Sparks and Butterflies

Back in March, my birthday came and went without a lot of fanfare.  We don’t have money right now for celebrations.  That was fine.  I was disappointed by how I felt about this birthday, 35, anyway.  Halfway through my 30′s, on my way to 40, and I was disappointed in my life.  Completely starting over financially.  “Stuck” living by my parents to help them.   Still overweight.  Still smoking.  Poor.  An unemployed husband.  No savings.  A fledgling business.  I felt like I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.

But I’m working on all of those things.  Because when I turn 40 I want to be in a place that it’s just fabulous.

But I’ve learned a lot in my 35 years on earth.

I’ve learned that the gray in my hair doesn’t bother me in the least.  I’ve learned to stop caring what others think.  Sometimes I still have to remind myself of that, but it’s true.  I don’t particularly care what you think of me.  I’ve learned that I have really broad shoulders, and I can handle a lot of responsibility.  I’ve learned that I have an inner mama-bear and can be a true advocate for my kids’ needs.  I’ve learned that I’m a loyal wife, and a loyal friend.  I’ve learned that I’m not frivolous, I’m not silly, I’m serious.  And that’s okay, as long as you have balance.  My husband creates that balance in our lives.  I’ve learned what my politics are.  I’ve also learned when I need to turn off the flow of information.  I’ve learned when I need to ask for help (although it’s still a struggle for me.)  I’ve learned more about what my personal faith is and looks like (although I’m still struggling with it.)  I’ve learned to love through the not so lovable moments.  I’ve learned that I can love and care for my family, even if I don’t particularly like them at that moment.  I’m slowly learning to let things go that don’t matter in the long run.  I’ve even learned I have a knack for home decorating – not that I have the funds to indulge in it.  I’ve learned to stand up for myself.  I’ve learned that I scare people with my bluntness, but I’ve learned that I’m never mean.  I’ve learned to tell people when I think they’re going down the wrong path, but how to make a bad haircut something positive.  Yes, you look fat in that, but man do you look fabulous in this.  No, you shouldn’t live with him first, but I’ll give you a bachelorette party to remember.  I’ve learned when to have tact, and when the superficial tact will get in the way of what someone actually needs.

So, while I’m not where I want to be in life – I know I’m working on it.  And these last 35 years have not been a waste – I’ve learned something from them.  That’s really all I can ask.

My readers run the gamut.  PR people read it, friends read it, online friends (read: we haven’t met in person yet) read it, strangers read it.  I don’t think any family actually reads here, but I know some family know about it.

I hold certain views, that I haven’t fully fleshed out here on the blog.  But due to those views, I’m making some preparations around my household.  I have a request of you all – my readers.

Because much of our correspondence happens online, the resources that uses – at least on my end – consist of a computer, electricity/battery combo, dsl/wireless combo, blog platform usage, email usage, and comment and/or networking site usage.

What if that all goes away?  What if we lose the internet?  What if we lose electricity?  What if we lose the phones?

Here’s where my request comes in…  If you wish to stay connected to me, offline, please get me your contact information.  How much info you give me is, of course, up to you.  My thoughts are phone numbers (including landline,) home addresses, email addresses, and any other information you would like to pass on to me.  I will reciprocate.  This is, of course, for those of you  I consider friends, and those who consider me a friend.  Someone you want to hear from even if we couldn’t connect online.

If you want to send me your info – don’t comment! You don’t want that info all over the internet!  Send me an email at sparksfley at gmail dot com.  I’ll send my own back to you as well.

As time has gone by, and Thanksgiving prepared and served and celebrated…  I don’t have the patience to update on the rest of the blow by blow.  So here’s the general gist…

On Sunday, I called and wanted an update on Joseph.  He was doing great behaviorally, ate and slept, and was in general good spirits.  That’s good.  I asked if we were still on track for release that day at 2:25pm.  The 72 hour hold time.  No.  Apparently he was on a tentative release date of Monday.  Unacceptable.  I asked for more information, but it wasn’t noted in the chart.  She said that she’d get the doctor to call me.  I waited on tinterhooks, but never got a call.  I called again to see if I could pick him up.  No, they would not release him.  So I called again at 4pm, and went through the whole thing again.  This time I talked to the charge nurse.  He told me that no, he was not going to be released on Sunday, or Monday.  He had been put on an involuntary 2 week hold.  Trying to hold on to my composure, I asked why that might be?  Considering that he had been no trouble at all, had managed his upped dosage of meds, and was reacting fine both physically and mentally?  He had no idea, and suggested I bring it up to the doctor.  I mentioned that I would if one would deign to speak to me.  Mind you the 72 hours were up earlier, and I had only spoken to a doctor once.  On Friday, for his history.  So, they had decided to keep him – again – without my consent, and apparently my knowledge.  I told the nurse I would speak with him when I got there in person.  For our hour with our son.  After we got there, Poe took Joseph to start the visit, and I spoke with the nurse.  I went through the entire series of events with him in chronological order.  After listening to me, and my being rather nicely forceful in person, he took a look at the chart.  He said that it did seem odd to him, and he would definitely look into it.  He said that I probably could take Joseph on Monday, but that he wanted to look into it, as the hold was continued without my knowledge or consent.

We visited with Joseph.  He was noticeably worn about the edges, and was really ready to come home.  I told him I was doing my best to move things along, but that it was out of my hands.  I told him I would keep him apprised with as much as I knew.  We left him there… That night, again.

Poe and I went to dinner again at the Denny’s down the street.  As we finished, and were just waiting for the check, my cell phone rang.  The hospital.  I took the call outside, while Poe paid the bill.  That was the nurse.  He said that he didn’t know if I would be able to take Joseph on Monday or not.  You see, the doctors don’t work on the weekend.  So – while Joseph was there for his 72 hour hold, the doctors, who can’t be bothered to observe the holds on the weekends, were not observing him.  Therefore, it would have to wait until the doctor (the mythical person I had never spoken to – I spoke to a different doctor on Friday) observed him an made a decision.  He couldn’t possibly be expected to approve a release without observing the patient!

No.  He couldn’t possibly be forced to work on a weekend.

Seriously, people.  I usually have a great respect for those who work in the mental health field, and those who work with children.  But I think you forget sometimes.  It’s your job.  I know that.  But guess what?  It’s our lives you’re playing with.  So pardon me if I don’t give a rat’s ass about your getting your weekend time in, if it means you can just keep my son, whom I have custody of, and who has NO social services complaints or files on.  Again.  Our LIFE.

I gave the nurse what for on the phone.  I was pacing up and down the Denny’s parking lot.  I noticed Poe – listening with half an ear, just keeping an eye out to make sure I didn’t walk in front of a car or something.  I then told the nurse I expected a call the next morning.  I also warned him that if I didn’t – they were sure to hear from me.

We went home, dejectedly.  Eventually, we got ready for bed, and relaxed.  Around 10pm, the phone rang.  The hosptital number.  This could not be good.  I answered the phone.  It was Joseph himself.  God forgive me, but all I could think of was please don’t be having a meltdown – they won’t let you come home if you do!  But I just asked him what was wrong.  It was hard to piece together.  He couldn’t talk very well, and the phone isn’t that great.  Apparently, another boy was in Joseph’s room, and wouldn’t leave.  The patients aren’t allowed in each other’s personal rooms.  Joseph was trying to hedge him out of the room, when the other child attacked him, and put him in a choke hold.  I calmed him down as best I could.  I asked about how he was physically, and he said he couldn’t talk very well, and his neck hurt – but he was ok.  I told him to go straight to bed, and if anyone bothered him again, not to take care of it himself, but yell for an adult immediately.  I told him I was working on getting him out.  I hung up with him, and immediately called the nurses station again, where he called from.  When they answered I asked how Joseph was.  They said he was shaken, but ok.  They said that the other child was put in the “quiet room.”  Considering my son is in a locked down mental institution, I’ll just let you imagine what the quiet room is.

The patients are not allowe to use the phone.  There is a public phone that they can use after 3:30pm.  He was scare enough that they let him call his mommy from the nurses station.  I then had to hang up, an leave my son there.

The next day, the doctor who originally did the history called back.  They said that they wanted to keep him another night for observation, after the altercation.  I questioned their own sanity.  That was not appreciated.  Apparently they wanted him to react to the situation so they could observe it.  Horsehit – my guess is they were covering their own legal asses.  I made it clear that the kid had mental healthcare out the wazzoo on the outside.  I made it clear that the child was being held 100% against my wishes.  I made it clear that my husband and I were looking into our legal rights and the legal ramifications of what had transpired.  I made it clear that I didn’t appreciate being left in the dark.  “Well, I spoke with you on Friday.”  Yes.  That one time was enough to keep me feeling informed about my involuntarilly hospitalized son, sure.

I think that she couldn’t possibly be a mother.

She informed me that he was tentatively scheduled for release, the next day, Tuesday.  I asked when?  She couldn’t tell me.  Who can?  The social worker.  OK, when will I hear from them?  She couldn’t tell me.  Which was so helpful.

Around 2pm, I got a call from a new person at the hospital, who I hoped was the social worker to arrange release.  No such luck.  It was the administrative office.  Our medical insurance will only cover 80% of the bill, and I would owe $1000 for the remaining 20% when I picked him up.  And how did I want to pay for that?

I must say, I reacted totally inappropriately.  I started laughing.  Hard.  With a little tinge of hysteria.  I then informed him that my husband has been out of work for the last 8 months.  This was the first actual mention of money.  And lovely timing, while I’m trying to get the kid out and all.  While he didn’t say so, I definitely got the impression that feeling was you get your kid when you give up the dough.  I don’t think so.  The words “kidnapping,” “blackmail,” and “extortion” come to mind.  I consulted with my mother, and she said no to the money.  Not no to me…  She was pissed at them.  She said that if they didn’t give him up the next morning,  to call the police.  Let them come after me for the money if they wanted to – but she wasn’t paying them a dime to get my kid out and they can’t force me to.  Further, she spoke to an attorney, and apparently we have more rights than they let us know.

Finally at 4pm I called them back.  I still hadn’t heard from a social worker…  After playing phone line bingo, I was told that he had left for the day.  He leaves at 3pm.  He gets in early, don’t you know?  I said fine – give me someone who can help me.  I got the charge nurse (a different one.)  I explained about the release.  She said she could arrange it with me, as she would be the charge nurse the next morning as well.  Finally.  I arranged to pick him up at 8am.

I did, too.  I was there early.  No one bugged me about money.  They weren’t in yet.  They explained about how I was to get aftercare and an appointment at his therapy center.  I explained – again – that he has been going there for 2 years, we have standing appointments, not to worry.  She was surprised by this.  Why yes, I do take care of my son!  Imagine that!

I took him home, and we had a long talk on the way home.  And then got him in a hot shower, and into clean pajamas.

His therapist came to the house the next day and had a session with him – and a session with us after.  She knew how hard it had been on us, and couldn’t do a thing about it.

And now?  We’ve taken him out of the school.  I was going to homeschool, but that’s going to mess with his mental health care through the state, and I cannot put that in jeopardy.  We’re currently looking at another school in another town that only has 4 kids at a time, and they all have issues like Joseph.  The idea is matriculation back into the main school in a year or two again.  Our district would be in on the whole thing.  But they have a psychiatrist on duty there.

I should probably mention his discharge diagnosis.  Bipolar disorder.  Actually makes sense to Poe and I, who live with him every day.  But couldn’t you have told that to me?  And not left me to read it on my son’s paperwork?

So.  School changes coming.  We’re waiting for a tour with his therapist before making our final decision.  Possible medication changes coming.  But he’ll be removed from the situation that was causing breakdowns and such mental angst.

This was an awful, awful experience.  I’m glad it’s behind us.  We have a long road to hoe…

But I’d like to leave you with two thoughts.  One, to parents, fight.  Don’t let it happen to you.  Ask questions.  Question them.  They may have lots of deserved degrees, but they are also human.  You live with the child, you know  them better.  Fight.  Don’t let them walk all over you.  Go with your gut.  Two, to teachers, doctors, and all those that work with children.  This is our lives.  Don’t play with it.  Don’t make it seem less than.  Don’t make our concerns seem less than.  Our lives exist constantly, fluidly, forever.  We don’t get standard breaks, and leave at the end of the day, and close up shop on Friday.

As I work and try to prep for Thanksgiving at the same time…  the events of those 5 days are getting farther from concrete memories to impressions.

On Friday, Poe took care of Logan’s getting to school, and let me sleep in.  I was up so late the night before, and the emotional toll was great.  When I got up and had some coffee, I had my parents come over to the house so we could tell them the whole story of what had happened the day and night before.  They had been out of town and started the trek back when we called them.  They had gotten home about 6:30am.

While we were talking to them, the hospital called.  It was a doctor, but not the one on Joseph’s chart/identification bracelet.  We went through Joseph’s mental history, medical history, school history, as well as familial medical and mental histories.  I can do all that in my sleep.  I made it clear, again, that we did not agree with his hold.  She confirmed for me that his hold, should nothing else happen, would be up Sunday at 2:45pm.  I confirmed visiting hours for the night.  After that she asked me to put him on drugs.  Like 3.  He’d been there part of one night.  I said no.  I did allow, since he did break down, the next step up dose of the medication that he was already on.  That’s it.  I know the effect on his body, and that’s all I was comfortable with at that moment in time.  She was not pleased with me.  She then said that she would remove the 72 hour hold if I was willing to commit him for several days of observation.  I said no.  I didn’t think he should be there in the first place, and I certainly wasn’t going to be the one to commit him based on that – and for even longer than the hold to boot.  Although, in retrospect, I wonder if I should have – and if I had, would I have been able to sign him out right away?  I don’t know.  She was not pleased with me.  I was turning out to be a bit of a stubborn parent.  Obviously, part of the problem and not the solution.

5:30pm – 7pm per day.  That’s it.  To see my son (who was not in prison – although you wouldn’t know it.)

We numbly went through our day.  I couldn’t work, and let my clients know.  I was also in contact with Joseph’s therapist to keep her in the loop, since it quickly became obvious that the hospital would not.

And finally, it was time to get ready for our first visit to the mental institution.  I had been there the night before, but it was for an admission, so this would be new to me.  My father stayed with Logan.

Poe hadn’t been particularly involved in any of this.  Not due to not caring, but because he was making sure Logan was ok, and all his bases, meals, homework, etc. were covered.  This visit was the first he would see of the hospital.

We made the trek out there in Friday commuter traffic.  30 miles round trip.  We signed in.  We then made our way back to the pediatric unit – going through locked gates and doors that held signs, “Caution, AWOL risk.”  We passed the resident cat.  I don’t know who feeds him, but he’s HUGE.  We’re finally let into the pediatric unit, and Joseph came out to meet us.  He was still in the clothes from the night before, but I had brought him clean clothes.  I could also immediately tell that he had not brushed his teeth.  He lied and said he did, but I can tell.  Eventually I flat out asked him if he had a toothbrush?  No,  he did not.  I marched him up to the nurses station, and they gave us one.  “All he had to do was ask.”  “He’s 9.  He’s not going to ask.”

When we came in, we were immediately surrounded by Joseph and his three roommates.  His three roommates held us in awe, as if visiting parents were a rare and delicate species.  This saddened me so much, that I had to stop thinking about it.  I couldn’t take on their pain too.  It’s hard enough giving enough of myself to the kids I already have.  I eventually told the other kids that they needed to find something to do, as we wanted to visit with Joseph alone.  They could all hang out again in an hour, I promised.

Finally, alone with Joseph, we took stock.  He was exhausted.  Even though he came in and finally got to bed around 2am, he was awoken with everyone else that morning at 6am.  He was loopy, glassy-eyed, and a little stupid.  A combo, I think, of the upped medication dosage, and 4 hours sleep compared to his usual 10.  He was having fun though.  The usual come down of having released all his anger, combined with being around kids his same age, with similar issues.  He’s the only one in his school, so this is a new and intriguing turn of events.  No school, just groups and stuff.  So, we basically told him what we knew was happening, and promised to return the next night.  He understood that he couldn’t come with us, and accepted that.  What he wasn’t happy with was the fact that we couldn’t stay.

We gave him hugs and kisses, and promised to return the next day.  And then watched as medical equipment was taken in to his room.  His roommate had ingested something, and needed medical attention.

We left him there, and went to Denny’s for dinner.  We weren’t ready to return to a too-quiet home.  A cloud of concern hung around us like a fog – but we didn’t talk about it.  It was obvious but unspoken.  What can we say?  It’s out of our hands.

Saturday passed much the same way.  He was more alert in the visit, having gotten more sleep.  He didn’t want us to stay the whole time, though.  He wanted to go to gym-time to play games.  Of course the only time it’s available is during visiting hours.  We let him.  Who are we to say he (a nine year old boy couped in group therapy all day) can’t let off steam and run around.  We understood that.  He has to survive this.

We left, alone again.  Sunday, however, is when the shit hit the fan.  Mama bear had to come out and play.

I’m going to try to explain what happened in small doses, because I am short on time, and because I’m short on spirit.

For those who might not read regularly, Joseph has mental and emotional/behavioral issues, as well as specific learning disabilities.  As a result, he is on medication to help regulate his emotional control (a very mild form, as we recognized the need, but needed to balance it with our genuine concern for long term effect data shortage.)  He is on an IEP at school which includes special education, regular class, and counseling.  He has outside mental health care as well.  He’s been having serious trouble with another child at the school who has known him for years, and know all his buttons and triggers, and has no compunction in using this knowledge.

The school is aware of everything – including this other child.

On Thursday, we got a call around 1pm.  The school was asking us to come down, as they couldn’t find Joseph, and felt that he might have possibly gone off campus.  I stayed home, and Poe went to handle it.  He has before.  Joseph has run before.  One of his issues was using violence against those he was angry or upset with.  After years, he now understands that’s wrong.  Instead, he runs.  It’s his natural fight or flight response on overdrive.  In the past, he’s stayed close to the school.  Poe got there and called me to say that the school didn’t know where he was.  They asked us whether we wanted them to call the police.

You’ve lost our son, and you ask us if we want you to call the police?  Yes.  He’s 9 and needs to be found.  They locked down the school until he was found.  One mom was in the office, complaining to the secretary about how it was really inconvenient, and she took time off work for her meeting, and blah blah blah.  My husband was standing right there, and told her, “I’m so very sorry that my son’s disappearance has inconvenienced you ma’am.”  She just gave him a dirty look.

What led to this?  I found out later that this other child has been “stealing” Joseph’s friends (again) and sending glares Joseph’s way.  Well, it got to be one glare too many and he ran.  What the school failed to tell us at the time – he had an aide with him, who failed to attempt to follow him.

Thus started an hour’s nightmare of the police crawling over our town trying to find him, them coming to the house (I stayed home in case Joseph called us,) giving them his most recent photos, etc.  I explained that he has issues, briefly, but serious, and that no one at the school seemed to be aware of any particular incident that day.  Then came that interminable wait.  Waiting is awful.

Eventually we got the call that Joseph had been found.  And here’s the kicker that starts it all.  He was found on the effing freeway.  He had walked all the way from school – PAST our house – and onto the freeway on ramp a block away.  He was trying to get to the mountains to run away, and that was the route he knows.  When he’s in his heightened state, he has no way of thinking through actions/reactions/consequences.  He put himself and other drivers in danger, true.  However, even though I was available, and police knew this, the police sergeant on the case decided without speaking to me about his history to put him under an involuntary 72 hour hold, because he was obviously (in his mind) trying to kill himself.

If he had talked to me first, he may have realized that putting a 9 year old in a mental institution could possibly be detrimental to him, and that he has therapists on call willing to come to him to help him through this mental crisis.  He didn’t.  Once he signed the order, too, it was out of everyone’s hands.  They wouldn’t let me see him at the freeway, just told me to leave and go to the hospital.  I ran home, got his medical information, my ID, etc, and headed to the hospital.  On the way I called his psychiatrist and his therapist and put them on the alert.

When I got there I found my 9 year old son handcuffed to a hospital bed, purple with fury, and stiff as a board.  As soon as he saw me, he started to cry, his joints loosened, his color started coming back down to normal.  After a few minutes, they saw my effect on him and removed the handcuffs.  They threatened him with restraints, but he didn’t understand – although I did.  I briefly saw his shoulder.  The fire department personnel physically removed him from the side of the freeway, and he was all banged up.  Apparently he socked one of the firefighters who was hauling him.  The police wanted him charged with assault.

The doctor spoke briefly too us, but really, he didn’t do anything.  They took his vitals, but that’s it.  He never got psych care there.  Their role was to take custody of us, and for the hospital’s social worker to find a mental institution that takes pediatric patients.  It took a couple of hours, but they found one.  I was informed that I would be arrested if I tried to leave with him.  At some point, Poe came and relieved me, and I went home to Logan to eat something and just take a break.  You see, the judgment and stares you get when there’s mental issues involved feels heavy.  I had to handle the bulk as my parents were on vacation (but were on their way back as soon as they heard) and Logan needed to be cared for.  Joseph’s behavior was completely calm in ER for the many hours we were there.  At the mental institution it would be several more hours until a bed was available.  At 10pm an ambulance was sent for him.  I wasn’t allowed to take him myself.  I followed the ambulance to the mental institution 15 miles away.  (We would continue to drive 30 miles a day every day for this.)  It took them 3 more hours to get him checked in, due to a  shift change.  I got home around 1:30am.  He didn’t get to bed until about 2:30am (and then awoken at the normal wake up time at 6am Friday.)  He was exhausted.  Just exhausted.  His normal bedtime is 9pm.  It was all just so disjointed.  I kept wanting to say, “but he’s a kid.”  “It’s past his bedtime.”  “He hasn’t had his bath.”  I mean underneath all of the crap – he was thrilled to ride in a real ambulance.  He’s a child.  It was such a grown up situation, and he looked so very small.  So very tired.  Trying to keep brave, as he couldn’t remember everything, but knew he caused this.

When I got home, because I wasn’t allowed to stay, my husband tried to hug me, but I wouldn’t let him.  I had held it together for 12 hours, but I needed to tell him the important stuff first.  I had to tell him that the 72 hours would be up at 2:25pm on Sunday afternoon.  That we would be called tomorrow about his care, and for them to get his history.  That we could visit 5:30-7pm nightly, but that’s all we could see him.

Then we went to bed.  And I lost it.  Totally, completely, thoroughly.  It wasn’t pretty.

I asked Poe what kind of mother leaves her child at a mental institution (as if I had a choice?)  He said, “The kind who’s kid plays on freeways.”  Gallows humor.  Gallows humor certainly got us through this week.

That afternoon and night was surreal.  Strange.  Sort of seen like it wasn’t really us – like I was watching a play or something.

To be contined.

I’m working on the entry about our son’s saga.  Because it entails 5 days worth of hell, it’s going to take me a bit.  But I need to get it out, and I also want it to refer to – before I forget certain details.  I hesitated in posting anything at all.  But Joseph’s issues are no stranger here.  And frankly, this is my story.  Our stories are completely intertwined at his age, and this is my place to journal what’s going on.

To further the nightmare, I started creeping back into my online world to discover that a person I consider to be a friend had a stroke and is in the ICU.  I’m not linking because this is about me, and not her – and I’d hate for her family to check her links and find this here whining.  If I write a post about her in more specifics (family needs etc.) it will be all about her – THAT I’ll link her to.

And finally, today is my first day back to client work.  And a client rather abruptly canceled their contract with me.  I don’t know the reasons, although I suspect some, and really it’s better.  I don’t think the person and I would have worked well together in the long term – but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a blow to a rather fragile ego at the moment.

You know, I learned a long time ago never to say, “It could be worse.”  While usually true – there are many many others worse off and I know it, it felt ominous to say.  I’ve also learned never to say, “It cannot get any worse.”  You’d think, by my life lately, that I go around saying it all the time while having nightly beers with everyone’s pal Murphy L.

I’m stuck in a living nightmare with one of my children.  I’m not able to process it completely yet here.  One – it’s not over yet, and I’m hoping to have a conclusion to the story tomorrow.  Two – I’m in a limbo of thought and action…  I can’t seem to accomplish anything.  It’s sort of like all my thoughts are reserved for this situation.

I’m not trying to be mysterious.  It’s just a really long story, and I’ll need to tell it in a manner that goes down the timetable of what has happened.  Here’s the really short version – while in the school’s care, my son made a really bad decision in which he could have been killed.  Because of that, my son is in a mental institution against our will.  Further to that, we were unable to get him out on time because the doctor can’t be bothered to work on the weekends.  And due to that fact, my son was almost killed tonight by another mental patient.

He’s supposed to come home tomorrow.  But I say that with really fat air quotes because I’ve also been told, “All due respect, ma’am, we don’t need your consent.”

If  he doesn’t come home tomorrow, we’re taking legal action.

Twice in less than a week my son has almost died when in the hands of a state entity that supposedly knows better than me how to take care of him.

I’m hanging on by a thread.  Mainly, all my energy is being put into being nice and mad, so I don’t become complacent and let them bulldoze their way through our lives.

I may go through the whole process of what has happened, but I simply don’t have the energy right now.  Please be patient with my not being particularly communicative at this time.

Prior to bumming out on Nablopomo, I asked if any readers had any questions I could answer here.

Only one of you answered.  Headless Mom asks:

I’d be curious to know what denomination church you attend? And why have you chosen it? Is it different than the one you grew up in? What tips would you give to someone/a family searching for a new church home?

Hmmm.  Complicated.

If I were attending a home church, which we’re not for a multitude of reasons, but if we were, our first choice would be Calvary Chapel.  Not technically a denomination – but a Bible-believing church.  I was saved at a Calvary Chapel for one – but I like their philosophy of Bible study.  You’re not left to study on your own, and then come to church for topical applications…  No, you study chapter by chapter, verse by verse, and then make topical applications to what you studied.  There’s a difference.  It seems to me that if you’re a Christian who believes that Bible study is at the core of what you believe – you should follow a church that follows that tennet up in practice.  We’re currently church homeless, but that’s a personal thing that my husband and I are going through, as opposed to a reflection on church itself.

It’s absolutely different than the one I grew up in.  My mom was Lutheran, my father Brethren, and grandma was Baptist.  My parents, not really caring about religion one way or another, basically left it up to grandma to take me to church.  Since I spent more weekends with her than not – that was a lot.  The church we attended was very formal, very large, and very old (it seemed to me at the ripe old age of 7.)  If I had questions in Sunday School, I was hushed up a lot.  I would have been fine with “I don’t know,” but that was never the answer given to me.  It effected me a lot in the ensuing years.  I cannot speak for all Baptist churches, or the denomination, as that particular church was the only one I attended with grandma.  After I grew up a bit, adn started searching on my own spiritual journey, I studied a lot of religions and beliefs.  I even converted to one – Wicca.  However, that ended up being the wrong religion for me, as I truly feel there’s is one God (in both male and female form combined) and not Gods/Goddesses.  I also didn’t feel as inclined to the spiritual sanctity of nature as the religion calls for.  Eventually I found my way back to Christianity.  It felt right.  I felt a “thrum” in my spirit.  I have some ideas that the traditional church does not hold, but I feel sure in saying that I’m a Christian.

Now – as to tips for a family looking for their own homechurch.  First off – what do you believe?  Take time to pray, study, and search your heart.  Are you a Christian?  Do you hold true to particular sects?  Do certain ideologies make your heart sing?  Then go from there.  There are a few websites out there that have multiple choice questions stemming from “what do you believe” and then give you the religion/congregation that most matches what you already hold true in your heart.  After that, go to the congregations’ websites – most have them.  Read their statements of faith, and check out their church locations.  Most local churches now have their websites up, along with their statements of faith.  Read those statements carefully, prayerfully, and then listen to your gut.  For a Bible believing Christian, a word of caution – you’ll be startled to see how many churches don’t even mention the word “Bible” on their websites, hence my call for caution.  And finally – start visiting.  For us, we regularly attended a church for months, thinking it was our place.  Until the head pastor mentioned some things twice in a row that literally made us look at each other in shock during the service.  We didn’t go back.  My point is, you have to live with the church in your life to fully appreciate whether it’s for you or not.

As an update to my last post – while nothing has changed and I’m still not hearing from God, it was a relief to write it all down. I always feel better once I write it all out. Thanks to a couple of sleeping pills, I was able to get two full night’s sleep, so I feel better physically. We’ll live through it… We always do. God’s will will be shown, it always is. One’s spiritual walk ebbs and flows. I just hope it starts flowing again soon.

Now. I want to talk about something. I’m going to do it carefully. I have no wish for legal ramifications.

I have a long religious testimony – this isn’t about that, and how I came to Christianity. But during that time, I did an inordinate amount of research on religions, their tenets, their beliefs. It was a time of searching. Some people find themselves by hiking through Tibet… I do hours and hours and hours of research on my own without the help of others. 1) Research is a skill set of mine, which is one of the reasons I’m such a good assistant. It’s systematic, and that’s soothing to me. 2) I like to start my own opinions before bringing someone else’s opinion in to muddy things up. 3) I like my facts.

One of the religions I researched was the Church of Scientology. I can’t remember right now what prompted it – it could very well have been the fact that a number of celebrities are members, which may have brought it to my mind. The first place I went to, of course, was their own website. What are they about? What do they believe? What do services look like? I’ll be honest. It looked really good. A lot of things about what they believe make real sense and look good on paper. So, I did more research. And then I realized that I would have to pay. For everything. To me… That rubbed wrong. It was a religion. This wasn’t tithes you were paying, but actually paying for spiritual teaching. That didn’t sound like a religion to me, but a business. I fully believe in giving to your religious institution – as gifts, not as payment for services rendered. I fully believe that spirituality leads to charitable contributions of all kinds, as you want to help your fellow man who may need help. So while I do believe monetary things come into play, unless it’s an actual fundraising event (like the spaghetti dinner to help pay for the addition to the church) I don’t think money should be exchanging hands in the interest of spiritual enlightenment.

In light of that, I decided to do more research along non-official means. A lot of it has come to light in mainstream media, but at the time, these were early BBS boards, and people writing about Scientology under the guise of anonymity for safety’s sake.

While, I didn’t wish pay for my spiritual enlightenment – the real deal breaker for me was Xenu. Normally you have to pay thousands of dollars to find that treasure out, but the age of the internet has thrown all confidential information out the window. You can find other information about the religion’s beliefs at Operation Clambake, which you won’t find out at the Scientology website or Centers (until you’ve paid for the proper courses, of course.)

But, I am only one person who’s done some research. I don’t even have a stake in it, as I was not a member, not bilked, and none of my family is involved either. Who’s going to listen to me, and why should I say anything? So, while after all my research I concluded that the institution is a money-grubbing, scandalous, down-right dangerous institution, I didn’t think anyone would listen to me. There are other more articulate people out there who talk about it, and they have even more information.

However. The St. Petersburg Times has released (links below) a three part report. In the mainstream media. If you’ve ever considered the Church of Scientology, I urge you to read it. If you’ve heard about it, and just think it’s another religious denomination, I urge you to read it.

I absolutely am a Christian, and believe in Christ and the Bible and everything that entails. However, while I don’t agree with the tenets of most religions, I don’t knock them. I simply don’t believe in them, but I believe in those people’s rights to practice them. Scientology, however, is something I simply can’t say “believe your own way.” At best, I believe it shouldn’t have Church tax-exempt status. I believe that it was a way to package something to SELL, in addition to having tax incentives to L. Ron Hubbard when he was alive. At worst, it’s dangerous. People have died. People have been harassed to financial and familial ruin. Now, I know that people have died in the name of Christendom – but the year is 2009. We know better, and we have access to information.

No – this isn’t going to become a “knock Scientology” blog. In fact, I may not mention them again, unless something BIG happens. But the report is well done, and I really wanted to pass the information along to you. Maybe you know someone in Scientology. They’re not allowed to view material that’s negative towards Scientology, and in fact some use filters on their computers to prevent it from happening inadvertently. Perhaps YOU can get it front of them. The least you might do is save them some money. The most you might do is save their mind and life.

Here is Part 1: Scientology: The Truth Rundown, Part 1 of 3 in a special report on the Church of Scientology – Below the article you’ll find a index to parts 2 & 3, as well as more information.

The stress is starting to manifest in physical ways. I’ve been sick for a couple of weeks, which I think is finally on the mend. I’m at the cough stage. Having 2 babies in 2 years did a permanent number on my bladder. It’s not pretty coupled with wracking cough spasms. I’m broken out all over. I’ve had an acne problem since entering my 30′s (as well as gray hair – it’s wrong to have both), but on my face. It’s all over my body now. The worst, by far, is the sleeplessness.

As I write this, it’s 2:22am. I went to bed at 1am. I tossed and turned and just decided to get up and write. Maybe venting will give some relief to my mind. Normal (which hasn’t been for months now) is going to bed between 10-11. I have no trouble sleeping once I get there – but I cannot turn my mind off at all when I get into bed. I have a meeting at 9:30. This day will suck. Plus, I have an event to attend which I’ll be writing about elsewhere, but that will bring me home around 11pm or maybe even midnight depending on traffic. I need sleep.

Poe’s been out of work now going on 4 months. The financial situation is very dismal. Our credit is going into the toilet. I don’t know what to do.

Let me be frank. I try not to get into spiritual or religious matters here, because a lot of my thoughts used to get written down in my prayer journal. But it’s all dried up. You see, I’m not getting any answers from God. I’m getting complete silence. Static even. Nothing. I try praying. I’ve tried praying. I’ve tried just being silent and letting God talk to me, on the concept that maybe I’m just in the way of the communication – but nothing. And now I’m getting mad. Frustrated. Alarmed. Upset. Depressed. So what am I praying for exactly? Not a job for Poe. I’ve been praying for other things. Doors to open. Opportunities to be shown. I’ve always understood that there’s His plan, and we don’t always know what those are going to manifest as. So rather than praying for a job, I’ve been praying to understand, such as is there a plan? Can He give me peace while I’m waiting? Is He there? Does He hear me? I mean – who knows? Perhaps the world is going to end… Perhaps some other something’s going to happen… So, I pray for the knowledge of the steps I need to take. Should we even be job hunting? That one job fell through, and there’ve been no other nibbles. Should I be job hunting? Which is frustrating in and of itself, because when I quit my job in November, I did so with more than a year’s preparation and God’s clear leading on every little step. While I can sit and wait – I’m not even getting God’s leading to do THAT which is really very strange and I’ve never had that happen before. In past years if things felt like they were in limbo, or it was a time of trying, I always had the leading from God of “wait on Me, I’m your peace.” Right now? Absolutely NOTHING. I’ve prayed about lessons. Are we supposed to be learning something and we’re clueless? Nothing. Are we doing something wrong that needs correcting? Nothing. I keep chanting in my head “God will provide for His children.” But as we default on student loans, and the credit we’ve worked so hard to build crumbling, and choosing between food and electricity, I’m so very disheartened. Because the silence is deafening. I’ve looked into state help. Believe it or not – we make too much on unemployment, and would have to giveaway (not sell) our cars to qualify for food stamps. And no, we don’t have new cars – our newest car is 10 years old. Which is ignorant, because then how would Poe get to interviews and then a job when he can’t get there? We’re in the suburbs and don’t have public transportation. And so I pray some more. And get nothing in return. No peace. No signs. No answer. I’d actually be okay with “Wait.” That means there’s something in the future he’s preparing for us. I can handle that. Perhaps not without anxiety, but it’s an answer.

I don’t question God’s existence. I see it all around me. I’m sorry, but I just don’t feel you can go from nothing to humans who can perform brain surgery without a Creator. But I’m questioning a lot about everything else. It’s so disconcerting. I’ve been through an awful lot in my life. And behind it all I’ve had a Comforter. Even when things were at their bleakest before I felt that God’s hand was there to hold me and comfort me.

And so now I’m angry. Why did He tell me so very clearly to prepare and leave my job? It was very hard, and I had to face down a lot of obstacles, but I did it because I truly felt God telling me to. Period. So I did it. I absolutely have no regrets in doing so, even now. But WHY would He when He knew this was coming? I’m angry because His Word promises to never leave me or forsake me. I feel very forsaken now. Not because of our circumstances… Our circumstances seriously suck, but they’ve sucked before. But because I feel that His presence is completely gone, and that’s completely contrary to what I understand about His character.

I’m angry and bewildered. Saddened. Floundering.

I’ve always felt that God helps those who help themselves. By that I mean them taking the necessary steps to what they feel God leading them to. In other words, you don’t sit and pray and magically have food in front of you. You take the necessary steps to get it there, and God provides in those steps. I’ve had wonderful miraculous experiences happen that are fully God’s doing. And a lot of them were because I walked through a door He led me to, or told me to walk through.

But there’s such silence.