Below is an entry from my prayer journal in its raw, unedited version. I haven’t even gone back to re-read it other than to delete personal names and add some photos. I’m afraid that if I re-read it or attempted to edit it for grammar or clarity, I would lose my nerve and never hit that publish button – but something tells me this needs to be put out there. My readership is not that large, but someone needs this – maybe now, maybe later. So, here it is, with all its naked vulnerability.

Some things may not make sense to those who do not know my story and some things may not make sense to anyone since I mention things that only my therapist – or not even my therapist would know. Some things may be difficult to read and may even cause some to question my sanity or stability. I assure anyone reading this that I am not suicidal and have no (and have never) had thoughts or a plan of hurting myself. The worst of my written thoughts reflect the worst of my mental state during the pandemic years, things that my therapist and I have worked diligently to overcome. Although I live in a “normal” state of depression most of the time, it is not debilitating, nor does it prohibit me from living a fulfilling and satisfying life.

I smile when I think of some of the things I have written because it reminds me of a friend’s sideways complement about the blog I kept during my cancer treatment. He greatly enjoyed reading it, learning the hard truth about the physical, emotional, and spiritual effects of treatment. My entries helped him to know how to pray for me. As he was complimenting the blog, he added, while giving me an uncomfortable sideways glance, “even though some things are embarrassingly graphic.” He was referring to an entry I made about the constipation from the medications.

Some things I wrote in this entry of my prayer journal, things that are in no way, shape, or form embarrassing to my original intended audience (Jesus), will, no doubt, be embarrassing for some of my other (human) readers to read.

So, reader, be warned. As with much of my writing, there is a happy ending. The journey, though, may prove to be a bit of a tumultuous ride. 😉

(Oh, and it is quite lengthy.)

January 9, 2024

Good morning, Dad. Day one of our retreat. The sign in the kitchen says – rest, renew, refresh. That is pretty appropriate given what I hope for this week – a reset for my mind, body, and spirit, and to reconnect with you.

I must say, I am really looking forward to what you have in store for me. In addition to rest, renew, refresh, I hope to hear from you about the house to home endeavor – is this what I should be working toward? The thing to give my time and attention to now that I am not in school? This in addition to learning Spanish and writing?

Then again, I am simply eager for you. I remember all those Gethsemane trips. You never let me down. I didn’t always get the answer I came seeking, but I ALWAYS, without fail, got you – and that is huge. A few days of detoxing and then you.

It’s not quite as easy to detox here. I don’t have the structure that I had at Gethsemane and its not as quiet. Also, there is a television right in front of me.

I decided last night that I would commit to not watching until 7pm but even now, I do not feel the urge. That is exciting in and of itself – I want you more than I want the comfort of the television.

The trip here was my encouragement. It rained nearly the entire way, and not just a little rain – hard, blinding, sideways rain. In addition to the wind, blowing the rain down even harder, the back splash from the cars in front of me. Weather alerts came on periodically – tornado watches and one tornado warning. I kept driving.

When I got to Houston, traffic was terrible. But at least the rain let up. Then, on the other side of Houston traffic, the rains and winds came again. Then the rains settled but the winds intensified. When I got here, the waves looked violent and threatening – and beautiful from the safety of the road.

I was never afraid, but tense, for sure. I felt it in my hands and neck and still feel it in my neck.

During the worst of it, some drivers still insisted on speeding. I thought to myself that those are the ones who cause the accidents the radio guy kept talking about – accidents that were slowing down traffic and completely shutting down some highways. Then, up ahead, one of the speeding trucks had wrecked. Luckily, it appeared as if he clipped one wall and spun into the opposite side of traffic wall – without doing significant damage to the truck – and more importantly – without injuring or damaging any other vehicle or person. Those in front of him must have been driving defensively well enough to be able to react safely.

Anyway, on the way, I kept thinking about whatever I recently heard – Levi Lusko’s talk about you calming the storm during the 4^th watch.  Meaning the disciples had to weather the storm for a long time before you showed up. He concluded that maybe we are in the fourth watch and you are about to show up. To hear that snippet of his sermon during a major storm without being afraid driving to spend a week alone with you. I felt like I was on the right path. The storm gave me peace.

I thought about the saying about how it’s the journey and not the destination. In this case, it was both. I was eager to get here, but the storm made me present to the moment. Rather than getting lost in an audio book (my phone car connection was not working and the rain kept me from stopping to eat or pee or fix it), I listened to worship music (thus was able to hear all the alerts) and focused on the here and now. I knew where I was at all times. Most of the trip, I could only focus a few feet ahead of me, concentrating on the reflectors in the road and the lights of the vehicle in front of me – but I was fully alert and present in the moment. I was present for the journey.

I wondered if this was the day I was going to die. I get strange feelings driving in crazy weather. I am not afraid, but wonder if I’m destined to die in a car accident. I can’t see myself grow old and I can’t visualize how I will die – except in a car accident. I’m not afraid of dying, but momentarily afraid of the pain of death. Then, that, too, soon fades when I think of the end result. I think I can endure whatever comes knowing that the end is home with you.

Then I wonder if I’m really ready to die. I mean, I just bought a new house – for the first time. What an inconvenience that would be to ____ What pain my death would cause my family. But they’d get through it, move on. I mean, death is a part of life.

That’s one thing about my job. I looked at my stats for the end of the year – 45 deaths. That’s a significant downward turn since the COVID days – and less traumatic. Most of them were “easy” as far as deaths go. I have become somewhat immune to death.

I thought about that conversation with the case manager. I think about my first death. I had no idea what I was doing and it was the first dead body I had seen outside of a funeral. The man was severely riddled with cancer and the death was inevitable, but the daughter was still beside herself and crawled into the hospital bed with him. Death in the beginning was surreal to me. Now, it’s just a fact – a part of life. One day that person is here, the next they are not.

What still gets me is the finality of it. The fact that in one moment, they no longer exist in the same way. That’s just bizarre to me still. Also, when I know them well and don’t expect them – like ________ – those are sad. Also, family reactions. Most recently, the 7 month old the dad rolled over in his sleep. That was crushing. I never met the baby or family before. I was there at_____ request, to support him as he supported the family. Still, I couldn’t help but cry. Or the 28 year old who’s father could not hold himself up – his knees buckling. Those get to me.

But death itself? My death? I’m okay with it. Like I told _______, I had to confront my own mortality when I got cancer. I confronted it again during COVID with all the risks I took, especially when we didn’t know much yet. Now again with every death we see – and honestly, I’m okay with that. I’m not very attached to life – to my life.

Maybe it’s the depression talking – the walking, normal, feel fine but its still there kind of depression – the normal kind – but I cant remember when I truly felt happy or joyful or looked forward to something. I mean, I have had good moments, good days, good seasons. I would even consider this to be a good season in my life. But there’s that disconnect, like I don’t really belong here, nothing I would greatly miss or feel like I was missing out on if I were to die. On the other hand, there is a great deal to look forward to if I did die. Heaven, being free from depression, at home with you – reunited with Bailey, a brand new experience.

I don’t tell that to people because most people would worry, think I am suicidal. I am not. It’s just that I have never felt like anywhere on earth is truly home. The closest I ever felt was at dad’s but that was taken from me a long time ago. I no longer feel that same connection and I am now okay with it belonging to someone else soon and not one day becoming mine. That actually frees me up to fly at a whim – should you release me.

Anyway, I then wonder what life is like for people who do not have depression. This is the norm for me. What would life feel like, look like, without it? Would I then fear death and dying? Then may I never lose my gift.

To think of depression as a gift is bizarre, but I truly do think of it that way. It makes me more creative, more compassionate, and less afraid. Not that _____ are not compassionate or creative. They both are immensely – just in different ways. I like my way. My way is what makes me an effective chaplain and what makes me the kind of writer I am.

But there’s that chaplain piece. One of the biggest reasons I knew I needed to come here to reconnect with you is that, for so many years (COVID years), I felt like I was losing everything that meant anything to me – my home, my church – all my strong towers were crumbling and all I had left was work. I was terrified of life without it. What if it was taken from me? I knew that was not a good way to be, but it’s all I had – that and the world inside of my imagination that kept me from completely going insane.

Now, the further I get from you, the more I am starting to see the negative effects. I am losing my job. Not literally, but you know what I mean. I don’t feel it anymore. My patients seem like burdens.

What was it I read just a little bit ago in the Barclay commentary? Jesus and the leper – how people, including the church elite, ran far away from lepers, but Jesus went to them. Barclay compared it to how doctors see patients. “To good doctors, anyone stricken with some terrible disease is not a disgusting spectacle but a human being who needs their skill.” Then Barclay wrote about how Jesus touched the leper. Touch. I read that again and it shamed me – and reminded me why I am here and why it is so vital that we reconnect.

I was like Jesus during COVID. While others were kept away and some ran away, I ran toward. I took the time to gown up, sit by the bed, hold the hand. Even if the patient were intubated and would never know if I were there, I felt a need to be there, to take the time. I felt like that person needed to feel a human touch, to hear a human voice, to know they were loved and cared for, especially when their families could not be there. I didn’t care who they were or what their religion or what was going on. COVID patients were the lepers of my day and me being there for them, especially in the beginning before the vaccine when no one was allowed in the room except necessary personnel, I had to be that human connection of love for them.

Now, any abnormal patient is a burden. If I have to suit up for COVID patients, if the patient is not alert or has dementia or is yelling or has a sitter – or does not speak English or has another religion other than Christianity – I have viewed them as a burden. Patients have become numbers. I even started to notice that I fumble routine prayers.

Even as I type that, I feel ashamed. That’s not who I want to be, but that is who I have become and without this time to reset, it will only get worse until I do actually, physically, lose my job.

So, yes, I hope for specific answers about house to home or what else I should be doing with my time now that I’m not in school, but what is most important is that you and I simply reconnect. Not so simple, but simple – AND immensely vital to my wellbeing and my ability to serve others.

And, last thought on the trip here – something big must be about to happen between me and you. Otherwise, why would Satan be doing such a bang up job trying to keep me from getting here?

Anyway, I’m excited for what the week will bring. Please prepare me for it – rest, renew, refresh. We’re off to a good start. Slept almost until 11am. I did dream that dad’s house toppled over, as if someone picked it up and gently put it back down on its side. The only thing left was dad’s bedroom. It may be a simple matter of the extreme weather and the high winds even this morning. Or, there may be more to it – I am sure there is. Why only the part I ever lived in was dismantled, no longer habitable. I wasn’t sad, I mean, I was, but I wasn’t devastated. More than anything, I wanted to protect the kids who came to swim and explore. I didn’t want them getting hurt by anything because the house, although perfectly in tact but on its side, was still unstable. I made them leave. I am sure there is more to unpack, but not right now. I may just let that simmer.

For now, I am hungry. Time for lunch then a walk along the beach with you.

I love you. Thank you for loving me enough to call me on this trip with you. And the fact that it was planned months before I knew how desperately I would need it is another indication to me of your love and protection for me. Thank you.

January 9, 2024, continued:

I don’t think I have ever had an encounter with you so quickly. Maybe there will be more? Maybe today is all I will get. Either way, I am very satisfied and it has only been two or so hours since I last wrote – it’s not even 3pm – although it feels like I spent WAY more time out on the walk than I did.

It is cold and very windy out there. It was difficult at first and soon after I reached the peer – only to find that it was closed to all but fishermen, my stomach hurt. I went back across the street to the gas station to use the restroom. I suppose I should not have set out so soon after eating. Anyway, I was freezing and contemplated just coming back here and looking at the waves from the warmth and comfort of the condo. But for those brief moments at the pier, I loved hearing the waves and seeing them up close. So, I decided to try again.

I thought I would sit on the rocks along the shoreline of the pier so that I could be close enough to see and hear without sitting on wet sand. While looking for the closest and driest rocks, I saw two side by side with markings – I assume nature-made and not man-made – oh, but before I get to the rocks, I want to go back to when I first walked toward the pier.

The storm from last night washed in a TON of shells. It looked like a shell collector’s paradise – and probably what others were doing all bundled up and walking along the shore. I came across a perfectly intact sand dollar and picked it up. I have never seen a perfectly intact sand dollar on the beach before, only in stores. However, this one still had the thing attached – whatever the live part of a sand dollar is. I’m going to look that up really quickly.

Well, I don’t think the one I found was alive – at least not according to the video I watched. But there was something snail-like attached to it with a big mouth (at least by the size of the tiny snail-like thing). So, I’m not sure what I saw but still, I decided not to take it in case it was still alive. Besides, I prefer those kinds of things like my flowers – I love flowers in their natural habitat. I don’t much care for cut flowers for decoration. Still, seeing it was pretty neat.

Anyway, back to the rocks. One rock looked like a fist. The other looked like a smiley face. I saw them and knew I found my spot. I thought to myself, what would I prefer? To be strong or happy? I answered myself that I am already strong. I would prefer to be happy.

When I climbed the rocks, I ended up sitting on a rock just above and between the two rocks and put one foot on each rock – strength and happiness. After a photo op, I ended up shifting my body so that both feet were on the happy rock. I did this not intentionally, but because sitting the way I was sitting strained my neck when I tried to look out upon the water.

Happiness – I couldn’t remember the last time I was happy or excited about anything. Have I ever been?

I sat there, contemplating my life, trying to remember a happy time. The cold wind made my eyes water and it seemed appropriate. They were not tears, but I felt like I should be crying.

I know everyone talks about the difference between joy and happiness. I mean, by the definition, I do still have joy because I know who and whose I am. He is joy, but I also really hate when people say that because they tend to be people who don’t know what my life is like or what depression is like. I feel like they are still equating joy with human emotion and think I should feel a certain way because I have Jesus. They are saying the right words, but expecting the wrong outcome. By their definition, I have neither joy nor happiness.

And, their definition makes me angry because I do know that I have Jesus. I am saved. I am loved. I am enough. I know and feel all that and am eternally grateful for it. Their definition would question my faith and salvation but I have no doubt. My faith and salvation are strong and solid. My “happiness” or “joy” or any way you want to describe that human emotiveness is what is lacking.

This made me feel sad.

When was the last time I felt happy?

With ____.

I thought about that time we drove to teach a RAD class at that church. I laughed so hard I fell out of my seatbelt. I loved living with him and his girls. I felt like I had all the best parts of a family without the messiness of sex complicating our perfect relationship.

We worked together, lived together, played together and rarely tired of each other. It was perfect – until ____ came and wrecked it.

Sex complicated things even then. Back then, I had no interest in a physical relationship but it wasn’t about sex. I mean, I was still young and attractive. I almost had sex with ____ after Brad. I still felt sexual and sexy. But sex with _____ was not something I was interested in. I felt like sex would ruin our relationship. At the time, I loved ____ even though I hated men – and I hated men in a romantic sense. I didn’t think I could trust any man once sex got in the way.

Now, it’s even more complicated. My body is different. Not only do I look different, but cancer and the full hysterectomy changed my body. I look different and feel different and I have no idea if my parts still work. There is no drive and no desire. Would the “right” man or the “right” medications change this? I don’t care enough to find out.

_____ made me happy – but I’m not lonely.

I thought about that sermon I listened to on the road – about how God creating a help-mate for Adam was not about sex – not yet. It was about community, creating a companion. Yes, marriage should be a partnership, companionship – and the lack-there-of . . . not relevant to this topic. The point is that God created Eve to be Adam’s partner, his community, his companion.

I’m not interested in a romantic, sexual relationship. I have companionship. Yes, I am grateful for ____ and my other friends, but it would be nice to have a____ again. But again, I don’t feel lonely.

And I thought of what part of my being with _____ – it was the pre-cancer us. It was working together teaching our RAD classes. Hanging out at work. Hanging out outside of work.

But who was I then? Was I happy or was I simply oblivious to the fact that I was not happy – because I did a great job of ignoring all my human emotions, electing for the status-quo humdrum existence.

When did that change? Obviously, I made a conscious effort to change me and I’ve done a lot of hard work, but there’s got to be more.

I looked back up toward the peer, watched someone walk around the upper deck. There’s supposedly a full bar up there. I wondered if it was open. I thought it would be nice to have a glass of wine, relieve my stomach and the tension in my neck and shoulders – but I can’t. I shouldn’t. I’m a Nazarene pastor.

More – yes – life got more difficult and less fun once I got into ministry. One thing I remember about who I was back then was that I was carefree. If I needed or wanted a drink, I got one. Even the little things. I could relax because I wasn’t trying to be so perfect.

A-ha! That’s it. Perfection. No one demanded my perfection, let alone You. But I put that added pressure upon myself. I was a good person then. I’m a good person now. I loved you then. I love you now. I sought to help others then. I seek to help others now. What makes me me is still the same. The difference is the insurmountable amount of pressure I have put on myself by expecting perfection if I am to be your servant. You asked for my heart, not for perfection.

Drinking or not drinking was not a problem before. Celibacy was not a problem before. I still don’t drink and still don’t have sex but I complicated both issues SO much by how much pressure I put on myself and for what? To have the joy zapped from my life? To live an unhappy existence? To be no better than the religious rulers of Jesus’ day? To put pressure on myself the way Christian Jews tried to put so many unnecessary rules and regulations upon Gentile Christian converts?

And what has been the result? Falling further and further away from my best friend – and the need to isolate again to reconnect.

One – two – then three birds came close, sat on a rock beside me before finding their way to a hidden food source. Two seemed oblivious to me. One seemed to notice me but to feel perfectly safe. I watched – and time seemed to slow down.

I remembered what I loved about my time with _____. We did things together. We went for walks. We went hiking – hiking.

I thought about all the times hiking with _____ and before  ____. I thought about the last time Bailey and I took a day trip to the beach. The peaceful moments I sat outside watching birds. Life slows down when I’m in nature. I feel connected to you when I’m in nature.

In nature, I felt happy – rested, renewed, refreshed. I realized that I was no longer as cold as I had been. It was still cold but my body had adjusted. Sitting here, watching the birds, listening to the waves, watching to see how high on the shore it would go, I felt peaceful. Content.

That’s when it hit – I love to tell stories. Writing does that for me, too. I’m good at it. I miss it. I miss creating something new. I miss that euphoric feeling I get from writing.

The answer – house to home. I don’t have to build a new business to help people. I can help as it comes. If _____survives his surgery and has need, I can help. The church can pitch in. There’s all kinds of free and cheap things we can get through Facebook messenger.

I can help as there is need.

What I can be more intentional about – what I can do to fill my time now that I am not in school, is to start writing again – fiction – finish that 3^rd book.

My heart felt wonderful, peaceful with that realization.

Or should I say, realizations?

I don’t have to be perfect, so stop giving so much energy trying to do the impossible.

No to a formal house to home nonprofit endeavor and yes to helping one person at a time – WHEN then need arises.

Yes to resuming my writing.

I was ready to return to the condo. As I started to leave, I saw a man with a shopping cart walking in my direction along the peer. I knew we were meant to run into each other and that I would give him my McDonalds gift card. What I did not expect was the length of the conversation. Again, the reminder that I was not in a rush, no hurry.

We talked for quite a while until I did start to feel uncomfortable, not unsafe, but he was getting too close. I felt released, like I was free to go – a reminder that I could not be all for him, could not solve all his problems. I did not need to be perfect. I simply needed to be kind.

It is only now, as I type, that I realize this was a reset – this was my “leper.” What I needed to do was not to cure his “leprosy.” I simply needed to see him, take my time with him, and touch him.

Thank you for that lesson, too.

Goodness gracious, Dad. So much in so short of a time. I am amazed. I am in awe. I am grateful.

I feel free.

I want more.

I want you – more of you.

Thank you Dad. Thank you a million times over. Thank you.

I love you. Thank you for loving me more.