What does your story tell?

I had lunch yesterday with two former bikers.  One from The Wild Ones M/C and the other from the Queensmen M/C, both who have turned their backs on their old ways and are committed to living a Christ-like life.  Ace Clarke and Terry Lacey.

As we sat together for a couple of hours the pair swapped stories of their past escapades, they had partied together back in the day as well.  While they spoke of launching rockets and their first bikes, something occured to me; they weren't glorifying the old days.  Instead, they were talking about the fond memories of relationships and fun times they had together with their brothers in the clubs.  They spoke fondly of old friends and the characters they've met along the way.  Both spoke of the number of club members who have chosen to become followers of God, not their club patch; a number that closes in on 30!

One problem I have with some people who share their testimonies, those who have turned their life over to following God and living a Christian life, is that there seems to be a glorification of the old lifestyle.  The difficulty lies here: a life under God needs to be better than any other lifestyle.  When someone shares a testimony, it should be glorifying to God, not a fond walk down memory lane where those listeners are left wondering about the person's commitment.  The old days should not be glorified. 

Back to the former Wild One and Queensmen.  These two men clearly love God and the new life more than the old times as patch members.  Of course there were good times to have been had, we've all had them, but a life under God is better than any other.

Everyone has a story.  What does your story tell?

Nine Simple Rules...just for fun

Okay, this one is simple.  After spending a day out and about with my wife there are a few things I had noticed.  I don’t expect everyone to be the same, but I remember having social standards and it wasn’t that long ago.  Ready, just for fun, here it goes...

Nine Simple Lifestyle Rules

1. Pull up your pants

2. Wear a belt if your pants are loose

3. The brim of the hat goes to the front

4. Never give your child a mohawk

5. Never give yourself a mohawk

6. Don’t carry your ‘man purse’ when your wife or girlfriend is waiting in the car

7. Learn new words - swearing every couple of words shows your limited vocabulary

8. Stand up straight

9. Don’t litter

That’s it folks.  These aren’t difficult, but I know that people are judgmental...or maybe they just have different expectations.

Ultimately, respect yourself and others.  The image your portray is the one that people will judge you on and it’s tough to shake an image or opinion.  It doesn’t mean it’s right, it’s just reality.

Everyone has a story, even the guy with the crooked hat covering his mohawk while his pants fall down since he doesn’t own a belt while walking slouched over with his kid who shares the mohawk look and drops his Tim Hortons cup as he searches his man purse for a smoke and drops an F-bomb when he discovers he’s out of smokes.

The Journey into Depression

Do you ever sit alone at night and wonder why the world doesn’t know you are alive?

Do you wonder if they would even care if they knew you were alive?

If only people really cared.

Do you put all the blame for your stress and anxiety on your job?

If only you could find a new job.

Do you find yourself becoming sick more often with all sorts of new diagnosis?

Maybe a few ‘sick days’ will help.

Do you experience only sadness and anger?

I know there used to be happiness.

Do you want to be isolated from the world?

Are you alone in a crowd?

Get help now.  

I went through depression last year.  When it came to a head, it was April 2009 and I couldn’t cope any more.  I was doing everything for everyone, I was active in work and community.  I held positions of authority in certain places.  I looked good to the public eye.  Inside though, I was crashing, and crashing hard.  Two emotions ran my life; sadness and anger.  I could hold it together for social gatherings, but they exhausted me and it wasn’t sincere.

I knew I needed to talk to a counsellor, so off I went to “talk about my problems.”  Within the first session, the counsellor tells me I have all the signs of depression.  I cry.  I go to my doctor, who agrees and writes me a prescription for anti-depressants.

I work in social services and I am a guy.  Guys don’t get depressed right?  I work with people who struggle with depression and take medication.  Now I am one.

I was told to be off work, which, if it was only up to the employer would have been fine.  Unfortunately, we have a third party carrier - SHEPELL FGI - that ‘manages’ all claims beyond ten days.  What should have been a time for healing and restoration became a time of further frustration and increased anger.  Anyone who has been through depression knows what happens to you.  

I was told after an initial claim denial (for time off work with pay) and two appeals that “just because you are depressed, why can’t you do your job?  Are you a risk to co-workers and clients?  Are you suicidal?”  Wow.  I try to get help before I am actively suicidal, but that isn’t enough.  I need to verbally cross that line.  I need to present as a risk to self and others.  Some caring system this is.  SHEPELL FGI did not care.  For them, it’s just about money.

It wasn’t until I completely broke down in my office on the phone with Rita from SHEPELL FGI that I was able to get anywhere.  I needed to be pushed almost to the edge of despair.  This was after SHEPELL FGI received a letter from my counsellor and two or three doctor’s notes supporting a leave of absence from work.  It was their doctor’s who had never met me or spoken to me that made their decision to send me back to work and deny any claim.  Rita finally noted from my break down on the phone that I was not in the condition to work and she was granting my leave.

Looking back, I see that I used activity to fill my void and try to find joy that furthered the symptoms of depression.  This journey of depression began long before my leave from work began.  It was probably a few years in the making, but I ignored all the signs by choice.  

When I accepted the diagnosis, and began medication, I steadily increased from a low dose, to the highest therapeutic dose that the doctor was comfortable recommending.  Combined with all other medications, I was up to seven medications a day.

In addition to trying to be a good dad and husband, I was involved in school, union, committees, politics, youth ministry, music ministry, board work, motorcycle ministry and missions work.  All noble, and all things that I enjoyed, all things that I was good at, but not what I needed.  I needed to have my own identity, instead of identifying myself with the activities that I was involved in.  When I began to give up these things, slowly and with reason, and began to speak more openly about my experience, my hurts, my past mistakes and opened myself up to receive wise counsel, I began to heal.

Going back to work after nearly three months off was not easy.  I faced a degree of anxiety, and continue to from time to time, but it isn’t the job.  Instead it’s my response to the job, and my choices in life.  I am now down to the low dose of anti-depressants once again.  I will be off them about one year after I began taking them.

Medication is not the answer.  Counselling is not the answer.  Time off work is not the answer.  Put them together and add a support network of friends and family and you can overcome depression.

If you are a guy, you truly are not alone.  I have found many other men who have faced depression as well, though most suffered alone.

If you find yourself on the same trip to the pit of depression that I took, get help now.  It could literally save your life.

Everyone has a story.  Make sure you tell someone yours.  Don’t go through it alone.

Our Mask and Shield

My wife and I spent last evening with friends at a concert by Canadian musician Steve Bell.  It was an opportunity to just take in such incredible talent in a comfortable atmosphere.  What struck me though, was the grace by which Steve played.  He has such talent that it would be plausible for him to be arrogant about his abilities.  Quite contrary in fact.

This man presented as humble and sincere in his work.  There was a connection that he made with people that it was evident he enjoyed his work, his art.

Steve is more than a musician though.  He has a unique take on people.  Steve explained that his father was a Chaplain at a jail in Drumheller, Alberta and that as a child, Steve’s father would bring him into chapel on Sundays, where most of his exposure to church took place.  Today that would be simply unacceptable and most likely not even considered.

But Steve embraced the experience.  As he shares stories from his own experiences, there isn’t a shred of indignation.  He exudes a genuine care and compassion for people.  It’s a simple and honest emotion, but open for judgement by those who fail to understand the basic human needs that each of us have.

It got me to thinking.  Maybe the people with the least to lose are the most likely to be transparent.  Maybe people who present with such a facade may actually be some of the most vulnerable of our society.  The mask becomes their shield, their protection.

Once in jail, there really isn’t much point to lying or trying to convince people that you are a saint.  Clearly, you aren’t.  Neither am I though.  Don’t misunderstand, the guys in jail did some awful things, but take it away and they are just people like you and I.  They may even have ended up in a better place amongst society’s elite, if someone had come along side them and showed grace at a critical time, rather than being critical when grace could have changed their world.  

Every man and women who finds themselves in jail has trail that lead them to the life they chose.  If you ever have the chance, sit and listen to inmates when they talk.  They all have a story to tell about their journey and they mistakes.  Maybe you could be the one person that cares enough to stop and listen. 

Everyone has a story.

Who lives in your world?

I started talking with random people last year.  Going through my own depression, I found myself soon taking medication that caused me to have a reduction in fear and anxiety, while other times finding myself leveled by anxiety and concern over being in public.

For those days when I was feeling fearless, I engaged the opportunity to meet new people when the opportunity presented itself.  That’s how I met the Bubble Guy, the Lonely Biker and the Man on the Porch.  It was during these times that I discovered that everyone has a story and if we stop long enough to talk to people, they will share their story.  

By showing a sincere interest in the lives of others, I have been blessed to meet with pro football players, a retired university professor who taught philosophy and travelled the world, a devoted single lady who served in the mission field but found love in her seventies and recently married, UFC fighters with a home town connection, shop owners who once had nothing, a lovely woman who had a frontal lobotomy many decades ago, former outlaw bikers who found God, prisoners looking for hope and other father’s who silently struggled with depression.

It was during these times that I gained perspective on my own life; what I value, what I need, what needed to be purged from my life.  I learned that I need accountability in my life to help me stay on track.  I learned who I can trust.  What surprised me most though, was how much I enjoy writing.

People matter.  Everyone needs someone.  Someone to listen to them, and care.  Seniors have some of the most amazing stories to share, instead we shut them out as irrelevant with nothing to offer.

I want to share the stories of real people in the world.  People whom I have been blessed to know.

Everybody has a story.

Share your story.  Email me at rowleywriter@gmail.com