Answered Prayer

Early Sunday morning, I was getting ready to leave Fort Wayne to attend worship at another church in Indianapolis. I checked my phone for any emails that I might need to answer before heading out. The one I received from our good friend "Kevin" made time stop as I went back to the early weeks of 2008, when my world fell apart.

In a stretch of ten days in late January 2008 two friends died; we learned our son was on drugs; and our daughter was hospitalized for stress due to keeping the secret about her brother. Thus began the most difficult year of my life. We were reeling, and we turned to our friends for help. We told everyone we knew what was happening, hoping that someone could help us. Kevin and his wife are longtime friends and introduced us to someone whose son was going through similar straits. (It was that acquaintance who started us in the direction that led to our healing.)

In February of that year, Kevin sent an email to me:

"I already asked Abe this question and he gave me his own individual answer. I would like to know what I can pray for, for you (not for someone else, but for you).

Peace."

Here was my response:

"Thank you for asking, Kevin.

I would like prayers for WISDOM: the right words, the right actions in relating to all members of my family. For PATIENCE under stress: a silent tongue. For the ability to show my LOVE for Abe, Sheba and Ben in a way that they know it to be love. For STRENGTH to not hide from the fear, hurt and anxiety and work through it instead. For PEACE and COMFORT that God is in control and His good will come of this.

I have many good friends praying for us, and it lifts my heart to know this. God bless you."

Kevin re-sent this email this past Sunday, and it brought tears then (and again now) as I recalled those days of fear for our children. I can now say with confidence that they are going to be okay. Last year was the first time I could say that about both of them, and it is such a gift. Sheba is living with her boyfriend and working at a job she enjoys. Ben remains on the high honor roll and is considering school beyond high school as he finds a sense of direction.

Those of you who were here with me through that time of turmoil were caring and sympathetic, and I am grateful for your prayers and words of support. If you are not familiar with this story (pretty much the reason I started this blog), you will find it under the title "Amazing Grace" on the right-hand column. Life is good.

Rethinking Random Acts Of Kindness

The Children and Family Ministry Team at my church—of which I'm a member—is reading Craig Dykstra's Growing in the Life of Faith. Dykstra, a highly respected theologian and author of numerous books on Christian thought and practice, is a member of our church. This particular book is one I had left over from one of my own courses, but it was an auxiliary text that we never used. I'm glad I'm reading it now.

We've only begun the first few chapters, and I had the joy of teaching a couple last night. (One of the finest ways to learn is to teach.) While I'm coming away with a deeper understanding of a number of familiar ideas, one concept that Dykstra examined was a new way of thinking for me.

He proposes that the current popularity of "random acts of kindness" is not the direction we should be going in terms of expressing grace. Random acts are somewhat passive as we wait for the opportunity to present itself before we act. While it is a redeeming moment, only two (or few) people gain from the exchange.

Dykstra urges us to be more intentional in our grace, to make it a practice and one that is communal. That means being able to establish guidelines and boundaries and to communicate it to others, inviting their participation. By doing this, we share it among its practitioners and recipients: grace abounds. This easily applies to acts of service, but think how it would apply also to reading, prayer, daily routine, and more. I see brief bursts of such communal grace here on the Interwebs, and I see its power for good.

I find this very appealing. Those who receive my emails see Gandhi's quote (also posted under my banner); it is an urge to act upon the philosophy we have which makes this a better world. (Note that it doesn't say what that might be. A whole 'nother post.)

I find this new way of looking at "good deeds" very inviting. To be intentional sets it the forefront of our consciousness. While we continue to look for those moments where grace can make itself known, let us make it a communal practice in whatever way we can.

I will need some time to think about how I would turn my call to teach inclusiveness into a practice. It demands a structure that currently is not firm. I have been passive as I wait for opportunities to speak and teach. And I am learning so much. Every day brings a new awareness of just how much I do not know.

This happy coincidence of learning has energized me. May the grace which feeds me be known by all who wish it. That is my call.

Amazing Grace: Epilogue

Intro
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four
Day Five

It took seventeen hours for Abe and me to get to Boise for Ben’s graduation from camp. I won’t bore you with a litany of woes—you’ve seen it all before. But watching Abe deal with testy airline employees to get what he wanted was an educational experience. He never stopped smiling and complimenting them on their hard work on his behalf. No wonder he’s so good in his job; people can’t wait to meet his expectations. We arrived with our luggage intact and two vouchers for future travel. And it was early evening, so we could get a good night’s sleep.

We drove down the next morning in a caravan of parents to the base camp, where once again we dressed for the desert. The parents were trucked to the meadow camp and we set up folding chairs in the fire pit to talk while we awaited our children’s arrival. Someone pointed to the distance and said, “There they are!” The kids were hiking in across the meadow from base camp. We all jumped up and started toward them. This wasn’t the slow-motion meeting in the meadow you always see in the movies; we slammed into the kids, laughing and hugging and chattering.

Back to the meadow

Families were sorted out to sleep in tents or the field. The usual desert lunch was offered—pita bread with peanut butter, apricots, honey and spices—but this time there were extras. Chips! Cookies! Powdered drink mixes! The kids went nuts. Ben had a pita with the following piled on top: peanut butter, honey, hot sauce, crumbled chocolate chip cookies, and curry powder. Yeah, you read right. And he was moaning in gastronomic delight with every bite. This is the kid who two months ago wouldn’t eat any two items combined unless one of them was bread. And spices? Forget it.

In response to my slackjawed stare, Ben extended his pita to me with a smile. “Want a bite?”

“Thank you, no. But finish it yourself, by all means. Please.”

He laughed and wolfed it down, chased with chips and fruit punch.


After lunch, the families separated for a talk with their individual field therapists. Abe, Ben and I grabbed some folding chairs and walked through the sage to some trees and shade. (It was over 100°.) During the final three weeks, Ben’s emotional growth was so rapid that the therapist’s recommendations for aftercare changed three times. We talked about the changes he’d been through and how that might translate to activities at home. The therapist pointed out that the number one threat for relapse was the peer group at home. We would need to talk at home about Ben’s strategies for avoiding a backslide in the face of temptation and peer pressure.

Ben would need a break from the home environment to assess his strategies and progress, so the therapist arranged with another camp’s director for him to enroll in a whitewater kayaking program in the North Carolina mountains. It was felt that he could adapt and prosper in this less restrictive atmosphere that would take him away from his peer group for a couple of weeks.

We finished up our talk and walked back to the meadow, feeling a sense of purpose tinged with a bit of hopeful anticipation for what will happen in the future. We were brought back “in the moment” by the director, who told us it was time for the “Eagle’s Perch” ceremony. The entire group went back to base, where the ropes course beckoned.

This activity called for a victim to be harnessed to slack belaying ropes and climb a 25-foot wood pole and stand on the top. Then said victim must take a “leap of faith” from the top, shouting out a word that represents what he wants to take from this experience. All of the students were told to step up and be fitted with harnesses and helmets. Parents were invited to participate as well. Ben turned to me with expectation; he and I share a taste for adventure. But this?

All the excuses flowed through my mind: I’m old, I’m not at all flexible; etc. I hemmed and hawed. But to share this with Ben outweighed all of it. “Okay, I’m in.” Ben smiled.

Now let’s get this clear: this wasn’t just a pole. At the top was a small disk of plywood held by a long bolt driven into the pole. But the disk had washers above and below that made it wobble and turn. We were to step from large steel staples on the pole to this tiny unstable platform, turn with itty-bitty steps as the pole swayed to face the opposite direction, and jump (“In a swan dive!” said the director), trusting those ropes to catch you before you hit the ground. Right.

We split into two groups to handle two of the belaying lines. The director called for his first victimteer. After everyone looked at each other for a minute, the director pointed to one of the students and said, “You’re up.” The next couple of students were pulled from the crowd; one of the mothers did it. Few were volunteering yet.

I looked at Ben while we held a rope. Maybe he needed a push.

“I’ll go right after you do.”

His hand shot up. “I’ll go!” he shouted. Then he grinned at my bug-eyed face. Nice.

Ben (in white) and I (in red) climb the Eagle's Perch

Ben does not like heights, but he did it, calling out, “Overcome!” as he dropped and bounced (off the ropes, not the ground). The director had to remind me to “Breathe!” when I was contemplating that first step from the staple to the disk. When I was shaking and trying to balance on that tiny thing I had a few other choice words in mind besides the one I had selected; but I jumped and shouted, “Trust!”

We concluded our stay the next morning with showers for the kids (yes!) and graduation, an exchange of handshakes with diplomas. Ben was asked by his therapist to consider returning as a mentor in the future; what a declaration of trust and confidence that was for him.

We hugged the staff and the parents whom we knew from Family Camp. When I hugged Ben’s therapist, the man who guided his experiences in the desert, I whispered, “Thank you for giving me back my son.”

It was time to leave. We drove down the gravel roads, slowly moving toward civilization again. We would wrap up our stay in Idaho by visiting Sun Valley that afternoon and the Birds of Prey Center in Boise the next morning. We had a quiet and uneventful flight home.

I think about all the things that happened to bring us to this point, and I must conclude that God’s hand was in this. Being the oblivious person that I can be, it usually takes hindsight to see the “coincidences” that had to be more. This time, in asking for help wherever we turned, it was easy to see the grace, truly amazing grace, that we found in places we did not expect. Strangers ended up being the key to our son’s future, and they stepped up gladly with outstretched hands.

I owe a debt to all who supported us and continue to do so. I cannot repay that obligation to all of you, so know that it will be given forward to others to the best of my ability and whenever possible. God bless you all.

The silver sheen of sage made velvet mountains.

Amazing Grace: Day Five

Intro
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four

Springhouse meadow in Timber Canyon

We slept all night, not a cow in sight. Yessss! Shouts of “Good morning!” came at 5:00 a.m. Nooooo! The students were told to pack their gear “Santa Claus style”—like a gathered sack—and take it to the truck quickly. Parents’ bedding gear was bundled and tossed in the other truck. We were all gathered into a circle in the meadow and had a farewell ceremony in which each of us was given a turn to tell what Family Camp had meant. Like the other parents, Abe and I were near tears as we tried to put voice to the hope we had been given in the transformation of our son. Ben had grown so much that it would take time to adjust to this quietly confident young man. This circle was a difficult moment, as you might guess, because all of us knew that our time together was coming to a close.

Timber Canyon flowers

Although the parents had been warned, we didn’t realize how soon that would be. The moment the circle broke, the field supervisor told the students to give the parents hugs and head to the trucks. As the sun was beginning to rise over the hills, we were saying goodbye with smiles and tears. The parents stood in the field, watching the kids being hustled away. We were silent and at a loss at what to do now. There was so much to process, so many questions to which we would not have answers for a long time.

Springhouse trees in Timber Canyon

The parents were taken to base, where our clothing and luggage awaited us. A breakfast of bagels, English muffins, and juice was offered. (They used to serve eggs, bacon, etc., until they realized that it upset most people’s systems after having such a low-fat high-fiber diet for so long. They recommended we take it easy assimilating back into our regular diets.)

Commissary and showers

The glory of taking a shower took away the pangs of farewell for a moment. Parents took turns in the locker rooms and gathered in our “city” clothes for the last meeting. We bagged our clothing and gear into giant white potato sacks. Instructors told us the airport was quite used to seeing these in their luggage bins.

The parents were sorted into trucks according to their destinations: airport, hotel, etc. Tight hugs all around were accompanied by heartfelt whispers of encouragement and hope. We were on the next step of this journey where each family had its own path, but none of us was alone. All of us were grateful for the shared support.

Abe and I spent the afternoon of quiet downtime in our hotel room. We had dinner in downtown Boise, talking about the week and Ben. We didn’t talk yet about the future, which was coming soon enough. We stayed “in the moment,” as we had learned to do at Family Camp.

Sidewalk cafes

In the time we had remaining in Idaho, Abe and I shared long moments of silence, broken by expressions of thoughts that were racing through our heads. We didn’t have to preface our thoughts since we were both on the same wavelength. (It didn’t occur to me until later how much more that is happening, now that we are intentionally talking over things every day. In a relationship as long as ours, it gets too easy to let that go by. Inertia breeds silence unless you break it with intention.)

Boise town square

We began to process the experience, comparing our hopes and expectations with the reality. We were afraid to hope too much; it seemed so vastly different than the life we were living only a few weeks earlier. But there it was: Ben was changed. Would it last? Would it be enough? He would have to resist so many old patterns that would be pulling at him at home. Abe and I would have to wait and pray that this was the beginning of a happier and more successful life for Ben.

What changes would we see by the time he graduated from camp? It would be two short weeks until we knew.

Next: Epilogue

Amazing Grace: Day Four

Intro
Day One
Day Two
Day Three

We had a lazy start to our first full day at the Springhouse site in Timber Canyon. The cows had decided to stay where they’d been herded northward, and we sat around the fire—started by hand, of course—and had our accustomed oatmeal. After breakfast, we clustered in groups and got to know each other better.

Breakfast fire

Midmorning we were gathered into the middle of the meadow. Families were asked to pair up, and each team was given a topographic map and a compass. An instructor gave us a ten-minute lesson in how to read and use both. In our group, Ben was paired with Kay, a twelve-year-old girl. She was inclined to sit alone and be silent, but Ben shared the map with her as they tried to figure out where on the map we were.

Timber Gulch and Canyon

Soon enough, they figured out exactly where we were on a map with no markings except landforms. We were assigned to hike to four points on the map, and Ben pointed to the first goal. It was the top of “that hill over there,” pretty much straight up from where we were. Ben examined the map and noted that the back of the hill had a gentler slope, so he led us over the creek and around. As we climbed, he led us in a zigzag pattern so that those of us who hadn’t been hiking for weeks in the desert would have an easier time of it. We left the soft grass of the spring-fed meadow and soon were crunching dry grass and gravel underfoot. The heat wasn’t oppressive yet, but any sweat quickly sublimated in the incredibly dry air.

"Point One"

An instructor followed us silently, basically to keep us out of trouble and to guide the discussions that we would be having at each stopping point. At the top of the hill we could see down the steep slope into the valley.

View of Timber Canyon

The two families split and sat to talk about the metaphors of “true north” and “magnetic north.” Each of us was to talk about our goals—true north—and those things which pulled us away from true north—magnetic north. It was a revealing talk for all of us, and Abe and Ben and I agreed to gently remind each other when we saw magnetic north pulling us away from our true north goals.

"Children of the Sage" shelter

We were called back together, and this time Ben helped Kay read the map to find our next point. She led us across the rocky hilltop to a shelter that had been made by prior students. It had a sign inside that read “Children of the Sage.” We stopped briefly to talk together about our goals, and then it was Ben’s turn to lead us to our third point. See that bluff across the canyon in the previous photo? That was our third point. We had to go down the hill, across the stream and canyon and back up the rocks. Ben led the way.

As we crossed the stream, a number of cows were crossing the other way. One cow felt she needed to be coy as we neared.

Peek-a-moo

At the top we split up to talk again, this time about what the students might expect after camp was over. Abe and I talked to Ben about school—and the fact that he was not going to boarding school, as were so many others—and the kinds of rules he would be living under at home. It was a calm and deliberate discussion, unlike most we’d had before Ben came to camp. I think it gave us all real hope that this was going to work.

We ended our trek at Wind Tunnel, a beautiful, massive carving of stone shaped into mulitple arches and shallow caves open to the elements.

Entering Wind Tunnel

The view from inside

The afternoon was spent in discussion with other parents about what we were planning for after camp. Ours was the only family which was bringing our child back home. (Frankly, boarding school was not an option for us. I’m pretty certain that we were lowest on the economic ladder of this particular group.) All of us were worried about this next step, as we had been for all of our decisions up to this point: was it the right thing to do? How would our children react? Would it lead to the peaceful and successful life we wanted for them? These questions were the silent substrate for our discussion, which led to the agreement to keep in touch by email as events progressed beyond this camp. Drawn together by fear for our children, we were bonding with hope.

After dinner, which was received with shouts by the kids—“Macaroni! Tomato sauce! CHEESE!”—we had a candlelight ceremony in the meadow in which each family came together again in metaphor and in life. First, our wrangler/instructor had to once again herd yet more cows up the canyon to clear the area. But it was a somber crew that walked to the tents with our candles that night, knowing that tomorrow was the last day together.

Next: Day Five

Amazing Grace: Day Three

Intro
Day One
Day Two

We were awakened “late”—7 a.m.—to shouts of “Good morning!” We never knew what to expect, except for the meals, which were the same every day. Being unaware of what was coming next kept us from anticipating or worrying; it kept us in the moment. This is a wonderful tactic for helping those who are planners or worriers. You can’t worry about something if you don’t know about it. The staff was intent on having the families use this time for growth. They did not want us to talk yet about what might happen in the future. By staying in the moment, we were learning new family dynamics.

We were told to have our gear bundled into packs before we ate breakfast. The students were to instruct their parents on proper technique. So Ben began to use his new skills in a position of leadership, a unique dynamic for us. It was great to have him show us the steps, and he was encouraging and helpful. Not once did he express frustration or impatience as we struggled to complete our task.

We quartered our tarps lengthwise and rolled inside it our sleeping bag, blanket, clothing, flashlight and gear kit. While kneeling on the roll, we learned how to strap the pack together with “ribs” of poly cord. A length of 2” wide webbing was rigged through the cord ribs to make straps for our shoulders and waist. We topped the bundle with sleeping pad and jacket; jammed through any shelter sticks; attached cups, bottles, cans and canteens anywhere they fit; and voila! We looked like homeless people.

After breakfast—oatmeal again—we and our packs were trucked up to the top of a small mountain. Everyone who was able would be carrying his own gear to the next camp, about two and a half miles down the mountain to the Springhouse site in Timber Canyon. The only way there was through Timber Gulch, a series of washes, gulleys, and barely-visible trails with boulders, sage, loose rock, and the occasional rattler.

Timber Gulch


Desert flowers

The top half of the trail was steep and rugged, so for the trust exercise the students would be blindfolded first and led down that part of the trail by their parents. The field instructor gathered us at the trailhead.

“Okay,” she called out. “I want all of the students—and Birdie—to put on blindfolds.”

Open mouth. Close mouth. “Okay.” Everyone laughed, and we set about putting on our blindfolds.

Abe led Ben and me, both with packs, while the other parents led their children. Eventually we were the last ones in line, Abe carefully describing the trail as Ben held onto his shoulder and followed. I placed my hand on the back of Ben’s pack but put my weight on a walking stick. I didn’t want to pull Ben over if I lost my balance.

As we listened to Abe’s instructions, we kept quiet and followed. Each of us spoke only a couple of times to ask Abe to wait while we regained contact. There was no conflict at all as we slowly descended the mountain.

Asked about that later in the evening, Ben and I agreed that Abe is the World’s Most Careful Man. We knew without a doubt that he would never put us in danger, so it was pretty easy to trust his directions.

As usual, they never told us why I was the only adult to be blindfolded for that portion of the trek. But we figured out on our own that it was time for me to let Abe take the lead with Ben. I had been the primary parent figure for most of Ben’s life, and he needed his father to take the lead now. This is one example of the many teaching moments they found throughout our stay at the desert camp.

After a lunch of peanut butter on pita, students led their blindfolded parents—except for me—down the second half of the trail. I got carried away with the landscape and the freedom and wandered off-trail here and there. A bit in front of Ben and Abe, I was approaching a couple of boulders when I heard the sharp buzz of a rattlesnake about three feet away. I hit the brakes, called out “Snake!” and backed up. The instructor approached and stood about six feet away to guide the family teams away from the snake’s hiding place. Afterward, he came to me and said quietly, “Your son can’t lead you if you aren’t behind him.” Yikes. I can be so oblivious sometimes. I quickly jumped into line again, and Ben led the entire group into camp.

A new leader in the family

Springhouse was located in a beautiful canyon filled with tall grass and a cluster of cottonwood trees. A spring bubbled out of the ground in the ruins of an old stone house under one of the trees. Frame tents were spread through the grass, and ours was at the southern end. So were the cows.

Springhouse camp at Timber Canyon

Cows are fine. But fresh cowpies in our site are not. Three times that evening we herded about fifty cows into a side canyon. Each time they returned. As the night wore on, more cattle appeared. Apparently the ranchers were releasing their beef cattle into the canyons for the summer, where they would range higher and higher for the cool air and good grass.

Timber Canyon cows by our tent

By nightfall there were probably a hundred or so in the meadow near our tent. And they talked. Apparently cows don’t just moo. There were bulls too, and they brayed, honked, growled and rumbled as they sorted out the ladies and their calves. It was ridiculous. The mother of one of the campers had to push a cow’s head out of her tent with her bare foot on the cow’s nose. Cow kung fu. At about 3:00 in the morning, one of the instructors had had enough. We watched him running in flipflops after the herd, shouting and waving his hiking stick. He herded them through the camp and up the northern end of the canyon, where the cattle stayed. Apparently there is good grass up there too.

Most of us managed to return to sleep for a couple of more hours. After that long hike, it wasn’t too difficult to get back to sleep. We would awaken for another new experience for the families.

Next: Day Four

Amazing Grace: Day Two

Intro
Day One

Dawn was loud with the calls of birds. I rose before everyone else and walked out into the meadow to the edge of the sagebrush. The slight movement in the Timothy grass belied the stillness of the air. In spite of the boisterous cries of joyful birds, the huge landscape felt silent. What was missing? The sounds of men: machinery, metal on metal, voices, and yes, even music. Silence is part of the music here.

The camp from the edge of the meadow

Morning shadow

For this moment in the expanse, golden in the morning sun, I could put away the world back home and just be. Alone in the desert air, I did not have to shut out the world. I became a part of the whole. It was peace made physical.

An hour later, the rest of the parents were up eating their oatmeal, cooked with water heated in “billy cans” in the fire. (We could mix in cinnamon, brown sugar, and raisins as desired.) We knew the kids were coming, but we didn’t know when. The instructors were keeping contact with walkie-talkies, and they told us the children were delayed. To give us something to do, we started on a walk across the large meadow.

We were investigating the remains of an old campsite a quarter mile away when the word came that the kids were here. We emerged from the trees and shrubs and began the long walk back to the camp. We could see the SUV pull up when we were about halfway there. Bodies poured from the car, walking through the site. Which one was Ben? They were all about the same size, disguised in identical clothing and hooded sweatshirts.

I sped up my walk, tromping through the grass rather than stepping over it. Is that Ben? No. Not that one either. Is it…? Yes! I dropped my water bottle to the ground and speedwalked the remaining distance. Ben was smiling at me, bright teeth in a dusty face.

I grabbed my son in my arms and started to cry. “I missed you so much. I missed you so much.” Truth be told, I had missed him for many months before he left for camp. But he was returning my hug and shyly smiling. My boy was back.

Abe was close on my heels and grabbed Ben with a sob. They both took a deep breath and smiled at each other. There were similar reunions over the grounds of the campsite, greetings from loud laughter to silent hugs.

The instructors were quick to step in and fill the awkward moments by telling the students to get their gear to the parents’ tents. Ben immediately took his pack and began to set up a shelter with his tarp.

In the four weeks that he had been at camp, Ben had grown in strength, skills, and maturity. We saw the first evidence in that shelter he was erecting. It was taut and impervious to the strong desert winds. As he showed us what he was doing, we helped him find large rocks with which to anchor his cords. The tarp had no grommets, so he had to make a pouch on each corner and peak and fill it with whatever he could find locally. He used dried cow poop. This stuff was everywhere, and apparently it came in quite handy for a number of things.

Shelter

Breaking off a chunk of a cowpie, Ben stuffed it into the pouch he’d made on the corner of the tarp. He wrapped the cord tightly around the ball it made and stretched the cord to loop around a very heavy rock. (The rock had to be heavy enough to counter the wind. I’m guessing they were 40 to 50 pounds each.)

An instructor told us later that Ben would be sleeping in the tent with us, so he took it down. No complaining, just assent. This was another sign of change.

The instructors herded us back together and we all hiked about a half mile to base camp, where we participated in exercises that tested our group dynamics. Our group of eight was shown a 4x8 deck that was balanced off-center on a log fulcrum. Our assignment: with everyone standing on the deck, make it balance parallel to the ground for fifteen seconds.

Being a goal-oriented person, my mind was instantly at work. “Okay, everyone, we need two rows of four people lined up immediately above the log.”

The instructor had other ideas. “And Birdie, you can’t talk.”

My mouth opened, but in a brief moment of excellent self-restraint, I closed it again. An attorney/dad chimed in with his idea as others began climbing on the deck. After he spoke for about thirty seconds, he was told he couldn’t talk. Ohhh. Each leader who stepped in with instructions was eventually silenced, leaving those who normally were followers to instruct everyone on what to do. Eventually, we met our goal under the leadership of the quietest ones.

In the ropes exercise, we had to get everyone through a web of ropes; but each of us had to use a different opening, without touching any rope. There were some rules, of course. One person had to go through without touching the ground. A couple of others had specific restrictions. “And Birdie, you will be blindfolded.” Okay. I’m noticing a trend here. Since I couldn’t see, I couldn’t offer advice. I patiently awaited instructions, and we succeeded beautifully.

Learning moments like this happened the entire time we were there. I am a teacher by training and trade, but I cannot approach the intuitive timing these instructors had for finding the “teachable moment.” And they never told you what you were to gain from their instructions; they let you discover it on your own. Brilliant execution of well-designed purpose. No wonder Ben was doing so well.

After a lunch of peanut butter on pita with (a minimum of four and a maximum of seven) dried apricots, we hiked back to have private family conversations with our field therapists. This was where we saw the greatest evidence of change in Ben: what we had seen in his carriage and expression became real in the words he spoke. Ben dominated the conversation, constantly employing metaphors to explain his new ways of thinking and behaving. It became clear then that the boy we had hoped to see would remain in the past; Ben was becoming a man.

In the afternoon, Ben used his poncho to create a shade shelter for us in front of our tent. It took him less than ten minutes to erect a cool spot of relief from our tent, which was an excellent slow-cooker by afternoon.

Shade

An instructor approached Ben to ask him to make a fire, his first. They needed to smoke out some bees which had literally just moved into a tree by the firepit. Ben had sparked a couple of embers in practice, using his handmade fire kit of a drill bow (curved stick with cord), a spindle (small stick with crudely carved points), and two blocks of wood for holding down the spindle and creating an ember.

Igniting the tinder

Ben set to work by the firepit. In less than fifteen minutes he had “busted a coal” with his kit, ignited some grassy tinder by blowing gently on the ember, and set it in kindling in the pit. A few logs, and a fire was burning nicely. It was late in the afternoon, so Ben’s fire was used to cook dinner later. And the bees stayed away.

Fire!

Our Truth Circle that evening was all about family: “What does family mean to you?” The answers that came from parents and students were profound and moving. Each of us said something different and yet we were all saying the same thing: families of origin and families of choice—we all have both—are where we belong.

Hundreds of buds on this wild rose bush


Next: Day Three

Amazing Grace: Day One

Preceded by Amazing Grace (Intro)

Our first day at the desert camp was spent getting settled and learning the rules by which we would live. Abe and I were given our clothing, bedding and a small amount of gear. (The only things we brought of our own into the camp were boots, a hat, and underwear.)

The yurt at base camp

Six sets of parents gathered in a yurt to talk about what we could expect. Our lifestyle in the desert would be “leave no trace,” which required extra vigilance with every item we handled. Nothing, not even food crumbs, would be left behind.

Two of the six tents in the meadow

We were trucked into our first campsite, a large meadow on the rolling plain with six frame tents widely disbursed. The meadow was filled primarily with Timothy grass about a foot high. A copse of cottonwood trees gave shade to the firepit. Around the meadow, for miles in every direction, was sage-filled plain. Most of the sagebrush was about three feet high. Boulder-strewn foothills to the north led to the Sawtooth Range, hidden from our view by brown bluffs and small peaks.

Sagebrush all the way to the foothills and beyond

At first it looked as though there was little animal life. But it took less than an hour to realize that this was a birder’s paradise: there were redwings, goldfinches, jackdaws, whipoorwills and more I did not recognize. The only sound was of constant wind and birdcalls. Out in the meadow, away from the trees, the wind did not diminish but its sound did.

Mystery bird on a bush

The parents gathered around the firepit for the solace of company. As we chatted about this and that, laughter was quick but died as quickly. It felt as if we were searching for anything to keep us from voicing our as-yet-unshared fears. Long silences were encouraged by the landscape, and it was not uncomfortable in that context.

A fire was built and we had a dinner of rice and lentils with several spices. This would be our dinner every night, and we ate from our large metal cups with large plastic spoons (just as our children had for several weeks). Every bit of that dinner had to be eaten. Part of “leave no trace” means “leave no crumbs.” If you cook it, you eat it—if not tonight, then for breakfast the next day.

After dinner we rinsed our cups and spoons in a very spare amount of water and sat around the fire for Truth Circle. This was a daily tradition for our children each morning and evening, in which all participants had a voice, taking turns speaking about the given topic. We were asked what we hoped for when we saw our children the next morning.

An object was selected for each Truth Circle for helping us take turns. This “power object” was passed around the circle so that only the possesser could speak. Faces were illumined in firelight, silence broken by sniffling. Some were unwilling or unable to speak, others speaking what everyone was feeling. The hope was palpable.

As the power object was passed, I could feel myself opening up more. My composure was almost gone when it reached me. I was a swirl of emotions: hopeful anticipation; fear of failure; exhilaration at the peaceful landscape; gratitude to be among those whose pain and hope bound us. Above all, a longing.

“I want to see my son smile. I want him to smile when he sees me.”

Would Ben be glad to see me? I prayed he would. His letters gave me hope, but this was face-to-face; I wasn’t at all sure what to expect.

Nightfall

In the firelight we affirmed each other in our fears and hopes, and we grew quieter as the sun began to fade late in the evening. Sunset limned the curves and points of the horizon while a waxing moon grew brighter. Stars slowly emerged with the sharp shadows. The wind faded with the light and new birds’ voices awakened. It was time for bed. We would greet our children in the morning. I lay on my sleeping bag with a flashlight to write what I could. (With a pencil! On paper!) If I could get it out of my head, maybe I could still my heart and go to sleep.

Next: Day Two

Amazing Grace

Preceded by Open Hearts, Open Plains


Not so long ago, I thought my beautiful boy might be lost to us, to himself. I hoped that this visit to the high plains desert might bring back to me the sweet boy that I knew. But I did not see that boy at all; I saw instead a maturing young man. He is quietly confident, speaking in metaphor of his new outlook on life and himself, showing an astonishing self-awareness and wholeness. He is growing into leadership and goal-setting for the first time in his life, and it is a wonder to witness. I thank God for allowing me to see this transformation.

Ben is not the only one to change in this past weekend; Abe and I have been challenged to examine our roles within our family and within our relationship, to balance our gifts and be aware of when it is time for one to step up and the other to step back, working as a team. This will take a conscious effort for both of us, and we are eager to have it happen. The dynamics of our personal relationship will benefit and our family’s connection will strengthen as a result.

This is a cathartic moment in the life of our family, one upon which we will look back and with a few key words remember. This is the stuff of life for which we all long; but note that it came at great cost, figuratively and literally, shared in part by loving people in our lives who have supported us. What would happen if we could accept the need for this kind of growth without the cost? Would we seek it as fervently? History and experience tells me that it is rare to grow without a painful catalyst. That makes us human, I suppose.

But allow me to encourage those who need help in any form to seek it quickly, vigorously, and to persevere. Those in our close network extended their support and shared their knowledge, and because of that we found shortcuts we would never have known. It was complete strangers who ultimately led us to this solution for our family, and our network of support has expanded exponentially. Reach openly for whatever help you need; you might be astounded at the number of people who want to help and do. I feel that I and my family are recipients of amazing grace from many sources. I am indebted to all and will do everything in my power to pay it forward.

In upcoming days I will post about our experience; meanwhile, please accept my humble thanks for your supportive comments and prayers.

The photo is sunset of our first day in the desert.

Next: Day One

Open Hearts, Open Plains

Preceded by Light in the Darkness


Abe and I are leaving today to camp for a few days in the high plains desert with Ben. It’s good: he wants us there. We will be meeting in his domain for the first time since he left so angry. We have yet to speak with each other, but we have communicated by letter. Ben wants to establish a good relationship with us once again. This is the first step in a long, arduous journey for all of us, but it’s a big step. We will be creating a new dynamic between all of us. It will be a time of truth; and with truth comes pain, release, and hope. Those of you who are so inclined, please pray for openness, trust, and laughter for all of us. (Those who are not so inclined are off the hook.)

While we are out there, I will be without my computer. (Deep breath. In. Out. In. Out.) But I will take pictures and keep notes so I can tell you about it upon my return. Meanwhile, let’s hear from you. I think I may need to hear this when I get back:

What did your parents do right?

Next: Amazing Grace

Light in the Darkness

I really don’t have the emotional strength to detail what’s gone on with my son Ben in the past two weeks. He is now at a wilderness camp for defiant teens. He did not want to go. But this is how he closed his first letter that came to us today:
My sweet boy is emerging again. I cannot tell you what this means to Abe and me. My tears now are of thanks and joy. He is not lost to us. He is not lost to himself.

There will be trials when he returns home next month, of that I have no doubt. But Abe and I are taking a class too, designed to help us communicate the love we have for Ben in a way that he hears it. We have a lot of work to do.

Our friends and colleagues have really rallied around us to provide emotional support. You have been gracious in your support, too. By not trying to hide what’s been happening, we have received tremendous help which led to finding this treatment camp. The volunteers who work with me at my church have stepped up to take some of my responsibilities as my focus changed to dealing with Ben. A benefactor who wants to remain anonymous has offered to help a little with the huge debt we have undertaken.

I am overwhelmed with the kindness of the people in my sphere. We have received help even when we didn’t ask. It is such a testament of the potential for goodness in people when we are inundated with negative examples daily in the media. God has blessed us in ways we never anticipated.

Ben was and continues to be a gift to us, and we’ve told him so. May he gain some answers in the quest he is on now.

Next: Open Hearts, Open Plains