A Reason to Celebrate...

If you are one of my 300 Facebook “friends”, or happen to be one of the 10 people who “follow” me on Twitter- @mjm51964, you probably have noticed that I have had much to celebrate lately. Certainly, Yvonne’s graduation has been the highlight of the year so far. Her commencement speech was warmly received, and I have been told by many that she really connected with the audience.

On a lighter note, my Los Angeles Kings did the unfathomable - they won the Stanley Cup! For a guy who has loved hockey since he was a kid knocking tennis balls into a makeshift goal, with a couple of old Northland sticks, this is a big deal. The celebration of my favorite team’s success was culminated by attending yesterday’s victory parade in downtown Los Angeles.

What might appear to some as a type of trifecta of celebratory events occurred last night at Mt. San Antonio College. My youngest daughter and the rest of Brea High’s class of 2012 walked across the platform and received their diplomas. Only this time I did not feel much like celebrating.

Why people struggle with the things they do we will never really understand. As a therapist I am trained, and continue to be, to help people overcome their struggles-which sometimes includes not only the “how to” overcome problems, but also the discovery of why the problems exist.

Yesterday was the first time that I laid my eyes on my daughter in two months. This is not how I ever envisioned it happening. Graduations are supposed to be joyous events, not painful experiences. At least that's what I think.  

Life’s journey takes twists and turns that we don’t expect, sometimes without giving us any choice in the matter. Our family is now living through such a time. One never envisions standing across from one of the four people in the world whom you love more than any others… and have nothing to say. Yet that was my experience, and my wife's as well, as we saw our daughter for the first time in two months.

I will continue to process through the surreal event that was our daughter’s graduation for the next day or two. What I can take from it remains unknown… if I can gain anything at all.

There is a time for everything… A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing.

Dillon and Megan are Married

This past Saturday I was blessed with the honor of officiating the marriage of my son Dillon to Megan Anderson. This day was one of the highlights of my life.

The part that I will remember most is watching my son’s face as Megan walked down the aisle towards him. I don’t remember ever seeing him so happy. As Megan and her father approached where Dillon and I were standing I began to well up with emotion myself. I took a deep breath and thought to myself “This isn’t going to be easy”.

The brief ceremony went well, and I only had to be corrected once during the reading of the vows. I managed to hold back ant tears until after the bride and groom walked back down the aisle. Then, as I hugged my wife, my sister, and my aunt I allowed the moisture to well up in my eyes.

My son is married. We have a wonderful new member to our family. I am a blessed man.

Chapter 1 - Damaged Emotions

In the first chapter of Healing for Damaged Emotions David Seamands’ begins by describing the experience of preaching his first sermon on the topic of healing damaged emotions. In the audience was Dr. Smith, the pastor of David’s boyhood, now long retired. After the service a moist-eyed Dr. Smith approached Seamands saying: “You know, there was always a group of people I could never help… No amount of advice… scripture or prayer ever seemed to bring them lasting deliverance.”

Seamands then describes the human condition, by comparing it to how a naturalist can demonstrate the life history of a giant sequoia by looking at a cross section of the tree and examining its rings. Years of health, and years of damage to drought or fire can all be seen – all protected by the outer layer bark. "And that’s how it is with us" says Seamands. Just a few thin layers below the “protective bark” lie the scars of living with an alcoholic father, or an abused childhood, or the loss of a loved one. 

David Seamands is a pastor. Nevertheless he is quick to point out that as valuable as an experience with Jesus can be, it is not a short cut to emotional health. He states: “Certain areas of our lives need special healing by the Holy Spirit. They are not subject to ordinary prayer, discipline, and willpower… And this is not done overnight by a crisis experience.” 

He continues that people need to be mindful not to go to either of two extremes in seeking solutions to our problems. The first extreme is to blame our problems on an outside evil force. The second is to reach for an overly simplistic pat-answer as our solution. “The devil is really after me” or “if I (or you) only read the Bible and prayed more, had more faith you would never have such feelings”. Seamands says: “People who say such things are being very cruel. They are only piling on more weights on a person who is in pain and unsuccessfully struggling with an emotionally rooted problem”.

Seamands does believe that the Gospel has a message for emotionally damaged problems. He provides two questions that need to be asked of oneself: 1. What is our part in the healing of damaged emotions? 2. Just what are you and I supposed to do in this healing process? Seamands gives six Biblical principles to help find answers to these problems:

1. Face your problem squarely.
2.  Accept your responsibility in the matter.
3.  Ask yourself if you want to be healed.
4.  Forgive everyone who is involved in your problem.
5.  Forgive yourself.
6.  Ask God to show you what your real problem is and how you need to pray.

One lesson that that I have learned along my journey is that easy answers do not usually solve most of life’s problems. Solving our emotional problems takes hard work, understanding of our core issues, and help from those around us.  I truly believe that healing is available for all who need it. But, are we willing to do “whatever it takes” to achieve it?

Healing for Damaged Emotions

Healing for Damaged Emotions

I like to read. I really do. And I read a lot (sometimes). Presently I am in the 2^nd week of an eight week Summer term where I will complete 10 units of graduate work. Yes, over the next two months will be one of those stages in my life when I read a lot.

Typically my texts for my classes are detailed, technical works that would be of no real interest to anyone outside the field of mental health. Nevertheless, there is the occasional exception to the rule. This past Spring session I was assigned to read David Seamands’ Healing for Damaged Emotions in one of my classes.

 Seamands is a pastor who found that he was having trouble helping two groups of people through the regular ministries in his church. He found that one group of people tried every Christian discipline, but with no results. Yet, their problems were not being solved. He saw the second group of troubled people only moving toward phoniness in attempts to solve their problems. These people repressed their inner feelings, believing that “Christians can’t have such problems.” This group only seemed to bury their problems, only to later reappear in a more damaging fashion.

My life is no exception to the flawed attempts described by Seamands to manage emotional issues. Some churches that I have belonged to have also harbored many of these attitudes, leading to further harm to people whom they could have helped.

So, over the next few weeks I will be taking some time to highlight some of the key points from Seamands’ text that I hope will speak to those who might stumble upon this blog. I appreciate what Healing for Damaged Emotions brings to the conversation and hope that this book can reach hearts and minister to those who are hurting.

It is my birthday...

So here it is. The day has finally arrived and I am not any more excited about it than I imagined I would be.

Today is my birthday

I am now 47 years old

the same age as my father was

when he died…


Somewhere inside of me I have there has been this fear... What does 47 have in store for me? Will I meet the same fate as him? Is the 47th year some kind of destiny for me like it was for Lieutenant Dan?


Logic says that I am being foolish to entertain such thoughts. Nevertheless, for your entertainment here is what my abnormal thought patterns look like:


My dad’s sister, my Aunt Jackie, is alive and doing great. I think she is about 73, she still travels the world, but she is a woman. My sister sailed past 47 and is in great health. But she is also a woman and, therefore, does not fit into the equation. My Gramps lived until he was 90… but he wasn’t raised in a world of processed foods, pesticides, and chickens injected with growth hormones. Dad died when he was 47.


I think they will name a new disorder after my condition.


I can take some comfort knowing that I am not a two-pack-a-day smoker like my dad was. The doctors told my sister that they were certain the cancer started in his lungs. So I certainly have dodged that bullet. Well, at least I thought I did until I learned that my sister’s coworker now has lung cancer and she has never smoked one cigarette in her life. Both of her parents smoked, as did mine. Yes, second hand smoke can kill.


Still, I have these thoughts…


Irrational thoughts, none of which are easy to process


thoughts that I must continually work through.


I don’t plan on leaving this planet any time soon. I plan on living until I’m 90.


I still have a lot to accomplish.

I hate these days

These days are the worst days.

I hate these days.

These days bring so much sadness.

These days bring tears to my eyes.

Every one of these days.

This morning I drove to LAX and dropped off my son, not to see him again for months. I really thought that I could do it without crying this time. I reminded myself that I will be able to see him in less than three months… It didn’t work.


I remember the day that Jennifer left for her summer mission trip eight years ago. I was so proud of her, so glad that she was doing such a good thing. I cried the entire 45 minute drive to work. Every time we put her on the plane to go back to college I would tear up. Separation brings me so many tears.

The drop offs with Dillon are much tougher. I think a good part of it is because it was our move back to California is what caused the distance between us. But, I think that the hardest part, the greatest contributor to what aches my heart today, is has a lot to do with losing my dad when I was eighteen. As an adult I never had a father-son relationship with my dad. And, as I told God this morning, I didn’t get that part of the relationship with my dad and I want it with my son.

So, the separation hurts.

And now I am back in Brea, with three of the four most important people in the world to me, all within a mile or so from me.

Back to our routine.

Routine, except that I hate these days.

December 14th is always a tough day.

The fog was pretty heavy this morning as I drove Alyssa up to school. I could see about 200 yards down the road, and maybe less than 100 yards up near the high school. My memories of of December 1982 are sometimes like trying to look through the morning fog. That was a rough time in my life; my dad had cancer and was dying.

At that point in my life I was living in survival mode, trying to be strong. I was wearing on the best mask that I could conceive - confident, unaffected, positive. I had been using that coping mechanism since childhood, so I went with what I knew. I think that part of my struggles in remembering that time in my life is in part all of the positive self-talk I was engaging in (when you are eighteen you can think that nothing is going to affect you). Nonetheless, there are parts of that month that are crystal clear in my memory, like they happen last year, or last month.

I can remember my Aunt Nancy calling me, saying that I needed to come home. I remember his hospital room. I remember seeing him lying in his bed, and the tear running down his cheek as he tried to speak to me. I remember answering the phone when the doctor called to tell us he was gone. I remember hearing my Gramps breaking down when Cindy had to call him to tell him the awful news.

I have never stopped missing him. Its been more than 28 years since that day I last spoke to him, touched his hand,  kissed his forehead, and told him that I loved him... There are times that the loss doesn't hurt as much. There are days that pass when I don't think about him even once. But, there are days that I miss him dearly. Today is one of those days.

We never got to experience the best things that a man and his son can share together. He couldn't come to my wedding. I was never able to introduce him to his wonderful grandchildren. He never got to hold them. He never got to see Jennifer sing, or come to one of Dillon's games, or watch Alyssa march with the Blue Devils. He missed out on so much.

I miss my dad. I still wish that he was here. I wish that I could share with him the things that are happening in my life. So much has happened, things that he would have loved. Today is a hard day for me. I lost my dad twenty eight years ago today. I feel cheated. And it still hurts.


On this morning the fog and overcast skies seem quite apropos.