Good-bye, Stan

I have occasionally dealt with the ultimate transition on this blog.  Most recently, I wrote of the emotions I felt upon visiting Ground Zero this past summer.  A friend not much older than me was killed in an accident a couple of days ago, and it has given me pause in my hectic but healthy and accident-free world.

Stan Klock was a single man who sang in the Southern California Mormon Choir.  He lived a solitary but fairly fulfilling life in the Long Beach area.  I know that he lived quite modestly and also know that his wants and needs were likewise modest.  He tried to take the train whenever he could, and mostly relied on others to take him to SCMC performances.  I did so on a couple of occasions.  He accepted what his life was and never complained.

I also gave him a ride a couple of times to performances in Santa Clarita of the The Master's College Christmas Program which we attended along with a few others from the SCMC.  It was during these rides that I really got to know Stan, and appreciated his goodness.

He always tried to be upbeat.  He always made a big deal out of seeing me at Choir, especially recently when I have not been able to attend consistently.  He never spoke poorly of anyone but really tried to build them up.  Stan always attempted to build me up, telling me what a good singer I was, how I seemed to have my life together, how wise he thought I was, how great I was for helping him.  Stan seemed to humble himself in my presence, which at times I must admit made me feel a little uncomfortable.  

In the future, when I think about Stan, I will picture his interesting face and graying hair.  I will think of standing next to him or near him as we sang together in the bass section.  I will remember his kindness toward me and his desire to be a friend and to connect with me.  Our trips to the concerts in Santa Clarita will stay in my memory.  I will not forget his gentle way, for he indeed was a gentle man.  

I feel a loss and I am sad.  The world is a little bit worse off because he is no longer here.  But I have deep faith that he will find great contentment and joy on the other side.  Thanks for being my friend, Stan.

Confessions of a Mormon Bishop

Some people who read my blog are members of the LDS Church.  Some are not. For those who don't know, I served as a lay minister, a Bishop, of a flock of some 200 young single adults in the LDS Church from March 2006 to May 2009.  It was a transformational experience for me.  Indeed, it pointed me into the profession I now have as a psychotherapist.

Bishop Bob Davis

I was given to read the blog post below because I have served as a Bishop.  It touched me profoundly because I can easily relate to this Bishop's experiences.  In fact, I have many of these thoughts now as I sit in front of people as a therapist.  

By sharing this article, it will give you a glimpse into this singular experience as well what I often think of as I sit in front of people in 2013.  It's the real deal. 

Confessions of a Mormon Bishop

by RUSS HILL on MARCH 19, 2013

I pulled into my driveway at 12:30 this morning.

I sat in the car in front of our dark house for a few minutes.  Everyone inside was asleep.  The whole neighborhood was still.  And yet my mind was racing.  So many questions.  So many emotions.  Sadness.  Hope.  Inadequacy.

Welcome to the life of a Mormon bishop.

Like pastors, priests, and clergy in other religions, those of us asked to serve as a bishop in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints spend hours behind closed doors meeting with people who allow us into the darkest corners of their lives.

They come to us for various reasons.  Because of guilt.  Because they have lost hope.  Because they have been betrayed.  Because they don’t know where else to go.  Because they feel worthless.  Because the person they are isn’t the person they want to be.  Because they have questions.  Because they have doubts.  Because they believe in a forgiving God yet feel disconnected from Him.

They come and sit in front of me.  Some hesitate.  Take a deep breath.  And grasp for courage to say out loud what they have been hiding inside for days, weeks, or years.

Others almost run in.  They spill before I sit.  They’re anxious to clear their conscience or announce their doubts.

Each one is different.

For hours every week I sit.  And listen.

I did not ask for this opportunity.  I never considered I might someday have an office in a church.  I have no professional training for this position.  I am not a scriptural scholar.  I have not walked through vineyards with robe-wearing monks.  And, if you’re wondering about vows of celibacy let me introduce you to my four kids.

All I did was answer a phone call.  Show up for a meeting.  And nod when asked if I would serve.

I don’t sometimes wonder why me.  I always wonder why me.

And yet they come.  Share their stories.  And look to me for wisdom.

I’m not sure any of them have learned from me.  But, I have learned so much in the hours I’ve sat in that office listening to them.

I have learned that we believe it is a strength to conceal weakness.

I have learned that it is easy to want others to overlook our flaws as we expect perfection in them.

I have learned that it is hardest to show compassion and grant forgiveness to those closest to us.

I have learned that while curiosity is a strength it can also be a curse.

I have learned that we are creatures of habit.

I have learned that faith is a muscle.

I have learned that it is far easier to deny deity than to deny desire.

I have learned the mystery surrounding death forces a consideration of spiritual matters.

I have learned that observance of the Sabbath recalibrates perspective and improves judgment.

I have learned that most of us bear scars from the failure, disappointment, and fear in our lives.  And, we prefer to wear long sleeves.

I have learned that to deal with life’s pain most of us choose one of the following: alcohol, drugs, pornography, or spirituality.

I have learned alcohol and drugs are the easiest path.  As long as you’re willing to never stop drinking, smoking, or swallowing.

I have learned pornography is highly addictive and has nothing to do with sexual appetites and everything to do with escape.  And that the habit is never overcome in isolation.

I have learned that we feel like a failure when we make mistakes even when we profess a belief that the purpose of this existence is to make and learn from them.

I have learned that forgiveness is the greatest gift we can offer someone.  And ourselves.

I have learned that many know about Jesus Christ but more of us could make an effort to know Him.

I have learned that the strongest among us are those with the cleanest mirrors.

I have learned that the sins of parents profoundly affect children.  And are often repeated by them.

I have learned that affection from parents profoundly affects children.

I have learned that most communication between parents and children is what psychologists call “superficial.” Strong relationships are built on the “validating” variety.

I have learned that children desperately desire parents who listen.

I have learned that churches are not museums or catwalks for perfected saints but rather labs for sinners.

I have learned that “tolerate” and “love” are two very different verbs despite what popular culture professes.

I have learned that there’s more sadness in this world than I had realized.

I have learned there is more goodness in this world than I had realized.

I have learned that to be happy is a choice.

I have learned those preoccupied with serving others have less time to count their problems.

I have learned that a habit of one brief moment of spirituality a day can alter one’s entire direction.

I have learned that we want God to grant us space to make decisions but step in to stop others, nature, mortality, or illness from hurting us or those we love.

I have learned those who have made more mistakes have a great gift.  Empathy.  Now to the matter of searching out someone who hungers for it.

Indeed, I have learned I have much to learn.

The names of those I meet with will never be known.  Confidentiality demands I never disclose their stories.

But, late last night as I sat in my car on the driveway I decided I should compile a list of what the people I meet with are teaching me.

And, I wanted to share it.

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?"