Tag: social issues

Mental Health stories of courage and resilience Part 4

Y is for the true You inside

This post is the last of the Mental Health stories that I will share in honor Mental Health Awareness Month.  As I’ve written earlier, these are memories I carry with me from past experiences. I hope that in reading these snapshots, you can get a glimpse of the struggles for a  person who lives with chronic and persistent symptoms of mental illness and from that glimpse, gain understanding and empathy.  This mini-series resulted from the letter “Y” in April 2018 A to Z writing Challenge. If you’d like, you can go back to Part 1 and start at the beginning.  

I met Margaret as I did many of my clients, in a state-run psychiatric hospital to be a part of discharge planning.  As I had mentioned in my last post, Margaret was on the younger end of middle age. She had been married once and had a child, a boy named Shaun. The boy’s father had full custody.  Margaret had not seen her son, now a teenager, for many years.mother-daughter-love-sunset-51953.jpeg

Margaret carried a dual diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder with manic episodes along with Alcohol Abuse and Dependency.  Hospital records indicated that there was a family history of substance abuse by both parents and siblings. Margaret had lost contact with her family. She had lived “on the streets” or in psychiatric facilities for most of her adult life.

One of the first things that Margaret wanted me to know was that she “was not like the other homeless drunks.”  She wanted me to know she had lived in a big white house overlooking the Bay in a small posh town known as a summer retreat for famous people.  As she stuck out her arm in front of herself, she fanned her hand and wiggled spread fingers to make a point,  “and, I had di-ah-mends…”   

Whenever she was having a hard time, she would repeat the story to me with the same gestures and intonations.  She wanted me to remember. It was her dream to get back to that point in her life.  It was my goal to help her get as close as possible.  She was discharged to a women’s transitional residential program with seven other women and plenty of support.  The structure proved too much for Margaret.  There were curfews, chores and according to Margaret “the staff was pushy and some of the other girls were too young or too sick.” 

We started looking for safe alternative housing.  It was the 1990s. Margaret’s only income was Supplemental Security Income and the minimum allowance of food stamps. Today she would probably get a gallon of milk and a dozen eggs for that amount.  Without a housing subsidy, it was impossible for Margaret to afford even a room in one of the many rundown boarding room houses in the city.  We applied for a rental assistance allowance through a special grant designed for downsizing the state hospitals.  While we waited, Margaret’s boyfriend, Jean found a small attic apartment in an old triple decker. 

Jean was supportive of Margaret’s treatment and personal goals. We were able to adjust the subsidy request to use at that apartment.  With a place of her own, the primary thing on her mind was to see her son Shaun again. Margaret was able to open communication with Shaun and his father.  Now she could tell his dad that she had a safe place for him to visit.  Jean was able to borrow a car to meet her son for lunch near his home. It was the first time they had seen each other since he was a small boy.   She was so excited.  She bought a stylish blouse and slacks at the Salvation Army.  For Shaun, she purchased a gift from a local department store, precursors to Target or Walmart.   They tell me she looked fabulous.  It was very stressful, but she managed to get through it without hospitalization or too much disruption in her life.

It was a year later when Shaun got his driver’s license and a car, that he was able to visit Margaret.   From the moment she got the apartment, everything she did was with Shaun in mind.  Now, her little boy was coming for Christmas!  

Margaret and I would shop for her groceries and personal items at the beginning of each month when her Representative Payee would give her spending allowance according to her budget.  Margaret had planned and budgeted for Shaun’s Christmas visit for months.  She wanted to make sure she had enough for a Christmas tree.  She was extra careful shopping because she also wanted some ingredients for a special dinner.  After we secured her monthly staples, we were done, but with very little left for a Christmas tree. 

Margaret wanted a real tree for Shaun.  She didn’t want a dusty beat-up artificial one from a thrift store.  We searched high and low on that cold New England winter day.  Finally, in the back of a tree lot, Margaret spotted the perfect one.   It was short and lopsided, but not too scraggly and at least one hundred times better than Charlie Brown’s.  To Margaret, it looked like the one at Rockefeller Center. She negotiated and got it for eight dollars.  She cried silent tears as we drove home.

At my next visit, I saw the lopsided little evergreen sitting in the corner glowing brightly pexels-photo-264988.jpegfrom the lights and ornaments that Margaret had collected from around town – donation boxes, thrift stores, and friends.  The little Christmas tree did look like it belonged in a big white house by the Bay with strings of “di-ah-mends” to light it up.  Margaret had poured years of bottled up love for her son into decorating the tiny apartment for that visit. It was Margaret’s first Christmas in a long time as well, and sometimes she would become flooded with so many emotions. It was good to hear they had a lovely time.    

Margaret was a loving mother who also happened to struggle with distressing symptoms of a major mental illness.  I tip my hat to her this Mother’s Day wherever she may be.   

Each one of us has our own evolution of life, and each one of us goes through different tests which are unique and challenging. But certain things are common. And we do learn things from each other’s experience. On a spiritual journey, we all have the same destination. A. R. Rahman  (from BrainQuotes.com)

Please check out the links below for additional information for family supports as well.  Many times family and friends want to help but don’t know how. There is also information about Peer support groups and peer mentoring programs.  No one has to do this alone.

SAMSHA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Service Administration) at  https://www.samhsa.gov/

NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness (a grassroots organization run by families and consumers) https://www.nami.org/About-NAMI

Mental Health stories of courage and resilience Part 3

Y is for the true You inside

Welcome to part 3 of the Mental Health stories that are part of the memories I carry with me. This mini-series resulted from the April 2018 A to Z writing Challenge. If you’d like, you can go back to part 1 and start at the beginning.   Again at the end of the post, I will add a couple of links to provide resources for additional information. 

At some point, my life path crossed with those of the individuals that I write about this week. These are not stories of magic wands and happy endings but of audacity and survival. I may not know all the details of their lives, but I cherish the snapshots they left behind. They remind me that, at the core, we all have our “you,” our essence that makes us who we are. In these posts I will tell you about two women; their stories are very similar, but each one of us is unique in the way we face our challenges or our demons. 

Della Mae and Margaret had a lot in common. I met both women when they were around middle-aged. They both were married once; both had children they did not raise. They had experienced multiple long-term hospitalizations in the wards of state mental hospitals in the 1960’s and 70s – before patient rights and deinstitutionalization. They both carried the dual diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder and Substance Abuse. Their Bipolar Disorder was with manic episodes, and their substance of choice was alcohol. Alcohol abuse is common among persons who try self-medicate and manage their symptoms without professional help; it’s socially acceptable, legal and at least initially slows the racing thoughts.

Della Mae was born and raised in the South. She met her husband shortly after high school while he was stationed at a military base near her hometown. They were married and moved North. Together they started a family and a business. She helped with the secretarial and administrative duties at the company for many years. Eventually, they were divorced; he had custody of the children – a boy and a child.

I met Della Mae as part of discharge planning from the state hospital. She was familiar with the system. She had been to various state-run hospitals since her first “break” decades ago. She didn’t talk about past; it was not necessary in order to make plans for the future. She was angry at herself and the world because she had gambled with life and lost it all – again. As she walked through the gray metal doors upon discharge, she squared her shoulders and held her head high carrying all her worldly possessions in one shopping bag.

Della Mae went to live in a small supported housing apartment with another woman, also making her way back to the community after a lengthy hospital stay. Staff was onsite but not in the unit. She started volunteering, eventually obtained a part-time job at a local non-profit and bought a used car. Because of her age, she was able to get on a waitlist for Affordable Housing for seniors. At first, she was reluctant. She did not want to be living with “old busybodies,” but soon realized age was an advantage because general subsidized housing vouchers had a ten-year waitlist. She had her own apartment in a little over a year.

Things were stable for Della Mae. She had not required a psychiatric hospitalization for several years. I was meeting with her less frequently. Her daughter Kara, now an adult, started coming over for visits. One day Della Mae called me to move up her appointment, she needed to talk. We went for coffee at a small quiet shop near her apartment because her daughter had stayed with her and was taking a nap.

As soon as we sat down, Della Mae told me she had started decreasing her medications. She had not told her doctor yet, but she had made up her mind. It was her right to refuse treatment. She explained that on her medication, she felt numb. Things were going on in her life and her daughter’s that merited some kind of reaction, but she could not feel a thing, not sadness, nor rage, not even joy at reuniting with her daughter.

Della Mae and I talked about the risks, but she knew all about it. This was not her first rodeo. We scheduled an appointment with her doctor and therapist to review her Safety and Crisis Plan to try to mitigate the risks. No, she didn’t want her daughter involved. We talked about that point of no return where nothing was going to stop the snowball effect in her life. Even though her history told a different story, she believed that if she remained sober, she could make it work. This was her life, and she was in charge.

As it turned out, her daughter had also been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. Della Mae’s rage and sadness were from not being able to protect her daughter from that. Kara had left her father’s house to stay with Della Mae, but that jeopardized the subsidy at the elder housing complex. Della Mae could not ask her daughter to leave, and that’s where the snowball started for both of them. The stress and conflict around the housing situation proved to be what tipped the scale. Eventually, Kara was also referred for supportive community services, and they both began to restore what they had lost.

There are plenty of people who are able to rebuild their lives without community supports, but I am telling the stories from my experience. I found that in the absence of a robust natural support system these dedicated professionals have helped countless individuals fight stigma and get back to a life worth living.

Please check out the links below for additional information for family supports as well. Many times family and friends want to help but don’t know how. There is also information about Peer support groups and peer mentoring programs. No one has to do this alone.

SAMSHA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Service Administration) at https://www.samhsa.gov/
NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness (a grassroots organization run by families and consumers) https://www.nami.org/About-NAMI

Mental Health stories of courage and resilience Part 2

 

Y is for the true You inside

A few days ago, while participating in the April 2018 A to Z challenge, I wrote a post about  The fun side of living on the edge of reality.  It was about the silliness of letting my imagination run away. I imagine it’s a trait common among those of us who like to write.  My theme for the challenge was to tell the stories that marked my simple life; the memories of those moments are in my mind like snapshots.  After I wrote the post, I felt the need write the stories of those who struggle with harsh realities, yet find a reason to get up every morning and do their best to make it a great day. For the next few days, in honor of Mental Health Awareness Month in May, I am telling their stories.  Once again, at the end of the post, I will put links to resources for additional information.

Imagine 

Joy of graduation
Imagine you are a high school senior or college freshman

Imagine for a moment that you are a high school senior or a freshman in college. You ’ve been a straight A student, involved in sports programs and volunteering.  You’ve done everything right. Just last month you were told that it’s a great thing to have your whole life ahead of you.  The world is your oyster, the sky is the limit, and yet here you are, sitting in with your parents in a psychiatric ward waiting to talk to your hospital team about discharge planning. You have been handed a diagnosis something like Paranoid Schizophrenia or Bipolar Disorder.  You’re a smart kid, intellectually you understand the information, but it doesn’t make sense.  You can’t return to school; you need extended treatment in an outpatient day program.  You may need to pack your things and move out of your dorm, mid-semester to a therapeutic residential program in your community.  You don’t remember how you got here.  You’ve heard the stories, you’ve been given a diagnosis, but you can’t believe this is happening to you. 

Mental health services and the Government

For the most part, I loved my job. I found it meaningful. I believe it addressed a need in our community especially for the families and individuals we served. Even though we were just another branch of government, I felt we were doing great work moving forward to try new ideas in the interest of improving the system for our clients.  As it happens sometimes, I was promoted to long days of sitting behind a desk with a mountain of paperwork while trying to interact with the bureaucracy. I missed being out in the field, but I was fortunate enough to work with a team of intelligent, well trained and compassionate professionals who were driven to provide the best services for their clients on the road to recovery.   Together, in weekly sessions, we did a lot of brainstorming and problem solving to address the individual needs of the clients.

During this particular time, our emphasis was to work towards helping clients break the revolving-door cycle.  In particular, we had begun paying close attention to the unique issues of the transitional age and young adult population.  These individuals ranged in age from 16 to 24 years old.  In some cases, we were able to expand age limitations to 30 years old. We sponsored supportive education and employment initiatives, peer mentoring and independent living in the least restrictive settings.  We wanted to offer user-friendly alternatives to interrupted lives.   That is how I had come to know about Mike.

Mike –carrying the stigma of an ex-patient

Mike had come to us after his second or third psychiatric hospitalization at a local hospital.  He was in his late 20’s, almost out of age range for our new menu of services.  He was bright, hardworking but was having a hard time adjusting to his life as an ex-patient of a mental hospital mainly because of anxiety about the stigma it carries. Who was he now?  He had been living with his uncle and family for many years.  Upon discharge had returned to work at the family business but symptoms of his anxiety, OCD, and depressed mood caused persistent and unrealistic worry. At times increase in symptoms became full panic attacks and physical immobility.   His case manager thought he would flourish with a young adult support system and advocated strongly for a spot.

I met Mike for the first time at the office when he came looking for his case manager who was out on appointments.  He asked to speak to me because he felt that being with anyone who understood his struggles would help to lessen his anxiety during this episode. He had just had a falling out with his cousin who was supervising his work on a project.  His cousin felt he was too slow and taking too long to get the job done.  He was feeling overwhelmed and worried what his family would think.  He worried that the incident would be a setback in his recovery plan.  We reviewed his Recovery Plan and the Safety Plan that he had worked on with his therapist and case manager for these very same situations.   

“You know what I wish?”

He told me he felt he was on shaky ground with his family since his hospitalization.  He said he knew they saw him differently.  “They think I’m lazy; they don’t realize what a struggle it is for me to get up and face the day each morning.” He didn’t feel he could address it because he believed they would mock him.  Whether it was true or not, I can’t say, but that was his perception.  We talked about how unrealistic expectations and perceptions could present a barrier to recovery. 

He was sad and angry.  On the one hand, he explained people see a good looking young man who appeared smart, secure, physically fit and “put together” as if there was nothing wrong.  But the reality he said is that he can’t manage his fears and anxiety without support and medications.  He sat quietly for a moment; shoulders slumped as he stared at his hands resting on the desk.  He took a deep breath and with a surge of energy, leaned in on the desk to look me straight in the face. “You know what I wish sometimes? I wish that I would have lost a leg or an arm or have some form of disfigurement in my face or body.  I wish that I looked disabled. Then people would be more empathetic and realize that I am living with something catastrophic.”  

It wasn’t self-pity, he was stating the obvious.  I had heard it before verbalized in different ways.  Anxiety disorder and depression are sometimes referred to as a silent epidemic.  However, in our society, it is often misunderstood, and its effects minimized, precisely because patients do not appear as if there is something wrong with them.  They don’t fit the stereotype of “mental patient.” 

Mike did eventually move out of the family home and into his own apartment with minimal supports.  He enrolled at the local community college and began to think about becoming a peer mentor.  The road to recovery with mental health issues varies for each person, as life does for all of us in general.  Sometimes for every step forward, there are two steps backward, but the key is to keep going.  

If you would like more information about mental health services in your area, please check out these links below.

SAMSHA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Service Administration) at  https://www.samhsa.gov/

NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness (a grassroots organization run by families and consumers) https://www.nami.org/About-NAMI

 

Mental Health Stories of courage and resilience Part 1

A to Z challenge and the letter Y

A few days ago I wrote a whimsical post about the fun side of living on the edge of reality. As I wrote that post, I made a promise to myself and to the ghosts of past clients, that I would tell their stories of courage, resilience, and survival. I knew just where to put it. I was working on the April 2018 A to Z Challenge and I worked on the story while waiting for the letter “Y” because Y is for The You Inside and I haven’t forgotten. Because these are the stories of real people, I wanted to take time and be true to them. I will post each story as a different part this week.  I also decided to hold the post a few days because, since 1949, May has been Mental Health Awareness Month. This year Mental Health Awareness Week is May 14-20, 2018.

Case Manager Vs. Life Coach

In a previous life, I was hired by the Department of Mental Health to join an army of professionals and para-professionals. We were tasked with providing community services for persons with recurring and persistent mental illness as the push for deinstitutionalization continued from the previous decade. New medications were addressing the symptoms of their illness and we were going to help them return to their communities to find a “life worth living”. I was a Case Manager. Actually, I considered myself more of a Life Coach; I was ahead of my time. I can fill my days simply writing the stories of the men and women I’ve met. Instead, I will tell you of the snapshots that jump from my memory when I see the news or hear the debate about affordable healthcare.

For some reason, she wanted to die.

Time and again, I remember the day one of “the new girls” ran to our apartment crying and looking for my mother. They needed help because their mother had just eaten some rat poison. For some reason, she wanted to die. Days later, I accompanied my mother to visit the neighbor in the psychiatric ward. I didn’t remember seeing her before that day; she looked like death warmed over. We caught a glimpse of others on the ward; they looked the same, pale gray figures, walking in circles. It was scary. I was a just beginning my teens, it was the late 1960s.

Anne

I met Anne when she was in her late thirties. She had been a clerk for IRS when she had her first major “break down”. She had become angry and the police took her away. She was a tall, woman with a large build. Her short blonde hair was starting to turn gray and she glared at me with powder blue eyes. She explained that she had been angry because no one believed her story that the Mayor had raped her when she was a child playing with his daughter. We worked together for several years after that meeting and I learned her perpetual glare was more a sign of fear than defiance. She lived in fear, never knowing when “the cops would show up and haul her away for no reason.”

It was the mid-1980s. She had a long history of psychiatric hospitalizations precipitated by psychotic thinking and consequent irrational, uncontrollable anger; this was common jargon in hospital records back then. Her mother couldn’t confirm her rape story. No one bothered to corroborate it because it was considered a symptom of her illness. She carried the diagnosis of Paranoid Schizophrenia. She told me she had stopped her meds often because she didn’t like how they made her feel; she felt no need to elaborate. Anne had been discharged on an injectable medication to assure compliance. She agreed to move into a group home to increase her independent living skills. It was my job to get her an apartment in the community and provide support to get her out of the revolving door that kept her in and out of hospitals. Needless to say that it all sounded so much better on paper.

In our society, social drinking of alcohol is quite acceptable. Some people say it takes the edge off and they can relax. They feel more social. Unfortunately, we all know folks who are better off when they don’t drink at all. One particular year, things were going well for Anne. She had her own apartment in a nice part of town and had made friends with some neighbors who were not associated with her life as an ex-patient.  Sometimes, they would all go out to listen to a band and have a good time.

Y is for the true You inside

Anne and I would talk about how to stay safe in the city and about the risks associated with mixing alcohol and meds especially an injectable medication. Part of my job, of course, was to point out all she had achieved while on the prescribed medication. I don’t remember the exact conversation or the words I used but I do remember something I said caused her to stand up and stared down at me with her powder blue eyes, holding back her tears “you don’t understand do you? You never will. Those medications take away my YOU. THAT’s who I really am. Who I’ve been from the day I was born. It’s my dreams, who I want to be. It’s MY reality. The one on the medications, that’s not me. The one everyone says is doing soo well”, she added with a touch of sarcasm, “She is a product of the meds.”

Irrational thinking starting to sound rational

She went on to ask questions like who determines what’s irrational. Who determines what right and wrong, what is true or not? And then she started telling me that no one knows that Bill Clinton comes to visit her and loves her. She explained that they had to let Hillary stand next to Bill in her place in the news because she looks better for the TV cameras. A part of me could rationally understand what she was saying about her dreams and her meds.  I can’t begin to explain, however, what it feels like to watch someone lose their grasp on reality, know where it’s heading and feel powerless to stop it. It was her right to drink socially as it was her right to refuse medication and treatment. I’ll try to touch on the laws surrounding this in one of my other posts.
It was months before she ended up in the hospital again. Yes, the police were involved.

It was another few months before she was ready to go home again. Fortunately, we were able to save her apartment and she didn’t have to start at the beginning again, even so, it wasn’t easy to return to that place. Eventually, we found another apartment and she found another group of friends. I don’t know if she ever made peace with her You and her medications, but she certainly gave me an education that I could never repay.

Resources

You can find many more stories, resources to find services or general information for consumers and their families at the following sites:
SAMSHA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Service Administration) at https://www.samhsa.gov/
NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness (a grassroots organization run by families and consumers) https://www.nami.org/About-NAMI

Please look out for my other posts related to this topic.

Voting- A to Z challenge letter V

Blog challengea2z-h-small.

I was struggling with whether or not to use today’s letter “V” to broach the subject of Voting. Elections or anything remotely in the political arena puts me over the edge. It’s definitely an area that I tend to “self-censor” for the benefit of those around me. I noticed a couple of folks did use the word for the AtoZ challenge and so having participated in a rather animated meeting the other night; I decided to jump in and talk about Voting.

Full disclosure – sometimes I want to shake people who show such apathy towards the election process. I can’t wrap my head around it. It’s sad to me that people don’t realize what a privilege it is to live in a country where each citizen is entitled to one vote – to have a say in how the country is run and how funds are dispersed for services. Voting does matter!

Originally it was only white, male landowners who were able to vote on the laws of the land. Through centuries of strife and struggles women, Native Americans, former slaves and other foreign-born were granted the all rights of citizenship, including the right to vote. This privilege was not handed to us but earned with blood, sweat, and tears -literally. If we the people don’t use our power to have a voice, the elected officials can take it upon themselves to make decisions based on what they think is the best interest of their constituents. We have seen referendums and laws shot down or put away because there hasn’t been enough interest from the general public. We have seen others put in place before anyone could appreciate the detrimental impact on the nation.

Don’t get me wrong; I get it. I happen to like this stuff, and yet I too get tired of the rhetoric. I like the research, the arguments, and hearing the candidates’ plans to make things better. I like studying the ins and outs of new proposals. I don’t listen to just one side. To know my choices, I research both viewpoints as much as can. I have voted for a candidate based on past performance regardless of party affiliation. I have become quite active and passionate about some issues, but there are times when even I’ve had enough and want it over. I think in our era of social media and cable networks, all the input can be overwhelming.

What I hear most from people is that it doesn’t matter because “they” are all the same. “They” are just out for their self-interests, out for the money. Despite what we have seen recently, I can tell you “they” are not all the same. Some have sought office with genuine intention to serve rightfully but then lose their vision fighting the uphill battle caught up in the bureaucracy. I have also seen men and women in office fight for their constituents as if they were fighting for their own family members. I do believe we play a role in not letting our representatives get complacent or stagnant. They need our feedback, our letters, our phone calls and our attendance at town meetings to help them have the pulse on what is going on back home.

I can sit here and tell you that one party is better than another but I ask you instead to love your country enough to take a stand for democracy and vote. Be responsible. I can’t stress enough to look beyond the headlines and the talking points in political ads. Knowledge takes away the fear factor. Don’t just “share” trash on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. Research what you are reposting – especially if it sounds absurd or preposterous –even if it is sympathetic to your beliefs. Let’s not have a repeat of false information spread throughout the web as we’ve had in recent years. There are plenty of sites where you can do a quick fact check. Here are a few to get you started: Fact Checker, Politifact, Snopes, The Sunlight Foundation.  There are others but these have been widely recognized to use neutral language to prevent even an appearance of bias.

In closing, I ask you to check your local voting lists. Make sure you are still on the list, and all your vital information is current. Maybe you were dropped for not voting. If you need to register, you can do it online at https://www.usa.gov/register-to-vote.
Know your candidates and ballot issues. If you can’t make a meeting with candidates, go to their website to get the details of their platform. If they have been in public service before, you can research their voting record at such sites as https://votesmart.org/; https://www.headcount.org/issues-and-candidates/; https://www.usa.gov/voter-research.
There will be plenty of information online and in handouts all over your city as we get closer to November.

Don’t take for granted what our service men and women have fought for around the world. Don’t just wave your flag on Memorial Day or the Fourth of July – make it count in November. We are part of an already great nation but WE THE PEOPLE need to step-it-up. We can do this!

The Red, White and Blue

AtoZ Challenge – JOURNEY

Blog challengea2z-h-small.

“Life is about the JOURNEY, not the destination.” I consider this quote one of my favorite expressions which continually renews the way I look at life. Whenever I’m with someone who is planning a wedding or a great vacation, I always remind them to enjoy everything leading up to the big event because it’s all over so quickly. People today spend countless hours and dollars planning for that special day, but then they are too busy or tired to enjoy it. I love to look at old photos of fun times, but I also warn people about trying to capture too many moments with the phone, you may be missing the opportunity for adventure or special moments that you can’t rewind. Laugh about the stressors and mishaps for someday they’ll be great stories to tell the grandchildren or reminders for yourself before you put your head down to sleep.

I often remember people that I’ve met on my JOURNEY and I acknowledge that whether it was for a moment or a season, a blessing or a lesson; those who’ve crossed my path have touched my life and added a bit to who I am today. One friend was especially attentive to enjoy the JOURNEY and life’s offerings. “Why stress about where it’s going tomorrow if it’s wonderful now?” Over the years, I’ve come to understand the importance and adapt that philosophy to my life and my JOURNEY.

To give proper credit, I went searching for the author of the quote that has become such a part of our everyday language (and of course memes). I found that Ralph Waldo Emerson is often credited with “Life is a journey, not a destination” but in fact, several ministers and Bible teachers of the time used similar language in journals or teachings. https://quoteinvestigator.com/2012/08/31/life-journey/

It makes sense to me that such a quote would also have religious connotations. I’m glad some preachers and teachers have tried to redirect their communities. If you’ve read my previous blog posts, you may have guessed that my JOURNEY has been via a road with twists and turns. For part of my life, I was teaching that the most important thing in life was the final destination on the other side of those Pearly Gates. For that, I’ve apologized.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped to take a break and look around me. I noticed that some people were too focused getting to the Promised Land, the mansions, walking on the Streets of Gold that they lost the purpose of their JOURNEY and forgot the words of Jesus Christ. “For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me in. I needed clothes, and you clothed me. I was sick, and you looked after me. I was in prison, and you came to visit me.” … ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’Matthew 25:35-40.

After a while, I took up my satchel and changed direction –  same JOURNEY, different route. Rather than waiting to see all the wonders “over yonder,” I’ve decided to enjoy JOURNEY, and make the most of the blessings in my simple life.

Give to Caesar…

The other day, in answer to a recent assignment, I wrote a quick knee-jerk response to a blog post that piqued my interest.  I found the post on a blog I follow that recommended another site.  https://promptlings.wordpress.com/2018/03/27/we-have-met-the-enemy-redux/   Today, I am trying to respond in a more thoughtful way, and hopefully, it makes sense.

A couple of years ago, when I first started this blog, I thought I would use it as a place to respond in an unfiltered or uncensored way, to the political news of the day. In the same way that J.Dennison describes in her Filosofa’s Word, I am often annoyed by the response of extreme, right-wing, conservative political groups in regards to social issues in our country. I had planned to use this forum to voice that sentiment, but as time and the election passed, I became more infuriated with frustration and decided that type of blog would not work for me. I feel that people are so entrenched in their point of view that there is no longer room for dialogue. However, when confronted by the blatant abuse of power, I feel compelled to comment. J. Dennison’s article was written last year, but as she explains the problem continues and appears to be a norm more than an isolated incident.

A couple of days ago I received CBS News article about former President Jimmy Carter titled, Jimmy Carter on his journey of “Faith”. It was an interview with Jane Pauley about his impressions on life, religion, politics and the current state of affairs in this country. It also served to promote for his new book, “Faith: A Journey for All” (published by Simon & Schuster, a CBS company) https://www.cbsnews.com/news/jimmy-carter-on-his-journey-of-faith/

Jimmy Carter has been a favorite of mine for a long time. Even though he was a one-term president, his life out of office has been remarkable in terms of his work with human trafficking, civil rights, world peace etc. What I like the most about Jimmy Carter is that although his faith is part of who he is, he has always been very clear about the importance of maintaining the separation of church and state. President Carter has used the Biblical passage in Matthew 22: 20-22 to support his stance with religious leaders in this country. In this passage, Jesus of Nazareth is asked by a prominent religious group of the time if they should give “the tribute to Caesar”. Jesus asked them to show him a coin and poses the question, “Whose image is this?” When they respond, “It’s Caesar”. He gives them back the coin and simply tells them “then give to Caesar what is Caesar’s”

I believe that many of the religious leaders of today are very much like the High Priests in Jesus time. In a simple comparison, both groups are driven by special interests that benefit them over the common good. They get caught up trying to maintain the status quo by clinging to archaic traditions and forgetting basic spiritual teachings. Christian religious leaders in this country have overstepped the boundaries and not for the good of the faithful. I can also easily compare their increasing influence over our government policies to Ayatollah Khomeini’s surge to power in Iran in 1979.

The meshing of fundamentalist and conservative “values” in current political trends is part of what is causing such divisiveness in our country. On the surface, it appears that it is merely tension among racial or ethnic groups.  Unfortunately, we often see that the churches can turn believers against each other for the “sake of the Gospel”. We can look back to see that Christians were OK with slavery because the Bible talks about Christian slaves. Now we see that many prominent Christian groups are hateful toward the LGBT groups. They are Ok with domestic violence and rape of a wife because of a verse in the Bible written to address a particular faith community. These groups advocate for employers to provide medical care s they see fit – Cialis for men but not birth control for women and I can go on.

I was raised in a fundamentalist, Christian environment. I even attended a Christian Bible College my first year right after high school. It was there when I first began to really question what I had been taught. I would often be sitting in a class and think to myself “Wait- what?? Come again? Can you repeat that? I don’t think I heard you right? Didn’t Jesus pray for us to be as one so that the world would know that this is from God? Why are you throwing the brother under the bus?” Bottom-line, although my faith remains intact, I have moved away from the basic premise that the only way to God is by way of the Fundamentalist Evangelical teachings.

Twelve years ago I converted to Catholicism with all its scandals and turbulent history. It was at a time in my life when I craved spirituality but did not want to go back to my previous involvement in” holiness churches”. I was fortunate to find a Catholic Community that met my needs. I had friends, members of the local parish who were good, sincere, caring souls. I decided to take a closer look. The Pastor was an Augustinian Friar who demonstrated a great love for the people in the immigrant city where he served. I was taught the importance and the difference between traditions, rituals and a personal spiritual relationship with God. Contrary to what I had been taught, this was not mindless idol worship, but rather these traditions are tools to help enhance our spiritual practice and connection with God. This community participated in different yet fulfilling types of worship; all within the Christian teachings of the Catholic Church.

Since this is Holy Week for Roman Catholics and other Christian faiths, I wanted to share a “verbal snapshot” of how I experienced my first Lenten season and Holy Week in that Catholic community. The first thing I noticed was on Ash Wednesday, which marks the beginning of Lent was that Church was dressed as the desert, devoid of all splendor to reflect a spiritual pilgrimage of sacrifice that would end with Easter Sunday celebrations. As Lent progresses into the final days of Holy Week, the dressing of sanctuary continues to change to reflect the spiritual journey of Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Easter Vigil, and Easter Sunday.

One of the biggest traditions of Lent around the world is the Via Crucis or the Way of the Cross. It refers to a series of images and Bible readings depicting the life Jesus Christ culminating on the day of his crucifixion. In my parish, these images were placed around the Sanctuary and during the weeks of Lent, each day prayer groups would stop at each image to reflect on Bible passages and pray. This particular community in an old mill city in Massachusetts had a predominantly Latino population. Culturally it was a big deal that on Good Friday the Via Crucis was taken to the streets. The Stations of the Cross were now at a homeless shelter, food pantry, soup kitchen, school, nursing home, hospital, rehab facility etc – wherever there was a need. The crowd that gathered behind the priest, the simple wooden Cross and Bible characters, numbered several hundred. As we walked, we sang solemn songs of repentance and sorrow and yet there was an uplifting spirit of hope.

At each station we stopped, the Priest read a passage from scripture, shared a reflection about the need of the particular station and most of us joined in prayer. I imagined that the group gathered here had similar characteristics to that crowd outside of Jerusalem on the way Golgotha. There was the faithful who came to worship and relive those moments spiritually with the Lord. There were those who came out because that’s what you do on Good Friday if you are Catholic Latino and live in this city. There were kids that had obviously come out to check out the cute girls and vice versa. There were moms with little ones and old ladies in wheelchairs. There were those hanging out the windows and front steps watching the “procession” go by – some probably silently praying for the souls of idol worshippers – not really understanding what was going on but what they were taught. No judgment- I was there once.

The crowd, in response to the scriptures that the Priest read, were yelling “Crucify him, crucify him” or a little further responded by mocking “Jesus” as he carried the cross. It was around this time that I got lost in my thoughts and transcended to that place so long ago. I asked myself a simple question… if I had lived then, which side would I be on? I had been raised a good, church girl. I had respected the church leaders and more than once followed their advice – sometimes even when things didn’t feel quite right. I probably would have listened to him for a while as he taught on the mountainside. I would have heard of his miracles. Perhaps he would have healed my mother. According to what is written, for their own special interest and personal gain, the high priests and religious leaders enticed the crowd to request that the Roman government crucify the Nazarene. Would I have turned my back on him now because the High Priest told me he was evil, blasphemes? Hindsight is 20/20 they say. Sound familiar?

We don’t have a physical Christ to crucify today, but His teachings are being attacked or shredded bit by bit each day. In John 18:36 Jesus said “my kingdom is not of this world… It is in another place.” So why are church leaders today forcing their beliefs upon our nation, hating strangers like the Good Samaritan of the Bible, making judgments by their own standards and blaming Jesus? They use verses out of context to convince their followers. Even Trump has been heard quoting the Bible.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have friends who I care about, and I believe they are truly faithful to the spirit. They are filled with all the love and compassion that one would expect of a follower of Christ. There are many good people in these fundamentalist evangelical churches looking for peace, looking for love and have found it for the Spirit is more powerful than man. There are plenty of good pastors that truly have a vocation to serve. We must not let those power hungry people turn us against each other and take over all that is good in our country. Church and state must coexist. I believe people need spirituality but the government should not dictate how we address our personal spiritual needs.