Transitions

Tomorrow morning, a friend and co-worker will be notifying her boss that she is retiring in June. During the final weeks of school, she will be clearing out her office, saying "good bye" and riding into the sunset of retirement.

A few days ago, I received a text message from a close friend whose mother had just arrived in heaven.

All over this nation, millions of people are experiencing intense, unexpected transitions--jobs being lost or hours cut, homes being lost or in negotiations to be saved--in so many ways--good or bad--transitions become defining moments in our lives.

Over the last 3 and a half years, I have experienced what has been--and surely will be--the most difficult transition of my life. Losing my mother, sister and father in such a short span has not been easy. Some days are better than others. I am a changed person. My world has truly been "rocked".

This summer I will spend in Pasadena removing my parents' lives from the house in which I was raised since I was 5 years old. In the meantime, I continue to press forward in the "details" of settling estate issues.

When a spouse dies, the survivor is faced with a choice: remarry or remain single. In much the same way, I have chosen to become "readopted". Before you ask what I was smoking for lunch, let me explain.

The day after my father passed away in January, I received an email from a very good friend. His family had, over the years, already become like an extended family. The email was basically explaining that his family (his wife and four children) had decided they wanted to "invite" me to join their family. Up until that time, I had been "Uncle John" to the kids. But they voted, and decided I would become their older brother. This is amusing, in that their dad is two years younger than I am.

To try to explain in words what it meant to me to receive an email like that would be impossible. I am SO incredibly thankful to God for blessing me with friends like this--and others--who are helping me through this major life transition.

No, nothing, no one could ever come close to "replacing" the family I grew up with, who adopted me as an infant. But I do know that my mom and dad would be thrilled to know that I will still have friends I can now call family, that I won't be "stranded" on holidays, that this transition is just that--a transition from one period of life to another.

"Life is what happens while you're making other plans" . . .not sure who said it, but my favorite quote by far!

Home for Christmas

This phrase has taken on a wide range of meanings for me this year. The first Christmas didn't even take place in a home, or an inn--happened in a manger . . . .

For the last decade, "Home for the Holidays" has aired on TV the week leading up to Christmas, and highlights the importance of adoption--giving children a "home" not just for Christmas, but for life. As someone who was adopted as an infant, this type of program hits pretty close to home.

Last Friday night, my friend Chris invited me to join him at a homeless shelter in Redlands. For three hours I basically helped set up cots, pass out blankets and fellowshiped with about 15 people who had become pretty down on their luck. For that night, at least, what used to be a Smart and Final warehouse was their "home".

A few nights before Christmas, I was driving around town listening to KSGN, and a Steven Curtis Chapman song came on I had never heard before--"Home for Christmas". It started out pretty sappily (is that a word?!?)--typical "feel good" Christmas tune. But the second verse had a twist--it was about an elderly person in the hospital who was seeking to be "home" for Christmas--home with Jesus--in heaven. Wow. That stopped me in my tracks. This year, I literally spent Christmas Day in the hospital with my 87-year-old father. One day we, as believers, will all be "HOME" for Christmas--forever.

lunch

A spirited discussion over lunch yesterday with my "on air" buddy, Jason Dean. We were all over the place, talking about politics, the economy, and somehow we got into people's rights. Not sure about Jason, but it was one of those conversations that I was still having in my mind as I drove away from Citrus Plaza--and it's still percolating.

One one level, the history of mankind has to do with rights. Starting with Adam and Eve--they, at some point, decided they should have the "right" to live their lives without the interference of their Creator--"free" from His authority. We all know how that one ended up . . . .

Since then, it's just been one battle after another. When America was founded, the settlers believed Britain no longer had the right to rule over its new colonies. The settlers also felt they had the right to wrestle whatever land and livestock they needed away from the native Indians.

Then came the slavery issue--they felt they should have the right to be free. At some point, women stood up for the right to vote. In the 60s, the civil rights movement would begin to bring equal rights to blacks. More recently, a battle over immigrant rights has been brewing, and currently, the question of who has the right to legally marry is taking center stage.

Several years ago, the rights of the unborn seemed to be center stage. During the eighties and nineties, I remember intense debates, picketing and even violent protests defending the right of babies still in the womb to see the light of day. Lately, it seems as if the war in Iraq, the economy, gay rights, etc, have stolen the spotlight. How tragic.

Furthermore, I'm no longer convinced that all we need to do is elect a "pro-life" president and that will take care of the issue. Roe v. Wade is nearly 40 years old, and we have had plenty of pro-life presidents. Perhaps God would have His people adopt a different "strategy"; perhaps the political solution may not be the right solution. Not by might, not by power, saith the Lord. Of all people, as someone who was adopted at birth, I have a very personal stake in this issue. And I am as guilty as the next person to be getting all caught up with these other more "loud and urgent" issues over this past election year. The voice of the unborn is a still, small voice--a silent voice.

I stand convicted for not continuously, fervently praying. I stand convicted for not more consistently supporting my community's pro-life pregnancy counseling center. I stand convicted for worrying more about my rights than about the rights of those who have no rights, no voice, no hope.

A Blended President

No, I'm not talking about some new smoothie concoction. I'm referring to Barack Obama. And I'm not really comfortable with the way the media (and just about everyone else) has chosen to label him: black, african-american, etc.

Isn't he also white? Wasn't the mother who raised him white? And her parents who also helped raise him--both white (caucasian). He spent a couple months with his dad in Kenya--that's it! So, biologically, he's half white and half black. I will argue, however, that because he was RAISED by his white mother and grandparents, that makes him about 75% white.

Ok, take Tiger Woods. Dad is black, mom is Asian. So, he is equally 50-50. But isn't it true that whenever you hear someone describe his background, he is almost always referred to as black or African American? Wonder how that makes Mom feel? Wonder what Tiger feels about it . . . .

Now, does the media lean towards that half of one's DNA because it is the father's side in both cases? If so, that's pretty sexist, no? In any case, America is becoming more and more "blended", and we certainly need to start coming up with some more accurate terms to describe "what" people are. Because to call Barack or Tiger "black" simply does not tell the whole story.

What a year . . .

So I finish the school year and head to Catalina in June for a few days of relaxation. It might not be Hawaii, but pretty amazing for a little island just an hour's boat ride off the coast of Long Beach.

Brought along some reading material (HIGHLY RECOMMENDED: James Blake's autobiography, "Breaking Back"). Browsing through the island's only bookstore (Sugarloaf Books) and came across a title I'd never heard of until then: "This I Believe". Bought the paperback, and found inside short (extremely brief) statements from people famous and otherwise about where they stand on the deeper issues of life. One of my favorite chapters--"Be Cool to the Pizza Guy". Some light-hearted stuff, some really thought-provoking stuff.

At the back, I learn that This I Believe is actually a non-profit organization with a website: www.ThisIBelieve.org. The "movement" got off the ground as a radio program on NPR back in the 1950s where people would submit essays and if they're accepted, they would record them for airplay on the program (this practice has actually just recently been resurrected).

Online, people are invited to submit essays. So, I started writing one afternoon while on the island. Long story short, it is now in the website archives (enter USA, SMEBY and it will come up). But if you get that far, I encourage you to browse other people's essays. Inspiring, motivational, moving are just a few words that come to mind. Have fun . . . .

Jesus Take the Wheel . . .PLEASE!

Every once in awhile, someone will say something like "you don't have kids--why can't you at least get a dog or something??". Well, in all honesty, I can barely keep my houseplants alive, given the rollercoaster ride I've been on lately.

Take, for instance, these last four days:

Friday morning, get up at 5:30, go to work, leave work at 3:00
Drive to Pasadena to see Dad, have dinner
Saturday, have lunch with my sister, drive back to Yucaipa
Repack and head up to Big Bear Saturday afternoon
(That's the nice part--beautiful up there right now--lots of snow on the ground still)
Monday morning get up and drive back to San Bernardino for work
3:00 leave school and go to Cal State SB for tennis practice from 3:30-5:30
Stop at Trader Joes on the way home, arrive around 7:00

Why do I feel like a hamster on a wheel--life can just be one big roller coaster ride sometimes, you know? Is this the way it's supposed to be? If it weren't for Jesus in my life, there is simply no way. I would be an absolute basket case. Take the wheel. Please.

DRUGS

We're on drugs. Kids, athletes, adults, retirees, the nation--the world--is on drugs.

For today's teenager, the drug of choice is prescription drugs, primarily pain killers (right alongside inhalants, alcohol, marijuana and cough syrup).

We've been told recently that studies show that alcohol is good for you. A glass or two of red wine has multiple health benefits. At the same time, 40% of driving deaths over the holidays can be attributed to the effects of alcohol.

We see ad after ad on television for drugs that help us sleep, lose weight, lower cholestrol, lower anxiety, even if possible side effects include nausea, dizziness, diarreah, limb loss or death.

When we see the doctor, what we probably don't hear about is the multitude of drug company representatives who visited the office to "heighten awareness" of new drugs coming on the market, and why he/she should begin prescribing them to patients. True, drugs make money for street pushers; they also make LOTS of money for doctors, wholesalers, drug companies, researchers and shareholders.

Don't get me wrong--many drugs are necessary and beneficial to our standard of living. (What would I do without Claritin for my allergies?!?) But like anything, when used in excess instead of moderation (and I believe as a society we've crossed that line), things spiral out of control.

As a middle school counselor for 500 students in San Bernardino, I deal with some type of drug issue on a weekly, if not daily, basis. And, if it's not the student, it's the parent, the sibling--sometimes, yes, the teacher--who has dependency or abuse issues.

A few weeks before our "winter" break (ever the rebel, I always refer to it as our Christmas vacation--go ahead, fire me) I talked with an 8th grade boy who was struggling with parents who were constantly fighting, and alcohol seemed to be the drink of choice in the household. I asked him how he dealt with his parents' drinking and yelling, and he said he smoked weed. It helped him "tune out" the pain and chaos he simply could not escape.

When we return from break, I plan on including him in one of my support groups. But for the life of me, I simply could not find the words--or the justification--to explain to him that he shouldn't be smoking weed. Seriously, his parents are old enough to go to the store and buy their drug of choice that helps them numb whatever pain they're experiencing. Mom or dad aren't in any frame of mind to realize how their discord is negatively affecting their son. So he does the best he can with what he has. This is a good kid I'm talking about. A good kid trying to survive in a rotten situation.

Perhaps my not trying to talk him out of getting high makes me a rotten counselor . . .any suggestions?