' opinion. Stuff like that.









What frustrates me about the opinion above is that the person stating such is using their lack of self-love as an excuse to not help others, which not only is a piss-poor excuse, but is exactly the opposite of what we should do.

When a person says that they don't "love themselves enough", they are really saying that they don't have enough of a happiness quotient in order to help others.  In reality, those who study happiness says that two of the main habits people should have in order to develop personal happiness are gratitude and compassion.

Gratitude as a habit doesn't mean saying, "thank you" occasionally, but going out of your way and expressing your appreciation for another, or even expressing appreciation for something in the world we live in.  Compassion doesn't just mean feeling pity for someone, but acting for the direct benefit of another person in need.  Doing these two things on a regular basis are two of the steps we must do in order to achieve personal happiness.   So loving others actually develops one's self-love.

However, it is possible to go too far in this.  Unfortunately, I know.

When one is beginning a path of a lifestyle of compassion, there are some things we must do to prevent self harm.  Make sure that the person you help won't harm you, for instance.  When I started inviting people into my home to eat, I left my checkbook out and someone stole it and cashed a thousand dollars of checks.  I took that as my bad, I was foolish to leave it out.  Sure, they were at fault for taking it, but why did I offer that temptation out there?

There are things we have to do when we participate in any work.  Make sure we eat enough, sleep enough, spend time with out family, don't neglect those closest to us, take breaks, take time to enjoy oneself.  I did all these.

But it wasn't enough.  I was working with an oppressed group and everyday I was hearing stories of suffering and oppression.  I was fighting for their rights and their daily survival.  I was seeing more and more of my friends die, and I was leading their memorial services.  I heard about the burnout that people who help the homeless and needy suffer, and I knew it, I experienced it.  But I was determined to continue. I took retreats, I reduced my load.  But I still dove into darkness and brought my family with me.

I could control myself when serving others, but once I was spent I had little control over myself and I would occasionally snap, causing those around me (especially my wife) to suffer.

This is the principle I've learned: I must give myself enough self-care so that I am able to love others.

This doesn't mean pursuing happiness.  Right now, I'm on a diet regime to force myself to get better nutrition.  I meditate in order to help overcome stress.  My spiritual life is shallow, weak.  I need to start my life over again.  This is discipline, not happiness.  It is positive discipline.  It is important.  But I gain little pleasure from it all.

We need to pursue disciplines that build ourselves enough so we can love others.  We must establish boundaries so we don't get overwhelmed to the degree that we harm others in our pursuit of compassion.  This is what I am doing.

Because the most important thing we do is love.  Love is the only work that lasts.  But if I am too worn by acts of mercy to do real mercy, then I am not really pursuing love.  I am a human being (or so my wife tells me). And this means that my compassion must have limits so that I can do acts of love, not just acts that look like love.

12-29-16-- Attentiveness

Well, after some rest, I can feel my brain getting back into gear. On good days.  Right now, I'm on one good day then one bad day then one good day.  Well, that's alright.  It's progress.  Still need more rest.

I also have my first goal of my post-quitting life.  One of the reasons I quit is because my mind is so busy that I can't love people appropriately.  But what is love?  I focused on this a bit, and discovered that the first step of loving anyone is attentiveness.  To really love someone is to give them our full attention, at least for a bit.

This is a real problem for me, since I have become so distracted.  My way of dealing with stress is to just avoid thinking about stressful things so long (until they all come crashing down on me in the middle of the night).  So no one got my focused attention for more than a few moments at a time.  I couldn't look anyone in the eye.  On my good days I'm getting better at this.  But I still have a long ways to go.


Here's my current to do list to achieving attentiveness:

• Slow down.  Do less.  Be satisfied with doing less.
• 
  
• Allow myself to be bored.  See it as a discipline.
• 
  
• Practice meditation.  Live with my thoughts, not allowing myself to be distracted.
• 
  
• Instead of reading the darting fishes of internet posts, I should read books. Novels when I'm not doing well.  Non fiction when I'm able to.
• 
  
• Stop and pay attention to what's around me.  Notice not only the flowers, but the construction, the people walking by.  Wonder about them all.
• 
  
• Get enough rest so my mind is able to focus.  
• 
  
• Reduce caffeine so my mind can rest sometimes. 
• 
  
• Take time for myself.  I find if I get alone and take photos or write notes of my thoughts, then I'll be better able to relate to others later.
• 
  
• When I have to work, focus on work.  Apologize to people that I can't focus on them like I want to.
• 
  
• Focus on one person at a time.  Try not to multitask multiple people.
• 
  
• When I am listening to someone, occasionally let them know what I've heard so they know I'm paying attention.

12-1-16-- Anger

Last night my daughter and I had a knock-down drag-out fight.  Verbally, of course.  This morning we apologized to each other.  The fight is my responsibility.  I'm the grown up (in theory).

But I've been angry a lot.  I believe that I have good reason to be.

• People whom I helped and sacrificed for years betrayed me and my work by oppressing people on my (former) property, forcing me to shut down.
• A local church is doing outreach on my (former) church property, to undermine all that I was doing.  
• The neighbors have been complaining and trying to undermine our work for years, and they finally succeeded.
• Two cities I've been working with have been endangering homeless people's lives by sweeping them without giving them a place to go, but out of the cities.  Yet they still claim to be helping these same people.
• One city had me arrested for protesting their actions.
• The other city constantly threatens my friends.
• People have been gossiping about me.  I confronted one and that person turned around to gossip even more about me and my people.
• I have to pack up and move out, giving my hard work to someone else, and I have to stay away.
• The solutions for my folks on the street are as far away as they ever were.

Okay, pretty good reasons.  But why am I so furious now?  And if these are the reasons, why am I taking it out on my family?

Well, I'm not sure.  But these are some possibilities:

-I pushed my anger aside for the last year and now it's all coming out

-I am going through a grieving process from losing my two-decade old work and this is the stage I'm going through.

-I am in depression from my drug withdrawals (adrenaline) and part of this is anger.

-I am overwhelmed by people and so I'm likely to explode at anyone.

Or some combination thereof. 

I really think my best option at this point is to find a bunker and hide there for a year until the feels go away.  But more realistically, I will need to keep living at a lower stress level and to keep reminding myself that it isn't the person in front of me I'm upset at.

11-20-16-- Anxiety

Two years ago, when I first saw a psychologist, I said, truthfully, that I am afraid of very little.  This makes sense.  Working with the folks I do, I have to have a boldness that most people don't have.  I have to be willing to take chances that most people aren't willing to take.  And I have to be willing to set aside worries and concerns that would overwhelm me.

I have had periods of time in which I lost sleep because of someone's suffering, because of children on the street.  But I'd say that the big difference between me today and me last year is that anxiety is an everyday event.

Just going to the Red Barn right now makes me sick to my stomach.  The idea of having to meet people makes me nauseous.  It used to be that I couldn't sleep if someone (like a television) is on.  Now I can't sleep unless I have a podcast droning in my ear all night, because if I wake up, I will start worrying and it will keep me awake all night.  If I focus my mind on the subject of, say, a movie review, I can get back to sleep at two in the morning.

I would be able to laugh off conflict and rejection.  Heck, at times in my life I thrived when someone insulted me or threatened my life.  I was overjoyed to be arrested earlier this year.  Now I find myself avoiding conflict.  I have headaches because I have people yelling at me or disgusted with me.  I find myself lapsing into occasional cowardice.

And I wonder if this is the main reason I need to quit, besides it just being my time.  My body can no longer deal with the everyday stresses, stories of suffering, and even everyday conflict.  I have had too much persecution, too much rejection, too much suffering for righteousness sake.

I feel as if my whole life the world has been chipping away at me to help me become the image of Jesus.  Unfortunately, they kept on chipping.  And they always get one side wrong.  I'll never make that image.  Sigh.  The world just isn't a great artist, I guess.

I feel smaller than I used to be.  I suppose that's a good thing.  Teaches us dependence on God, right?  Teaches us humility.

Yep.  But that also means that I am able to do less. I can't accomplish a fraction of what I used to.  And that makes me guilty. 

11-19-16-- Depression

Last year, I wrote about the cycle of adrenaline highs and withdrawals.  Right after that time, I pushed myself into the biggest high of my life.  I started a camp, in opposition to the city's wishes, I protested against another city and got arrested, I helped set up protest camps, I participated in protests, I participated in camp moves and I saved lives.  All excellent, important, even essential work.  It's been a great year.  But I knew it couldn't last.  I would reach the end of my adrenaline being effective, and I would have to slow down.  And when I slowed down, I would go through drug withdrawals, and head into a deep depression.

Withdrawals in my case aren't as bad as withdrawals from heroin or meth.  I get nausea, lack of sleep, difficulty breathing, no energy and severe depression.

So I saw a couple doctors to see what they could do to slow down this process.  Last year, I tried anti-depressants, in the past, I tried testosterone.  But these weren't good answers for me.  Now I'm quitting so I'm heading down a deep, dark spiral of depression.

As is often said, depression isn't about sadness, but a severe lack of energy and a lack of interest in anything.  It puts a veil of darkness over everything, so everything looks unworthy, even disgusting.  The things I could endure are completely unacceptable now.

Because of my slight autism, people, all people, are overwhelming, and I just want to escape.  I have no patience for anyone and the slightest thing can make me upset.   I have many days that I just want to hide under the covers and not come out.

My depression will end. It won't last forever.

But because this depression is associated with a long-term adrenal overload, it might take years to get out of it, even if I don't activate my adrenaline overmuch.  But the chances of me not attending a protest, moving a camp in danger or confronting city workers again are slight.  That's the kind of stuff that will give me that high again.

And then I'll have to start the withdrawals all over again.

11-18-16-- Spiritual Emptiness

When I last met with my spiritual director, she told me that she felt that I was heading into a Dark Night of the Soul.

This is a period of people's lives described in detail by St. Theresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross in which a person feels distant from God and doesn't experience the spiritual in their lives.  St. Theresa of Calcutta spent most of her life doing work without a spiritual connection.  It isn't that they believe that God doesn't exist or doubt the existence of the spiritual world.  It is that they cannot connect to it, no matter what they do, no matter how much they do the "right" thing.

I have always had a sense of God leading.  And I felt the same thing a number of weeks ago when my Voice told me to quit.  Since then, nothing.

Stupid prophetic spiritual director.  

I believe in the efficacy of prayer, but not my own prayer.  I have no confidence that my prayers will be heard.  

There is one thing that the Holy Spirit-- God's power to answer prayer-- gives, which is love.  God will grant love to all who ask.  It may take time, but it will happen.  Those who are filled with the Spirit are filled with compassion and mercy.  Those who are in tune with God has their heart flooded with the love of God for those around them who do not deserve it.

I prayed for love.  For years.  I got nothing.

It isn't that I think God answering prayers.  God granted finances when (or just after) we needed it.  God provided help not only for us but for those whom we helped.  God's resources were never-ending.  But the most important prayer, the pursuit of love, the opportunity to feel compassion, not just to give lip service to it.  In this area God failed me. 

Yes, failed.  I really believe that God has a responsibility to give love to those who seek it.  There are many "Christians" who just offer excuses and don't pursue love at all.  They are more interested in karma than mercy.  I don't think they are really pursuing God.  Because God is love, and those who love God are those who benefit those who don't deserve it because that's what God does. 

And my love is like the filthy water at the bottom of a bath drain.  There's nothing left, and what is there is diluted.  God is supposed to open up the flood of water again.  But there's nothing.  And I'm filthy. 

I asked my spiritual director, who went through a period of the dark night of the soul, how one gets out.  Do we pray?  Do we meditate?  Do we seek God?

She said, "You can do that if you want.  But it doesn't work. Do what gives you spiritual comfort.  But in the end, you will feel a desire to get back into spiritual disciplines.  And that's when you will be ready to connect with God again." 

I hate to have people ask me to pray for them right now.  I've got nothing to give.  Someone asked me, "How does a person find God?"  I answered, "I wish I knew." 

I'm living in a Bergman film.  Black and white, and God is distant.  And Death seems like a pretty nice guy.

11-17-16-- Why I am a Failure

Okay, everyone, slow down!  You two folks need to not be so quick to criticize my titles!

Yes, I understand that I have done a lot of good these past 22 years.  I haven't been a failure all that time.  But I feel like a failure now.  Here's some reasons:

1. I have to quit leadership of the organization I started
As if I'm no good at leading what I started.  Well, some might claim that was always true.  I certainly know some neighbors of Red Barn who think that way. But I think they consider my work good only if I got rid of all homeless people.  That's the only condition under which they will stop complaining, anyway.

But I've led this for 22 years, come up with a lot of ideas and now I'm done.  That just sucks, and I feel horrible about it.  I feel like I've given up on everyone.

St. Francis got fired from the organization he started as well.  What a loser.

2. I nurtured the person who betrayed me
The situation that really overwhelmed me to the breaking point is having a person distribute meth on the property.  This is a person I worked with, prayed for, tried to heal spiritually and emotionally, providing housing and work and finances for.  Worked with to get him on disability.  Fought for.  And he betrays me and the work by distributing the one thing he knows I hate and is a terrible tool of oppression.  He manipulated the situation because he knew what I would do and what I wouldn't do.  And he lied to me repeatedly.

Jesus also supported and discipled his betrayer.  What a failure.

3. The help for the homeless has to reduce
I have fed and provided for the homeless for decades.  Now that will have to reduce.  People will have to figure out their own locations to move, figure out where they will get their own food.  Of course, self-sustenance is always a better answer for the poor all around the world than dependence. My work has always been with an eye to productivity and self-sustenance and helping the homeless take hold of their own solutions.

But this happens through having a place to be, a center of reduced stress so they can create their own solutions.  Now that will happen without me.  I have to move on.

Just like Paul, when he was persecuted, left every town he started a church in and gave the leadership to others.  He had to leave so quickly that sometimes he didn't know who the leaders were!  What a git.

4. I lose my friends
I have always been there.  I have always been available.  I was there every week, even when I was exhausted, even when others had holidays, I didn't.  I was faithful.  Now I don't know who I will see or what will happen.  But one thing for sure, if I am going to heal I need to reduce the number of people I connect with.  Hopefully this will only be for a short time.  But possibly not. I might leave and not come back.  And it will be my choice.  I didn't have a stroke, I didn't collapse in my work.  I didn't die. I am just gone.

I am a failure as a friend.  I am a failure as a person who has always been there.

5. I am not a saint
Like St. Therese of the Infant Jesus, I chose to follow the path of the saint.  I gave away everything I had, I surrendered my job, my home.  I gladly worked with people who disdained me.  I took all the persecution and suffering.  Unfortunately, unlike St. Therese, I didn't die young.  The longer you pursue sainthood, the harder it is to maintain.  Saintliness-- loving your enemy, loving the poor, improving other people's lives but not your own, being wise for everyone but yourself-- takes it's toll over time.  Frankly, it can't be sustained.  If you want to be a saint, be a martyr as well.  Or be sickly.  I'd give a life of saintliness about ten years.  Mind you, that's about the time that you learn some wisdom in your path of saintliness.  For the first ten years you're all gusto and power and looking down your nose at Christians who aren't as saintly as you.  For the second ten years you start to feel the cost and work on burnout.  By the time you reach twenty years (and that's pretty good) you either learn balance or quit.  I never did learn balance.

Jesus had three years of being a saint.  I just learned that in MLK Jr.'s civil rights movement, they gave each person five years of intense work and then recommended that they live a normal life.  Paul ended his life of missionary work in anxiety and feeling rejected by everyone.  Elijah ended his life of prophethood begging for death. Let's face it, sainthood isn't for anyone in the long term.

I really thought I could reach the distance.  Instead, I am bitter and angry and ready to quit.    I prayed to die.  I prayed for a stroke (my wife thinks that this is horrible-- why should she have to take care of me for the rest of my life because I'm tired?)  I have lost the love and passion that drove me on for years.

Yes, we opened a house for the homeless and had dozens of people living here.  Yes, we had a center for the homeless and helped perhaps a thousand people.  And we did all this without asking for funds, depending on God and prayer. Yes, I was a peacemaker for years.  Yes, I loved people whom no one else loved.  But in the end, I couldn't sustain it.

Dammit.  I'm human.  And that really pisses me off.

11-16-16-- Reasons I'm Quitting

Remember what I said in the last episode of our story.  "The real reason I'm quitting is because my Voice is telling me to."  So below are the less-than-real reasons.  This sounds totally like too much information.  But people around me will list these as the "real" reasons and my Voice as a convenience.  Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

1. Because I am an enemy to the cities I've worked in
Not so much Portland, they are still willing to work with me, but Gresham is really tired of me.  I've been involved in protests in Gresham (which they are not used to) for the homeless, I've organized camps which they don't want, I've confronted their leaders and I've just been successful in winning a trial they held against me.  But most importantly, they believe that I personally am the reason that homeless people still exist in Gresham.  It's not true.  It's the economy of Gresham that causes homelessness.  I help the homeless.  But I guess the city of Gresham isn't too good at cause-and-effect.

Because Gresham dislikes me, I am a target.  They watch what I do and what I am establishing.  Occasionally they take pictures of my Facebook page to find out what's going on. Sounds paranoid, but I've seen their pics. I know that my work at the Red Barn is often targeted and many leaders in Gresham would love to see the Red Barn fold, because I'm helping the "wrong" people. The code department has sent dozens of violation notice over the last couple years and is finally charging us a thousand dollars. So if the work among the homeless is to grow, perhaps it should be done by someone else.  I need to step away and let others do it.

2. Because the Red Barn is compromised
I found out recently that someone is using my church site as a distribution center for meth.

Now, meth is an evil, evil drug.  It causes schizophrenia, making people see and hear what isn't there, but they believe it is real. This person I helped for years and gave him great opportunities, took advantage of those opportunities to give meth to others.  I'll talk more about this later.

The real reason is that I can't figure out how to solve this issue quickly.  Every time I look to the police, or the city, they give me more delays, more limitations to solving this problem.  Possibly, if I stepped away and closed Red Barn permanently, then they would take care of the issue, because it wouldn't be for my church, but for the neighborhood.

3. Because I am Overwhelmed

I am depressed, anxious, and furious.  I can't think well enough to come up with new workable solutions, which has always been my strength in the work.  I am older than I was and it is really time for someone else to take over.

4. Because I struggle to Love

Having the Voice tell me to quit is fine, but I wish that this were the real reason I was quitting.  I can serve food, I can organize volunteers, I can preach a sermon, I can move a camp,  I can give wisdom (on good days).  But I cannot look someone in the eye, let alone care for them.  I can't listen to normal people, let alone difficult people.  If I cannot love, then I should quit this work and figure out how to love.  Because it's all about loving people, caring for them, benefiting them in ways they and I never expected.  But I can't do that right now.  I'm a love cripple.

Jon Forman would say that we are all amateurs at love, but right now, it's worse than that.  I am interested in keeping the ball rolling, but I honestly don't care.  I've done retreats, I've done meditation, I've done prayer, I've done everything we are supposed to do.  It's just not coming back. 

I sound like Barry Manilow singing Tryin' To Get the Feeling.  I'm sorry to put that song in your head.  What?  You've never heard it?  Here:

11-15-16-- Processing Part 1

Okay, let's just get it over with:

I'm going to quit the career I had for 22 years.

Whew.  That's a relief to say it.  I'm sure both of you reading this are shocked.

Sure, it's a personal milestone, but is there a reason to write a bunch of blog posts about it?  Well, there is for me. I am having many horrible emotional experiences right now, I need to process and figure out what is going on in me.  I am having a hard time writing anything, and I can't take pleasure in the things I would have.  I am struggling to get up and do anything. I am at my wit's end, in that I cannot come up with solutions, which has always been my strength.  And I feel that if I figure out my head, sort out my emotions, perhaps I can make some positive steps.

Also, my "job" (so to speak, as I never got an official salary) has a lot of folks dependent on me and the organization work I do.  This will leave them out in the wind.  This also has me conflicted.

Just to let you know, I am seeing a psychologist, but I can only see him once every few weeks, so I figure I'll spend some time writing to help me know what to do.

For those reading this who have worked with me and it is close to the date I wrote it, this will be a surprise, as I haven't announced my "early retirement".  This writing is part of the process I have to go through in order to write my announcement helpfully.  I'm not giving up on helping homeless people completely, but if I am going to do this correctly, I will need to get a job to, you know, pay bill and such.  So my ability to help will be limited.

I'm not going to limit my writing on this blog.  I need to process, so I'm going for the nation-wide trip.  This will get boring sometimes.  So if you're reading this for entertainment... well, perhaps you'd better re-think that.  If some student of abnormal psychology is assigned this portion of the blog, all I can do is apologize.

***

Speaking of abnormal psychology, let's talk about my spirituality.

There is only one reason I'm quitting.  Because the voice that told me to start is telling me to quit.  All other reasons I have aren't that big of a deal.  I've had depression and opposition and difficulties for years.

But when I started this work among the homeless, it was because of  a prayer.  I prayed that God would help me work with the poor and not just talk about the poor.

When I quit my job to work full time with the homeless and to have a planned period of homelessness (couch surfing) myself, it was because my Voice told me to.

When I started a church, it was because my Voice told me to, after the church that supported us kicked us out.

Earlier this year, that same Voice told me to rest.  To stop the work, to read, to take it easy.

And a number of weeks ago, that same Voice told me to quit.

In every case, I didn't obey the Voice right away.  I checked with my wife.  I checked with some other counselors I had.  And all agreed that the Voice was correct.

So while I'll be talking about a number of reasons why I am quitting, in reality, it is only one reason: the Voice in my head told me to.

I will call that Voice God.  You may call it something else.  Some deep-seeded logic.  A portion of my brain.  A spiritual being that is something other than God.   Whatever.  All I know is that it is the Voice that I am welcome to question and test and delay, but in the end I obey it.  Because of the Voice I have taken chances that most people wouldn't take and my life is richer for it, and I'd like to think that others' lives are as well.  

And that Voice is telling me to quit.  And I have a number of reasons why that's probably for the best.
I'll go over those in the next few weeks.