A Very Different Christmas Card

I remember as 2013 began, I was running early one morning, and I saw one of those church signs, and it said, “Does it get any better than this?” I thought to myself, how could it? We had just celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary in December, our four children were doing great, I loved my job at WIKA , I was enjoying teaching so much at Georgia Gwinnett College, we loved our church, how could life get much better than this? That run seems so long ago, so distant in my memory. While life couldn’t get much better, it could get a whole lot worse.

It all started in the January/February timeframe, we found out that one of our dogs, Minnie, had cancer after pouring lots and lots of money into diagnoses. She had very little time to live, and we finally had to humanely put her down in early March. While Minnie was “just a dog”, she was a part of our family, and it was difficult to see her short and happy life end too soon.

In April, Laurel’s Mom finally succumbed after many years of battling various ailments. Laurel had tried to

make a last visit to say goodbye to her Mom late in 2012, but Hurricane Sandy prevented that trip. We had been trying to plan a trip for her to get up for a visit early in 2013, but life didn’t cooperate.

In June, my Dad ended his long battle with cancer. I’ve watched others battle cancer, Laurel lost both of her sisters several years ago to cancer, and if you haven’t seen it up close and personal, it is a bitter and ugly battle to watch. Cancer can be devastating, and just sucks the life out of the best people.

While these losses were very devastating, they pale in comparison to the “rest of the story” as Paul Harvey would say. In the midst of all of this, we faced some of the greatest nightmares any parent can ever encounter.

In January, we started getting some distressing calls from Patrick from Grove City College. Just a few weeks earlier, he had seemed very happy, but that had changed dramatically. As the weeks went by, he was plummeting. Each conversation was getting deeper and deeper into depression. I finally told him, if he wanted to come home, just come home. He then said the words that no parent ever wants to hear. He said, “you won’t be disappointed in me?” If there’s one thing in life I’ve learned as a parent, don’t ever tell your children or lead them to believe you are ever disappointed in them. I told him no, I could never be disappointed in him.

Unfortunately, he didn’t come home soon enough, and we got a call from the counselor on campus that Patrick was planning to commit suicide, and he wanted to admit him to a local psychiatric hospital. This was our first experience with a psychiatric hospital, and we learned a lot, particularly patience. Imagine yourself as a parent, and your child is five or six states away, and he/she is in a psychiatric hospital that you’ve never seen, and you can only talk to him or her once a day? It brings to mind the line from Gordon Lightfoot’s haunting song “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” that goes, “where does the love of God go when the waves turn the minutes to hours?” We patiently would wait for that time each evening, when we would get 10-15 minutes on the phone with Patrick, and try to decipher what the hell was going on. As soon as we were able, Laurel and Kelly got a flight up to Pennsylvania to see Patrick in the hospital, which gave us a whole lot of comfort. We were eventually able to secure Patrick’s release from the psychiatric hospital, and we were able to bring him home.

One of the most painful parts of all of this was withdrawing Patrick from Grove City. When we got Patrick released from the psychiatric hospital, we also packed all of his stuff up from his dorm. For the first two years, Patrick loved Grove City. Then as he descended deeper and deeper, many of the people at Grove City rejected him. While we thought Grove City was a loving, Christian community, we found out that the Christian love only flowed to those who walked like them, talked like them and looked like them. I will say that packing up his dorm room was one of the most painful separations I’ve witnessed in my life.

When we brought Patrick home, we had some significant adjustments to make. We hid all of the knives in the house, or anything else that we believed he could hurt himself with. Laurel spent many nights sleeping in the spare bed in Patrick’s room to make sure that he didn’t hurt himself. But the pain for all of us was just beginning. Shortly after Patrick came home, Patrick revealed the one night at dinner what had led him to want to commit suicide. While it is only fair to Patrick to leave this piece of the story to him to reveal someday, it is safe to say that it is one of a parent’s deepest fears and nightmares. The fact that it also impacted Sean made the impact that much deeper.

I have to admit that when I heard what had happened, I had no reaction. No anger, no tears, no nothing. I was stone cold in my emotions, I was completely numb. It wasn’t for about another week or so, as I was driving down the road, and all of a sudden, the damn burst. The tears, the anger, the hate burst forward, I flooded with emotions, and couldn’t control them. I hated myself, I felt like a miserable failure as a father, God had given me children to love and protect, and I had failed Him miserably. I desperately wanted to hurt or kill the person who had brought this devastation down on my sons, but I knew that wasn’t the solution.

My morning runs progressed through my emotions, as I worked through the pain and the anger. Initially, my prayers would be “please get the devil off my back, dear God, don’t let me do anything stupid.” I’d work my way to “please heal Patrick dear Lord, please heal him.” I’d eventually work up to “please heal Patrick dear Lord on your time, please heal him on your time.” I never worked up to the ultimate prayer, “Thy will be done, Lord, thy will be done.” That is always the most difficult prayer, and I just couldn’t bring myself to that prayer.

While I wish I could say that when Patrick came home, everything worked out happily ever after, and we all went back to normal, it wasn’t that simple. Patrick eventually went back into a local psychiatric hospital. It was a disaster, the hospital was awful, and to a certain extent, that may have been a turning point for all of us. Eventually, Patrick progressed, he climbed out of the depths, through various counselors and medication, he emerged from the depths of Hell. He was able to go back to school this fall, to Oglethorpe University. While Patrick’s healing isn’t complete, he has progressed far beyond our hopes and expectations. He is in love, but unfortunately the young lady just went back home to Spain, so he is heartbroken.  That is the type of crisis we can more readily deal with.

Through all of this, we’ve also had to deal with similar, but different, issues with Sean. While I would never demean what Sean has been through, it has not been quite as dramatic as Patrick’s journey. Still, it’s been difficult. I remember one point, just a few months ago, when Sean sent me a long and torrid e-mail that said at one point, “I don’t think you know what the Hell you’re doing as a father, you aren’t handling this situation very well.” And you know, he was right, and I told him he was right, I had no idea what the Hell I was doing. I never imagined facing this type of challenge, and in so many ways, I was failing miserably.  Sean and I had some rough patches, I was overwhelmed with all that was going on, and sometimes, I just couldn't give Sean what he needed.  Thankfully, he has been able to forgive me for my shortcomings.

As difficult and as bad as this year was, the amazing thing is that it’s brought me even closer to God. My morning runs gave me time to pray, to reflect, to cry, to beg God for answers to why this has happened to us. I still don’t know why, but I do believe God has a greater purpose for all of us. This all happened for a reason, and someday, we’ll understand why.

We also benefited from so many amazing people who helped us through it all. Our family, especially our daughters Megan and Kelly, have stepped up tremendously. Our church, our pastors, our small groups, there were so many people who carried the burden for us when the burden was too great. One of our pastors, Allen Hoskyn, has been a God-send, he has been there always, he’s been there when no one else would ever be there. The men in my small groups, both here and in Dayton, the couples in Laurel and my small group, have supported us tremendously, praying with us, crying with us, supporting us through the deepest levels. Our friends have been there through it all, and my employer, WIKA, has been incredible, giving me the time and space I’ve needed to work through this. The blessings we’ve received through all of this have given us the strength to persevere, to make it through each day. And there were days when I had no idea how we would get through another day, but somehow we did. And we will continue to make it through another day.

Unfortunately, this whole experience has taken Patrick, and maybe Sean, further away from God, or at least mainstream Christianity. The person who wronged us is a self-proclaimed good Christian, broadcasts it regularly on Facebook. Grove City College is a Christian college, proclaiming “Grove City College is a Christian College where you’re free to exercise your faith in an atmosphere of fellowship and friendship. The result is a campus life animated by faith.” I wish I had taught my sons what Matthew had said “Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves.” The more people or institutions have to tell you what good Christians they are, the more you should be suspicious.

So the year is coming to a close, and it couldn’t come too soon. Will 2014 be any better? While I’d never wish this year on anyone else, or wish to go through another one like it again, I am thankful for all of the blessings we did receive through it all. So many people have given us the gift of compassion and love through the pain. And while it is often difficult to see God’s presence in the midst of suffering, God is never absent, He has always been there, supporting us, especially when the pain became seemingly unbearable. So as the year closes, Merry Christmas, I hope this holiday season brings you great joy. And thank you, thank you all for what you have done to carry us through this year. We couldn’t have done it without all of you.

Caught in the Middle - I Think I'm Switzerland!

I guess I’m not surprised, through eternity religion has been at the forefront of conflict. Wars, conquests, terrorism have all been waged in the name of religion. Divisions have been created, lines have been drawn to separate the chosen from the un-chosen. If there is one thing we can all agree on it’s that my religion supersedes your religion. Or vice-versa.

While we have the never-ending conflict among the various world religions, it’s just as bad within the confines of the “Christian” religions. Presbyterians can’t agree with Baptists can’t agree with Lutherans can’t agree with Methodists. And Lord knows, none of us could ever agree with the Catholics!

I recently read that there are over 33,000 denominations of Christianity in the world and most of them came through a split. There are more than 100 varieties of Baptist Churches, and there is even the Church of God, True Church of God and the Only True Church of God. The story goes, if you don’t get along with your current church, move to a new one, or better yet, form your own, so you don’t have to worry about getting along with those whose beliefs differ from your own.

So if at such a high level, we all can’t agree, why should my little microcosm of life be any different? I’ve gone from northern, liberal Presbyterian church life to southern, conservative Methodist church life over the past several years. While I love and embrace my brothers and sisters from both spectrums of the country and denominations, I have to say in so many ways, I feel like Switzerland, I feel like I’m in the middle and don’t always feel comfortable in either pew.

On one hand, those who are of more the conservative ilk will condemn me to Hell if I don’t believe and think the way that they do. On the other hand, those of the liberal persuasion will roll their eyes at me and find my simplistic view of religion to be less than cerebral. I guess I’d prefer to have people roll their eyes at me than to burn in Hell forever, but neither is desirable. OK, no doubt, I’m exaggerating a bit here, maybe even more than a bit, but at times, this is the way it feels. So rather than say what I don’t believe or what I don’t agree with on either side of the pew, I decided to write, or re-write, what I believe.

In no particular order:

• I believe in Jesus Christ, I believe He is our risen savior

• I believe in Heaven and Hell, and I believe that the only way to Heaven is through the Grace of Jesus Christ. While I know that universalists believe that everyone goes to Heaven, I really don’t see any way to Heaven other than through accepting Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior.

• Having said that, I don’t believe Muslim’s, Hindu’s or anyone else are the enemy, I believe we all need to learn how to exist together and respect each other’s beliefs. If there is an “enemy”, I believe the enemy lies within, it is lukewarm Christianity.

• I believe in the Bible, I believe it is the living word of God, written by man, God-breathed. I am by no means an expert on the Bible, but it amazes me each time I read certain parts of the Bible how it speaks to me completely differently than it did before.

• I believe Jesus did perform miracles, I don’t believe they were just parables told by the disciples. I would just find it hard to believe that these guys would subject themselves to persecution and ultimately painful deaths for a guy that they just made up stories of miracles about.

• I believe Creationism is as plausible or more plausible than any other theories of creation. I know there is a lot of support for evolution, and maybe it is the way everything evolved, but I still believe, somehow, God was at the core or source of it all.

• I support and respect the rights of the gay and lesbian community. I don’t believe they are all going to Hell. Quite frankly, I have no idea who is going to Hell and who isn’t, but if I break 6-10 of the 10 Commandments daily, and I don’t believe I’m going to Hell, how can I believe someone who is homosexual is going to Hell?

• I believe that God sends us messages every day, probably continually, but we could have burning bushes ablaze all around us, and we would be too busy, calling, texting, tweeting, messaging to hear or see them.

• I believe in the separation of church and state. I know some believe we should have the 10 commandments on our courthouse, and prayer in the schools, but I think the more critical question would be do we know the 10 commandments, do we follow the 10 commandments, do we pray, do we pray with our children and teach them how to pray?

• I also believe the separation of church and state goes both ways. I don’t want politics to invade the church, the pulpit, Sunday schools or small groups. If we’re serious about this separation, it goes both ways.

Of course, I could be wrong, I could be incredibly wrong, and I’m sure in many ways, I am. I will never know, we will never know until we graduate from this world and move on to the kingdom of God. I accept that I may be wrong, and I accept that you may be right. I’m OK with that. The beauty of it all is that it all comes down to faith, and there is no clear truth to any of this, and as our faith evolves, some of our beliefs evolve with it. So as we meet on our journey of faith through our lives, I commit to you that I won’t doom you to Hell, and I commit that I won’t roll my eyes at you. Even if you are a member of the Only True Church of God.

Why I Teach

Four years ago, I received the opportunity to begin teaching at Georgia Gwinnett College. I had been looking for opportunities to teach for a few years, and I thought it would never happen, but out of the blue, I got an e-mail from the Associate Dean at GGC asking me if I wanted to teach. I jumped at the chance, it was a dream come true.

I’ll admit, at first, it was a much bigger struggle than I had anticipated. I’ve always had a great admiration for teachers, but now that admiration is even higher, what they do day in and day out is amazing. I had taught courses before, but always to professionals, who had some idea of the topic. Now I was teaching accounting, basically a foreign language, to students just trying to understand business. The hours I have had to spend have been tremendous, reviewing the topics each week, and trying to figure out how to paint a picture that is understandable for someone who has no earthly idea of what the heck a debit or credit is and what that matters anyway.

My approach is to try to educate more than evaluate. As I tell each class, I assume everyone is an A student, you have to prove me wrong. My main goal or focus is to educate them, not just about accounting, but about business and some of the great things, and maybe not so great things, that happen in business. I tell stories, lots of stories, because seriously, accounting is not that interesting. It is vital, it’s important to run a business, but it’s just not that exciting. I try to make the class as fun and interesting as possible, but I’m sure my students would tell you, I fail in many cases. But, just like them, I’m a work in process, so that’s OK, I need to keep working at it until I find a solution.

OK, so the questions come every semester from students, why do you teach? Great question! I’m the Chief Financial Officer at WIKA Instrument, and I definitely have plenty to do, plenty of responsibility, and to be quite honest, I make plenty of money if there is such a thing. So, why do I teach? It probably comes down to the following reasons:

It's Not the Money! – That should be the first caveat I guess. The money is far from great, and I’m not complaining and I don’t blame GGC. In fact, last year, when they were going through some budget issues, I told them if they needed to or wanted to cut my pay, I had no problem with that. Practically, they probably can’t do that due to rules in place, but money isn’t the issue. I spend a great deal of time tutoring, which I don’t get paid for, because I love to tutor. My belief is that students who come to tutoring really want to learn, so that is where I get the greatest amount of enjoyment or fun. Don’t get me wrong, the extra money is nice, but that is far from the reason why I do this.

It Makes Me Better at My "Real" Job – Over the last few years, as I’ve taught, and learned how to teach, I’ve had a huge benefit from this at my job at WIKA. I’ve had many people tell me that my presentations at work are much better than they’ve been before. It’s really quite simple. At college, I’m trying to explain accounting and business topics to students who in many cases, have never had any experience in business. I have to push myself to figure out how to help them understand these topics. If I can figure out how to help them understand business topics, when they haven’t ever seen them before, how much easier would it be for me to explain these same type of topics to people who have at least some understanding of business? It has made a huge difference.

My Students are Incredible in so Many Ways – Many years ago, I golfed on weekends. Then our twin sons, Patrick and Sean, were born, and my wife Laurel said, “you can either work less or quit golfing”. I quit golfing of course (by the way, Laurel loves that story, so I tell it often). I remember when I did golf, I really wasn’t very good, but each round, I’d have at least a few shots that made me think I could get really good at this, and it would bring me back each week, remembering that one shot that you put within a few feet of the pin, or that one drive that was perfectly placed in the fairway.

Every class is different. Every class has its own personality. Every class presents its own set of challenges for how to teach them. No class is the same, no semester is the same. I’ll be clear, I’ve had some classes that were very frustrating. I’ve had some that were incredibly hard working and did great. I’ve had some that were mediocre academically, but I loved them for their personality. Every semester is exciting for what each class brings. I get so much enjoyment from each class, they energize me, they challenge me to be better at what I do, they are fun to be around.

Each semester, it’s always interesting to watch how the class develops. I’ve had some unbelievable students, who push the limits, come close or even get perfect scores on tests. It’s so much fun to get to grading tests, when you are seeing if some of those students will reach that pinnacle, a perfect score. I’ve also had some that really struggled with the course material, accounting isn’t for everyone, but they persevere through. Through hard work, through a great deal of struggles, they push themselves to attain a C or even a B, even though accounting isn’t a discipline that they understand that well.

I’m really not sure which of these students excites me more. I love the really smart ones, who push themselves to get perfect scores, to attain the highest levels. I also love the ones who don’t understand accounting, but are willing to do whatever they can to understand it as best they can, enough, to at least get a passing grade. I had one student once, who through tears, said to me, “I’m really not stupid.” And she wasn’t, but accounting was a completely foreign language to her. She worked her butt off, and yes, she passed with a C.

My Students Make Me a Better Person – I remember a sermon once when our minister talked about two young people who had been in psychiatric hospitals that he was working with. His main point was that these two students did so much for him, provided so much inspiration to him, he wasn’t really sure what he did for them, but they did so much for him. That is basically how I feel about my students. I’m really not sure what I do for them, but I know what they do for me. They challenge me to be a better person. They continually push me to be better as a teacher, and as a person.

I’ve always wanted to do great things, mainly for God, but also for my community. I finally figured out or heard from God when I was finally really listening, I will never do great things. But, as Mother Teresa once said, “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.” My hope is that I am reaching some of my students, even if it’s just one, or a handful, I hope I’m reaching them and helping them grow in their lives and their careers.

It’s easy as an old person, like me, to look down on the “younger generation”, but we have so much that we can learn from them. Each day, I learn something. I learn about how to teach better. I learn how to treat people better. I learn about the struggles that young people are going through today. I learn about me, and how I can be a better me. Each semester, I hope and pray they ask me back, they give me the opportunity to teach again, to be around this great group of students again. I love the surprise each semester brings, the excitement of a new class, the thrill of a new group of personalities.

So why do I teach? Just like with so many things in life, you set out to do something for others, and eventually you find, the one who gets the greatest benefit, is you.

The Journey

Last month, I set out to run my one (and only) half marathon. I had set that goal earlier in the year, but life got in the way, and I had to postpone it. So I reset the goal, and set my sights on the Myrtle Beach Marathon in October. As the time got near, I increased my distances, getting myself ready for the longest and most difficult race I would ever attempt. To this point, I’ve done many 5k’s, but never even a 10k. This would be a challenge for me, not just the distance, but to be frank, I’m just not a great runner, I’m a plodder, I definitely don’t look like a gazelle or anything close to that running down the road, more like a plow horse or basset hound.

I picked the Myrtle Beach Marathon because my Mom lives there, and I also love the beach. The sales pitch they use for this marathon is that the last several miles are run on beachfront, which really appealed to me. The day before the race, I did my usual preparation, ran a short run with Laurel, trying to maintain my usual preparation. Two things struck me as I ran that day that gave me pause for concern. One, and the most obvious that I had thought about already, was the humidity level, and how much it drained me. Two, I realized that the race was taking place the day of my parent’s anniversary (that's them pictured above), and having just lost my Dad in June, it was an emotional time for me.

As the day arrived, I felt that I was ready, I was nervous, but ready. The weather wasn’t kind, it wasn’t supposed to rain, but it was pouring that morning as we drove down to the starting point for the race. It did eventually clear up right around the start of the race, but by then I was soaked. Still, I was pumped, it was my first half marathon, and I started setting my sights on finishing in under 10 minutes per mile. Now I know for most of the world, that isn’t a lofty goal, but for me, it was. And that may have been where it all began to unravel. As the race began, I got caught up in the “mob mentality” as Laurel calls it, and I went out too fast, at least too fast for me. I saw people with T-shirts with a verse from Philippians 4:13, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” I was smiling, laughing, giving thumbs up to these people, saying, “I love your shirt”, I was living large!

I began to write this blog post in my head as I went along. I was going to talk about running in memory of my Dad, and for my Mom, and how meaningful it was for me to run on their anniversary. I was going to write about my inspirations for this run, inspirations from my present and my past. From my present, Dagmar Deamer, in particular, has inspired me for her dedication and drive to run, along with her running partners Sandra Rai and Cheryl Thornton. Plus Jon Clifford has helped me a great deal along the way with advice and inspiration. I thought about some of my former colleagues from Barco, Tracy Titcombe, Bob Clodfelter and Jim Cox. They used to get me out running at lunch time when we worked together in Xenia, and I’ve been watching Tracy and Bob on Facebook with great admiration as they have been running marathons. I was going to write about my niece Emily, who runs marathons, runs double marathons, is just such an incredible runner and has inspired me. I was going to write this grand and glorious blog post.

And then, the wheels came off completely. I tried so hard afterward to figure out what went wrong, there are so many possibilities, but things went horribly wrong. Things were going really well through about mile marker 9, I was slightly behind my 10 minute mile pace, and somewhere between miles 9 and 10, I lost everything completely. My lower back seized up completely, which had never happened to me before running, and I couldn’t bend over at all. I could barely run, I couldn’t really walk that well, and I had over three miles left to go. I know runners can understand this, but do you have any idea the overwhelming feeling you have when you know you have over three miles left to go, and there is nothing left in you? I kept running it through my mind, what went wrong? I’ve run longer distances, I’ve made it, not easily, but I’ve made it without feeling anywhere nearly this badly. My back was shot, I couldn’t bend over, my legs were spent, my brain wouldn’t work, and I had over three miles left to go!

OK, so I did make it, that’s about all I could say for it, I did make it. I somehow, agonizingly, crossed the finish line, and quickly started looking for Laurel to help me. When she came up to me, and I turned and looked at her, I could see from the look of horror on her face how badly I looked. She immediately said, “We have to get you to a medical tent.” I refused and asked her to just help me walk out of there, I was so stiff, I could only walk completely upright, I was afraid I was going to fall over backward.

Physically, I recovered fairly quickly. Mentally and emotionally, it took quite a bit longer. I searched and searched trying to figure out went wrong. I changed my shoes for the race because my Brooks had died the week before, so I went with my Asics, and I had never run long distances with my Asics. As noted, it poured in the beginning, so I was cold and tight to start. I got caught up in the “mob mentality” and went out too fast. I was going for a goal of 10 minute miles, when I probably should have set a goal of finishing. It was a completely flat course, which I’m not used to, I usually run hills. All of this simply didn’t matter, the bottom line, the cold reality, I failed. I let all of the people down that had given me inspiration, I had so much to thank them for, and I failed.

As I drowned myself in my self pity for the rest of the day, as we drove back from Myrtle Beach to Georgia, it took Laurel to remind me of who I am and what I believe. That brings me to the picture and the saying below. Dave Carr inspired me yet again, and I created a notecard to send to people for special occasions. While it may be self-evident, it is something I believe in, the journey is as important and as much fun as the destination in many cases. I used a picture of Snickers riding in the car, because Snickers just loves the journey, if dogs could smile, he would be smiling (I really think he is). She said to me, “I guess you don’t follow what you tell other people. Was the most important thing how you finished in the race or everything you did leading up to the race and the fact that you ran the race and you did finish?” And of course, she was right, she always is.

And I thought about my Dad then. When he died, my brother Jim talked about how my Dad was our biggest cheerleader. I thought back to times when I would look at a situation and believe I had failed, and he could come up with a different view, a different slant, of why I had done so well. It wasn’t just me, it wasn’t just Jim, it was his grandchildren, it was anyone. He could find a reason to cheer you on when you felt like you had no business having someone cheer for you. So yes, I could hear my Dad saying, “Wow, that was great what you did, you finished a half marathon!” He wouldn’t ask about the time, did you run the whole way, were turtles on the beach passing you to the finish line, he would just be impressed at what you accomplished and that you were in the game, giving it your best.

Well, that was supposed to be my first and last half marathon. But there’s no way I’m letting it end this way. I have started training for my next half marathon, I have to redeem myself for that one. And I’m going back to the one that beat me, it’s not the same one, or the same course, but it’s back to Myrtle Beach, I have to beat this one. February 2014, Myrtle Beach is the destination. The journey begins, and it will be just as important, and just as much fun, as the destination. Game on.