Yesterday morning started out on a really wonderful note: I had the blessing and pleasure of catching up with a friend
over coffee.
From that point on, the day went nothing like what I could have imagined.
I headed from our Starbucks date to do some homework… at another Starbucks. I took a lap around town, not sure of where I wanted to go. Really what happened was that I wanted to go one place, and the Lord said another, and it took a few minutes of driving for me to listen and obey. I settled in with my tea and the substantial load of work I’d left
myself for that afternoon. An hour later, I had read about five pages. There
were so many things running through my mind – teaching, China, friends far
away, research paper thoughts… My lack of progress was frustrating but also
kind of humorous. As I plodded through my reading on economic ethics, I found
myself looking around at the people in the shop, and noticing the goings on
outside.
Suddenly a flock of very diverse humans emerged from a
nearby restaurant, and they filed past the window on their way back to their
office. I couldn’t tell you why it was so delightful to me, but my joy did not
go unnoticed.
“I love that something most people didn’t notice just
brought you so much joy that it made me happy by proximity.”
He spoke quickly, and the background noise made it a little
difficult to understand his words. He compared the people to ducks walking in a line,
then he was talking about patterns of geese when they fly, the range of their
migration, something about Richard Wagner…
I don’t know what it was exactly that led me to invite him
to sit. It was likely a combination of curiosity about someone exhibiting signs
of genius and concern for the other patrons caught in the crossfire of our
friendly shouting over the cacophony of the coffee shop.
I couldn’t understand him, and I wanted to hear what he was saying.
So, he sat down with me. And we started talking.
“I’m curious about you. What do you do? And why do you know so much about monarch
butterflies?”
He loves animals, so he learns about them. And he
is an economist. A brilliant one, at that. Upon hearing about my current assignment on economic ethics,
he started offering tons of information, and I found myself listening to all
new information about the U.S. and world economies. There were things that didn’t
feel true, but since I don’t know anything about economics, I just kept making
mental notes of things to look up. (It was all accurate, as it turns out.) He
spoke in a way that reflected an intense amount of intelligence; he reminded me
of a very good friend I had my freshman year of college.
He told me that he moved to the foothills of Colorado from Oklahoma,
because he knew that when the catastrophe hits, the plains won't be safe and he plans to
disappear into the wilderness. He’s afraid he’ll be lonely, but he would rather
be alone than with people. He wants to divert the catastrophe by praying in a
world revolution that would take us from our current course to something most
closely reminiscent of the Kingdom of God.
He has beautiful dreams of “home,” of idyllic mountain
scenes and safe, stable, warm homes
where people care deeply about each other and contribute to the emotional and
physical well-being of one another.
As I talked with him, I felt a tension growing within me,
as I held his disorganized thoughts and paranoid beliefs in stark contrast
to the brilliance and glory emanating from his soul. At the core of his longings
were the hopes of finding home, being productive, sharing his brilliance; and they
were stifled under compulsion to isolate, withdraw, and rise to anger.
He sat with me for a good portion of the afternoon; we primarily
talked about his economic conspiracy theories and his survival plan, but we
also spoke of God and redemption and family. He has found great comfort and solace
in God, and despite early comments about Zen Buddhism, he seemed to truly
understand what Jesus came to do and what that means for him now. He deeply
and earnestly desires the kingdom to come.
But his family story is heartbreaking at best, and I felt
the pain of his soul as he described the ways in which they destroyed and
abandoned him.
As I read today about paranoid schizophrenia, I was struck
by the absolute importance of stability and consistency in the home and the
powerful help of unconditional love and support. He has had the opposite of that, and
he expressed those longings in ways that now haunt me. I want so much better for him than what he has had; I imagine God's heart must break for him as well.
I was honored to sit with him and hear his story; I was honored
to offer empathy where he has experienced rejection, to offer hope where he
sees nothing good. And, as I left, he asked if I wanted to write him… He asked
for my email, and I paused, then asked if instead I could have his, just in case someday I
have words for him. I have his email address, and almost every kind bone in my
body wants to reach out to him and be more than “another five-minute coffee
shop friend” – the only kind of friend he has known lately. But as I have
learned more about what it means to be kind to myself, and as I face the
reality of the fear and pain that overwhelmed me once I found myself in the
safety of my car… I know that I cannot offer him anything beyond the time we spent yesterday.
Anyone reading this, please join me in praying for my
friend. He needs consistency, love, and understanding hope and
compassion. Pray that he can find fellowship with God and people in the midst
of a chaotic and lonely existence. He also wants us to pray for the transformation of humanity, so that we do not continue on the path to destruction. Amen.
I’ve learned about schizophrenia in the past, but this was
my first time to be face to face with someone experiencing active symptoms
(hallucinations and delusions). Honestly, I am undone by it. I see such glory
and goodness in him, and it is buried in a mess of paranoia and uncontrollable
emotion. I want more for him than just what medication can do; I know that
because I saw him again this morning. To my great shame, I hid and made sure
that he would not notice me when I walked into yet another Starbucks to have
Thursday coffee with my dad. He was not the same brilliant, present man I had
seen the day before. He seemed small; he had trouble walking; his eyes
were cast down. It was painful to see in such stark contrast to the vitality I had seen
the day before. Certainly, he seemed more calm, but it was like part of him was
missing. The brilliance was gone.
There is a glory about this man… and I earnestly hope
to meet him on the other side of this broken world.