Working Amid The Overwhelming Tide: The Oysters' Lesson

NOTE: This post is dedicated to John Cox. I am honored to have called him a friend and colleague. He did an amazing amount of good.




A woman walked into the NAMI Montana office yesterday looking for legal help. We don't provide legal services, but we do refer people to other entities that might be able help. Unfortunately, I realized after a few minutes of talking to the woman that she would never get the justice she sought.


She was disabled and couldn't afford an attorney. She'd already talked with the federally-supported legal services and her case was outside the case the scope of their work.  The case was too complex and causation too difficult to prove for it to appeal to attorneys working pro bono or on a contingency basis.


All I could do was try to be supportive and as helpful as possible. The woman was born into a family torn by serious mental illness. She'd grown up in trauma. A major accident permanently crippled her and left her addicted to painkillers. The story continued. All I could do for her is listen, try to provide some kindness to relieve her pain, and leave her with a silent prayer at the elevator.


The last two and a half weeks have been difficult. While my life has been blessedly calm, the magnitude of the suffering of people that I love and care about has been tremendous. My friends, colleagues, and family have experienced a death, continued grief over another death, a suicide attempt, an incarceration, persecution by military over a hidden wound, and more.


Our extended family experienced one miracle - our newest member's kidneys became fully functional after a number of tests before and immediately after his birth said that either one or both kidneys would never work. It was an amazing prayer-filled event, but it's hard not to question why one life experiences a miracle while another is called home to their creator.


These are powerful currents of suffering and pain, buffeting all in their path. Dark waters churning and pushing against our hearts. Overwhelming our ability to help. Asking us, what are we going to do when confronted with someone's pain that is outside of our ability to fix it?


I think the the natural world provides a parallel. Oysters and mussels survive in some of the most contaminated waters in the world. They anchor themselves to something powerful and then go to work cleaning the water around them. They filter the dirt and toxins through their own body using the nutrients to sustain themselves. 


The oyster does not focus on the magnitude of all the water that surrounds it. It simply serves it purpose, quietly filtering between 25 and 50 gallons of water a day. Individually, that isn't a lot; but a population of oysters can rebuild massive estuary ecosystems. The effect of the cumulative efforts of these humble little animals can be astonishing - well beyond the oyster's ability to perceive.


We need to follow the oyster's example. Anchor ourselves onto something powerful (Faith) and then humbly do as much good as we can each day by serving others. As described in the First Epistle of Peter, "Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ." 1 Peter 4:8-11 

We must expect not to be able to relieve all of the suffering that we encounter, but know that we can relieve some of it and set ourselves to that task. 

Rainy Day Push and a Message to Lincoln

A good friend challenged the view of time and destiny that I described in some of my earlier posts. She said that God didn't have a "secret plan" for people because that would attack our free will and free will is one of the basic tenets of human existence.

I don't consider myself to be much of a philosopher so there's no way I'm going to argue against one of the basic tenets of human existence; but I don't think that our situation is always determined by our actions and the chaos of the world either. To use a pinball metaphor, sometimes the Divine tilts the table.


This was one of those times...


October of 2008

I was agitated. I paced around my small office in NAMI Montana's two-room headquarters. The clock on the wall had passed three o'clock. I had a lot to do, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate. A cold rain poured down outside and our old building's heater were running double duty to keep up. That turned the interior offices, like ours, into steam baths.

I tried to work, refocused, then tried to work again. My mind was barely plodding along. It was hopeless. Eventually, I gave up and walked across the street to Starbucks for a coffee. I was hopeful that a dose of caffeine and some rain on my face would help salvage the remains of the day. I placed my order and then heard someone call my name.

It was Andrew Person, Senator Max Baucus Veterans' Liaison in D.C. We'd met that summer when Andrew had had a listening session for some of the local veterans advocates.

Andrew said that he saw the article about how I'd meet with Barrack Obama while he'd made a campaign stop in Billings.  During the meeting, then-candidate Obama had promised to expand the face-to-face mental health screening program developed in Montana after my step-brother's death across the fighting force. Obama explained that we'd still need to find a way to get Congress to fund the program.

"That's awesome," Andrew said. He's a combat veteran with first-hand knowledge of the need for face-to-face screenings to help men and women in uniform get the help that that they need.

The barista put our coffees on the counter during the conversation. Before going our separate ways, Andrew said, "We should find a way to do some legislation together."

February of 2009

I walked out the doors of the Hart Senate Office Building in Washington D.C. Frigid air greeted me. I was still in awe, but some how managed to put on my gloves and hat.

I took a right towards the National Mall. My feet carried me onward past the towering Washington Monument and the frozen reflecting pool. Only a few minutes before, I'd heard Andrew Person say that he thought we had enough for a bill draft. He'd turn it into the Senate staff and let me finalize it.

I walked up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and tried to envision where Reverend Martin Luther King had told the world about his dream. I looked up at the statue of President Lincoln. Warm tears ran down my cold cheeks. I didn't know why I was there.

Words came to my lips. "It still works. The country that you died for still works. It's not perfect, but we can still work together to right wrongs."

It had been less than two year's since my stepbrother's death from a PTSD suicide. The grief and anger were still raw, but Congress had begun the process to make sure that the lessons learned from his death would go on to help save the lives of his comrades in arms across the United States military.

I stood there and cried at the base of the monument. I've never in my life felt like such a bit player in a larger plan. None of this would have happened if I hadn't been driven from my office that afternoon by an overworking furnace at the exact time that Andrew was walking into the coffee place across the street.

I know that others will be able to find another explanation for that chain of events, but for me it was a pretty obvious divine shove.

"I will instruct you and show you the way you should walk, give you counsel and watch over you." Psalms 32:8


Note: I had a song going through my head on the way to the Lincoln Memorial. It was "Walk on the Moon" by Great Big Sea. It's a nice boost of encouragement for when the Divine puts you up against a seemingly overwhelming task. Here's a link to the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OXoalnqD7z4