Extra Express

a little something extra

I remember it clearly; hustling down the halls of my school as a kid, carefully managing my every move. I had to get from point A to point B quickly enough to stay off the radar, while somehow moving slow enough to avoid drawing attention to myself. The pit in my stomach and thumping in my chest were undetectable to most. Many would've seen me as reserved and aloof. The truth is, if I could've just faded into the shadows, I would have.

Thousands of miles and more years than I'd like to admit now separate me from those halls, but I've never really shook the habit of hiding. The jeers and jabs that echoed down the corridors of what should've been a safe place still echo in my mind. Fading into the shadows continues to appeal to me occasionally.

But something amazing has happened. God blessed me with an incredible wife who has been a safe haven for over half my life now. She loves me wholeheartedly and pushes me out of hiding daily. She's a beacon of light and has walked alongside me as God leads me closer and closer to a place of healing; and within that place, I've found a little something extra.

Somewhat recently, several new people have come into my life. I've had great friendships with some really good folks throughout my adult years - but theres just something timely and unique about this particular convergence. Like a mid-2000's sitcom about a group of unrealistically diverse characters, we span the whole gamut; no two of us are quite alike. Our truest commonality is the commitment we all share in our work with at-risk youth. 

These people embody many of the things I value. They live in gratitude and joy, warmth and kindness. They are intentional and sincere, and live in the here-and-now with appreciation for the wonder of life. In this community we share, and with the ferocity of my wife's love, I rediscover what it means to be me.

Whether we're processing the burden of our work, sharing an adventure, or taste testing new and exciting tequilas, the energy is always electric. Those echoing halls from years ago seem more like a nearly forgotten dream. The urge to hide and be lesser-than dissipates and a weight falls from my shoulders, freeing me to be not just myself, but a little something extra.

a living hope

My every need is met, more than adequately.

I am blessed. I know this.

But with risk of sounding like a pharmaceutical ad, depression doesn't discriminate. Depression doesn't care that I have a wonderful marriage, loving parents, amazing friends, and a fulfilling career. Depression certainly doesn't mind how difficult it can make it for me to go out into the world with knots in my stomach, a buzzing of doubts and insecurities cluttering my thoughts, a numbing pain in my heart, and a stiff aching body. Depression couldn't care less about the people depending on me to show up to work each day, or those who've invited me to share life with them.

But thankfully, depression doesn't get to decide my fate. Even when I've lost all sight of light, there is a Living Hope.

Ephesians 2:10 says, "For we are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God has prepared in advance for us to do."

This verse has a special place in my heart. Its a reminder that, in those times of feeling worthless, I was created with a purpose to share the love of Jesus.

ποίημα is the word used in the original Greek text of this verse to signify a piece of workmanship, like a sculpture or a ballad. In fact, the pronunciation of this word, poiēma, is the root for the English word "poem."

As someone with a passion for songwriting, this concept really resonates in me. Each song I've ever written feels like a piece of who I am; they come from my heart. To think of myself in these terms, as someone the Creator of the universe so lovingly crafted Himself, is a powerful and moving thought. Thats why I had this Greek word tattooed on my wrist a few years ago. I was in a dark place at the time, and struggling to see any sign of hope. When the day came to get this tattoo, I faltered a bit. But within minutes of questioning if this was a sentiment I wanted branded onto my body forever, I received a text from a dear friend sharing this very same verse with me, "For we are God's handiwork..."

Recently, I've found myself in another valley. Depression has weaseled its way back into my life in a way I can't quite seem to shake this time. Months have passed in shadows, with the last couple weeks seeming to be the darkest I've met yet. Again, I know I'm blessed, but reminding myself of that somehow only leads to more shame and darkness. I worry the storm cloud over my head is beginning to wear upon those around me, and all those symptoms of the aforementioned pharmaceutical ad run rampant.

Fortunately, my focus was returned to this powerful verse, "For we are God's handiwork..." in the Orchard Community Church service this morning. I was reminded that I am made alive in God's mercy and grace, and that I've been given a life of purpose. These aren't things I'd forgotten; but a fire needing rekindled.

And although the waters may still remain rough for some time, I know I have a living hope.

Post-it to the rescue!

It finally happened yesterday.
And I survived.
I knew it was coming.
In fact, I expected it to happen sooner.

My first bad day at practicum.
It was the perfect storm.

My caseload was a hot mess.

One client was psychotic, one was extremely suicidal, and one was on the brink of an alcoholic relapse while mourning the recent death of his mother.

I had fallen behind on documentation and was feeling pressure from the shift leader to act more as a staff than an intern, fulfilling a slightly different role. Meanwhile, my clinical supervisor had a different set of expectations, wanting me to remain clinically focused and strictly operate within the role of a trainee only.

My clinical supervisor also happened to have a migraine yesterday. I tried to remind myself of that each time I overheard her berating someone...

You'd think a person with a PhD in psychology would be a bit more careful with her words.
The shift leader could've used a little lesson in kindness, too.

Anyway, perfect storm.
There was just a lot going on.

Today I had to go into practicum late due to a school meeting, but the evening was very laid-back. I was able to catch-up on documentation and even squeeze in a 1:1 session with a client. I also took a little time to vent my frustrations to today's shift leader, which seemed to help a lot.

And, like a good little therapist, I practiced what I preach. I implemented a little positive self-talk by reviewing some feedback I've received on my case notes. As a practicum trainee, all my documentation must be submitted to the clinical supervisor for approval before being placed into the clients' charts. My supervisor happens to be known for being a nazi when it comes to documentation, tearing apart every page that crosses her desk. Some of my peers complain of revising notes up to four times before the supervisor agrees to sign them. I, for whatever reason, happen to have a knack for clinical writing, so most of my notes are approved upon first draft. The rest have very few revisions and are always signed upon second submission. So today, while playing catch-up and revising a note that needed some editing, I decided to spend a few seconds celebrating all the "good job!" post-it notes I received this week.

And it made me feel a little bit better about yesterday.
Post-it to the rescue!

off with their heads

These kids...
they be making me crazy!

Furrealz.

I work three twelve-hour shifts, 11am to 11pm. When I report for duty, the evening staff I relieve gives me the low-down on the day's happenings.

Typically, its not a pretty story.

And those details; the threats and the violence, the opposition and the insults, they all paint a picture of what my morning might look like when all these darling 'lil kiddos rise and shine... And more often than not, the picture painted tends to be pretty accurate. So there I sit, ruminating and dreading what will inevitably come to be.

I try to keep my attitude in check and be positive but, well, thats stinkin' hard to do at times. With funds running low, the money just isn't there for the counties to send these kids to a higher level of care, even when thats what some of them really need. And with our organization not doing too great itself, we're definitely not turning kids away, even when we're unequipped to treat them.

Its a hot mess. And until the economy picks up and helping troubled kids become a priority, its unlikely to get much better. Hence my frustration.

Compassion fatigue has set in, or is revisiting, and I've run out of room in my heart. My knee is jacked up from busting down a barricaded door and doing a restraint last weekend, I leave work most days smelling like the spit of dirty kids who haven't used a toothbrush in only God knows how long, and I guess I'm just tired of the continuous string of unresolved crisis'.

Yep. Off with their heads! All of them! Just make it painless...
I guess I must still have a little room in my heart for them after all  :-)

"Frequently people think compassion and love are merely sentimental. No! They are very demanding. If you are going to be compassionate, be prepared for action."

-Archbishop Desmond Tutu

snapshot: 050713 1300 PST

A skinny latte, one sugar-free vanilla pump. A complimentary homemade wafer on the side.

A cool breeze and warm hoodie. A drizzly sky and the covering of the overhang. A chair and side-table on the patio.

A newly bound, worn out bible.

A well spent hour.

“If you want to conquer the anxiety of life, live in the moment, live in the breath.”

-Amit Ray

Armies of Goliaths

We all know the story of David and Goliath; the ultimate tale of an underdog's success. The shepherd boy's triumph against the giant-sized warrior has even permeated the most secular corners of our culture.

Zero to hero.

One could even draw comparisons to the American dream.

But David wasn't pining away for his big break. His didn't put his nose to the grindstone to make a mark on the world. David didn't step up to the plate hoping to hit a homerun. In fact, I think he would've been just as happy making ends-meet herding sheep.

For forty days the Philistine and Israelite armies were at a standstill. Both set up camp on mountaintops, a valley between the two served as the battleground... that is, it would have, if the Israelites ever made a move. In their defense, the first army to enter the battlefield would have been at a serious disadvantage, losing altitude to their enemies. Not to mention, the Philistines had Goliath on their side.

Everyday, Goliath would step down into the valley, alone with his shield barrer, and challenge the Israelites. If any one soldier could kill him in combat, the Philistines would pull back, leaving Israel in peace. But thats not all the behemoth-of-a-man had to say. Goliath implemented a special war strategy used to attack the opposer's morale and judgement. In civilian terms: smack talk.

Lets take a moment and see the world through the Israelites' eyes. Look familiar? For me, its strikingly similar to circumstances I find myself in daily. Theres always something seemingly undefeatable thats obstructing the path God is pointing me down. And like the Israelites, I tend to freeze in fear. Negative thoughts, self-doubt, and outside discouragements start getting to me. Goliath's taunts begin echoing through my mind...

Being a true lover of God, David couldn't standby knowing the blaspheme coming out of Goliath's mouth. Not only did Goliath mock and defy God's army, he was doing so in the very land God declared as His' peoples'.

This week at The Branches, Paster Pink put an emphasis on a single verse that really struck a chord in me, "... David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet the Philistine." 1 Samuel 17:28

David didn't pray Goliath would just go away, or that he might somehow be able to avoid the battle. David ran to the battle line; David ran towards something I run away from. David knew, full heartedly, God was with him. His faith was strong. But David's bravery wasn't just an act of faith; it was a testimony of God's glory.

"Then David said to the Philistine, “... I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts... This day the Lord will deliver you into my hand... that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel." 1 Samuel 17:45-46

Is it possible for us, today, to have the same faith and determination David had the day he defeated Goliath? Is it possible that our doubts and fears are the battle tactics of our enemy? Can we hear these things as blaspheme and feel a righteous anger instead of discouragement? Can we prove to all nations God is alive? 

Goliath stands before us. Armies of Goliaths. But God stands behind us, and no weapon forged against Him shall remain (Isaiah 54:17). He gave us a spirit of power, not fear (2 Timothy 1:7), so lets run to the battle line and make His victory known!

See you on the other side? 

snapshot 042913 1900 PST

Hangin' with my buddy.
You know, just tossing back some bottles...

Chillin'...

When day after day offers yet another seemingly hopeless story of abuse, neglect, maladaptive behaviors, emotional disorders, etc., holding this beautiful baby boy, raised in the home of a beautiful family, is magical.

Knowing he will be loved.
Cared for.
Raised to know the Lord.

It's like a drink of ice-cold water after days of wandering through the desert.

*Mr. Landon, son of my good friends Matt and Amy. 

learn. live. look. rest.

snapshot: 042613 0900 PST

I spilled the cereal. All over the floor.

It was actually one of the best weekday mornings I've had at work in a while. Everyone got out of bed within a reasonable number of prompts, made their beds and tidied up their rooms, took their medications, ate their breakfast, did their chores, went to school without any acts of aggression or major displays of defiance...

Considering this motley crew in question, it was quite a fantastic morning. In fact, it was a boys'-home miracle! Again, company considered...

So when they left for school, when I started straightening up the kitchen, and when I somehow managed to carry a box of cereal upside-down to the office, when it spilled out and scattered as far as the dining room walls would allow...

It remained to be a wonderful weekday morning.

It took a moment for it to sink in; I wanted to catastrophize it, a mess that only took one minutes' worth of sweeping to clean up. I wanted to go 'all or nothing' and decide the morning had been ruined.  Then reasonableness set in...

Why cry over spilled milk cereal? It's just not worth it.
And 'all or nothing' thoughts are just a waste of effort.

a little link love

Carlos Whittaker loves God. He writes about life; all aspects of it, including the seemingly sensitive topic of mental health. 

He has a way of stimulating online conversations that need to be had somewhere.

So, here's Mr. Whittaker's take on some things near and dear to my jacked up brain.  Copy/pasted from HERE.

The first time it happened I was standing on stage at Sandals. We were in the theater at California Baptist University because the gym floors were being redone or something of the sort. I had stood in front of this family every Sunday for at least 5 years. Nothing was different. Just another Sunday.

We were singing Charlie Hall’s Salvation. It was the 2nd song of the set. All of a sudden I felt my heart skip a beat. Literally I felt it flutter.

WHAT WAS HAPPENING?

Then it happened again. Everything started spinning. My chest got tight. I remember almost blacking out. I put my guitar down and stumbled off stage. The band kept playing and Nathan ran up to me with eyes wide open. “I think I’m having a heart attack. Get a doctor please.” They stopped the service and asked if there was a doctor in the room. After 5 minutes with me he looked at me and said, and I’ll never forget it…“Carlos you aren’t having a heart attack, you’re having a panic attack”

That was the sentence that began a LONG road for me. A road littered with me not being able to leave the house for days at a time because I would start perspiring profusely and my heart would race out of control. A road where I would scream at myself in the mirror and curse God for giving me this thorn. A road where I would have to pull over driving and sit for an hour because my body would randomly go into terror mode.

That was 10 years ago. Through counseling, medicine, and everything short of traveling see the Wiz at the end of the yellow brick road, I have gotten my panic and anxiety under the illusion of control. The truth is that it pops up at the most inopportune of times. And what used to be strictly panic and anxiety has morphed into it’s ugly cousin called depression. Depression is newer for me but very similar. The idea that I can’t control my mind and my body. It’s all the same. Zero Control and the fear of it overtaking you.

Over the weekend, after seeing twitter explode with opinions and thoughts on mental illness, my own struggle came pressing her face up against my conscious again. 3 years ago I told my friend Eric, “I can see why people commit suicide. I honestly can. Not because I am near that, but this last bout of depression was the first bout where the fear of the what was coming was greater than the fear of anything else.” I’ve never been suicidal. Or at least I don’t think I have. I don’t even know what that really means. But I do know this… I have prayed for God to take this away. I have fasted for God to heal me of this. And guess what. I still have it.

Yesterday when I got to Crosspoint to lead worship I had to sit in the car for an extra 5 minutes and do breathing exercises to slow my heart rate down as it had been palpitating all morning. Was it because I was nervous about leading worship? No. Was it because I was anxious about anything that was going on in my life? No.

It. Just. Happens.

So let me dispel some common myths the church has when it comes to mental illness.

1. A person struggling with mental illness needs to have more faith.
My faith and my seretonin levels have nothing to do with each other.
2. A person struggling with mental illness should forgo medicine and pray harder.
You wouldn’t tell an asthmatic to pray harder during an asthma attack. You would tell them to suck on that inhaler. Same thing.
3. A person struggling with mental illness can’t lead in ministry.

Read the Bible. It’s filled with cray ppl like me killing it for God.
Oh. And you are crazier than you think you are.

Listen… It’s not easy. I wish God would take it away. I wish I could go more than 5 days without a day I don’t have a mild or major episode of anxiety or depression. But as of now I can’t. And the church needs to get over it and stare this dirty little secret in the face. Because when they do… It will unleash a whole army of Christians who, at the moment, feel like they don’t have enough faith to lead.

It’s better that way…Los.

too much of me

5 miles, 44.5 min, 492 cal.

Running with my iPod on shuffle and Matthew Thompson came on right when I had 1/4 miles left. 

Perfect cool-down soundtrack!

too much of me

5 miles. 43 minutes. Lots and lots of sweat. I didn't wanna. But I did :-)

Snapshot: 021113 1900 PST

Sunset at Oceanside.
With my wife.

Peaceful. Lovely.

"The heavens declare the glory of God,
and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.

Day to day pours out speech,
and night to night reveals knowledge."

Psalm 19:1-2

Snapshot: 011913 1300 PST

Issues and Ethics in the Helping Professions;

made tolerable by a little shaved ice...

an impromptu catch-up with a friend...

and a borrowed textbook already highlighted, underlined, and filled-in.

Sitting outside on the most gorgeous day imaginable didn't hurt either!

Study time can't get much better than hitting the books at the Sweet Sno' Shaved Ice shop!

Be free. Own the gospel.

Sin is a pit. Dark and deep. Easy to fall into. Hard to crawl out of. And I have this theory...

Shame can become a ball and chain, making it even more difficult to climb out of that darkness and to feel the warmth of mercy again...

We're forgiven. But if you're like me, that's hard to accept. Hard to own. Shame looms over my head like a cloud sometimes. It's not so much a thought process. Not so much  a series of regrets. It's more of an emotion. An awareness of my own depravity. My sin. That ball and chain.

Shame. Shame is abused by the enemy as a way of tethering us to the very world we've been set free from. Shame is the shadow that obscures our sight of the miracle of God's grace.

Recognize the true purpose of shame. Recognize it as a red flag to confess and repent. Then accept His forgiveness as the gift that it is. Rejoice in it. Rejoice and be free. Testify to His glory. Own the gospel. 

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” 1John 1:9

“As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.” Psalm 103:12

“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)

"For God so greatly loved and dearly prized the world that He gave up His only Son, so that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16
"Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame. Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated. You will forget the shame of your youth and remember no more the reproach of your widowhood." Isaiah 54:4

Snapshot: 011013 1300 PST

I picked up my friend Nate around noon today to do a little hiking out at Daley Ranch .

It's the first time I've really gotten outside in a while, and it felt great. 4.9 miles with some inclines and declines. The perfect amount of exertion: enough to sweat and burn some calories, but not enough to be miserable. It was a beautiful day, too. About 70'F, blue skies, gentle breeze. Lovely.

One of the nice things about Daley Ranch is that its really close by, yet out just far enough to escape the sounds of the city (except the occasional airplane). I was able to experience nature today. Smell it. Hear it. Feel it under my feet. Feeling drawn to God and a special closeness to Him amongst His creation.

And then, of course, there were the conversations. The camaraderie. Accountability. Encouragement. The kind of comfort that seems to only come from Christian fellowship.

I arrived home later this afternoon with a little more pep in my step. My awareness and sensitivity to God's presence in my life has been stirred, just when the waters were beginning to still.

Good hike.

mask-free and fearful

I love this image. It's the perfect portrayal of life for many people with bipolar I and II, as well as other mood disorders.

Always changing, one extreme emotion to the next. I'm not talking about normal fluctuations. I'm talking about the kind that effect work, sleep, relationships, general well being and ability to function.

A lot of people change faces, but not their expression. A smile might become a frown, but you'd never guess what's really going on under that mask they feel that have to wear.

I've been on a soapbox lately about these masks.
I've been trying to live authentically; mask-free. It's a lot easier to do in writing. But face to face? That's where masks come in most handy.

The hardest part? The fear of stigma. I've been really struggling for about two months now. Again, it's easy in writing. Mood logging and blogging. That's comfortable for me. But face to face? Mask-free?

As soon as I reach a point I'm ready to remove the mask...
To show my I-am-not-okay-and-need-your-help face...

Something happens. Or happened recently, I should say.

Last week I had to send out a text to couple of trusted Godly men saying something along the lines of, "I'm sick. I kinda don't want to be alive right now..."

And as difficult as it was to get to that place of reaching out like that, I find it almost just as difficult to share the relief I feel today.  

I know. You read that correctly. Weird, right?
If I completely live mask-free, you're going to see my face.
My real face. The one that's always changing.

There are these people. I log into FaceBook and see them daily. Literally within one hour they post about being the happiest person in the world to being a devastated victim to a cruel world full of crueler people.

Unfairly so, I judge them. It's in my nature. "Drama," I think. "They're all drama."
Yet I don't want you to think or feel that way about me.
Which, this judgy thing, it really gives me something else to work on...

I say I want to live mask-free, but I'm fearful.
I have a lot of faces. They change a lot.
What does that say about me?
And what will that make you say about me?

But regardless, here goes...

I had a spiritual experience last night.
I feel close to God and to other people again.
Today has been good.
I feel joy and hope.

My face has changed. 
Literally, overnight.

This smile is not a mask. It's real.

I am fearful though. Fearful this rapid change ultimately means I'm crazy.
That I'm one of those people. Drama.
Fearful you will think I'm crazy and one of those people.

Fearful this is all just a fluke and I'll wake up tomorrow back in a pit of despair.

But for now? I've committed to just rolling with it.
I feel good. I'm throwing caution to the wind and running with it.

My face. Smiling. No mask. Honest smiling.

better

I don't necessarily try to be better than anyone in particular.
I just desperately want to be better in general.

Better than me.
Better than this.

Good enough to belong. To be. To have a place that's mine.
Good enough to be needed and wanted. Used. Not used.

Those thoughts and feelings are irrational, I know.
They just reflect where I'm right now.


But this quote. It's a great way of looking at myself. A great way to look at now and tomorrow.
Where was I yesterday? How can I be one step further today?

It's a step-by-step goal.
It's progressive. It's realistic.

And it's better than the direction my mind has been taking me lately.

Better.

MOG 101312: HUMPTY, REVISED

The King and His horses, and all the King's men...
Managed to put me together again.

I guess that makes me Humpty.
I could list several of the King's men in my life.
But who are the horses? Hm... heheh

God always sees me through the dark times. Always.

The way my brain is wired, the way those chemical and electric signals are fired off somewhere in my gourd, it's like I'm standing on a wall. That's my life. Standing on a wall.

One side is all balloons and streamers.
The other side, no bueno.

But whether I'm balancing somewhere in the middle or fallen to one side or the other, God always sees me through.

Friends, family, my wife. His word. Pharmaceuticals.
Some extra sleep. Some beautiful weather.
Blessings that keep me tethered to Hope.

And with some time, all the pieces of my shell have been put back together like a puzzle.
Yolk intact.

Scale: One! I have these fleeting thoughts of worthlessness that are easily swept away with a quick prayer and a healthy reality check. Then, presto! Gone.

And maybe those thoughts are what is keeping me dependent on Him.
And if that's the case... I'll count them as blessings. I think? heheh...

Thank you, my King, and to all of His men.
And, yes, even to His horses, whoever they may be.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11