In our ongoing study through the Gospel of Mark, the last two Sundays have dealt with what Ethan has termed, “Bold Faith.”  This past Sunday, the 28th of January, his theme for Mark 11:12-14, 20-25 was “Speak to the Mountain” that dovetailed with what I have been experiencing in the last two weeks or so. 

As many of you know who follow my blog, I have been on a journey since coming out of prison that has been rather ‘interesting’ at times.  Part of that has been my struggle with PTS (Post Traumatic Stress) from my adventures in the Navy and since.  Thankfully treatment with Harbor Reins in Cary (equine-assisted psychotherapy) did much to bring healing; really the only overt sign has been my ongoing hand tremors.  I began treatment while still living in the Triangle part of North Carolina, starting several different medications and finally having a neurologist there settle on Primidone.  After moving to Asheville with beaches (Wilmington), I continued this treatment, gradually increasing the dosage to the maximum allowed.  There were times when with each increase the tremors did seem to subside somewhat, but never for very long.  While the tremors persisted despite increasing dosages, I did begin to experience some, at times, dramatic side effects in the way of easily losing my balance.  It is to the point where I am unable to ride my bicycle, and it would not be a  good thing to have some officer administer a road-side sobriety test to me as I would flunk it stone cold sober.

So, what to do?  The tremors were interfering with handwriting as well as typing (word-processing?) with the result that I all but stopped blogging.  Additionally, much of my morning devotions and Bible study diminished greatly because I was mostly unable to work the computer based study software.  I knew that God wanted me to study (big duh) and meditate on his Word, even continue to blog, but the tremors continued to make it all but impossible.  As the days became weeks and months, I noticed that I was always tired and would take frequent naps each day despite having slept for 8 to 12 hours at night!  It puzzled me why this was happening until one night while driving home from the USO-NC Jacksonville Center where I volunteer, I ‘happened’ to listen to the Good News Network station on Harker’s Island, specifically to a ministry called Know The Truth led by Pastor Phillip De Courcy.  The lesson this particular night came from Jonah 1 and something Pastor De Courcy said was like a Gibb’s slap to the back of my head (if you don’t watch NCIS you won’t understand the reference).  He said that this snoring prophet was exhausted enough to sleep through a storm because he was running from God’s will for him.  I remember ‘speaking’ to God along the lines of, “Okay, that’s why I’m tired because I’ve stopped blogging and studying, but I held up my shaking hands to the ceiling as if to show God why I’d stopped. 

So, what to do?  I spent some time praying and speaking with God about this, and it was as though he was waiting for something from me.  As with Jonah when he wound up in a rather unconventional berth (first ever sub sailor?) as a result of his disobedience, I cried out to God in anguish.  While I don’t think it was bargaining (much), I did ask God to take the tremors away.  At that moment, my hands did stop trembling!  My surprise (yeah, real faith prayer that) lasted for a bit, then I began dancing around and praising God for his delivering me.  Another decision I came to was to discontinue the medication I’d been taking to try and get my equilibrium back (something that is not usually a good idea, going from max dose to nada).  No one knew of my decision for over a week (including Kathy); there were times when the tremors would reappear, each time I would pray and ask God to once again deliver me from this barrier to what I believed he wanted of me.  Then Pastor Ethan spoke his lesson, “Speak to the Mountain!”  I’ve no idea how I managed to remain in my seat; perhaps I was so dumbfounded at this lesson being almost exact reiteration of my previous two weeks. 

So, is the struggle with tremors now over?  No, not really.  They are much less noticeable now than before, and I continue sans medication.  Interestingly enough, once I made this decision, my energy level returned to normal enabling me to awaken early each morning to spend time alone with my King and his Word even if I’d stayed up late the previous night.  As with other areas of my life, the tremors are a reminder of my weakness and dependence on God.  It is not the meds or anything other than God’s sovereignty over every aspect of my life that will enable me to honor him each day in all I say and do. 


The journey continues…

Furbabies. 

A term I’ve heard fairly often referring to the animals that come into our lives; seemingly inconsequential when compared with children, but then again perhaps not.  One of the three cats that Kathy adopted while I was in prison, C.J., became more than a pet or even a fur baby, at least to me.  Through her brokenness and at times violent objection to being caged in a pet carrier (it was definitely a two-person job with much trickery involved) she taught me much of how my journey Home was far too often a real mess. 

When Kathy adopted her, she was worm-filled and the treatment (that was repeated over several months) being neuro-toxic, left her with a rather scrambled view of the world (cross-eyed notwithstanding).   If it were necessary to take her anywhere (such as when we moved), we would have one person sit with a beach towel on their lap.  The other conspirator would pick up C.J. and approach the beach towel, petting and speak softly to her.  Once she was placed on the towel, the idea was to wrap her QUICKLY up, then lower the towel into the cat carrier.  Once Kathy attempted to do this without help; the scars on her arms and hands, while not permanent, were a reminder not to do that again!

Yes, C.J. had her violent side, but she wormed her way into my heart with the gentler side of her persona.  Many a morning, while the coffee was brewing, she would walk over and hop up onto my lap so I could pick her up and hold her on my shoulder.  This routine would continue for a few years and was something I looked forward to each day.  I remember writing about her seeking me out (not only in the morning but throughout the day as well) and often thought that God would have me seek him with the same persistence and intensity.  My ‘professor’ of Cat Theology was a patient instructor; spending many an hour perched on my shoulder purring into my ear as I held her.

That changed a bit over the past few weeks; she also began being VERY vocal as she walked around the house.  We put it off to her Siamese side coming out, but I missed the frequent shoulder times.  Even when she did assent to climb onto my lap so I could hold her, it was rare for her to purr as she once had.  Again, I shrugged it off…

This afternoon, when I came home, Kathy told me that C.J. wasn’t able to climb into the litter box and had urinated on the rug we have underneath it instead.  We decided to take her to a local veterinarian whose warm manner and gentle treatment of C.J. seemed to help her (and me) relax a bit.  I knew something was very wrong when I picked her up (sans towel) and gently placed her in the cat carrier, but we were hopeful that whatever it was, the vet could fix it.  As it turned out, C.J. was in the last throes of diabetic ketoacidosis, and there was only one thing to do.  I crouched beside the treatment table and wrapped one arm around her as I continually stroked her with my other hand, telling her how much I loved her.  Soon, it was over and our C.J., my dear professor of theology, was gone.

Between tears and regret for not being more observant, I have been pondering what this last lesson the professor wanted me to learn.  Don’t wait to tell those around you how much you love them because you may not have a tomorrow with that person.  Be ‘in the moment’every day, or, as Jim Elliot put it, “Wherever you are, be all there.”  Don’t take for granted the love of others (even your fur babies); be sure they know that you care for them.

Thank you, C.J.; for all the wisdom you have given me; thank you, God, for sharing this creature with me for these far too few years.

Humiliation. 
Not a very popular idea in this me-first world we live in and definitely not something for a prideful, arrogant man to experience willingly.  To have such a man debased and set aside by those who had followed and respected him was a blow that would crush his spirit.  Further, to not be able to find any meaningful work after over 450 attempts.  Oh, from the title you expected this would be about Saul of Tarsus, sorry but it is my own tale by which I by no means compare myself to my brother Paul, simply that it reflects how God does often work.

Being incarcerated seemed to me to be the ultimate in humiliation.  While rightly convicted, the idea of throwing away a career as a paramedic and nurse to spend the rest of my life (a very real possibility), becoming a plaything of those employed by the prison system was a rude awakening.  My first case manager warned me that there were two types of guards and officials in the so-called Department of Correction; those who knew I was in prison as punishment and those who believed I was in prison to be punished.  Sadly, he told me, the latter were in the vast majority, and they loved their job!  That was to be my experience for the next 23 years, 7 months and 25 days.

I did make a profession of faith and surrender to Christ within 3 weeks of arriving at Central Prison; my growth as a disciple was haphazard at best as I continued throughout my stay in prison to deny my guilt.  My fear was if I ‘fessed up’ my family and wife would abandon me as I had plead not-guilty and cost my family a significant amount of money.  This was something I wrestled with for the entire time I was in prison and for years afterward.  That refusal to ‘come clean’ kept me from much of what God would have done for me; “I” was still primary and on the throne of my heart as reflected in some of my behavior after coming to Christ.  Time and again I had people tell me that my story reminded them of Joseph (Genesis 30 and following) for my being imprisoned unjustly.  After a time, I actually began to believe this, and when reading Acts 9 and studying it, I began to feel that this was my time of humiliation. 

Finally, the day came when I was released.  I had attended the Chapel Hill Bible Church for some time after getting out of the Navy, but my main reason was for the ‘target rich environment’ with all the coeds.  The pastor, James Abrahamson, sought to mentor me but much of what he shared with me went in one ear and out the other.  Seeds were planted that would come to fruition once I was in prison (well, at least my journey in Christ did begin even if somewhat haphazardly at the time.  I reconnected with Jim while in minimum custody and decided to start attending there even though Jim was no longer pastor.  When I learned why and how Jim did not attempt to ameliorate the circumstances of his fall, it stil did not move me to be honest with anyone about my guilt.

Jay Thomas is the pastor there and was a wonderful expositional teacher of Scripture.  I really felt this was where God wanted me and so my wife and I became members.  Sometime later, while Jay was teaching through the Gospel of John, he said something that pricked my heart about my continuing disavowal of my guilt.  After the service I spoke with him briefly, asking for a time in the coming week when we could meet.  At the same time, I knew that I had to speak with Jim Abrahamson as well, but most of all with Kathy.  I feared that she would be so angry with my lying over the years, that she would toss me out.  When we got home, we sat together in the living room of our home, and I confessed to her what I’d done.  She did not want to believe it at first; that was difficult as how do you tell someone you love deeply that you have lied to them for over 28 years? 

Well, by God’s grace she did believe me and did not toss me out the front door.  During this time I began experiencing many symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress but did not make the connection with those same symptoms from after I got out of the Navy.  Even before getting out of prison, I had applied to multiple places for employment.  I’d earned an Associate’s degree in Computer Information Technology and was hoping that would at least get me in the door.  It did not; the one interview I had with an IT firm in the Triangle lasted well over an hour.  At the conclusion, I asked the interviewer what the next step would be.  He kind of laughed and then said he had no intention of hiring me, that my resume intrigued him and he just wanted to speak with me.

450+ applications using a variety of online and other services led to nothing more than the sound of crickets.  No one seemed to want to hire an ex-felon, even those companies that specialized in such gave me a pass.  It was humiliating to me not to be able to find work other than with Measurement, Inc., a company that had hired me as a reader while I was on work release.  The work there was definitely seasonal and not really enough to be a real help in making me feel as though I was ‘head of the household.’  Yeah, that pride thing was still working.  Once I passed the age of 62, a friend suggested I check what I could get from them if I ‘retired’ compared if I waited until 65 or 70.  Due to the time in prison, there was really no difference, so at the end of that month, I filed for Social Security.  That paltry sum I began to receive did help, combined with the episodic checks from Measurement, Inc., but still left me wondering if that was all I could expect.

It hurt me (still pride, but also something else) because my lack of income would force Kathy to continue working longer than she’d hoped.  I tried other ventures (Real Estate Broker was a flop as the NC Real Estate Commission refused to license me as a broker) but continued with my $600.00 or so a month.  The anger and frustration that I often took out on Kathy (or inanimate objects in our house) fueled more and more suicidal ideations.  I just wanted the suffering to end; both mine and the pain I was causing Kathy.  My attempts were often interrupted by a phone call or other such (one time as I stood on the Brewer Road overpass a Durham County Deputy just happening to roll by). 

Sitting in this man’s car and talking about life, especially for those who have come out of prison, combined with a speaker at a conference I attended as a USO-NC volunteer, opened my eyes to the fact that I had PTS.  To say that the VA hospital was less than helpful would be putting it mildly, but with the help of Senator Burr’s office, I finally was not only diagnosed with PTS but given a disability rating that enabled me to receive over $1,000.00 every month.  Still, it wasn’t work and sitting at home everyday (when not volunteering somewhere) just made me feel all the more worthless. 

In October of 2016, I attended the annual meeting of an organization affiliated with Our Children’s Place (I’d been a board member since my release from prison).  During a meeting with their board before the annual meeting, one of their management persons told me that while they did not have a position for me at that time, they would in the Spring.  Others of the board of OCP who overheard our conversation were elated; for the first time since being indicted in 1987, I had hope of meaningful work.  Kathy was elated, and since we had rented a place in town through Airbnb, we started looking for a place to live and a home church.  That search brought us to Windsor Park and, more importantly, to the Bridge Church on Market Street in Wilmington.  We moved in January 2017 to a rental from VRBO until our house in Windsor Park was completed (end of July 2017). 

I checked the website of this company everyday (sometimes more often) and was elated when I saw the position listed.  Within an hour I had transmitted my cover letter, resume and other material requested; then I waited…and waited…and waited.  Later that month, the position was no longer on the website; apparently, they had filled it without even calling me in for an interview! 

Humiliation.

It seemed that no one was interested in hiring me; despite our hopes, we were back to ‘normal’ with me the house-husband and Kathy working.  I was REALLY frustrated and angry but was at the point in my walk with the Christ that despair and depression did not happen…much.  Then this past week it was as if cotton wool had been taken off my eyes (nothing to do with my new Rx of glasses); if all I could do was serve others through my volunteer activities, then that is what I would do.  Today I was reminded by an old friend (Chuck Swindoll, Insight for Living) of something A. W. Tozer wrote some time ago that has been true in my life over and over.

Amazingly, as a result of this past week, I am content with being a professional volunteer with both the USO-NC (Jacksonville Center) and the Battleship North Carolina.  There are some things I do to contribute to The Bridge Church; these activities (along with cooking for my beloved) are enough.