Hot air rises.
That is one of the few things I remember from my days in science. That could explain why I am not a nuclear scientist. But for me it explains a scientific phenomenon that appears to be true for both Austin and Washington. Apparently when hot air rises, (you guess the source)it gets thin and those who breathe it for long periods of time lose vital brain cells. It is sort of like asphyxiating yourself by breathing.
A significant number of these brain diminished people end up making laws for Texas and for the United States. Herein, to me, is the best explanation of why Legislators and Congressmen/women keep doing the same stupid things expecting different outcomes. In my circle this is also called insanity.
Case in point, the present prison scandal. While my heart goes out to the Senator whose family was threatened, I would point out to him that my family was threatened by an inmate in 1995 who was responsible for killing my two brothers-in-law. This offender promised to kill my wife and her sister and our children. Since we were just lowly taxpayers, we could not summons all the wardens to Austin to explain why they refused to manage the unmanageable with the unavailable.
But that is what the Senate did. Whenever anything goes wrong in the state government, the powers that be throw down a rag that says, "Let's have a hearing." It is misnamed for more than one reason, but primarily because nobody ever listens, and rarely is the problem addressed.
I predicted when the TYC fiasco broke there were still more state scandals to come. We had gone through prisons, CPS, APS, and TYC. Now us average Texans with only Master's degrees quickly noticed a theme going. Lowballing state human service agencies led to underpaid, overworked, turnstile workforces that fumbled the ball--well several balls. So now we are back to that again. The Senators, (breathing too much oxygen deprived air) have summoned the prison wardens to be accountable for why their prisons have so much contraband in them. More especially, why do offenders know the unlisted numbers of elected leaders and why do they feel free to call them and harass them. That job is really a senatorial poragative and they are deeply offended when death row inmates push in on their turf.
Now, a nurse I worked with today expressed it rather well if not colorfully, "It ain't hard to figure out how this happens when people who put their lives on the line every day are subjected to cursing, inmates throwing s___t and p__s and stabbling them with pencils and everything else they can get ahold of, and then the officers and nurses find out they are making less per hour than the convenience store employee."
Is it possible that some of the noble gray soldiers of our prison correctional officers corp, have found countraband a good second job? Possibly. Perhaps when it comes time to pay the gasoline bill, or the grocery bill, telling the clerk, "I keep your family safe from fellons, " doesn't rate much more than a stare. It certainly doesn't get them a discount or make their paycheck stretch further.
Every place except Austin and Washington does the adage "you get what you pay for" make sense. In those places, the part-time law makers and full time politicians think that people are standing in line to be put in harms way in horrible conditions, with horrible offenders for a nominal amount of money (what not even a handshake or a kiss?).
So, let me make a suggestion to our oxygen deprived lawmakers.
Take off your coat, take off your tie, put on a colored shirt and come work a day in a prison. The air is thick, sometimes rank, the food is--well--prison food, the co-workers are tired and underappreciated, and they do heroic work each and every day so the rest of us can sleep at night.
What is that worth? A lot more than they are getting.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Tubing on the rapid waters of change
There is a stress chart that most counselors use to help folks understand when their life stress reaches the breaking point.
Some visitors from the church we joined alluded to this when we described to them our last three months. My wife and I both made staggering career changes. I have gone from being a pastor to a supervising psychotherapist for offenders at a maximum security prison housing death row. My wife has closed her private practice. We have closed our home in Eastern West Texas, put it on the market and moved to East Texas where we currently reside in the top story of my brother and sister-in-law's house. I feel like a vampire bat in the bellfrie of life.
Then I began a job for which I had to learn nearly everything. I had to learn prison life and lingo, managed care life and lingo, mental health management and lingo, and finally, the particular clientele that is uniquely the incarcerated mental ill and the incarcerated mentally ill wantabes.
This was begun by moving me around the south east part of Texas to all the prisons in our system.
Then my wife fell down the stairs and broke her--vertebra. Surgery followed in downtown Houston--where only a crazy person would drive--and I found myself well suited. Then came IKE and my family was introduced to hurricanes up front and personal. When folks asked when we arrived, I tell them Hurricane Ike blew us in and we decided to stay.
And then my mother decided to have knee replacement. So I am spending the weekend with her as she recuperates from that surgery.
So, when I say we are on the rapid waters of change, I am not exaggerating. In the past, my biggest problem with tubing in the rapid waters, has been that if I could find a tube big enough to hold my butt, the water was too shallow to keep it from dragging on the rocks. Such is life. Is that not a metaphor for the routine of living? What one thing does well, something else takes away.
So how does one tube safely on the rapid waters of change? For me, I think I carry an innate sense that God has always held my life and holds my life still. I saw it years ago when I would arrive at the university dorm on a late Sunday evening not remembering the last 60 miles through the deer infested roadway. I felt it when I married, when my children were born, when my father died, when we traveled around the world with our luggage in the plane behind. I felt it when J.D. moved into our lives and I feel it each day that God gives me strength to step onto the infirmary unit where the offenders mistakenly call me "Doc," and one of the Docs call me "Doc."
I also attempt a lightness of heart. One of the offenders was telling me he was having trouble dealing with all the bureaucracy of the prison. He needed help in getting into the free world. I suggested to him that if he could manage the prison stuff, he was well practiced for life in the world. Everything today takes more effort, encounters more hassle, consumes more time, places you with more disinterested employees than ten years ago. A lightness of heart keeps you laughing when others just dissolve in tears or erupt in anger.
I also remember the old woman who said her favorite verse in the Bible was "And it came to past." She went on to say that everything in her life has come and passed. That is life. This big problem today is but tomorrow's memory.
I also have learned to value those things that don't change over time. I cherish my God, I cherish my family. I cherish some enduring friendships that go back to my youth. I cherish the health I have, not the health I wished I had. I also cherish the opportunity and privilege to serve the Kingdom where ever I am placed.
To me there are no promises I won't get seriously dunked, get my butt bruised and skinned, have folks on the shore laughing at me when my feet are where my head should be, but all the while, I too am laughing. Pity the man who takes himself and life too seriously. For me, the end is determined and it is a good end.
So, what's not to like about the adventure on the rapids of life?
Some visitors from the church we joined alluded to this when we described to them our last three months. My wife and I both made staggering career changes. I have gone from being a pastor to a supervising psychotherapist for offenders at a maximum security prison housing death row. My wife has closed her private practice. We have closed our home in Eastern West Texas, put it on the market and moved to East Texas where we currently reside in the top story of my brother and sister-in-law's house. I feel like a vampire bat in the bellfrie of life.
Then I began a job for which I had to learn nearly everything. I had to learn prison life and lingo, managed care life and lingo, mental health management and lingo, and finally, the particular clientele that is uniquely the incarcerated mental ill and the incarcerated mentally ill wantabes.
This was begun by moving me around the south east part of Texas to all the prisons in our system.
Then my wife fell down the stairs and broke her--vertebra. Surgery followed in downtown Houston--where only a crazy person would drive--and I found myself well suited. Then came IKE and my family was introduced to hurricanes up front and personal. When folks asked when we arrived, I tell them Hurricane Ike blew us in and we decided to stay.
And then my mother decided to have knee replacement. So I am spending the weekend with her as she recuperates from that surgery.
So, when I say we are on the rapid waters of change, I am not exaggerating. In the past, my biggest problem with tubing in the rapid waters, has been that if I could find a tube big enough to hold my butt, the water was too shallow to keep it from dragging on the rocks. Such is life. Is that not a metaphor for the routine of living? What one thing does well, something else takes away.
So how does one tube safely on the rapid waters of change? For me, I think I carry an innate sense that God has always held my life and holds my life still. I saw it years ago when I would arrive at the university dorm on a late Sunday evening not remembering the last 60 miles through the deer infested roadway. I felt it when I married, when my children were born, when my father died, when we traveled around the world with our luggage in the plane behind. I felt it when J.D. moved into our lives and I feel it each day that God gives me strength to step onto the infirmary unit where the offenders mistakenly call me "Doc," and one of the Docs call me "Doc."
I also attempt a lightness of heart. One of the offenders was telling me he was having trouble dealing with all the bureaucracy of the prison. He needed help in getting into the free world. I suggested to him that if he could manage the prison stuff, he was well practiced for life in the world. Everything today takes more effort, encounters more hassle, consumes more time, places you with more disinterested employees than ten years ago. A lightness of heart keeps you laughing when others just dissolve in tears or erupt in anger.
I also remember the old woman who said her favorite verse in the Bible was "And it came to past." She went on to say that everything in her life has come and passed. That is life. This big problem today is but tomorrow's memory.
I also have learned to value those things that don't change over time. I cherish my God, I cherish my family. I cherish some enduring friendships that go back to my youth. I cherish the health I have, not the health I wished I had. I also cherish the opportunity and privilege to serve the Kingdom where ever I am placed.
To me there are no promises I won't get seriously dunked, get my butt bruised and skinned, have folks on the shore laughing at me when my feet are where my head should be, but all the while, I too am laughing. Pity the man who takes himself and life too seriously. For me, the end is determined and it is a good end.
So, what's not to like about the adventure on the rapids of life?
The End of an Era
This past week, I submitted my resignation to my old University on whose board of trustees I have sat for more than 11 years since 1994. I communicated to the President that such service has been a labor of a debtor paying on a life long obligation. Every bit of it, and much of it was hard, was joy. In my mind, the debt is not discharged, but there is a time and season for everything.
I have come to this place for several reasons. First, there is simply the present reality for me. My new job only allows so much time off and that only begins after I have been on the job for six months. Technically, I have no days off, no comp time, no vacation until after the middle of February. I have already been through emergency surgery with my wife and Hurricane IKE. There is no time to take two days and do trustee duty.
Because of that, I cannot feel good about waiting until I have the freedom to resume my load on the Board. I have missed more meeting this year than in almost all the years previous. You can't help if you don't show up. I have not been able to show up. Attendance is basic. One builds from there.
There is another sadder reason for me. The trustee of a Baptist University holds that institution in trust for all Baptists in Texas. I can no longer do that and feel good about it. You see, the visible expression of Baptists in Texas is the Baptist General Convention of Texas and its visible expression, the Baptist Building staff and Executive Board of Directors. Simply, it is impossible for me to hold something in trust for people I no longer trust and do not respect. It is sad to say that I have more respect for some of the offenders with which I work than I do for some of the members of the Board of Directors, some of the Officers of the Convention, and some of the Executive Board staff. My case load can claim they were mentally ill when they robbed, killed, and beat folks up. BGCT people offer no such excuse. My offenders are also behind bars. Unfortunately, none of those responsible for the theft of money from the BGCT are.
The reign of Charles II is underway and for all the world, it looks like the reign of Charles I. Several months ago, I asked the Treasurer some questions about all the reserve money that had disappeared. My letter went unanswered until I blogged something about it and then she called. Ms. Larsen was going to get back with me and she--never did. I am not too surprised. That seems to be the new modus operandi for the new Kingdom of Charles II.
When I read the new Ex Director was recommending the old BGCT president for the new Associate ED position, I wrote him about the disastrous choice. Like his Ms. Larsen, not a word. I guess the approach the new Charles is taking is just look over and ignore. After a while they will tire and go away. Something incredibly arrogant about that approach to management, but that seems to be the way it is in BGCT land these days.
So, the State Convention that squandered $30,000,000.00 of its members' tithes and offerings, its investments and its reserves, wants me to hold in trust a university for them. Who is going to school me on the meaning of trust? Who is going to hold me accountable for that trust? Who is going to audit our books to see if I have done my job and all the money is where it is supposed to be? Yea, Right!!
You see the dilemma. The ones for whom I am to hold this institution in trust are profoundly untrustworthy. Their untrustworthiness has cost them the good will of hundreds of churches, millions of dollars, and a reputation for integrity that was years in the making.
I also find with great sadness I have lost confidence in those who keep the BGCT "safe." These days whenever I think of Texas Baptist Committed, I think of Martin Luther King and his statement "if we become the beast to defeat the beast, then the beast has won." In Texas, TBC has become the beast. It has supported corrupt leadership. It has stiffled constructive conversation. It has ostracised those who are not 100% on their team. And all the while they are allowing the BGCT to become irrelevant. Their courageous propheticism only extends to fundamentalism but does not include standing up to incompetent leaders who hide under the shadow of their great wings. The test of the character of any organization is how it deals with those in the ranks who fail. TBC did not lovingly confront and remove, they stonewalled and gaffed and hoped that Texas Baptists would forget the past as soon as a "Not Charles" appeared. That hasn't worked well, so now they recast those who are deeply concerned as neo-fundamentalists and they change the conversation. Some of us, we are not budging. Nothing is right until it is made right. And frankly, nothing, absolutely nothing has been made right.
As I leave the BGCT in my rear view mirror and head to the prison, I hear that old Country-Western song on my radio, "I have moved up to a better class of loser."
I have come to this place for several reasons. First, there is simply the present reality for me. My new job only allows so much time off and that only begins after I have been on the job for six months. Technically, I have no days off, no comp time, no vacation until after the middle of February. I have already been through emergency surgery with my wife and Hurricane IKE. There is no time to take two days and do trustee duty.
Because of that, I cannot feel good about waiting until I have the freedom to resume my load on the Board. I have missed more meeting this year than in almost all the years previous. You can't help if you don't show up. I have not been able to show up. Attendance is basic. One builds from there.
There is another sadder reason for me. The trustee of a Baptist University holds that institution in trust for all Baptists in Texas. I can no longer do that and feel good about it. You see, the visible expression of Baptists in Texas is the Baptist General Convention of Texas and its visible expression, the Baptist Building staff and Executive Board of Directors. Simply, it is impossible for me to hold something in trust for people I no longer trust and do not respect. It is sad to say that I have more respect for some of the offenders with which I work than I do for some of the members of the Board of Directors, some of the Officers of the Convention, and some of the Executive Board staff. My case load can claim they were mentally ill when they robbed, killed, and beat folks up. BGCT people offer no such excuse. My offenders are also behind bars. Unfortunately, none of those responsible for the theft of money from the BGCT are.
The reign of Charles II is underway and for all the world, it looks like the reign of Charles I. Several months ago, I asked the Treasurer some questions about all the reserve money that had disappeared. My letter went unanswered until I blogged something about it and then she called. Ms. Larsen was going to get back with me and she--never did. I am not too surprised. That seems to be the new modus operandi for the new Kingdom of Charles II.
When I read the new Ex Director was recommending the old BGCT president for the new Associate ED position, I wrote him about the disastrous choice. Like his Ms. Larsen, not a word. I guess the approach the new Charles is taking is just look over and ignore. After a while they will tire and go away. Something incredibly arrogant about that approach to management, but that seems to be the way it is in BGCT land these days.
So, the State Convention that squandered $30,000,000.00 of its members' tithes and offerings, its investments and its reserves, wants me to hold in trust a university for them. Who is going to school me on the meaning of trust? Who is going to hold me accountable for that trust? Who is going to audit our books to see if I have done my job and all the money is where it is supposed to be? Yea, Right!!
You see the dilemma. The ones for whom I am to hold this institution in trust are profoundly untrustworthy. Their untrustworthiness has cost them the good will of hundreds of churches, millions of dollars, and a reputation for integrity that was years in the making.
I also find with great sadness I have lost confidence in those who keep the BGCT "safe." These days whenever I think of Texas Baptist Committed, I think of Martin Luther King and his statement "if we become the beast to defeat the beast, then the beast has won." In Texas, TBC has become the beast. It has supported corrupt leadership. It has stiffled constructive conversation. It has ostracised those who are not 100% on their team. And all the while they are allowing the BGCT to become irrelevant. Their courageous propheticism only extends to fundamentalism but does not include standing up to incompetent leaders who hide under the shadow of their great wings. The test of the character of any organization is how it deals with those in the ranks who fail. TBC did not lovingly confront and remove, they stonewalled and gaffed and hoped that Texas Baptists would forget the past as soon as a "Not Charles" appeared. That hasn't worked well, so now they recast those who are deeply concerned as neo-fundamentalists and they change the conversation. Some of us, we are not budging. Nothing is right until it is made right. And frankly, nothing, absolutely nothing has been made right.
As I leave the BGCT in my rear view mirror and head to the prison, I hear that old Country-Western song on my radio, "I have moved up to a better class of loser."
Pity the modern boss
I have lived a rather sheltered life working in the church. Generally employees in the church come in two forms--really, really good or really, really bad. Fortunately, I have had more of the former than the latter.
I have known for some time that many folks in the work world were time impaired when it came to getting to work, but only becoming a boss in the prison, did I discover that may be the least of a boss's problems.
Recently, I was coming in for my daily strip search that stops just short of completely stripping when in the line, was a petite little thing blond from her head to her toe. First, she was dressed like Dolly Parton except more so. She was wearing stiletto heels that made my nose bleed just looking at them. She was also wearing a push-up bra with wire supports. Now, you may ask, "how would he know this?"
Well, my little stiletto heeled low watt bulb couldn't get through the metal detector.
At first, I assumed it was all the metal jewelry she was wearing on her hands and fingers and toes and nose and lobes and neck and hair. But, after each of those were carefully removed while she giggled and cooed, she still set off the alarm.
While I was watching this barbie doll do her barbie doll thing, I found myself thinking of all the sex starved offenders behind the walls and wondered if we would find anything of hers left after she got on the unit. I expected it to be something like throwing meat to pit bulls.
It did not matter how much barbie took off, the metal detector kept going off. I began to wonder if it was a male machine (not really sure if they are gender specific) and he was enjoying the show. Finally, the screening officer, showing far more patience and restrain than I would have under similar circumstances, asked, "You aren't by any chance wearing a wire bra are you?"
Blondie giggled, "Why, yes I am. My push up bra has these wire underpinnings in it." Giggle, Giggle.
I never did know if she actually worked at the prison, but if she did, it was only for comic relief, nothing more. In our place, she actually set the cause of equal rights for blonds back to the stone age--make that jewelry age.
I have known for some time that many folks in the work world were time impaired when it came to getting to work, but only becoming a boss in the prison, did I discover that may be the least of a boss's problems.
Recently, I was coming in for my daily strip search that stops just short of completely stripping when in the line, was a petite little thing blond from her head to her toe. First, she was dressed like Dolly Parton except more so. She was wearing stiletto heels that made my nose bleed just looking at them. She was also wearing a push-up bra with wire supports. Now, you may ask, "how would he know this?"
Well, my little stiletto heeled low watt bulb couldn't get through the metal detector.
At first, I assumed it was all the metal jewelry she was wearing on her hands and fingers and toes and nose and lobes and neck and hair. But, after each of those were carefully removed while she giggled and cooed, she still set off the alarm.
While I was watching this barbie doll do her barbie doll thing, I found myself thinking of all the sex starved offenders behind the walls and wondered if we would find anything of hers left after she got on the unit. I expected it to be something like throwing meat to pit bulls.
It did not matter how much barbie took off, the metal detector kept going off. I began to wonder if it was a male machine (not really sure if they are gender specific) and he was enjoying the show. Finally, the screening officer, showing far more patience and restrain than I would have under similar circumstances, asked, "You aren't by any chance wearing a wire bra are you?"
Blondie giggled, "Why, yes I am. My push up bra has these wire underpinnings in it." Giggle, Giggle.
I never did know if she actually worked at the prison, but if she did, it was only for comic relief, nothing more. In our place, she actually set the cause of equal rights for blonds back to the stone age--make that jewelry age.
The Curious Case of the classic crazies
In the free world, (that is outside the world of the prison) mental illness is an interesting experience to diagnose and treat. In lay terms, we have not moved much beyond calling folks "crazy." This rather vague category can include your mother-in-law, ex-wife, and the person down the street who keeps saying that someone is coming in their house and stealing their peas. All are equally crazy. Your mother-in-law, because she has never liked you, your ex-wife because she quit liking you and became a raving shrew, and for obvious reasons the person down the street who has found the only burglar in town who craves English peas enough to break and enter.
Most persons and families are ill informed about mental illness and equally ill-informed about the symptoms, causes, and treatment of such illnesses. Treatment in the free world is about diagnosing, educating the person/family, and providing a treatment approach that addresses the broadest range of issues the illness brings.
In prison, it is slightly different. Since many of those incarcerated are there for using/dealing/selling illicit drugs, mental illness takes on a whole new set of twists and turns. And since most of the prescription medications for mental illness work on the same centers of the brain as illicit drugs, there is a whole new culture in prison called "med seekers."
Simply, they want to act mentally ill in order to be prescribed the medications so they can get high or sell them or exchange them for other things of value. So, the mental health worker spends his day dealing with folks who want to get off their medications because they are no longer having symptoms and those who want to get on psychotropic medications because (see above).
I am rather new to the place, but I have discovered when an offender comes into my office and tells me he is hearing voices six out of seven days for a period not to exceed a month, and that these voices are co-existent with his paranoia which has been unabated for a period not exceeding two weeks, while at the same time, he has had delusions and feelings of grandiosity, I suspect someone has been reading their DSM-IV-R--which is the diagnostic Bible of mental illness.
I suggested to our clinicians instead of going through the laborious process of learning everything in the DSM about diagnosing schizophrenia, schizo affective disorder, etc, we should just consult with the "med seekers" to see if the patient meets criteria. They have far more time than we do to get the symptoms right, and they are a walking encyclopedia of delusions, hallucinations, and paranoid ideations.
Course, my co-workers just look at me, shrug their shoulders and say to each other, "he's crazy."
Most persons and families are ill informed about mental illness and equally ill-informed about the symptoms, causes, and treatment of such illnesses. Treatment in the free world is about diagnosing, educating the person/family, and providing a treatment approach that addresses the broadest range of issues the illness brings.
In prison, it is slightly different. Since many of those incarcerated are there for using/dealing/selling illicit drugs, mental illness takes on a whole new set of twists and turns. And since most of the prescription medications for mental illness work on the same centers of the brain as illicit drugs, there is a whole new culture in prison called "med seekers."
Simply, they want to act mentally ill in order to be prescribed the medications so they can get high or sell them or exchange them for other things of value. So, the mental health worker spends his day dealing with folks who want to get off their medications because they are no longer having symptoms and those who want to get on psychotropic medications because (see above).
I am rather new to the place, but I have discovered when an offender comes into my office and tells me he is hearing voices six out of seven days for a period not to exceed a month, and that these voices are co-existent with his paranoia which has been unabated for a period not exceeding two weeks, while at the same time, he has had delusions and feelings of grandiosity, I suspect someone has been reading their DSM-IV-R--which is the diagnostic Bible of mental illness.
I suggested to our clinicians instead of going through the laborious process of learning everything in the DSM about diagnosing schizophrenia, schizo affective disorder, etc, we should just consult with the "med seekers" to see if the patient meets criteria. They have far more time than we do to get the symptoms right, and they are a walking encyclopedia of delusions, hallucinations, and paranoid ideations.
Course, my co-workers just look at me, shrug their shoulders and say to each other, "he's crazy."
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