A 20 minute commute is OK.  A 30 minute commute, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, can be unbearable.  Currently, I get to drive 70 minutes, through some of the most gorgeous countryside anywhere!  30 minutes would be great – 70 minutes is overkill.  I’d gladly settle for something in-between.  The two-and-a-half hours of driving is killing me.

However, like all things that seek to kill me, I look for survival solutions.  I’m experimenting with routes, time-saving opportunities (e.g eating and shaving while driving, etc), and multi-tasking.  I use the morning drive to feed my soul and I use the late-night drive to feed my mind.  In the morning, I seek to connect with God, worship, and pray.  At night, I either use the quiet drive to digest the day’s events, or I listen to podcasts and feed my need for ideation.

Unfortunately, we are so polarized, that it seems we can’t agree on the solutions.

Through this process of ideation, as I’ve listened to various podcasts and radio discussions, I’ve been struck with a reverberating theme. We, as a society, are increasingly bogged down by bureaucracy – broken bureaucracy. Although no single individual is able to accomplish major change on their own, we, as a culture, tend to blame individuals for our failures.

Over the past several weeks, I’ve listened to several podcasts (liberal, moderate, and conservative) – each story I listened to, spelled out common problems we all face: the economy, religion, government, wars, international relations, AIDS, poverty, etc.  In each case, as I listened to the stories, I was very impressed at the largess of the issues.  In other words, these issues are so huge, that only a great community effort will enable us to solve the problems.

Unfortunately, we are so polarized, that it seems we can’t agree on the solutions.  While I may have my opinions, I do not claim to be smart enough to have the absolute answers to any of these issues.  I’m not sure anyone does.  So, instead of working towards rapid solutions, we argue, debate, and demonize for months and years and decades.  If one group’s ideas are rejected, it seems that instead of accepting the solution adopted, we (especially those whose values or solutions were rejected), spend our energy fighting the solution.  So, what happens, once a solution is decided (usually by a narrow margin vote) instead of working to see the success of that solution, the fight continues – and groups seek to sabotage the other groups proposed solution.

Instead of solutions, we are creating stagnation.  Then, amazingly, we blame the people who had ideas in the first place.  It’s quite amazing.  A man runs for president and then wins by a slight margin.  But because he is unable to accomplish the things he said he could, we point fingers and blame him for causing the mess.  Why don’t we point fingers at those who put up roadblocks?  Why don’t we blame the decades of mismanagement that led to the current crisis?  Why is it the new guy’s fault?

We need to step and face the real problem: massive bureaucratic stagnation.

The system is broken. Democracy is dysfunctional. Until we fix the system, we’re not going to fix the problems.

The other day, a cop friend of mine was talking about some of the things she has seen.  She mentioned how they joke about using the MIB “flashy thing” when they retire – to erase all the things they’ve seen.

The next day, a paramedic friend of mine told me about a horrendous car wreck he responded to when he was still a “wet-behind-the-ears,” 21 year old, newly-minted, paramedic.  These images never leave us.

It was hard for us to come from a church that was trying hard to serve the community around us, to a church that seemed to be very ego-centric. In fact, even those within the church – regular attenders, and not-so-regular attenders – who were in need of support, were often ignored.  It didn’t help that my own family was going through our own personal crisis.  I was quite frustrated that the people who seemed to have it all together, wanted more; and those that were hurting and broken were being ignored.

In addition to my family’s personal survival struggles, I spent my time reaching out to the unreached, the hurting, and the broken.  As Jesus said, “I didn’t come to heal the healthy, I cam to help the sick.“

Over the past three weeks, I’ve been plunged back into the abyss of society’s broken people. The folks I see as a paramedic, are terribly broken, terribly wounded, and terribly lost – in many ways.  Due to HIPPA privacy laws and professional etiquette, I am unable to share great details.  But somehow I want to convey the utter brokenness of people in our midst.  While there are a great number of people who live in stable homes, in stable environments, and who have regular medical issues – there are many whose lives are so far removed from our own, that you may actually believe they are from another world.

People so poor, financially, spiritually, and socially, that they allow people into their homes who are abusing their children – just because they need a caretaker, or a companion.

People so poor, financially, spiritually, and socially, that they allow people into their homes who are abusing their children – just because they need a caretaker, or a companion.  People so broken, that they lay in their own excrement and urine for days on end.  People so broken, that when you first see them, you wonder how they even survive.

Emotionally, these folks are so broken that you see no soul in their eyes.  Physically, they often look 20-30 years older than their actual age.  Spiritually, they are lost.  No longer wandering, no longer seeking – just hopelessly lost.  They have been abandoned by their families, discarded by their friends, and swept aside by society.  They live in the nooks and crannies of our cities – wherever they can find space.

I’m not talking about the homeless tramps downtown, nor am I talking about the mentally ill who wander the streets.  I’m talking about the people who came from relatively normal homes.  But because of physical, emotional, sexual, or spiritual abuse, they have been broken, busted, and discarded.  Nothing short of a miracle could save them now.

As I drove home the other night, my own spirit was overwhelmed by what I’d seen that day. I reflected on the people I’d seen over the past week.  I reflected on people I’d seen over the past month.  They call 9-1-1 for assistance, but they don’t really have an emergency.  They need help, but it isn’t the kind of help a paramedic can offer.  And even though we take them to the emergency department at the nearest hospital, there really isn’t anything they can do either.  A few hours later, these people are discharged and sent home – but they’re just as broken, nothing has changed.

One lady told me she called for a taxi, but because she didn’t have the $10 for the cab fare, the taxi wouldn’t take her to the hospital.  She didn’t need an ambulance, but we don’t refuse people.  So, she called 9-1-1 and within minutes she had three firefighters and two paramedics in her living room.  There was nothing we could do for her, except take her to the hospital.  What she needed was caring family and friends, what she got was an impersonal cadre of emergency responders and a ride to the hospital.  My heart bleeds.

As I drove home the other night, my frustration with the Church, for being so damn egocentric, turned to anger.

We saw a lady the other day who, according to one firefighter/paramedic, had been transported by ambulance over 60 times in the last year. She was lying in a heap outside her front door.  She was so mentally exhausted that she could barely get on the stretcher.  We would take her to the hospital, they would evaluate her, and she would be out the door in a few hours – because there was nothing medically wrong with her.  The “system” is not designed to deal with these people.  In fact, there really is no system in place.  They take resources from those who may be having a true medical emergency, they cost the taxpayers millions of dollars, and they cycle through the system over and over again, until they die.

• Is it their fault that they’re broken?  No.
• Is it their responsibility to overcome their brokenness?  Yes.
• Do they know how to overcome their deplorable condition?  No.
• Is it a waste of money to send fire rigs and ambulances to their calls?  Yes.
• Can we stop sending emergency responders?  No.
• Is their a better way? Probably – I just don’t know what it is.

We walked into the middle of a tornado.  Four generations of women living in one desperate home.  The tragedy that was unfolding left everyone in tears.  It was a painful experience to be there – and yet, it was a privilege.  I held their hands, tried to help them make sense of death, looked them in the eye, and did my best to bear some of the weight.

My soul hurts for those who live lives of constant pain.

Later that night, lying on my bed, I wept. My soul hurts for those who live lives of constant pain.  My soul weeps for those who have the means, but not the will to step into these lives, and share the love that has been so freely shared with them.  I wept, because the pain is great.

Then Jesus wept.” John 11:35

More than a box of food, or a series of Bible studies, people need a friend – a genuine neighbor, who cares about them.  Someone who will listen, without judging – or trying to “fix” them.  Someone who will hold their hand when tragedy strikes, and someone who will walk with them, over the rough patches of life.

People need unconditional love – love on purpose, and without ulterior motives.

People need unconditional love – love on purpose, and without ulterior motives.  The kind of love God shares with us.  We need to pass it on to others, no matter how scary that sounds.

How much worse does it have to get?

Irving wrote Rip Van Winkle in order to inspire Americans to form an identity that would set them free from English rule and culture. Irving uses his main character, Rip Van Winkle, to symbolize the struggle of early America. Many of the struggles Rip went through can be compared to the same struggles that America was going through at this time before and after the Revolution. Irving uses metaphors in the story Rip Van Winkle to describe the changes that the American society went through during the Revolutionary period.”  ~Posted by Digitaldisruption

Knowing, where I am, geographically, doesn’t change the fact that the landscape has changed. Most of the infrastructure, and some of the people look familiar, but everything is different.  I have this overwhelming sense of deja vu.  When I say overwhelming, I’m not feeding you hyperbole.  Two days ago, driving the ambulance through the neighborhood where I grew up, my mind began to reel – childhood, high school, paramedic school, failing/failed marriage, et cetera.  Seriously, it was as if my whole life flashed before my eyes, slo-mo.

Fame, fortune, and reputation are very fleeting.  This is my takeaway from the last three weeks.  No matter how much a person thinks they were all that, memories fade fast, and people forget.  Rip Van Winkle was well liked, respected, and even loved by his friends and neighbors, but after a 20 year nap, most of his friends and neighbors had either died, or moved.  He not only wasn’t recognized, but he no longer had a reputation.

Fame, fortune, and reputation are very fleeting…

30+ years ago, when I decided I wanted to be a paramedic, I made up my mind to be the best.  That’s me.  That’s who I am – an overachiever.

At the time I was a great backhoe operator, foreman of my Dad’s construction company, and just beginning the ride of my life.  Ten years later, with just a little humility, I realized that being better than everyone else wasn’t as important as being the best I could be, but as I moved from the field into management, I felt as if I’d achieved my goal of being the best.

Now, 20 years later, it’s as if I never existed. None of what I was now matters.  Yes, I have some experience, yes, I was a good paramedic, and yes, I made a difference in the evolution of EMS – but that was then, this is now.

Over the course of the last two years, I’ve been severely humbled. I tried very hard to be the best pastor I could be – meeting people’s needs, leading them to a better understanding of God, and not giving into their wants – and they excommunicated me for it.  After my divorce in 1981, I made a conscious decision to go to Hell, and I did.  I didn’t like it, so I found a way out.  It wasn’t easy, but eventually I experienced salvation from that “pit of despair.“  I got out.

In 1995, when I left emergency services, I knew it would be hard.  In fact, it was another painful wilderness experience, and I’m glad I went through it.  But a funny thing happened on the way to the forum, apparently, as a part of my character development, I needed to go back to Hell and re-experience some steps I skipped before.  I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.  Living in Hell is, um, uh… Hell!

As I stumble out of the woods, after a long autumnal nap, I feel as If I’m starting over. I’m relearning how to be a good paramedic, building new relationships, and relearning the landscape.  it’s a fascinating, if not exhausting process.   Even though I recognize the streets, the buildings are often different.  Though I recognize the equipment, it is often used in new ways I’ve never thought of – it’s all good, but confusing.  Everything is the same, though very different.

When Rip awakens after a 20-year nap, unaware of how much the world around has changed, he is startled to find that not only did the world around him change but he changed as well.” ~Posted by Digitaldisruption

Driving home from my first day of work on Monday, I looked over to see my old friend Steve*, driving in the lane next to me.  I haven’t seen him in over nine months, and the last thing he said to me was very hurtful.  Over the past several months, I’ve been struggling with forgiving him – strangely, it isn’t the first time I’ve had to work on this in my relationship with him.

We met at college through mutual friends.  One weekend, most of the others took off on a trip to Portland, and the two of us found ourselves standing on the sidewalk in front of the Conard Hall, wondering what we were going to do.  As we walked to the cafeteria, we hatched a plan to go backpacking.  It was one of the most memorable trips I’ve been on.  From that point forward, we became great friends.  A few years later, he was the Best Man in my wedding, and a couple of years after that, I returned the favor and served as his Best Man.

Sometimes, time and distance don’t allow friendships to thrive the way they once did – and I’ve noticed that priorities change as we mature, obtain a spouse, and begin caring for our offspring.  However, it seemed that whenever we reconnected, our friendship continued where it left off.  It was as if the pause button had been pressed and time had stood still.  Like a brother that he was, we could easily spend hours on the phone, or talking well past midnight.

Steve lived at my house for a short time in the 90s, while he pursued new employment, and looked to move his family back to Portland, from Seattle.  Although we were both focused on our careers – and I was a bit more driven than I should have been, we had some good times.  Looking back on it, I regret charging him “rent.”  So many people have helped us in the last few years, and at the time, I didn’t need the money.  I have apologized to Steve, but in my opinion, the damage was done.  I’m not sure he ever really understood my remorse over that.

After I sold my house, and moved to California, Steve and I didn’t have a lot of contact.  Again, time, distance, and different lifestyles created a chasm in our friendship.  However, it was during this time that I began to see an imbalance in our friendship.  It seemed that I remembered birthdays and other significant events, but that was usually never reciprocated by him.

In the Fall of 2000, I asked Jennifer to marry me.  Steve was the first one I called to tell him the good news.  We had a great chat, he was pleased, and it was good to catch up.  Later, we sent him and his family an invite to the wedding, but I never heard from him.  No card, no phone call, nothing.  I eventually learned to not take it personally, and I moved on.  I embraced the good times we had shared, and accepted that I was no longer a priority in his life.

Imagine my surprise, when in the Fall of 2007, I found myself pastoring the church where Steve and his family are members.  It was an opportunity to reconnect – and we did some of that.  When his son was involved in a near-fatal car wreck, I immediately drove to the OHSU Trauma Center to give my love and support.

A few months later, as a part of my ouster, Steve wrote: “Gary has failed as my pastor.“  That cut my soul like a knife.  Not so much because it wasn’t true, but it just showed how people can so easily misinterpret our best intentions.  Even our so-called best friends abandon us sometimes – especially when they don’t have their wants fulfilled.

But, as my regular readers know, I’ve been working through the issues and learning to deal with the feelings of betrayal and misunderstanding surrounding my termination last Summer.  It’s been a hard road, but for the most part, I’m learning to let go, move on, and forgive those involved.  (By the way, it helps having a new job – and being respected and supported where I’ve landed.  This is something I haven’t felt in years!)

Many thoughts, and many emotions went through my head as I watched his minivan disappear into the distance…

When I saw Steve driving home the other night, he looked sleepy and beaten.  Like many do, he was driving over the speed limit, but right at the point where a cop would be hard-pressed to give him a ticket.  But he didn’t look happy.  He looked exhausted, and as he weaved down the lane, I could tell he was either sleepy, or intoxicated.  Knowing my friend, I vote for the former.

I saw him the next morning on my way to work.  It was in St. Helens where he pulled out onto the highway, right next to me.  This time, I had time to honk and wave – but there was no response.  I honked and waved again, this time longer and louder, but he was very busy eating cereal, probably listening to the radio, and speeding off – this time over that magic speed that won’t draw the attention of the police, and probably fast enough to get pulled over.

Many thoughts, and many emotions went through my head as I watched his minivan disappear into the distance. I was listening to a Rob Bell podcast on serenity and peace.  I was trying to understand my feelings – which, generally speaking, is not an easy task for men in general, and me in particular.

I came to these conclusions:

• First, I was no longer hurt.  I realize that Steve is/was doing his best to survive this so-called life most of us live.  The peer pressure, on him, and others in the church, was intense.  Many of my allies removed their support, and joined the fevered pitch of the mob.  I can’t really blame these folks – they have years of history, it’s the only church they know, and they have to live in the same community with the others.  For many, it is their best opportunity of social survival.  Seriously, I understand.

• Second, I am no longer angry.  Anger often stems from hurt.  Letting go of the hurt allows us to not be angry.  When we don’t hold grudges, seek revenge, or demand “justice,” we can move on and not be stuck in the moment.

• Third, I have adopted a principle of forgiveness.  Over the course of the last several decades, I’ve learned that few people live up to my expectations, many will fail in their attempts at friendship, and some will deliberately, and accidentally hurt me.  Often, it is hurting people who hurt others.  In their attempts to overcome their own hurt, they will hurt those around them.  The best thing I can do, for myself, for others, and for the person who hurt me, is to forgive them.  This principle alone has brought tremendous serenity to my life.

• The final thought that went through my head, is a little difficult to understand.  In fact, it could easily be misunderstood.  I have a mixed feeling of compassion, sympathy, and empathy.  I don’t want to be patronizing or condescending, but I actually felt sorry for the former friend who drove past me twice this week.  I’m not certain why he thinks I failed him as a pastor, but I accept that I may have failed him – and here’s why:

When I arrived in Columbia County, I saw a lot of failure.  While the churches themselves were, um, surviving.  They weren’t thriving.  Jesus said that He came to bring abundance to our lives.  It was very clear to me, from early on, that the churches I was leading were not experiencing abundance.  In fact, there were some serious dysfunctions that most organizations will not tolerate in today’s society.

We are glad to be out of that situation…

It became my goal to help these churches move out of the rote of “doing” church, to the values of being externally focused, fully developed disciples, and thriving in our lives – personally, emotionally, socially, spiritually, and within our family systems.  Unfortunately, my desire to move forward in this arena didn’t match the congregation’s willingness to be led.  My lack of tact, combined with my unconventional methods and conservative theology, were a bad mix for a church that wanted conventional methods and liberal theology.

Now that employment has once again been regained, and a significant amount of healing has occurred, The Wife and I are able to say with complete sincerity, we are glad to be out of that situation.  We believe, that for our family at least, that was an unhealthy situation.

It will take us years to fully recover, emotionally, spiritually, and financially – but it will be easier as the distance increases between us and the disaster of 2009.  We still believe, with no doubt, that we were being obedient to the call, but we are learning to shake the dust from our feet.  And I keep stamping my sandals.

I pray that they allow themselves to be discipled…

For the past several days, I have been praying that my former friends in Columbia County, will continue to seek the living God and not cling to the idolatry of an inanimate church.  I pray that they find peace, balance, and serenity.  I pray that they allow themselves to be discipled and that they become disciplemakers. I pray that we come to a point, where we can be neighbors, in the truest sense of the word, someday.

I pray for my friend Steve – and please note, this post is not meant to denigrate, or be derogatory to him, or the church.  I’m just trying to process what I see as failure, and how best to help those I love.  For the time being, that will have to be prayer – which ultimately is the best response anyway!

But that wasn’t the end of the story.  Once born, it was discovered that I was born with a severe, bilateral, cleft palate and lip.  Although one out of 500 people are born with some sort of cleft palate, many are relatively unnoticeable.  Mine was one of the worst.  Of course this made for a difficult childhood – and I certainly wouldn’t want to repeat my teenage years.  Those years are hard enough already, but kids with differences – even subtle ones – never have it easy.  Interestingly, there are very few “normal” teenagers, but that doesn’t stop the ostracizing and abuse. 

My second year of college, at age 18 & 19, was a hard year.  Between loneliness, undiagnosed (and therefore untreated) seasonal depression, and testosterone-driven angst, I ended up making some poor choices, which led to an ill-advised marriage.  This marriage came crashing down around me two and a half years later.  At the time, which I barely survived, I thought this was the most difficult thing anyone could ever face. (By the way, I don’t think 19 year olds should be allowed to make major life-altering decisions like this.)

It took about five years to recover from the divorce…

It took about five years to recover from the divorce.  The methods I chose to recover only led to deeper crises.  Getting out of that cycle required major lifestyle readjustments, and walking away from some good friends.  Still, this wasn’t the hardest thing I’d ever done.

In 1995, I left a career I loved and was good at. Not just that, but I left the safety and security of a good job – a job I would have retired from last year. Turning in my letter of resignation, selling my house, and moving to California – it felt like I had jumped off a bungee jumping tower – without a bungee cord.  Several times I mentioned to others, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  It turns out, I was wrong.

A couple of years later, after making some really good friends, I packed up and moved to Michigan.  It was a repeat of 1977-78, lonely, and a gray-Michigan, Winter-induced, seasonal depression.  I wish I could say I handled it with fewer self-administered, medications – but, unfortunately, that would be a lie.  At least this time I didn’t make any life-altering decisions during that season of despair, and I spent less time wallowing, and more time recovering.  I must say, it was a much healthier end-result by appropriately dealing with the illness, not just treating the symptoms.

You know the saying,

“What doesn’t kill us, will make us stronger.”

So, now, with all this new found strength, my beautiful wife and I dove into entrepreneurship – we headed to Colorado to start up a a new type of church.  “A community for people who have given up on church, but are still looking for God.“  It was a great experience, we made some very dear friends, and then suddenly, it was over.  We thought it would be so amazingly successful, that the funding would continue.  It turns out it was too far out of the box, and the funding ended.  We suddenly found ourselves moving to Oregon.

Our second child was just born, we left the comfort and safety of a truly loving community, and now, once again, we are in a dreary climate without friends.  It was Hell.  H. E. L. L. I thought it was the hardest time of my life – but, again, I was wrong.  It got worse.

How could it get worse? Well, instead of dealing with the despair and depression in dysfunctional ways, we were able to establish healthy boundaries and we sought to reach out for help.  Well, unfortunately, it turns out the people we reached out to were not safe.  They didn’t like our boundaries, and they didn’t like us sharing our reality.  Long story short, they burned us.  Now, not only were we fighting for the survival of our family, but now we had people trying to take away our livelihood.

Under that pressure, I began to crumble.

Under that pressure, I began to crumble.  Instead of helping the situation, I gave them more ammo.  I’m a terrible politician, I’m not very tactful, and in the face of threats to my family, I got angry.  I pushed back.  In politics, anger is never an asset.  I made some mistakes – nothing immoral, nothing bad – but politically dumb.  So, again, I thought this was the hardest time of my life.

Once again, I was wrong.  I was terminated last Summer.

We found ourselves without an income, ostracized from the club called church, and without friends.  The stigma, the weather, and the financial pressures were intense.  I’d like to say I handled it with aplomb.  But I didn’t.  I’d like to say I was able to pull myself up by my bootstraps, laugh in the face of failure, and press on to new goals.  Well, one out of three is sometimes the best one can do.  Survival was all we hoped for at times.  Clearly, up until this point in my life, this past Winter was the hardest time of my life.

“May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, hard hearts, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live from deep within your heart where God’s Spirit dwells.” ~Franciscan Blessing

We have been devastated emotionally, spiritually, financially, and socially. Our marriage has faced incredible pressures.  My mental health was fragile, at best.  And spiritually, I have merely clung to a thread of hope.  Socially, we lost contact with most of our dear Colorado friends, and the new friendships we were developing here have basically evaporated.  Some were a part of our ouster, others were afraid to be associated with us.  We thought last year was Hell – it turns out, it was merely purgatory.

I’m really not interested in seeing if this pit of despair goes any deeper.

Suddenly, in the last few weeks, things have been on the upswing. After nine months of preparation, my National and Oregon paramedic certifications came through, I was hired to be a street-medic in Portland, and I picked up a part-time contractual position working on a cardiac research project.  It’s like it all came together in a perfect storm of respect, gratitude, friendship, and employment.

Old friends came out of the woodwork to congratulate me, post positive recommendations on LinkedIn, and give my new employer positive words.  Friends welcomed me back, offered support navigating the bureaucratic minefields, and generally just respecting me.  I haven’t felt this loved and respected for years!  On top of that, I’ll be doing some contractual, one-day-a-week, cardiac research work.  Things have definitely turned around.

Now, on this side of the chasm, I can honestly say that as the Serenity Prayer so eloquently states, hardship is truly “the pathway to peace.” Accepting that is the key!

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace…”

So, after much prayer, sulking, and cave dwelling, we can finally see the light at the end of this tunnel of love. We’ve discovered who are our true friends, we’ve made new friends, we’ve been able to better define our purpose and family vision – and the most importantly, we are getting out of a career that most find hurtful to their families.  We are glad to be free!

Thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart, to all those who have not abandoned us, gotten tired of our whining, and have remained with us through this journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. You are awesome!

(Yes, you!)

We face a very real possibility of having our mortgage foreclosed. Some have told us it is unethical and immoral for us to default on our loan. However, we (nor the 7 million other homeowners who face foreclosure) didn’t cause this crisis.  It was the corrupt, greedy, and shady business practices of the big lenders who created this – along with the lack of oversight by our regulators.  Not only did they sell loans to people who couldn’t afford them, engage in predatory lending practices, but they bet against those loans – knowing they would make more money if the loans failed.

It isn’t right to expect the common homeowners to bear the brunt of this crisis. Granted, not all seven million homeowners who face foreclosure did the right thing, engaged in ethical behavior, or made correct choices. But don’t tell me I’m immoral for defaulting.

In the last three years, we have lost over $100,000 in equity.

We didn’t buy too much house. We don’t live a life of debt.  Both our cars are paid off.  We had 3-4 months salary saved – in addition to long-term savings.  It was a perfect storm of the worst recession since 1929, an unexpected job loss, the bursting of the housing bubble, and corrupt lenders.  Now, with the surviving lenders making record profits, and paying out millions of dollars in executive bonuses, people are telling me that I”m immoral for defaulting on my loan.

I don’t think so…

If we had gone into this expecting to default, that would be another story – but we entered into this secured mortgage, expecting to stay with the house for awhile.  But the rug got pulled out from underneath us.

If you want to point fingers, point them at the lenders who made shady deals and then bet on failure.  Hold their feet to the fire – not mine.

Oh, by the way, I’ve created a Facebook page here, for people to share their collective wisdom on navigating the foreclosure minefield.

Just as suddenly as our friendship started, it seemed to end.  He met someone who eventually became his wife, and they went on to live happily ever after.  I’m glad for that – they have always made a good couple.  It just caught me a little off-guard.  And being guys, we didn’t have the luxury of the break-up conversation.  He didn’t come to me and say directly that he’d met someone else, nor did he ask for “a break.“ 

Being young and insecure, I missed the cues and began to get clingy, jealous, and pouty. Yes, it was very pathetic and obnoxious.  When I eventually figured it out, both of us had already moved on with our lives and found new friends, new interests, and new directions.  We had good times, but that was then – this was now.

A few years later, I started hanging out with another friend – he was a bit younger than me, but we seemed to share a lot of interests.  His girlfriend happened to live in the same suburban, yuppie apartment complex as my girlfriend – and amazingly, they were both nurses.  We had some good times together.  But then the dynamic of the friendship changed.  I didn’t really understand what was going on at the time, but I was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic.

My new friend started showering me with gifts – music CDs, restaurant meals, and other stuff.  Most of all, it seemed as if he always wanted to be with me.  Again, being young and unwise, I didn’t really know how to handle this attention – so I baled.  Yep, just disappeared.  I quit returning phone calls, stopped being available, and just moved on.  I treated him the same way girls in high school used to treat me when I developed a crush on them.

It wasn’t until today that I connected these dots.  It wasn’t until today that I realized that the man who enjoyed my friendship probably felt pretty bad when I dumped him – without even the courtesy to talk.  Not even a “let’s just be friends” speech.

I don’t blame myself.  I was young.  But I do feel bad about it.  I understand that guys don’t really have those kinds of conversations.  I also know that that’s just the way it is sometimes.  However, twenty years later, I can sit here and realize that conversation is always the best way to handle things.

If people are important to us, we should give them the opportunity to figure out the situation.  Right?

What prompted these thoughts? I was listening to an Erwin McManus podcast and he was talking about strengths, talents, and uniqueness.  At one point he talked about how imitation of others is a great compliment, but we have to move past imitation to emulation.  When we do that, according to McManus, others will start to become our fans and will start to imitate us.

I clearly didn’t understand these concepts 30 years ago, but I am much more comfortable with the idea now.

30 years ago, I was so “damned independent,” that I refused to imitate anyone – save for a few key people (eg; my Dad).  Also, I was living a pretty erratic life and I hadn’t yet discovered how to be comfortable in my own skin.  I was afraid to cast my allegiance to anyone else – because I didn’t yet know who I wanted to be when I grew up.  I also didn’t want anyone trying to imitate, or emulate me – because I didn’t want to lead them off of a cliff.

I didn’t have a “man crush” on my paramedic friend, but when he fell into a relationship, I was jealous.  We had a pretty balanced friendship.  But I was jealous of “the other woman.“  It was stupid and pathetic (did I already mention that?) – and I can laugh about it now.  I just didn’t want to lose my good friend.

Someone told me once that melancholies make friends for life.  This has certainly been my experience.  I still think of friends I grew up with and I wonder where they are, what they’re up to, and I’d like to at least touch bases.  I’ve learned however that not everyone feels those strong bonds.  They’ve moved on and they see our years together as just for that time -  and now, it’s over.

Now that I’m more comfortable in my own skin, I’m OK with that.  In fact, sometimes just a quick connection on Facebook is enough.  It’s like bumping into them at the mall, being really glad about that, and going back to whatever errands I was taking care of.  Now we have each other’s numbers, we promised to “do lunch sometime,” but we never will.

In fact, Facebook has allowed me to “friend” the girl with whom I shared my first kiss, my first girlfriend from high school, and a lot of old classmates.  We don’t interact, and we’ve probably filtered out each other’s posts, but we can see pictures of our families, spouses, and activities.  It’s almost like calling someone and hoping you get their voice-mail so you don’t actually have to have a long, “friendly” conversation.  I just pop onto their wall, look at recent posts, look at their photos, and move on – or not.

During my early years as a firefighter, I made another friend.  We worked on the same shift and we were the about 15 years younger than the other six guys.  Somehow we started hanging out together.  We shared many great experiences.  For a couple of years, we had a great friendship.  One of my favorite activities was throwing the Frisbee with him.  On duty, that was how we worked out – we went out in front of the fire station and played a pretty athletic version of Frisbee, all the while flirting with the girls who were going to the bar next door.  Sunshine, Frisbee, and girls – what could be better?

But like many friendships, it just stopped. His girlfriend, and eventual wife, moved in with him.  I decided I needed to quit drinking and partying.  I didn’t know how to do that very well, so I just became a hermit.

Several years ago, when The Wife and I were still relative newlyweds, we were in Portland to visit family.  I tracked down my Frisbee friend and we went over to visit him.  I apologized for dropping off the planet.  He was quiet, like all normal guys are, but his wife looked at me, and with a bit of a tear in her eye, thanked me for my words and apology.

Sometimes it’s just a matter of closure.  But closure isn’t always possible.

Sometimes it’s just a matter of closure.  But closure isn’t always possible.  Cross country moves, sudden changes in employment, deep emotions, fear, anger, frustration, and confusion can lead us all to changes in our relationships.  I’ve always had a strong need to understand the people in my life and the changes that surround them.  I know longer take it personally, but I do still find it curious.  I look it as an opportunity to grow.

Yesterday, on the way to my employment medical evaluations, I was listening to a radio talk show as various experts discussed the BP Oil spill.  I don’t know what show it was [Talk of the Nation], or who the guests were, but at one point the hosts asked one of “the experts” [Dr. Slyvia Earle] what the worst case scenario is for this Gulf of Mexico disaster?  Her answer floored me – it isn’t what the typical pabulum we’ve come to expect:

The worst thing, she said, was that we won’t learn from this disaster.

Interesting.  Think about that for a moment.  Thousands of fishermen have been put out of work, hundreds of deep platform oil well operations have been shut down, millions of animals will die, the Gulf has been turned into a soupy mess of toxic waste, and the effects of this will be felt for a generation – or longer.  But the “worst-case scenario” is that we won’t learn from it?

Why is that the worst?

Because, as you know, if we don’t learn from our history, we are destined to repeat it.

From a purely academic approach, I believe this “expert” is correct.  But from an empathetic, humanistic point-of-view, it’s a little early to be overlooking the human and environmental costs.  Just as when someone loses a loved one to death, we don’t jump in with advice about the future, but instead, grieve their loss at the moment.

But it is true, we do need to learn from our mistakes! I learned to move on when my friend moved and got married.  I learned that I can “break up” with people in a more courageous and forthright manner.  I’ve learned that it’s never too late to go back an make amends for the mistakes we’ve made.  And I’ve learned that not all friendships are permanent – but the memories will always link me to those people who have been important in my life.

I’ve learned that not all friendships are permanent – but the memories will always link me to those people who have been important in my life.

Not addressing the importance of the friendship, and merely slinking away into obscurity, is immature and lacks integrity.  To say that this friendship means, or meant nothing, is a lie.  To simply disappear, like I’ve done, is to ignore the state of being that exists.  Eventually the other person takes the “hint,” but it would be best to be honest and forthright.

As I conclude my thoughts here, I realize I have a friend from years gone by that I have been ignoring.  I need to call him and make some adjustments in our friendship.  It isn’t fair to leave him hanging.  It’s the right thing to do.

Do you owe anyone some explanations?

I have various theories on this, which I won’t bore you with right now.  I just want to talk about a practice that is too often relegated to certain Eastern World-views, but shouldn’t be excluded from our lives – even if it makes us uncomfortable.

Several years ago, I learned how dangerous expectations are. Not just your average, run-of-the-mill woulda-coulda-shoulda, but also those expectations we have for other people’s attitudes and behaviors.  Expectations, easily become premeditated resentments.  When we expect something to happen, or someone to do something – and they don’t – we resent them.  Why is this?

You’ll hear people talking about “Living in the moment.“  It’s a Zen thing, right?  But what does it mean?

Did you know that Jesus taught the same principle?  That’s right.  In His Sermon on the Mount, he said that we shouldn’t concern ourselves with tomorrow.  Don’t worry about it, “today has enough concerns,” He said.

But how do I do this?  How can I live a life without expectations? How can I quit projecting my life into the future, or getting stuck in moments gone by?  What keeps me from living in this moment, right here, right now?

Is the present so painful that I have to escape?  Am I so afraid of the future, that I lean back into the past?

Heather Canyon, located at Mt. Hood Meadows, is Oregon’s legendary Double Black Diamond ski slope.  I’ll never forget the first time I tried to ski it.  At that time, I still skied in jeans and a pair of cheap skis I bought from G.I. Joe’s.  Although I’d become quite proficient skiing Meadows’ North and South Canyons, as well as Texas – I still had much to learn.  I would usually struggle making it down the regular black runs – even when they were groomed and the conditions were optimal.

One sunny afternoon, while skiing with some risk-taking friends, I found myself standing at the top of Heather Canyon.  The view was breathtaking.  Eastern Oregon spread out below us – it was a tastefully, splendid afternoon.  Sunshine, very little wind, below freezing, and blue skies!  Looking south from that vantage point, one can see several snow-topped, Cascade volcanic, mountain peaks.  But as I looked at the slope I was standing on, I grew a little uneasy.

Not only was it very steep, about 30°, but I was standing on ice. Not snow – ice.  I was told to not ski to the bottom, or I’d have to hike out.  Also, at the bottom, is this huge bump – it looks like the dome inside the crater at Mt. St. Helens.  This made the run seem particularly daunting, for there was no way to escape, should I loose control.  My friend Sarge, plunged into the abyss and I watched him closely, in an attempt to quickly learn how to ski this run and survive.  My heart was pounding in my chest.

Learning to ski well, means learning to overcome one’s fear of leaning forward.  Human nature tells us to lean away from danger, but when skiing, if you lean away from falling down the mountain, you will fall.  Just as walking is a series of controlled falls forward, skiing is falling forward, but checking the fall by turning your skis and changing direction.  The more you turn, the slower you go.  Fewer turns means faster descent.

Turning frequently, on a 30° slope, is not easy.  Reactions have to be quick – and fast.  In addition, one has to be very intentional and aggressive.  It is more than just finesse, it requires great strength and agility.  A Blue slope can be very forgiving, and falls are much slower.  Black Diamond slopes increase one’s speed, and greatly reduce the margin for error.  I was about to find out how unforgiving a double black could be.

As I plunge into my life, too often, I lean too far forward, wanting what I don’t yet have, and I end up falling flat on my face.

Mike plunged over the hill and disappeared from my sight. Just before he left, he reminded me to fall into the hill, plant my pole, and ski around it.  Although I’ve never taken a lesson, I was learning this technique.  But it is easy to get lazy on the blues.  On the blue slopes, I could slide my turns, lean back, and coast.  There is no relaxing on Heather.

I leaned out with my pole and made a pretty good first turn.  It was really icy, and my skis were not designed for this sort of terrain.  In fact, I’d started to surpass my ski’s capabilities the year before. By the time I was ready to make the second turn, I was going quite fast.  Much faster than I ever wanted to go in ice, on what seemed like a near vertical slope, that bottomed out into rocks.  Now it was time to make that second turn, on my weak side.

I’m not sure if I completed the second turn, or if I was ready to make the third turn, but the next thing I knew, I was lying flat on my back, sliding head first, downhill, and picking up speed.  If I had been leaning into the turns, I wouldn’t be on my back.  This just confirmed that I had leaned back.  I was amazed at how fast I was going – there really wasn’t any time to think about it.  I had to react.

I was able to get from supine to prone, even at 30 mph.  Now, with my face just over the ice surface I was sliding on, I knew I had to act quickly.  Somehow I still had one ski pole in my hand, and I used it to dig into the slope and turn my body around.  When my feet were below me, I dug the toes of my ski boots into the ice, while using the pole to dig in also.  It was a technique my friend Ray had taught me when we had climbed Hood a few years earlier.

I slowly stopped.  There I was, just a speck, hanging on to the side of an ancient volcano – feeling like I’d just escaped death – which I probably had.  One ski was far below me, another above.  I still had the pole that saved me in my hands, but it took some looking before I found the other.  Now, all I had to do was recover my gear and get off of this cliff!

My mistake was classic, I leaned back.  (It was also the only time I’ve ever caused myself to bleed while skiing)

My mistake was classic, I leaned back. My fear of the slope, caused me to lean away from the deliberate fall I needed to be in.  I failed to live in the moment, I wanted to stay in a previous moment of time and space.  I didn’t want to keep accelerating, I wanted to stop – or at least go much slower.

Unfortunately, we rarely have control over our circumstances. Whether plunging down a mountain slope, or into the throes of debt, it is very difficult to change course.  Whether falling in love, or falling from grace, once the fall has begun, it is difficult to change directions.  But falling in love can be a good thing, if one leans into it.  If you lean to hard, you’ll scare the other away – and the relationship will crash.  If you lean away, you may lose something that could have been beautiful.

rite hear, rite now from Gary Walter on Vimeo.

As I plunge into my life, too often, I lean too far forward, wanting what I don’t yet have, and I end up falling flat on my face.  Other times, I lean back, stuck in a moment, and fall flat on my back.  Wishing for the past is called nostalgia.  Wishing for something you don’t have, is called lust.  I struggle with both.  When I long for the past, it’s like wishing I was back in Egypt – forgetting about all the bad things there.  When I lust for something I want, I often don’t see how I could make better choices – I get too focused on what I want, not what I need.

What if I chose to live, right here, right now, in this moment.  I can remember fondly the memories of the past, but I don’t need to go back there.  I can even expect the future to overcome me, but I don’t have to make my own future.

Too often, in my journey, I have pursued desires, hopes, dreams, and positions with an alacrity that was not healthy.  Sometimes my desires plunged me over cliffs that I was not skilled enough to handle.  Other times, my fear of the future – or the present, was such that I would escape into a cocoon of isolation and aloneness.

Yesterday, as I was talking to The Wife about this.  I realized that often my communication angst, frustrations, and distemper are because of my expectations.  Whether running late for appointments, facing the realities of marital conflict, or dealing with disobedient children – I find it is too easy… way too easy, to get overly frustrated, and lose the serenity that allows me to be at peace.

What if….

• …I accepted the current situation for what it is – the current situation?
• …I lived without expectations?
• …I trusted myself, my family, my friends, those around me, and my God to work together and successfully negotiate the present turn?
• …I took one situation, or turn, at a time?
• …I focused on the present – not the past, not the future, but the present?
• …What would happen to my attitude if I was right here, right now?

Wanting things to be different from what they are, is usually the source of most of our dysfunctional behavior.

Wanting things to be different from what they are, is what causes me to be a workaholic; to get into relationships I shouldn’t be in; to bend my values and principles; to take jobs that I shouldn’t take; to put up with unsafe people; to get angry at my wife; to drive too fast; to lie, steal, and cheat; to eat what I shouldn’t; to watch what I shouldn’t; to go to bed late, and to sleep in too late.  Wanting things to be different from what they are, is usually the source of most of our dysfunctional behavior.  What would happen if we just accepted who, when, where, and why we are what we are, and the circumstances around us – not as fate, but as a part of the journey to be discovered?

What would happen if we just accepted who, when, where, and why we are what we are, and the circumstances around us – not as fate, but as a part of the journey to be discovered?

Seriously, what if…

The citizens of Oregon, with help from Federal taxpayers, through the Oregon DHS, have been providing us with just enough assistance to get by during this trying time.  The unemployment insurance checks amount to just a little over $1800 a month (more on this in a minute), we receive food assistance, through the Oregon Trail EBT program, that covers $200 of our monthly food bill; and in addition, our kids get full medical insurance coverage, and The Wife and I have been receiving basic coverage – which we pay $36 a month for. 

A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to reapply for the Oregon Health Plan insurance program.  They just want to keep tabs on their enrollees, and make sure our financial/income status hasn’t changed.  Just a formality, I was told.  However, last week, when I opened the mail, there was a form letter informing us that Jennifer and I are no longer eligible for the program.  I was confused.

It took me a few minutes to wrap my brain around this…

When I called our caseworker, she explained it to me like this:

• They look at a two-month income average.
• Because May has five weeks, we will make too much money on unemployment this time.
• The cut-off is $1800 – during April and May, our average is just over that.
• Though the kids are still enrolled, Jennifer and I are not.

It took me a few minutes to wrap my brain around this.  How could a family of four, whose only income is unemployment insurance, make too much money to qualify for Medicaid?  Apparently it’s because of the five-week month, and the cut-off income level.

I asked our case-worker, a real helpful lady by the name of Theresa – actually everyone in the St. Helens office has been very helpful, and very nice – I asked her what would happen if I skipped a couple of weeks of unemployment checks.  Would that allow us to keep health insurance?  There was a pause on the phone, then I heard fingers on a calculator.  Obviously she’d never been asked this question before.

By skipping two weeks of unemployment checks, it would mean a loss of just under $900 to our family.  However, besides being treated for a serious internal infection and being on antibiotics for the past three weeks, I am scheduled for further testing and treatment with a specialist.  I wondered if losing $800+ wouldn’t be better than losing insurance.  In addition, our out-of-pocket prescription costs would be around $200 a month.

I went in to talk to my specialist on Thursday, and after some discussion, he assured me that it would be probably best to take the unemployment, and not worry about the insurance.  He gave me paperwork for more blood-work, and sent me on my way.  The lab results will come back later this week, after our insurance expires tonight.

At least my kids are covered.

Also tomorrow, the moratorium on our mortgage expires.  We have been trying to work with Wells Fargo Home Mortgage since last August, to try and find a way to lower payments, adjust the loan and/or interest rate, and to keep our house.  A couple of months ago, they “allowed” a moratorium on making payments.  As of tomorrow, we will owe in excess of $14,000 in back payments.  They’ve made it clear, that without an income, other than unemployment, they are unwilling to work with us.

I tried to explain, that if I had a job, we wouldn’t need their help.  But that seems irrelevant to the discussion.

It appears their formulas are based on two-income families.  But it has been shown, time and again, that two-income families are really no better off than single-income families.  In addition, we have no other debts.  We don’t owe on credit cards, both our cars are paid off (and old), and we don’t owe anyone any money – except for our house.

“They can’t refuse to treat you,” they say.

It’s at this point that some of my friends would tell me to not worry about not having medical expenses.  “They can’t refuse to treat you,” they say.  But that doesn’t mean they won’t come after us for the money.  I’ve been paying $5 a month on an old doctor’s bill from last year.  In the meantime, they’ve been charging me $3 a month in late charges.  At this rate, I’ll be paying on this bill when my kids are in college!

Currently, the infection I’m being treated for has no symptoms. I will take the last of the prescribed antibiotics later this week.  If it is more than an infection – say, a tumor, I am not scheduled for any further tests to detect it.  This isn’t something they can deal with at the urgent care clinic.  However, it is something a man of my age should be concerned about.

Please don’t get me wrong.  I’m NOT complaining.  But we are concerned – it’s unknown territory.

Very soon, probably in the next seven to ten days, I will have my Oregon Paramedic certification in hand.  This will allow me to work as a paramedic in Oregon – and resume my role as a contributor to the tax roles, not a drain on the system.  I don’t feel guilty about receiving aid, as I’ve been contributing since I was 11 years old.  And my Dad, as a small business owner, surely contributed more than enough over time.

In addition, I’m going to OHSU tomorrow, to meet with an old friend and see about doing some research work in emergency medicine.

The next two weeks should be filled with interesting developments.  We may, or may not lose our house.  I may, or may not have some horrible, bankrupting disease.  I may, or may not return to the active workforce.

This is why we pray – we are at peace.  It’s not our battle.  We’ve turned it over to our God. We are living the abundant life!

As we continued through the process of recovery and healing, The Wife and I had another real-life friend, who was also on Facebook.  It seemed as if whenever we posted something, he had a “solution.“  It was beginning to bother me.  I wasn’t looking for solutions, I just wanted empathy.  Not sympathy, not pity, just understanding. 

I am a huge believer of the idea that working through conflict will enable relationships to be stronger.  And the reverse, avoiding conflict hurts us more than if we’d addressed it.

So, after one of our friend’s more directive posts, I asked him, politely – and uncharacteristically tactfully – to not be so “solution-oriented” and directive.  This led to a series of conversations over the next week or so.  Each time, he would conclude with: “no worries.“  And then about a week after I thought we’d come to a good resolution of this conversation, both Jennifer and I noticed he had unfriended us.  It appears to me that he wasn’t telling me the truth when he said, “no worries.”

I was shocked – SHOCKED!”

I bumped into a colleague of mine at a Christmas pageant.  He was there with his family, I with mine.  We have always gotten along great!  His wife and mine, both nurses, have a great time talking. They have kids the same age as ours.  Plus, we share many mutual friends.  Though I didn’t really notice it at the time, thinking back, I realized he seemed uncomfortable around me.  A few months later, we ran into this family again.  This time I definitely felt negative vibes.  A few days later, I noticed he was no longer my “friend” on Facebook.

I was shocked – SHOCKED!  From what I know about this former “friend,” this was a political move designed to cover his butt and distance himself from the evil man (me!) who got fired.  Or, maybe it was an accident?  I don’t know, and seriously, I’m losing my ability to care.  Seriously, I don’t have the space, the time, nor the energy to keep up with 700 people on Facebook, 1000 people on Twitter, or the 70+ regular readers of my blog.  Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate them, but I am only human.  I am not omnipresent.

I have several “friends” on Facebook whom I’ve never met in real life. They are either “friends of friends,” readers of this blog, or for some other reason, they wanted to friend me.  Unless you are a callow, sp*m marketer who uses pretty women’s photos to lure people in, I have a policy of saying “yes!” to all friend requests.  Unless someone is outlandishly abusive, I have no problem being their online friend.  And in the process, I’ve met some incredible people – whom I would love to meet in real life!

The people I interact with the most, are people with whom I have a relationship.  Most of them, I’ve met in real life.  Others, I want to – but through the magic of the Interwebs, we can reach out to one another, even though we are at least 13,000 miles from each other – or have never actually met!

I also know there are many reasons why people “unfriend” friends.  For instance, I’m very verbose online, many of my Twitter posts are also posted on Tumblr, Blogger, identi.ca, Friendfeed, and Facebook.  In addition, I have a few different pages I manage on Facebook, a couple of blogs I moderate, and I believe in transparency and authenticity.  However, I don’t expect everyone to really care that much about my life.  Seriously, why would they?

I also know that some have unfriended me because they don’t understand how to use the privacy tools and filters available on Facebook – or other media.  While that’s too bad, I have to admit, unfriending someone is often the easiest way to reduce the clutter in one’s stream.  Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.  However, if I am diligent about hiding Farmville (and related) posts and page invites, it doesn’t take long for my stream to be clutter free.

My Lego is pretty full anyway.”

At 51 years old, I’m tired of playing the popularity game.  I no longer need to wear $60 Calvin Klein jeans to demonstrate my coolness; I can still be cool in my $13 Costco jeans.  I can wear sensible shoes, drive a un-stylish 17 year old car, and eat practical, healthy food.  And, if someone doesn’t want to be my friend, colleague, or even to admit they know me – that’s fine.  My Lego is pretty full anyway.