I wanted to change the world. But I have found that the only thing one can be sure of changing is oneself.

Aldous Huxley

i spent the day on hastings street in vancouver. not the nice part. i watched people shoot up in alleys and hung out with the crew at insite, the legal safe injection site (http://supervisedinjection.vch.ca/). if you have never been on hastings just past main on three or four square blocks of hell it’s hard to describe what it is like. oh ya, you can watch the new reality show based in vancouver but nothing can give you that feeling of being in a human stew of 1000 junkies and prostitutes, the mentally and physically ill, canada’s unwanted. there is a sense of adrenaline mixed with a bit of yuppie fear and caution. It is a wave, a tsunami, that pulses with a stench and vibrancy that must be experienced to be really believed. i felt relatively comfortable, a testimony to months and past years of working with needle exchange and prostitutes, recovery people and addictions counseling.

it is a complex problem. i heard a politician say this past week that if the government would do it’s job than we wouldn’t have a drug problem. what an idiot. the power of using is far stronger than political will and addiction and addicts are problems that no amount of money or politics or even social services can eliminate. and to be honest, except for the salvation army and a few catholics none of the religious community is really willing to get messy enough to effect change. east hastings is a war zone and anyone who doesn’t think so hasn’t been there. it defies explanation and description.

i am concerned that middle class canada has no real understanding of what is coming for them. i predict that in a few years oxycontin and meth-amphetamines will emerge as a plague on canadian youth. it is already virtually impossible to go to a canadian high school in the cities without facing this problem, a problem that is going to increase 10 fold, 100 fold, in the next decade. and yet churches and schools are woefully ignorant and unprepared and will reap a whirlwind… because hastings street is coming to a neighbourhood near you.

i am often wrong but unfortunately probably not this time.

An ounce of loyalty is worth a pound of cleverness.

Elbert Hubbard

One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, “Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd.” I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.

As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at hime, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him. He looked up and I said, “Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives.” He looked at me and said, “Hey thanks!” There was a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private school before now. I would have never hung out with a private school kid before. We talked all the way home, and I carried some of his books. He turned out to be a pretty cool kid. I asked him if he wanted to play a little football with my friends. He said yes. We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him, and my friends thought the same of him.

Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again. I stopped him and said, “Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!” He just laughed and handed me half of the books.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends. When we were seniors, we began to think about college. Kyle decided on Georgetown, and I was going to Duke. I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles would never be a problem. He was going to be a doctor, and I was going for business on a football scholarship.

Kyle was valedictorian of our class. I teased him all the time about being a nerd. He had to prepare a speech for graduation. I was so glad it wasn’t me having to get up there and speak. Graduation day, I saw Kyle. He looked great. He was one of those guys who really found himself during high school. He filled out and actually looked good in glasses. He had more dates than I had and all the girls loved him. Boy, sometimes I was jealous. Today was one of those days. I could see that he was nervous about his speech. So, I smacked him on the back and said, “Hey, big guy, you’ll be great!” He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled. “Thanks,” he said.

As he started his speech, he cleared his throat and began. “Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years; your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach, but mostly your friends. I’m here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them. I am going to tell you a story.”

I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the story of the first day we met. He had planned to kill himself over the weekend. He talked of hos he had cleaned out his locker so his mom wouldn’t have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home. He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile. “Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable.”

I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weaknest moment. I saw his mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize its depth.

Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture, you can change a person’s life…for better or for worse.

more from my writing…

Growing up I was never the kind of a person who was quick to take his shirt off. Some people are blessed with genetics, I never was. Now that I’m in my forties it’s a little easier being the slim guy in the midst of a group of men struggling with weight, but growing up I was embarrassed.

I don’t like losing my hair. It’s a stupid vanity thing, but I can’t seem to get over it. It’s a constant reminder that I don’t look like I’d like to, that at this point I probably won’t be a model.

We used to have a rat named Mr. Bigglesworth. People thought he was disgusting. We loved him. Rats are a lot smarter than most animals and we could let him out and he would pretend to pounce me, sleep on my chest, play a rat version of catch. On the downside, he had no bowel control so that whole running around thing rarely ended well. People would comment how he was almost cute, except for his long ugly tail. I would remind them that this wasn’t Mr. B’s fault, we all have parts we are not proud of.

It is one thing to squint in the mirror. It’s another thing altogether when that shame reaches deeper into our hearts. Ruined self esteem, poor self-image, feelings of worthlessness.

Shame is a huge thing. In fact the more I look into it the more I am coming to realize that it is one of the biggest things in our lives. We may have even done the Christian thing and given stuff to God but it still seems to be there. We may have done the counseling thing, and it helped for a while, but the shame creeped back in. Most of us just stuff it and it goes away… for a while.

Shame is the experience of feeling defective at the core of your being. We feel guilty about our mistakes. Shame is the experience of feeling that you as a person ARE A MISTAKE. With shame there is no way of making amends or correcting the wrong. Cuz the wrong is you…

Shame is an underground current, a major force in the lives of most people, and it often results in Spiritual suicide. You are the walking dead, no hope of change in the future and no way out of the past.

Think I’m being dramatic? I interviewed a person once who said this, “You tell people that God forgives them and they need to forgive themselves but how the hell do you do that? It’s not as easy as you think. What should I pretend it never happened? I want it not to be there, it colors everything. You keep busy and you pretend but it just doesn’t go away. I’m tired of glib answers.”

I’ve heard a lot of sermons in my life. Most of them I cannot remember. Some of them I’ve tried to forget. Most of us have sat in churches and heard messages on stress, relationships and spirituality that offered solutions to our deepest pains. If we are honest with ourselves we have to admit that most of the proposed wonder-cures never worked.

How many times have we heard of God’s forgiveness yet never forgiven ourselves? How come we still carry so much shame?

I recently had an argument with a minister about sermons. Most of the ones I have heard don’t seem to play out in the real world. It seems easy on Saturday night to prepare three points on how to fix your marriage or how to quit sinning. On Sunday he delivered the message, felt good about it, been complimented for it… but did it really change anything? Really?

We are discovering is that there are fewer easy solutions than we once imagined. We offer half-baked solutions to hurting people who are suffering on a level that most ministers cannot imagine. How many of us were sexually abused, divorced twice, or damaged too deep for a quick cure? The solutions to the problems we face are harder than we acknowledge. Trite sermons just reinforce the fact that most of us will only commit to half measures both in prescribing the cure and dealing with it. Transformation takes years of shame and work. Yes work. You probably need to go deeper and darker than most of us are willing to go. You probably need to confess things that few of us are willing to confess. You need to open up a big can of worms.

There is a song entitled “Shiver” by the Christian rock band, The Prayer Chain. The words strike deep:
In my mind
I go back to that place again
In my mind
I hate myself again
Am I a man
Who is that disturbing
I can’t be
It cant’ be
But I remember it all
Not again.

Long ago
Sin pumped through my veins
Long ago
The blood washed it away
Still today
Night just makes me shiver
I hang my head
I shake myself
Am I that man forever
Not again

Jesus come and purify me
I just need to live without it
Jesus come and purify me again.

The evil is in my heart
Visions make it so hard
The devil….
No it’s me, it’s me, it’s me
Not again.

Religious people are taught in churches everywhere that they are supposed to be more forgiving, more accepting, more gracious. We are, after all, forgiven people who are theoretically keenly in touch with our own fallenness. If this were in fact the case there would be little to write. The reality is far different. Many of us are finding that our secular friends are far more accepting and gracious than our church family. Christians are often more critical, not less. They are “concerned” for you. They do not gossip, they “share”. They shoot their wounded. Sometimes it feels like church is an inbred family, with everyone knowing your business. In the desire to be accountable and holy we have given others the opportunity to be nosy and critical. There is no community I have ever known that is more sacrificial and loving. There is no community that I have ever been associated with that is more judgmental, more nit-picking. It is a schizophrenic relationship that plays havoc with one’s psyche. No wonder, then, that many Christian leaders suffer from immense insecurity and frustration. Add to this the prevailing wisdom within evangelicalism that anything you do well is ‘to God’s glory’ while you are solely responsible if something goes wrong.

None of the credit but all of the blame.

Don’t part with your illusions. When they are gone you may still exist, but you have ceased to live.

Mark Twain

another little excerpt from the never to be released book i am working on…

I once heard a speak tells the story of his high school track days when he and two of his buddies ran the hundred yard dash. One guy was very fast and always won. The other guy was faster than our story teller and always got second. And then there was him. When the first guy won, he would always say, “I want to thank God for making me win…” to which the second guy once said, “Hey, what’s God got against us?” The answer is nothing, but religious people often falsely assume that if they commit themselves to God, they are going to the top. But we’re not.

I used to date a girl in grade eight named Lynn. We are still friends after all this time but we both know it wouldn’t have worked out. We would have killed each other. She’s too short for me anyway.

Lynn loves to travel. She and her husband have been all over the world, but love going to Israel the most; don’t ask me why. I prefer the Caribbean anytime but that’s her deal, so mazaltoff. Once when they were in the holy land someone offered her husband ten camels for her. Now I don’t know much about camels but even I can understand that this must be a hefty price. If you talk to Lynn she will, from time to time, remind you that she is a ten camel woman. And why not, she has proof.

Most of us are not ten camel people. We watch television and see beautiful people running down beaches and kissing under the moonlight, and down deep we understand that we don’t measure up. We are ugly people. We are the losers. We don’t have big ministries or businesses, we don’t look good in a Speedo, we aren’t great singers or dancers or poets. We are only regular people with too much cellulite and not enough collagen.

For years I have tried to hide this from my friends and church, but no more. As seasons pass I realize more and more that I am not alone in my feelings. Though in varying degrees, many of our leaders and front runners picture themselves as unworthy, temperamental, or marginalized. They are not beautiful or gifted. As a minister of religion I often run into these people selling cars or pitching real estate. They are ordained ministers who, when pressed, admitted they never ‘fit the mould’ and eventually the pressure was too substantive. Eventually they caved to peer pressure and criticism, leaving the ministry for less accountable environs. The damage to their psyche, however, was harder to flee from. Lingering doubts about their value and future remain. They were failures who could not measure up.

Conversely you can tell early who is going to be a success in religious circles, who is being groomed. I remember when I first entered the ministry it was not long before I was introduced to the food chain (and where I stood on it).

What I did not understand at the time was how the system worked. I only knew I was not on the list. Some of my friends were, and they were labelled ‘sell-outs’, denominational suck-ups.

Have you ever noticed how most pastors seem so similar? There has definitely been some temperament profiling going on. I know hundreds of ministers and after a while it began to dawn on my how much alike they are – outgoing but not aggressive, confident but not opinionated, absolutely dead center on the extrovert/introvert scale. It’s true, look around you. I have been at conferences with literally thousands of pastors. You can count the number of controversial personalities on one hand. If you are looking for marginal personalities, check the kid’s table. Most of them make a brief appearance as youth pastors.

A little known fact is that most youth pastors have a shelf life of only 2-3 years before leaving for good. Why is this? In extensive interviews they have admitted to me that they never ‘fit in’, that the pressure to conform was overwhelming, and that most of their creativity was shot down by established mores and hierarchical power brokers within the church culture. They expressed a emerging frustration and heightening awareness of their own worthlessness brought on by repeated rejection and character assassination.

My family and I were once listening to a grad address in Fort McMurray with my close friend Steve as a mother was describing how the growth and welfare of the grad is most influenced by their home environment and how they get their values – how important their parents influence upon them was – how crucial the parents are to their child’s success. It is at this point that my son Nathan turns to me, takes a hard look at me and says, with a totally straight face…
I’m screwed…

As a counselor I have seen firsthand the effects of self-loathing. It is apparent to anyone in this field that virtually everyone battles feelings of insecurity and years of self-doubt. Coming to terms with one’s self is perhaps the hardest internal battle that anyone of us fights.

We try to find our identity in many places, and many of those places are destructive. Girls crave love and attention so much that they settle for anything that even resembles it, mainly from guys looking for only one thing. Guys crave status and respect and when they cannot find it they are fooled by its illusion in pornography and casual sex. Lonely people longing for approval fall into the world of drugs and alcohol, And insecure people strive to get to the top, only to find their identity lost when they finished second. In each case, people are looking for the fulfilled life, that life like the eagle, and instead they wind up more confused as to who they are, and where they fit into the world. We have all felt the sting of insignificance, and left wondering if life is even worth it. So where can we find the answers to who am I, and where do I belong, and am I even important to anyone.

Tony Campolo tells a story in one of his books about something that happened after World War II. There were more than 200 Frenchmen who returned to Paris suffering from amnesia. They had been in prison camps and were so psychologically devastated by their ordeal that they had lost the conscious awareness of who they were.

In most cases, their identities were quickly established, but after all that was done, there were still 32 men whose identities couldn’t be verified. The doctors who were treating them were convinced that their chances for recovery were slim unless they were connected with former friends and relatives and restored to their once-familiar settings.

Someone had an idea to help. They published photographs of the men on the front page of newspapers throughout the country, and gave a date and time when anyone having information about any of these amnesia victims could come to the Paris Opera House. Well, on the appointed day, a crowd gathered to view these war veterans who didn’t know who they were. In a dramatic moment, the first of the amnesia victims walked onto the stage of the darkened opera house, stood alone in the spotlight, and slowly turned completely around. Before the hushed audience, in a halting voice, he said to the crowd, “Does anybody out there know who I am?”

Well, in some ways, we’re all asking the same kind of question.
We want to know who we are.

We are so vain that we even care for the opinion of those we don’t care for.

Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach

i found my old phone and now i have an extra phone and they send me these instructions.
Read these simple guidelines. Breaking the rules may be dangerous or illegal. Further detailed information is given in this user guide.
Violation of the instructions may cause serious injury or death.
-Never use an unapproved battery since this could damage the phone and/or the battery and could cause the battery to explode.
- Never place your phone in a microwave oven as it will cause the battery to explode.
don’t put it in the microwave? then why did they suggest it?

i broke my itouch, lost my cell phone and plan to quit Facebook. i’m not quite sure what to do with myself…