A RECOVERY PARADOX...FOR ME ANYWAY

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

So reads what is known in the Recovery World of Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, Nicotine Anonymous, Sex Addicts Anonymous, and all of the myriad “Anonymouses,” or “Anonymai,” as the “Serenity Prayer.”  This Prayer has been recited by literally millions of people, and will likely be recited by millions more in the years and decades to come, especially as addictions continue to plague society.  It is a Prayer in which the person reciting it is committing to—or at least desiring to commit to—an emotional surrendering to a Higher Power.  This spirit of surrender is embodied in the first three steps of the Twelve Step Program that the organizations above espouse:

Step 1—We admitted we were powerless over [our addiction]—that our lives had become unmanageable.  (“I can’t.”)

Step 2—Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.  (“God can.”)

Step 3—Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him.  (“I’ll let him.”)

The idea of “surrendering” in the recovery world that I inhabit is both appealing and perplexing to me.  Secular, popular Western culture (and ironically, LDS culture) seems to promote personal self-sufficiency, yet “surrendering” is in line with the doctrine of grace in Christian and other religious communities.  In my world of addiction recovery, and I spend a lot of time there, there appears to be a paradox of the Addict surrendering to God (a la Twelve Step Programs) vs. those same Programs and addiction rehabilitation programs far and wide promoting cognitive-based behavioral changes which have as their goal to restructure the thinking of the triggered addict so that new, positive, non-irrational thoughts can produce new positive behaviors.  It seems paradoxical to me because the former implies that the Addict is powerless over the addiction and should surrender to it (to feel it), and surrender to a “full of grace” God, yet the latter would imply that the Addict indeed has power and should take the “non-surrendering” responsibility and change his/her irrational thoughts that lead to addictive, destructive behaviors. 

Interestingly, in my therapy and Twelve Step work I have related both ideas to clients and members of recovery groups, depending on the circumstance.  I can easily defend both ways of dealing with addiction.  Perhaps this may be a deficiency in me.  I have the thought that I am wanting/needing to work out this paradox in order to be completely congruent in my role as a therapist.  But then, could both ways of looking at recovery be correct for the addict?  Can he/she experience both and incorporate them into their recovery? How does that work?  

Is it possible that surrender is indeed a necessary and integral part of recovery, and that someone using and “working” the Twelve Steps can simultaneously surrender will and change thoughts (“stinking thinking”)which then change behaviors?  Does the addict surrender to God (or a Higher Power) who then theoretically changes the thoughts of the addict?  Is challenging the irrational thinking a focus on abstinence from the addiction rather than on real recovery (assuming the belief that abstinence is not necessarily recovery)?

Or can it be said that surrendering to the feeling of the desire to “act out” or to participate in the addiction (feeling one’s “dark side”) must indeed occur in order for the addict to cognitively not engage in “stinking thinking” and choose not to indulge in the behavior? Is this the process that ultimately must take place in the life of the addict before there is recovery?  If so, what role does a Higher Power (God) and the addict’s surrendering to It/Him play in that process?

Or is the idea of surrendering the initial part of recovery, and the cognitive challenging of irrational thoughts the later, on-going work of the recovery process?  Or, when all is said and done, are they just two different ways of dealing with addiction?

I congratulate those who read this blog and have gotten to this end of my musings about addiction.  Writing this blog is an important outlet for me and this posting is all about me and my musings.  I apologize to anyone reading this who has not been affected by addiction or who couldn’t care less.  This blog is about my transitions (RED IN TRANSITION) and this is a transition from uncertainty that I want to make that is important to me.

The Page Is Turned

The Adam Johnson family left in its entirety early this past Sunday morning for their residence in Brooklyn, New York.  They arrived safely, thank God.  Our daughter Emily reports that she and the kids are settling in to their previous life there.  And I'm sure Adam is back in the routine of bottles, diapers, bathing, taking Elizabeth to potty. But our home is VERY quiet now.  Items left in one place one day are still there the next.  It takes three to four days to fill up our dishwasher.  Did I say that our home is VERY quiet now?

I find myself missing (somewhat) the "controlled chaos."  I find myself missing the hugs and smiles.  I find myself missing Elizabeth's giggles.  I find myself missing the love I felt from Emily.

Emily reported that when they finally arrived back at their apartment in Brooklyn after the long flight, upon entering, Eddie looked around and said, "Pumpa?"   

 

What A Journey

As I am wont to do, I become philosophical when confronting challenges and trials.  I look at what is occurring, what I am experiencing and feeling, and then postulate ideas based upon them.  It is probably only normal and to be expected that as I near the end of a two-month journey with my daughter, son-in-law, and four grand children, I try to figure out the “takeaway” of it all.

In speaking with people, I have been told how wonderful it is and how blessed it must be to have them stay with us.  To be sure, it has been a great and memorable experience, but as with most life situations, it occasionally has involved some “rough sledding.”  My intent is not to pass judgment on the past two months, but merely to comment on what it has been like.  I hope that came through as well in the last posting I did as seen through the eyes of one of the triplets.  There have been some wonderful, touching moments, and there have been others when I left home with children screaming and crying and feeling grateful that I was able to leave.

Much of societal change and invention in this day and age has to do with self-satisfaction and finding meaning in one’s life.  The mantra seems to be that if one feels stress, boredom, anxiety, challenge, sadness or pain, that person should do whatever it takes to simplify life, to ease up on the gas pedal, so to speak, and to do whatever it takes to reduce the difficulties of life.  It seems to be a societal belief that having these “negatives” in one’s life is unacceptable and to be avoided.  If you doubt what I am saying, you need to go no farther than to the television and look at the substance of the commercials.

Not that one should deliberately look for difficulties to steer through in life, but what has been my life experience has been that I have grown the most in my character in those moments when I have found myself in the crucible, those very difficult circumstances.  Obviously, my challenges compared to those of others might very well be considered light weight or barely registering on the difficulty scale, but nonetheless they have been difficult for me.  I see them as divinely given/allowed for specific purposes and for my exact needs.

I have written previously about the experience of the decision and then attending graduate school in an effort to effect a career change while serving as a lay ecclesiastical leader of a congregation of 200. I did this while working full time and being a full-time husband and father.  These were times of extremity, times of frustration, times of extreme weariness, times of self-doubt, times of non-stop intensity.  I think about other times in my life when obstacles were numerous, feelings were intense, circumstances were challenging, and I have lived through them all. 

Most importantly, in my extremity, I have grown the most and learned lessons that I would have missed had I chosen/been given an easier path.  I have become what I am today, and while there could be a discussion as to exactly what that is and to my value in the pool of humanity, I am comfortable and accepting of where I am.  That does not mean that I will rest on my laurels or whatever other metaphor comes to mind.  It means that I will not be afraid to put myself/be put in challenging positions in the future because I know they will be for my best good now and in eternity.  It means that having my New York family here was a difficult, wonderful experience.

Every tear, every scream, every child crying jag, every toy picked up, every diaper changed (especially the poopy ones), every dish and utensil washed, every dollar spent on additional food, every child buckled into a car seat, every wiggling child held during a church meeting, every door slammed, every window dirtied by sticky hands, every piece of furniture moved to accommodate cribs and pack and plays, every email not sent from my office that now serves as a child’s bedroom, every light globe broken, every peanut butter sandwich made, every piece of cheese and grape cut in half for the kids’ snack, every piece of food swept off the kitchen floor or picked off the floor and pew at church, every room vacuumed, every night’s sleep awakened by a crying child, every towel wrapped around the wiggly body of a just-bathed, wet child, every spill dried up, every child pushed in a stroller, every child swept off their feet because they were where they shouldn’t be, every fly taken out of a baby’s mouth (yes I did that once, and luckily it was dead…but so gross!), every bottle warmed up in my bleary-eyed state at 6:30am, every plastic latch opened and shut purchased to prevent kids from getting into a cabinet or drawer and emptying its contents, every face washed over the sink because of food or dirt, every toy on the floor that becomes an obstacle course for me, every ladder or chair that is in my front yard to stop kids from going where they shouldn’t go or from eating dirt, every leaf pulled and shredded into pieces in the house, every Christmas ornament yanked off the tree, every child crying because they’ve gotten themselves stuck, every bib put on and taken off covered with food, every attempt by a little hand to turn on the disposal or to reach something on the dining room table, other furniture or Christmas tree, and every hand print or pen/pencil mark on a wall or closet door, will have its opposite, endearing, smile-producing (and maybe tear producing) memory. 

I want to remember the contentedness I felt and they felt as I held one in my arms while they drank their warmed morning bottle.  I want to remember their delight in the bubbles I blew on the front lawn, their laughs as I sprayed them with a hose and played catch with them on the lawn, their “wan-wan” sounds when they heard dogs, their utter amazement and delight as they looked skyward to see a helicopter or on the ground to see a flower, their giggles as I pushed them in the swings at the nearby park, their giggles as I played “Eye Winker, Tom Tinker, Nose Dropper, Mouth Eater, Chin Chopper and Gollywhopper,”  their looks as I fed them grapes, pieces of cheese and crackers, or snuck in a piece of banana with their oatmeal, their imitating my animal sounds while sitting on my lap and reading countless books to them, their playing and giggling with their cousin Daniel when he came over, their wide-open eyes gazing upon the Christmas tree, their imitation of placing a toy on their heads because I placed one on mine, their dancing to “Hold Still…Wiggle, Wiggle, Wiggle, Wiggle” and “At the Hop” and “Pumpa’s favorite” Chantilly Lace, or “Put Down the Duckie,” their joy at watching “Yo Gabba Gabba,” their trying to make adult words like “thank you” and “I love you,” their lying still while I changed their diaper and put the legs to their sleepers back on them, the joy in their voices when they talked with their Daddy on the phone or watched him on the I-Phone or Skype, their tiny hands in mine as we walked, their waiting in line for me to play “Patty Cake, Patty Cake, Baker Man” with them, their dancing to the sounds of dueling toys, their giggles as I threw them in the air, over my shoulder, swung them in front of me, or played with them on their beds, and their quietness and stillness (at least for a short time) as I sang a lullaby to them before putting them down for a nap or for the day.

All of the challenges and difficulties and accommodations will melt away in the future as I think of Emily’s grateful, if wan, smile and heartfelt thank you for helping her and giving her support at this time of her extremity.  They will melt away when I remember Elizabeth’s inquiring face then charming, full-face smile as she looks at her Pumpa and wonders if he is just being silly or is he saying the truth.  They will melt away when I remember Charlie, the boy everyone says looks like me, looking at me and imploring me to hold him while I read him a book while he sucks on his binky and holds his blanket.  They will melt away when I remember little chubby Lucy looking at me through those slits of eyes and saying quite articulately, “I love you.”  And they will melt away when I think of Eddie constantly holding out/up his arms for his Pumpa to hold him and hug him.

This has been a difficult, demanding experience, but the transition from a full, noise-filled nest to a quiet, empty one for Pumpa and Geema will likewise be a new, if wistful, one.

Eddie's 24-Hour Diary

Having four of our grandchildren here for a couple of months is quite a journey! We are enjoying having everyone here, especially when a child looks up at you and wants to be held. At that time, the crying and screaming they do fades away and you remember how much you love them and that they are behaving exactly how they should be behaving at this age. 

I have not posted on this blog since Christmas Eve because I have been so busy being a grandpa, being "Pumpa."  I figured what I was experiencing was an exceptional experience and that those few who read this would find it interesting if not amusing. Before you read it, however, I have to acknowledge the superhuman efforts of my daughter Emily, their mother.  She deserves every bit of admiration and credit for this most difficult task she is doing.  Her patience is just incredible, her caring boundless, and her love for them undeniable. She amazes me.

So here is what I have been experiencing as seen through the eyes of one of my grandbabies. Enjoy the ride!

Waaaaaah, waaaaaah, waaaaaaaaah.  My name is Eddie and I am living right now with my “Pumpa and Geema,” and I thought that it would be fun for some of Pumpa’s friends to know what it’s like to be with my Mama and three-year-old sister, Elizabeth, and my triplet brother, Charley, and sister, Lucy.  Pumpa is writing this down because my siblings and I are just a little older than one year old.

My day begins…waaaaaaaaaaaaah…sometimes at about 3am.  I’m not fully awake but I sometimes will cry.  Waaaaaaaaah.  I just woke up Charley.  We’ll cry for a little while and maybe fall back to sleep until around 6:15.  Waaaaaaaah…that’s Charley…waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah…that’s Lucy; I might as well cry…Waaaaaaah.  That’s enough noise to get Mom and Geema and Pumpa up out of bed.  The first thing…Waaaaaah, Waaaaaah, Waaaaaah…that happens is that either Pumpa or Geema or Mama put our three bottles of 8 ounces of milk in the microwave, one at a time, for 55 seconds.  Ahhhhhh…warm milk.  The three adults are cradling us while we hold our bottles.

It’s time to get our first of four or five diaper changes.  Feels good to have Geema change me.  She’ll put the wet diaper with the two others just out the back door where they’re dropped until Pumpa takes a bunch to the black garbage bin that gets pretty full (and stinky) in a week’s time.  Before we came, Pumpa says that sometimes he didn’t even put that bin out every week.

It’s about 7 now, and we’re playing with some toys on the living room floor, next to where our three cribs are.  Pumpa and Geema had some friends who loaned them a couple of pack and plays that work as our cribs.  They go along with the one that they already had that my cousin Daniel sleeps in when he stays the night with my Uncle Doug.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley just fell on me.  Here comes Mama.  We’ve kind of taken over the living room.  It was really fun when the Christmas tree in the corner was up and we would try to take ornaments off.  Waaaaaaah.  That’s Lucy crying because Charley just took a book from her.  Is Mama going to come pick her up?  Here comes my older sister Elizabeth.  She’s three years old and our crying probably woke her up.  But then she got up at least once I think and started crying and woke Mama up. 

Waaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy must be hungry.  It’s about 7:30 and time for breakfast.  Pumpa puts Charley in one of the three high chairs in the kitchen, one loaned by friends.  We all get our bibs put on as Mom prepares our meal: oatmeal mixed with applesauce and honey. Yummmmm!  Either Mama or Pumpa or Geema sit facing us with a TV tray in front of a chair, and they open their mouths to get us to open our mouths.  One mouth, two mouths, three mouths…kind of like Dr. Seuss!  Waaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy can’t wait for another bite.  She gets the next spoonful.  I think Mom is starting to give us little bowls with spoons to try to feed ourselves but we’re not too good at it yet.  In front of the bowl are three “sipee cups” full of milk to help wash down the oatmeal.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley wants banana.  Dad taught Pumpa and Geema a trick with a banana before he went back to Brooklyn last week where we live.  It helps when we are getting bored with oatmeal. The adult has the spoon in their right hand, filled with oatmeal, and cuts the banana with the left hand.  The adult opens their mouth which makes us open our mouths in anticipation of a slice of banana, and shoves in the oatmeal and drops the banana slice on our tray.  Pretty sneaky!  I think I’ll turn and drop my sipee cup on the floor.  The adults do not like it when I do that. 

After we’re washed off at the sink, we start playing with toys again.  Pumpa and Geema sit at the dining room table after we’re done and help Elizabeth eat her cereal for breakfast.  They eventually eat their breakfast.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Somebody fell on me.  Geema is coming to the living room to make sure I’m not hurt.  Waaaaaa.  Charley took a toy from Lucy.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Charley took a toy from me.  Waaaaaaaaah.  I took a toy from Charley.  Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaaaaaaaaah…waaaaaaaah.  We’re all crying.  It’s probably time for our morning nap/crib time because it’s getting close to 9.  Mama usually sings a little lullaby to us before putting us down; we like it when she sings to us.  When we’re all down she closes the door and goes to the dining room to have her breakfast and maybe work on the crossword puzzle from the newspaper.  I think she does it to help her mind from turning to jelly, like the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she’ll fix for us when we wake up for our mid morning snack.

Pumpa has gone to work but Geema is here all day.  She has a two-month break from teaching and that’s why she invited us to come stay with her and Pumpa.  Mom needs help because dealing with us is pretty hard.  When Pumpa is here, he’ll change diapers, help feed us, and read books to us, and hold us when we need to be held.  He likes it when we smile.  He’s got a goofy smile, and he is always squeezing my nose or tickling me under my chin.

PU! Somebody’s pooped.  Oh, it’s me.  Waaaaaaaaaaah.  Here comes Geema to change me…thank heavens.  That’s another dirty diaper for outside.  PU!  I think Lucy’s filled her drawers as well.   Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy doesn’t like Mama trying to hold her arms so she can’t put her fingers in the goo.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Charley just fell down on Lucy while she’s getting her poopy diaper changed.  Mama and Geema are taking us out of our pajamas and putting us into our day outfits.

Waaaaaaaaaah.  I want to be held.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley’s crying and screaming because I took his toy from him.  Waaaaaaaah.  Charley was climbing onto a chair and wants to get down.   Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy fell on me and I bumped my head.  We’re all playing with toys for awhile, quietly.  Mom can’t get onto the computer while we’re up like the few minutes she stole to go on Facebook while we were in our cribs.  She tells Geema that it helps her keep somewhat attached to the outside world. Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaah…waaaaaaah.  I think that it’s time for our lunch: PB&J and pieces of fresh pear or grapes cut in half.  Yummmm.  I like getting it all over my face.  So does Lucy and Charley.  Mama and Geema rinse us off and then it’s another lullaby at about 1 for our nap.  I give Geema a big smile and that makes her smile.

Mama says it’s pretty quiet when we’re all asleep.  But you know what.  We don’t go right to sleep, usually not right away.  Pumpa says that we play around for awhile and then eventually fall asleep.  While we’re asleep, Mama or Geema sometimes go to the supermarket to buy more whole milk for us and 1% milk for the adults.  When Pumpa and Geema were alone, they would go through a gallon of milk every 8-9 days.  They’re buying milk every other day now.

Waaaaaaaaaaah.  I’m bored and I want out of my crib.  Waaaaaaaaaaah.  I woke up Charley.  Here comes Mom.  Let’s see, where can I put this toy so nobody else will find it?  Waaaaaaaah.  Charley took my toy.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  I hit Charley on the head with a plastic cup.  Mama is not very pleased with me.  Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy and Charley want the same toy.  Here comes Mama and Geema.  Waaaaah…waaaaaaah.  We’re hungry because it’s time for our afternoon snack.  Mama has cut up some cheese into little cubes and filled other “sippy cups” with water.  That will help wash down the cheese and cracker pieces that she’s giving us.

I like running around the dining room table with my Elizabeth except when she can’t stop herself and knocks me down.  Sometimes I cry or my brother and sister cry when she takes a toy away from us that she wants for herself.  But she also helps Mama by closing doors or getting something  Mama needs.  I think sometimes Mama gets pretty upset with her, but Mama always makes up by loving her a little more afterwards.  Mama is that way with me too.  I know that this is really hard on her and I think Mama likes being here where she can get help with us.

I like looking out the window.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.    Charley is crying because he climbed onto a chair and can’t get down.  Lucy is playing with toys on the living room floor but she likes looking at books too.  I like to crawl onto Geema’s lap and have her read to me.  We all like it when Mama or Geema or Pumpa read to us.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Charley just took my book away.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Elizabeth wanted to read that book and took it away from Charley.  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.  Elizabeth is crying and screaming because Mama took the book away from her.  I think Mom wants to let us run around outside on the grass for a change so Mama and Geema are putting on our shoes.  It’s nice here in California.  Daddy says that it’s been cold in Brooklyn.  I like it when Mama calls up Daddy and talks to him and lets us talk with him.  Mama tries to Skype with him so that we all can see him and don’t forget him.  But is usually is hard to sit in a chair while Skyping with Daddy.  We all want to see him and we fight for position.  Waaaaaaaah…waaaaaaaah…waaaaaaaah.

Mama tries to take advantage of the grass and the enclosed yard every day, a couple of things we don’t have in Brooklyn.  It’s pretty hard living in our second story, 700 square foot, two bedroom apartment with no washer or dryer or dishwasher.  Mama also tries to keep a tradition each day that we have in Brooklyn.  She tells us that we are going to have dance time, and we’ll all gather in Pumpa’s office which is now Elizabeth’s bedroom, and dance to You Tube songs she plays on Pumpa’s computer.  We all really like the Wiggle and Hold Still song.  I’m pretty good at holding still like a statue—for about three seconds.

It’s getting time for dinner.  It’s about 5:45 in the afternoon.  Mama will feed us some food that Geema made, or sometimes food that she makes.  Pumpa usually is home by now and he helps us put on our bibs, and he’ll wash up the high chairs and trays afterwards.  When we’re finished, I’ll play with some toys or look at books or ask Pumpa to hold me.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy fell down and hit her head.  Here comes Mama to comfort her.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  She likes holding me;s he likes holding all of us. Charley is getting his diaper changed but doesn’t like lying still while Mama changes him.  PU.  Mama is reaching for the wipes that are just about gone.  We go through about a container of 72 in about ten days.  Geema and Mama went to Costco a couple of weeks ago to buy diapers and they bought two big boxes—around 300 diapers.  I don’t think that they’ll last us until we go back to Brooklyn just before Valentine’s Day.  

I know that all of the adults are looking forward to us going to bed so I might as well not fight having Mama take off my clothes and putting on my pajamas.  Lucy and Charley are getting into their pajamas now, and pretty soon Mama will make sure we have our pacifiers in our mouths and will gently rock us before placing us with our blankets so that we can go to sleep.  Waaaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley does not want to go to bed.  Mama taps him and tells him she loves him and that she’ll see him in the morning.  I sure like it when Mama sings the Go To Sleep lullaby to me before putting me down.  I know that she loves me and loves our family.  I know that Pumpa and Geema love us too.

Once we’re down, it’s time for Elizabeth and the adults to eat dinner.  Sometimes they eat when we’re still up but that isn’t so good for their digestion.  After finishing dinner, Mama begins the process of putting Elizabeth in her pajamas and getting her ready for bed.  Elizabeth always wants to stay up with the adults and will keep doing things to stall finally having the night light on and her tucked in bed with her Pooh and Foofa dolls and her blankets.  Mama sometimes gets a little impatient with her, but I know Mama loves her. 

If they’re lucky, the adults won’t hear us wake up too much in the night.  Pumpa and Geema have started wearing ear plugs.  We all sometimes will stir and wake up and cry just a short time but then fall back to sleep.  I need to get a good night’s sleep so that I can do this all over again tomorrow here at Pumpa and Geema’s house in California!

Ho Ho Ho....Wahhhhhhhh!

Well, it’s the 24^th of December and I have a house full of babies—one 3 year old and three one-year olds.  I get to experience Christmas morning once again through young children’s eyes.  All the presents are bought and wrapped and tucked under the tree—protected by a white board wedged between a love seat and a sofa, as to protect the gifts from being opened.

When the triplets are awake, it’s only a matter of minutes before one is crying or screaming, a constant din of noise and activity.  When they are napping or sleeping, “all is calm, all is bright.”  My daughter Emily and son-in-law Adam do an AMAZING job managing them, keeping their wits and letting most things just slide.  But it is apparent that they need help, and Ann and I are trying to do what we can; after all, that is why we they are here.

Having so much activity and stress in the home, it does bring out the best and worst in an adult trying to manage the chaos.  The challenge is to be patient and loving—and to realize that nearly all of the drama is just that…and nothing to get worked up about.  These kids are wonderful, each with their own personalities and temperaments, a testimony to the reality of a pre-earth existence and the concept of nature, in the nature vs. nurture debate.  Emily and Adam treat the kids very equally, so what I am seeing is nature.

So it’s just about time to strap the four kids into the their car seats in our two cars and head south to San Pedro.  The rehab where BJ lives is putting on a program and we want to provide him the chance to see family when the opportunity arises.  It will be a memorable Christmas Eve.  I am grateful to have family.  

My Posterity Together

Rebecca is my firstborn.  Energetic, opinionated, fun, articulate, caring, musical and driven are some adjectives to describe her.  She was born before our one year anniversary so she has always been present.  She was with us when we moved to Japan and her red hair and outgoing personality opened doors there and back in the States. Her penchant for looking for attention and reciprocal caring from boys has always been a part of who she is and what she wants.  When Rebecca wants to do something, she does it, displaying tremendous courage and tenacity, especially in regard to her schooling.  Those traits also serve her well as she endeavors to be a great single mom. Through thick and thin, she and I have had a close father-daughter relationship, and I care about her deeply and know she cares for me.

Emily is my second born.  Caring, intelligent, empathetic, dutiful, driven, clever and demanding are some adjectives to describe her. Giving birth in the States was a big reason for leaving Japan.  Her siblings have always been important to her and she has always tried to maintain the peace.  Emily has been constant in her life choices. She fell deeply in love with her husband Adam and in their time together they have managed to survive against great odds.  She along with Adam have exercised great faith, especially as they have dealt with the challenges of raising their daughter Elizabeth and the triplets Charley, Eddie and Lucy.  I am very proud of her and how she has managed to maintain that faith in incredibly difficult circumstances.  I am appreciative of her constancy.  I feel her love.

Robert is my third born.  Intuitive, caring, smart, dutiful, energetic, musical and playful are some adjectives to describe him.  I called him BJ (Bob Jr.) when he was born and while he prefers to be called Robert, most of his siblings and his mother and I call him BJ.  He is an incredibly intelligent kid who has struggled to find his path.  He is making great progress now in figuring out his life and I am hopeful for his future.  BJ really cares deeply about people and I am confident that that trait will serve him well as he eventually begins a family and in a people-related career that he no doubt will embrace.  And while he has had issues with his siblings at various times, he does care for them deeply and understands the importance of family.  I am proud that he bears my name, and know he cares for me.

Doug is my last born.  Intelligent, clever, dutiful, determined, “punny,” opinionated and careful are some adjectives that describe him.  He was quite a clown as a young boy. He followed my musical footsteps in high school.  He would tell us as he was growing up that he was going to be the wealthiest of the kids and was going to take care of us, his parents.  I don’t know if that will happen because he has followed me into the psychological profession, but I am proud of him graduating from college and how seriously he is taking his parental responsibilities.  It is interesting how like many children he went through a phase of being aghast at my puns, and now takes pride at coming up with them himself, and looks to me to validate his clever wordplay.  I believe he is proud of me, and I am of him.

I am very blessed to have such great kids.  I will further be blessed with an increasingly rare opportunity to have all of them, plus Emily’s Adam, plus Rebecca’s son Isaac, Douglas’ son Daniel, and Emily and Adam’s wonderful Elizabeth and the triplets, all under my blessed roof this Saturday during this Christmas season.  All I can say is “Wooooo hoooooo!!!”  

Of Winds and Roots

Tipped Over Tree in Recent Santa Ana Winds

When I first found out 36 years ago about the tall girl in Apartment 7, I came to know that she and her sister were from a place in Southern California called Santa Ana.  That wasn’t where they really were from; they were from a town next to Santa Ana called Tustin.  But I became acquainted with the name of the town.

When that tall girl and I moved to California in 1994 as husband and wife, she introduced me to the phenomena known as the “Santa Anas.”  To those who have never lived here or do not know about western US weather patterns, whenever a high pressure system forms over Utah, or very close to Utah, winds rotate in a clockwise pattern and blow from the Beehive State westward toward California, particularly Southern California.  In the late spring to the summer to the early fall, those winds can become gusty and are quite warm or hot as they blow over the heat of the deserts of Nevada and Arizona.  They can also blow in the winter, albeit without warmth.

Just recently, an unusually strong, cold Santa Ana blew in the Los Angeles area where I live, particularly from Pasadena eastward.  The results were many:  Ann’s community college where she teaches closed as did all of the K-12 schools in the area, people were encouraged to stay off the streets because of tree damage, electric lines fell causing wide spread outages, semi-trailers were blown over, and many, many trees lost limbs, or palm fronds, or were entirely blown over.

The governmental clean up agencies went to work quickly to make sure main roads including freeways were not obstructed.  Many days later, side streets were still littered with mounds of foliage remnants, and some folks still did not have electricity.  And some trees, many of them quite tall and veterans of other Santa Ana winds, lay horizontally, their proud limbs contorted or broken and roots now exposed for all to see.

How is it that a proud pine or a stately sycamore or a princely palm can be blown over?  What allows a tree to “weather” storms and winds and stay upright?  The trees that were blown over last week for the most part had shallow root systems caused by frequent watering.  Oft applied water meant they did not have to send their roots deep into the ground.  Their shallow root systems sufficiently anchored them, especially here in Southern California where weather is quite mild most of the time.  But when this particularly strong Santa Ana blew, the roots failed some them, and they fell crashing to the earth.

I see a metaphor in what happened for me in my life.  Am I a strong tree that people around me can rely upon and that can offer shade, beauty, and consistency to them?  Or do I become complacent because of the relative ease of my life?  Knowing that I have control over my “root system,” am I making an effort to send my roots deep into the soil of my wife and family, my religion, my friends and other important relationships—that dirt which is deep and which can anchor one’s life?  Am I investing enough energy into my roots each day so that when emotionally and spiritually challenging “storms” appear, I remain emotionally strong?  And when a hurricane-like Santa Ana wind of adversity and trial appear, are my relationship roots deep enough to keep me upright?

I’m glad that I saw this example of nature.  I am, after all, responsible for my” tree” and for its” roots.”    

Mindfulness and Gratitude

I was asked to speak to my congregation a couple of weeks ago.  I decided to post it on this blog.  It may be a little long, but hopefully worth the time.

I was reading about an experience a young mother had with her three-year-old as she was praying with him.  She related the following:

“I knelt beside my three-year-old and listened to his scrambled bedtime prayer: ‘I’m thankful for Mommy and Daddy, snow and clouds.  I’m thankful for Santa Claus.  I’m thankful for pizza and my big brother.  Thank you for food.  Thank you for everything.’”

“I waited as he hesitated.  With such a long inventory of blessings, I assumed he was deciding between continuing his list and jumping into his warm, inviting bed.  After a long pause, he hastily added, ‘Oh, and please bless our dumb old cat.’  He then finished his prayer with an emphatic ‘AMEN.’” 1

This experience caused this young mother to look at her life and to contrast her adult life with her children’s lives.  She continued:

“I tried to remember the last time I had thanked the Lord for such things.  Certainly my life was filled with small blessings.  Like my son, I thought pizza was delightful, but never included it in my prayers.  I enjoyed snow and clouds too, but I never mentioned them either.”  She then wrote:

“I liked to think I omitted such items because they were too insignificant to include among important adult acknowledgements and appeals.  But I knew that in reality I no longer noticed them.  I had become so busy with “to do” lists and responsibilities that I no longer paid attention to the tiny purple flowers dotting the backyard, the intricacies of leaves, or the earth-washed smell of fresh rain.”

“Unlike me, my children noticed all the details of their young lives.  Nothing escaped their observant eyes and appreciative hearts.  My five-year-old ran for the sheer joy of feeling his healthy body move—not to burn calories or reach his target heart rate.  My three-year-old danced exuberantly whenever music was played and squished mud between his toes just to feel the warm, gloppy ooze.  My baby was a study in joy.  He tasted soap bubbles, smeared his hair with applesauce, and chased shiny, black beetles—unfettered by grown-up notions of cleanliness or repugnance toward six-legged creatures.” 2

My intent was not to write about being grateful and what we should be grateful for.  Rather, I would like to share insights that have helped me to know better HOW to be grateful.  My focus is to remind us about the secrets that young children seem to know instinctively and that teenagers and adults seem to forget about, secrets that the young mother realized in the story I related.

D o you recall what she said about not paying attention to the tiny purple flowers in her backyard, the intricacies of leaves, and the earth-washed smell of fresh rain?  How she had forgotten what it feels like to dance when music was played, to squish mud between her toes, to taste soap bubbles, to know the joy of smearing hair with applesauce, and chasing shiny black beetles?

I love Primary songs, and one of my favorites comes to mind:

Whenever I hear the song of a bird or look at the blue, blue sky, whenever I feel the rain on my face or the wind as it rushes by,

Whenever I touch a velvet rose or walk by a lilac tree, I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heavenly Father created for me.

He gave me my eyes that I might see the color of butterfly wings.  He gave me my ears that I might hear the magical sound of things.

He gave me my life, my mind, my heart, I thank Him reverently for all His creations of which I’m a part.  Yes I know Heavenly Father loves me. 3

Did we get part of the secret from the story of the young mother and the Primary song above?  It involves enjoying our senses, being aware of them.  It involves s-l-o-w-i-n-g d-o-w-n our lives and living in the present—the here and now.  When was the last time we took time to listen for the song of a bird or look at the blue sky?  When did we last touch or smell a velvet rose?  When did we last decide to slow down and listen to the magical sound of things or dance when a particular song came on—for no other reason than to experience life?  I’m not proposing that we smear our hair with applesauce, but what I am recommending is that you and I SLOW DOWN and literally and figuratively smell the roses.  It’s about allowing slowing down and allowing our senses to help us feel gratitude.

By doing so, we will begin to do what the children’s song indicated in the last line: we [will] thank Him reverently for all His creations [for which we] are part.  We will more fully come to know, as the song says, [that] Heavenly Father loves [us]. 4   Slowing down and experiencing the moment in which we are, can be called being MINDFUL.  Mindfulness, I believe, is the big, overarching secret, the very key to gratitude and the way to know and feel God’s love.

Let me share a couple of experiences I had recently that will help define what I mean by being mindful through living in the here and now and enjoying our feelings and senses.

I have had all kinds of aches and pains for many years, particularly in my lower back.  I’ve been to the chiropractor many times, I’ve purchased a special bed, I’ve taken literally bottles of ibuprofen through the years, I’ve tried to keep a good posture, but I still have back issues, especially in the middle of the night and when I wake up in the morning.  My wife has experienced her own issues relative to our advancing years, and recently she got this wild hare about taking yoga classes.  

I initially was less than enthusiastic about it but I finally decided that I would try it with her and see what happened.

The first time we went, we both became nauseous.  It was SO hard!  But we continued to go, my wife more often than me.  It still is hard.  I am not into yoga meditation and chanting that sometimes is done at the classes, but I am getting a little bit better at contorting my body into the movements and poses.  And let me be clear: anybody who does yoga knows that the contorting of the body forces one to focus on just the breathing and the sensations of the body, and NOTHING ELSE!  I sense the strains, the heat of the muscles, the breathing.

Since starting to do yoga, not only has my back and balance improved, but it has forced me to be mindful for 60 or 90 minutes, and that is a good thing for me.  As I slow down and am mindful about the experience, I notice that my back is getting better, that I have a wife who challenges me and helps me to do things I probably wouldn’t do otherwise, that I have two arms and two legs with which to do yoga, that I am actually able to some of the actions, and that I have been blessed financially to be able to take the classes.  I feel grateful that I have a car in which to drive to the classes, and the money to put gas in the car, and that afterwards I have a home to return to.

The other experience I want to share has to do with my experience in the last area of my mission to Argentina.  It was the first (and probably the last) time missionaries had lived in this particular place, and there was no running hot water or heat in the shower area of the bathroom.  Occasionally it got very cold.  What I would do during those cold spells was to go without showering for a couple of days but then I would shiver my way through a 3-4 minute ordeal, only turning on the water to get wet and to rinse.

Some days I forget, but I often try to go to a mindful place and remember how it was by I luxuriating under a stream of warm water.  Afterwards, in a mindful place, I will really enjoy and feel gratitude for stepping out of the shower and not seeing my breath. 

And that brings up another aspect of being mindful: slowing down and being in the here and now enough to realize what blessings I have right now that others don’t have.  It’s being able to feel gratitude without being compelled by our circumstances to feel gratitude.  It doesn’t come from a place of pride but rather, a gratefulness that comes from mindfulness.

Let me share an example of what I mean from my extended family.  I have a nephew who was born without the ability to rotate his arms, to turn his palms upward.  They always face downward, or perpendicular to the ground.  For me, it is a simple, mindless action to rotate my palms but for him it is an impossibility.  To his credit, he has not allowed the disability to stop him from using his arms and hands as best he can.  He has learned to play the piano (palms down), he has learned to play the trombone (palms perpendicular), and has even learned to play lacrosse (palms perpendicular).

When I succeed at being mindful, especially when I pray my morning prayer, I will rotate my palms up and down a couple of times.  That is my way to express to Heavenly Father that I am trying to be grateful for those physical blessings that I might take for granted. 

When I succeed at being mindful, I express gratitude for being free of pain in that moment because so many of His children have so much physical pain.  When I am mindful, I have thanked Him for being able to swallow because I was hospitalized a few years ago with epiglottitis, which was a swollen epiglottis that made it terribly painful to swallow and for which I had to be hospitalized in intensive care.

When I succeed at being mindful, I am grateful to be able to see because I have worn glasses since age 5 and have feared getting a sharp blow to my head and having my retinas detach.  I try to utter a little prayer of thanksgiving when I look at the mountains which surround where I live here in Southern California, when I see the white or gray of clouds, the green of grass in my yard, the red of my car, the blue of the ocean, the orange of pumpkins, the black of licorice. 

I really believe that my senses help me to be grateful, but I must slow down and be in the here and now to have these realizations.  In the Bible story of the ten lepers, I wonder if after being healed of leprosy, the nine neglected to give thanks to Him because they did not stay in the moment.  Perhaps their lives quickly became crowded with details and trivialities.  Maybe they were impatient and wanted to quickly join their families and community, wanting to forget about their former lives altogether.  Perhaps they felt entitled.  Regardless, once the miracle took place, they did not feel the need to offer thanks; they lost their mindfulness.

As you and I plead with the Lord to receive blessings in our prayers, are we mindful enough to thank Him for giving us blessings?  Do we ever purposefully offer a prayer of gratitude for all of our blessings and not made a single request?  When I have done that, I have noticed that it puts me in a mindful place, and I notice that I will thank Him for blessings that I normally wouldn’t and that I might take for granted.  I am reminded of the words of King Benjamin recorded in Mosiah 2:21:

“I say unto you that if ye should serve him who has created you from the beginning, and is preserving you from day to day, by lending you breath, that ye may live and move and do according to your own will, and even supporting you from one moment to another—I say, If ye should serve him with all your whole souls yet ye would be unprofitable servants.”

The truth is that indeed the Lord lends us our very breath which allows us to live.  He blesses us with so much that we often don’t notice or that we take for granted.  I don’t want to be like the ungrateful nine lepers.  I would rather be mindful and return daily to the Worker of miracles in my life and fall at His feet and worship Him by offering my gratitude.

I am grateful for having the Gospel in my life.  I am grateful for a loving wife who supports me and helps do difficult things like taking yoga classes, and who works alongside of me in the Addiction Recovery Program of LDS Family Services.  I am grateful for that Program and for the Twelve Steps of Recovery.  I am grateful for the hard earned sobriety of my heroin-addicted son what has 19 months clean and sober.  I am grateful for my Priesthood.  I am grateful to have a temple so close and a car to get me there and to the Chapel because they haven’t always been so close and we haven’t always had a car.  I am grateful for Church leaders like our bishop and stake presidency and general Church leaders.  I am grateful for music and the joy that it brings me, and that I am able to hear.

Perhaps most importantly, when I am mindful and realize my fallen state, that I am a sinner laden with sins and multiple weaknesses and imperfections, I am humbly grateful for the pain which He suffered and the drops of blood that He spilled for me in the Garden of Gethsemane. I marvel that he would descend from his throne divine to rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine.5  I am grateful that He should care for me enough to die for me.6  I am grateful to His Father who love me so much that He sent His only Begotten Son.  It helps me to be grateful when I am mindful of His love.   

    

1.Lisa Ray Turner, The Song of Gratitude, June 1993 Liahona

2.Ibid

3. My Heavenly Father Loves Me, Children’s Songbook, p.228

4.Ibid

5.I Stand All Amazed, Hymns, p.193

6.Ibid

Drawing Upon Life Experiences

Maybe it is due to the schooling I received and the types of therapy that I embraced there.  Maybe it is due to the types of clientele that I see.  Maybe it is due to the style of supervision that I receive as a therapist intern.  Maybe it is due to where I am in my middle age as I see people each week.  Maybe it is due to the decisions that I have made through the years and the enormous amount of experiential knowledge I have gained recently. – Whether it is one, some, or all of these, what I know is that I often draw upon my marriage, my parenting, my spirituality, and indeed, my life experiences, as I do psychotherapy.

I have wondered if a fellow therapist with much more experience might be alarmed or even aghast that I would share who I am with those who come to see me.  I have likewise wondered if a veteran fellow therapist might condescendingly take me aside and state, “that’s how it is done.”  I can only say that I feel comfortable sharing who I am as I endeavor to help those who come seeking help.  And perhaps because I have not had clients with overwhelming psychopathologies (code speak for being “really messed up”) or perhaps because I am not disposed to pathologize them (code speak for telling them they are “really messed up”) or perhaps because I have pathogical issues (code speak that I am “really messed up”), I seem to relate and connect with most of them.

Somehow the experiences of my life seem to have a measure of relevance.  Being a 57 year old intern allows me the luxury of having experience from which to draw, and while not always directly applicable, they seem to be close enough.  For example, I have not had what I would consider a full blown addiction, but I do have experience feeling triggered and obsessing over not-so-nice thoughts, and I have seen addiction first hand.  I have not been through a divorce, but Ann and I got somewhat close some years ago.   I did not have parents who physically or sexually abused me, but I did have a mother who occasionally would emotionally abuse me, a father who was emotionally distant, and their marriage that lacked emotional and physical intimacy.  I did not have siblings at home, but I know what it is like to be an only child, and I did witness four siblings interact as children in my home.

I have been in psychotherapy for quite a while and know what it is like to be “on the couch.”  I have had a son who has been addicted to drugs and I know that heartache.  I have had experiences with the Twelve Steps and the whole recovery milieu.  I have had a wife who knows and understands how behavioral boundaries function in a marriage, and who knows how to be a loving and supportive.  I have had children who have made decisions that were not wise, and I likewise have made decisions that were not wise.  I have overcome my fears to go back to school to get a degree in my 50s.    I have learned many life truths, such as “recovery/change happens when the pain of addiction/not changing becomes greater than the pain of recovery/change, and will not happen when the pain of recovery/changing is greater than the pain of addiction/not changing,” and “let go and let God.”

I am in the transition of learning to be an effective psychotherapist.  Occasionally, I will get down upon myself (another life experience with which I am extremely aware), but I know that I am making progress and constantly learning.