Diolog June 2012

1 | epicenter.org

Diolog The Texas Episcopalian

www.epicenter.org

page 35

BATTER UP! EPISCOPAL NIGHT AT THE BALLPARK

THE BISHOP’S COLUMN | CAMP ALLEN | PROFILES

JUNE 2012

VOLUME 2

NUMBER 2

HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN

page 08

The Episcopal Diocese of Texas

Diolog: The Texas Episcopalian (since 1874) is an

official publication of the Episcopal Diocese of

Texas.

Our mission is to bring you the wealth of stories from the

Episcopal Church and the Anglican Communion, to inform

and inspire you and to deepen your spiritual life.

PUBLISHER: The Rt. Rev. C. Andrew Doyle

EDITOR: Carol E. Barnwell, [email protected]

DESIGNER: LaShane K. Eaglin, [email protected]

STAFF WRITER: Luke Blount, [email protected]

Diolog: The Texas Episcopalian (PE# USPS 10965, ISSN#

1074-441X) is published quarterly (March, June, September

and December) for $25 a year by the Episcopal Diocese of

Texas, 1225 Texas St., Houston, TX 77002-3504. Periodical

postage paid at Houston, TX. Address changes may be

emailed to: [email protected]

POSTMASTER: Address changes: Diolog: The Texas

Episcopalian, 1225 Texas St., Houston, TX 77002-3504

© 2012 The Episcopal Diocese of Texas

Diolog | 3 | JUNE 2012

26

In This Issue:

Contents:

FAITH & HEALING

JUNE 2012

HOUSTON HOMELESS

06FAITH & HEALING

07 Bishop’s Column

08 How the Light Gets In

11 God Was Nowhere and Everywhere

12 Glory in the Midst

14 Receiving Care Can Be Grace Filled

16 Grief & Wonder Trilogy

18 Perfect in Every Way

20 Hope and Healing

04 EDITOR’S LETTER

Carol E. Barnwell

PROFILES

33 CAMP ALLEN

34 BISHOP’S CALENDAR & PEOPLE

Luminary, Mark Gwin page 23

The Arts, Houston’s Homeless page 26

Advocate, Project Safety Net page 28

Congregation, St. Luke’s Hospital page 30

In life, there sometimes comes a moment when you know things will never be the same. Where is your faith then?

Every month, homeless men and women meet at The Beacon in Houston to find their creative spark.

4 | epicenter.org

EDITOR’S LETTER

Getting my arms around this issue has been a challenge because the subject is so broad. I first heard Angela Blanchard speak at St. Martin’s during a series on faith and wellness. I knew that particular subject would interest a lot of people, so a version of Angela’s presentation became the 30,000-foot view and anchor for other articles in this month’s issue of Diolog.

Angela is CEO of Neighborhood Centers Inc., a social service agency in Houston that helps more than 250,000 people annually. After working globally with people who had lived through natural disasters, she noticed a pattern many went through while recovering from these catastrophes. The same can be said for people following a cancer diagnosis, divorce, death of a loved one or many other life-changing situations—all bring a feeling of loss, a recognition that things will never be the same.

So, in this issue are a number of articles that examine how people have responded to crises and how they have experienced grace and extraordinary generosity from others who have helped them begin to recover and move forward.

In the newspaper, Lalor Cadley saw a tsunami victim who became an unknowing icon for prayer (page 11). The Rev. Jimmy Grace finds God manifested in each small success of his son James who has autism (page 18). Jamie Coats learned how grief and wonder intertwine following his sister’s suicide (page 16), and Michele Prince

remembers her son through her Stephen’s ministry (page 14).

The symbiotic relationship between wellness and faith is underscored by articles on St. Luke’s Episcopal Hospital in a profile on page 30 and the work of Episcopal Health Charities on page 28. This relationship is so important that St. Martin’s, Houston, is building The Hope and Healing Center to provide resources for families and individuals at all stages of life to reclaim peace of mind and sound emotional, mental, physical and spiritual health. Read more in the Rev. Russell Levenson’s article on page 20.

Lindsay Hardin Freeman wrestled with a breast cancer diagnosis until Jesus calmed the sea for her, literally. The staff at Ubi Caritas in Beaumont help to carry the burdens of many of the patients they see, bringing Christ’s love to a hurting world. These stories and many more are online this month at www.epicenter.org/comm.

Crises and natural disasters can be defined by what they reveal, in us and in others. When something significant is lost, many times it paves the way for profound change. That change begins with the first new question we ask ourselves. What questions do you ask at the twists and turns of your life? What graceful moments have you experienced when profound adversity caused you to head in an unforeseen direction? Let us hear from you at www.facebook.com/TexasDiocese or email me at [email protected].

Blessings,

Carol E. Barnwell Editor

[email protected]

Brokenness Made New

CONNECT | SHAREshare your comments or suggest article topics @ www.epicenter.org/share

COMMUNICATIONSstay updated on the latest communication and technology news @ edotcomm.blogspot.com

E-NEWSget weekly diocesan and parish news @ tinyurl.com/diologenews


COLLABORATION WITH POET HELPS DEACON THROUGH GRIEFThe Rev. Senitila McKinley turned to painting and poetry as a way to work through her grief after her husband passed away. Read more at tinyurl.com/sweetgrief

COMMENTARY: YOUNG OCCUPIERS ARE VICTIMS OF “BAIT AND SWITCH”The Rt. Rev. George Packard has been a voice within the Episcopal Church for the Occupy movement. He argues young people especially need our prayers. Read more at tinyurl.com/studentsdebt

UBI CARITAS: HELPING TO CARRY ANOTHER’S BURDENLauren Rahe, medical office manager, tells the story of how Ubi Caritas helps others in their time of need. Read more at tinyurl.com/ubicaritas2

Phot

o: G

us S

alin

nas

Caroline Ratliff

EDOT Gallery is located in the Diocesan Center in downtown Houston and is open from 9-5, M-F. Call 713.520.6444 for group tours.

THE GENERAL CONVENTIONof the Episcopal Church

• 17

85 •

TH

E GENERAL CONVENTIO

N • 2012 •

INDIANAPOLIS

Up-To-The-MinuteCoverage at

www.epicenter.org

July 5–12, 2012 • Indianapolis, Indiana

edot gallery Features Episcopal Artist

Caroline RatliffThrough June 30

6 | epicenter.org

FAITH & HEALING


“I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified … that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God” (I Cor 2:2, 5) These words of Paul speak to the importance of being with one another in our woundedness.

Human beings harbor real woundedness inside their souls, just as they experience physical wounds in their bodies. Often times the physical wound is easier to deal with. It is real, visible and clearly in need of healing. Our response to this physical illness or brokenness is compassion. Somehow it is easier to be sympathetic and empathetic with the visible injury. Yet psychological and spiritual woundedness is no less real. While it is difficult to hide our physical manifestations of illness we humans are experts in hiding our psycho/spiritual

woundedness. As with a more physical wound, the spiritual wound is just as in need of the healing balm of Gilead.

Jesus taught us to be present to both kinds of woundedness. He dealt with the woman at the well, and he dealt with the man at the pool of Siloam. His own suffering of psychological shame at the hands of the soldiers and then his physical suffering that ended upon the cross are images of his compassion for both conditions and the nature of human suffering. Archbishop Rowan Williams reminds us,

“To want to escape the ‘nigh’ and the costly struggles with doubt and vacuity is to seek another God from the one who speaks in and as Jesus crucified. Crux probat omnia. There is no other touchstone.” (Wound of Knowledge, p. 191)

It is only in being in a

mature Christian community with one another that we discover the woundedness of the other, and likewise are able to be real with one another. In being our true wounded selves with one another we discover the very real grace of Christ, and we share not only in his suffering but in his deliverance. In being our true wounded selves, we discover Christ’s love despite our wounds and are therefore able to love others.

The stories in this issue speak to us of healing. They speak to us of the discovery of the wounds internally and externally through which we are able (miraculously) to receive grace from God and from one another. The wounds of healing grace are those wherein we discover what it means to be mortal and human, and also what it means to be loved by God and one another.

THE WOUNDS OF HEALING GRACE

by the Rt. Rev. C. Andrew Doyle

8 | epicenter.org

FAITH AND HEALING

—Leonard Cohen

by Angela Blanchard

HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN

“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”


What is most precious to us is often what we can least control; and when the real winds of destruction start to blow through our lives, we begin by being frightened, angry and lost. As I listened to those who survived, it became evident there are discernable stages—identifiable milestones on this journey from disaster to a new beginning. Their wisdom reminds us that many have made this trip, confronted these questions, done this work and made a way out of no way at all.

SURVIVAL

When our world is turned upside down, our view of the world shrinks. Our gaze is constricted and our questions are intensely focused. Am I okay? Am I still here? Who else survived?

Sometimes a life-threatening situation unfolds in slow motion—a medical diagnosis delivered in bits and pieces. Sometimes it happens instantly or we get to watch it roll in off the Gulf of Mexico headed right for us. We brace ourselves, suck in our breath and wait for impact. Once we take our first after-impact breath, we have only two questions: Am I okay? How are the people I love?

SANCTUARY

When the immediate danger has passed, the terrible news has sunk in, we feel shaken and relieved. We seek the warmth of human connection, or go inward and connect with our life sustaining energy. Tears of relief and grief come and go. We relive terrible moments. We feel overwhelmed and helpless, and this helplessness is profoundly uncomfortable. We are grateful to be alive, but raw with vulnerability and need.

Many times we find sanctuary in a dear friend. Other times we find ourselves depending upon the kindness of strangers, professionals or fellow survivors. Wherever we go for immediate comfort, that shelter is a temporary home. We

know we cannot stay there, that what has happened must be faced. But first we need that refuge. We may be troubled by a sense of unreality as we try to grasp the enormity of our situation.

It does not help to be told “everything will be okay.” We cannot be reassured at this stage. The best help is patient kindness. Listening. The questions that plague us are: Is it really over? Is this the worst?

UPHEAVAL

We awaken from the numbness that comes from shock. Feeling returns like a leg that has fallen asleep. First a sharp tingling and then it hurts. No matter where we look we see evidence of what was lost. Fragments of our old life intrude. A sudden smell, a glimpse of someone almost like the person we loved. We can easily get lost in this stage. We want not to feel. But if we don’t allow this pain, this mourning, the ground will be barren and there will be no way to plant a new life, imagine a new future, grow a new community.

But first we have to clear the debris. After disasters, we tear out walls and sweep out the house, scraping the ground clean for what comes next. Some people do this quickly, some slowly. Movement—one step at a time—is all that’s needed.

This stage is physically exhausting. Everything that should be easy is very hard, what is difficult becomes impossible. Our sense of isolation grows. Other people outside of the disaster zone go on living, and our own isolation becomes acutely painful.

LIMBO

In this stage, the full magnitude of what has happened becomes clearer. The work of recovery seems more than we can possibly do. There are two beliefs that keep us struggling. One involves the desperate search for normal. Trying to remember and return to what was. Each day shows us we are living in a new world, but we cannot figure what our goal

—Leonard Cohen

About seven years ago I began collecting stories from people who survived disasters. I began to notice that the wisdom and deep learning that resulted from these cataclysmic events had relevance not just for Category 4 hurricanes but for all the storms that make landfall in our lives – financial loss, illness, divorce, death.

“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

10 | epicenter.org

should be. The other belief is that this work would be easier “if only.” If only the hospital, doctors, officials, FEMA, or someone would do something different, better, faster, we could move on. We are waiting for someone stronger, smarter and more powerful to arrive to deal with this disaster. But ultimately we must face the fact that the real work is ours to do, no matter what help comes.

Although we may appear to be making little progress, limbo really is a time of going inward and adjusting our expectations. It is a time of refilling our reserves, preparing for important choices we must make.

We need the company of people who understand. What is most helpful is not external prodding but useful information: the disease trajectory, the length of time to put on a new roof.

RESIGNATION / ACCEPTANCE

We come to a fork in the road where we must decide. In one direction is acceptance. Fully recognizing the extent of our loss, we recommit to our beliefs and find meaning in our new journey. In the other direction, resignation, we experience only the loss and see no opportunity ahead.

Acceptance comes out of the work we have done to reassess our lives. We believe our radically changed lives have a purpose. We embrace the work of rebuilding our lives. If we have defined a larger purpose, then all that we have endured can come under the umbrella of our faith and purpose.

But we can get mired in resentment and blame. Even if the actions of others have caused deeper pain and loss, we must reconcile ourselves to the fact that the work of recovery is still ours to do.

This is a profoundly important stage because we come face to face with our one-sided bargains with God. We have worked so hard and sacrificed so much, how could this happen to us? Quite simply, it’s about examining our beliefs about the world and our capacity to live in it as it is.

One powerful source of faith and reassurance comes from recognizing that we are on the same journey as millions of others. It is at this stage we rejoin the human race and recognize— though what has happened is profound and significant, we are not alone.

TAKING STOCK

Loss of our homes, our possessions, our security. Loss of community, of our imagined future. It is painful to face. But we must take stock for many reasons. In this stage, we

learn what we have to work with. We must inventory what can be saved from our old life. We take stock of our tangible resources, even as we examine our inner resources. What are our strengths and skills? What aspects of our character have allowed us to overcome difficulties in the past?

We must also take note of gifts that arrive just when we need them. Support and help, knowledge and guidance come from those ahead on the path. And the daily practice of gratitude and noting every moment of grace will sustain us as we build a new future out of our own imagination.

NEW BEGINNING

At some point we recognize that we have restarted our lives. We invest ourselves again in a new life, relationship, community or endeavor. Knowing that nothing will ever be the same, we are able to embrace a new way forward. Possibilities emerge that we could never have imagined. Where we felt only grief and loss we now feel hopeful. We notice new internal strengths.

This does not come in a flash. And it may surprise us to see we have new reservoirs of joy, friendships that have deepened, new interests, a new respect for our own resiliency and a new relationship with God—gifts borne of our hard work.

A NEW JOURNEY: AWAKENING

There is a crack in everything. A levee in every community. Every heart slightly broken. Out of every broken place comes an opportunity to turn struggle into transformation.

Much of the time we strive for security. Then one way or another, a crack appears and we are stunned at our powerlessness. We have lived through a real disaster, what we lost is irreplaceable. But we are awakened to ourselves and others, alive to possibilities that are enriching beyond what we might have imagined.

We know now that life is really a series of new beginnings, a series of challenges that reveal new dimensions of wisdom borne out of loss. The good news is there are remarkable moments of grace in every journey from brokenness to transformation. The light gets in— illuminating what matters most to us, and our way forward.

It may be too much to ask that we welcome these experiences, but not too much that we share them and appreciate them for the gifts they bring into our lives.

Blanchard is CEO of Neighborhood Centers Inc. in Houston.


Anyone who has ever felt forsaken by God in a crisis knows how good it is to look back when the crisis is passed, and see how present God was throughout—perhaps not in obvious or immediate ways, but present nonetheless.

When asked to share an experience of this faithful love that cloaks itself in mystery, I thought immediately of a time 10 years ago, in the aftermath of a divorce. I had been married for 23 years to a man I loved but with whom I could no longer live in the old way. In the early years of our marriage, while he built his career and I raised the children and ran the household, our differences weren’t so apparent. But when the challenge of living together in the second half of life presented itself, we saw the great distance that had grown up between us. We tried to work things out, but it was no use. Our differences were irreconcilable, and we agreed the only true thing was to part.

I moved out, rented an apartment, and was into my second month of living on my own when one day, out of the blue and for no apparent reason, I was struck by a tidal wave of anxiety that shook me to my roots and pulled me down into an underworld inside myself I never knew existed. I couldn’t eat or sleep. Simple tasks like balancing my checkbook or finding my way to a doctor’s office were beyond me. I remained in this state for four months, fighting to keep my head above water, calling out to a God who had promised to protect me and was nowhere to be found.

To this day I don’t fully understand what happened. But I do know without a doubt that this experience was an

essential part of my spiritual journey, and that God was with me every step of the way. In the good doctors who tended me, doctors who had more than pills to offer—though the pills did come in mighty handy. In doctors who were willing to meet me not just as a patient but as a person in pain and afraid. In the love of my sister, who would take my calls night or day, in turn soothing and challenging me to visualize a future for myself. “Then go for it.” In the Psalms that became my daily bread. In the prayers of my faith community and the calls, cards, plants, meals, books, talks with friends who saw in me a strength I couldn’t access and held the rope until I had the strength to climb back up.

Mother nature was another boundless source of mercy—the birds singing songs at dawn; the rustling of the trees at twilight; the feel of earth beneath my feet as I walked the grounds of a retreat center; my dog, dear Jessie, who never left me all day long and lay beside me through the night. In the ministrations of a skilled spiritual director who saw in my situation both the danger and the opportunity, and never let me doubt that there was meaning in my suffering and one day I would thrive. “You will not be lost.” I could go on and on.

It’s over now and I am in a new place. If I am called to die again—and won’t we all be?—I’d like to think I’ll be less tempted to flail around, more willing to sit still and listen for the whisper of love all around me.

Cadley is a spiritual director in Atlanta.

God Was Nowhere and Everywhereby Lalor Cadley

PRAYING SOUL TO SOUL IN THE AFTERMATHIn 2005, Lalor Cadley felt compelled to pray for a tsunami victim she saw in the newspaper. She cut out the picture, placed it on her prayer table and began to “kythe” with the unnamed woman.

According to Cadley, kything is “slightly different from traditional intercessory prayers that are a part of so many faith traditions. It doesn’t require any elaborate training or special skill, just a loving heart and a desire to care for the world’s people on God’s behalf.”

To read more about Cadley’s experience, visit tinyurl.com/lalorcadley.

REUTERS/ASAHI SHIMBUN

12 | epicenter.org

by Hugh Welsh

FAITH AND HEALING

Ramona Shields was at home recuperating from a round of radiation the afternoon of Sunday, May 22. She’d had a recurrence of breast cancer. Her husband, Hugh, had been away Sunday attending a graduation party and picking up the Rev. Frank Sierra (St. Philip’s rector) and his wife, Debi, from the airport. Ramona had given her husband explicit instructions: “Don’t dillydally; there’s bad weather coming.” When the first siren aired, he wasn’t home yet. Ramona slipped on her shoes, grabbed her purse and pillows and ushered the pets into the newly remodeled bathroom.

It was the only room left standing. Ramona didn’t underestimate the initial siren. The sky wasn’t right, and it was deathly quiet. She heard the car door slam shut; Hugh was home. The sirens blared again. Ramona urged Hugh toward the bathroom as he peered out the window. He wanted to see it. “A mass of brownish black.” Ramona stared at the wall; she didn’t dare look at what sounded like an oncoming freight train. The splintering of trees was Hugh’s cue: take cover.

Ramona’s ears popped like she was scaling a mountaintop. “I had to swallow twice,” she said. Minutes were hours as the Shieldses’ home came apart around them. “I thought it would never end,” Ramona said.

If not for the remodeled bathroom, Ramona and Hugh wouldn’t have survived. The west end of their house was gone, as if the subject of a disappearing act. Block after block of broken homes. Trees, which once insulated one house from another, were no more. Their neighborhood was a debris field. St. John’s Medical Center sat dark; usually, a brief period passed before the emergency generators powered on. Not this night. On the horizon, the blazing St. Mary’s Elementary School looked like a smokestack. Strewn among the ruins nearby was the body of a man who worked at McDonald’s and jogged daily by their house. They veiled

his remains and prayed. A neighbor was bleeding to death. A family of nine emerged from a closet; they’d clung to their father in the hopes he’d defy the mighty updraft. The able bodied formed search-and-rescue teams, which combed the wreckage for anyone alive. In their yard was half a canoe with the words “serenity” etched onto it. All the while, it was raining. Incessant rain.

Most of their neighbors and friends survived. That’s the miracle: most lived. The Shieldses lost their home, their vehicles and all six rental properties they owned in Joplin. Two of their four cats fled in the storm’s wake, never to return. St. Philip’s responded: fellow parishioners volunteered their homes to the Shieldses; and Hugh’s cousin, who lives in Neosho, proffered a car, his 1988 Mercury Marquis. A youth group from Golden City, Missouri salvaged the Shieldses’ World War II memorabilia.

Ramona and Hugh took heed in the tale of Job, a believer no matter the circumstances. They adopted a rule: goodwill ought to be paid forward. “The Shieldses are among the most selfless people I’ve ever met,” Sierra said. “They’ll do anything for anybody.”

They devoted long hours to fellow Joplinites caught in the twister’s path, whether it was cleaning up or spiritual counsel. They made grocery runs for needy elderly, one of whom suffered vertebrae damage in the storm. They donated land for rebuilding. They fought and won a case of renter’s insurance injustice for a beleaguered neighbor.

The neighborhood rebuilding process is underway. Ramona notices a lot of the older homes were left standing. “There’s a difference between a nail that’s hammered in vs. one nailed with a gun,” she said.

Homes can be rebuilt and trees planted, but the neighborhood will never be the same. Ramona’s grandparents moved there in 1919, building the house the Shieldses called home in 1921. The trees were like old souls

Glory in the Midst


Photos: Melodie Woerman

“For Ramona, it’s about what the twister didn’t take, not what it did....

Miracles rise from adversity.”

Ramona Shields salvages what she can days after the Joplin tornado destroyed her home.

to her, vanquished.

Since July, they’ve lived in a rental house acquired from the parents of children Ramona taught. Ramona happened upon them while at the bank. It’s in the older, unscathed section of town. Every night, she sets food out for her two lost cats, which will likely never return home.

For Ramona, it’s about what the

twister didn’t take, not what it did. Her faith never splintered, and her health has taken a turn for the better after six weeks of hives following the tornado. The cancer hasn’t spread. Miracles rise from adversity. She’s heard a lot of survivors say they saw butterflies as the tornado bore down upon them. One story involves a boy playing in the yard when the tornado approached. The boy’s father draped his body over him, clenching the

grass. The twister tore the father’s shoes from his feet; it slashed his clothing and pelted him with flecks of debris.

Something kept him anchored. The boy said butterflies held them down. “The Lord does work in our lives all the time,” Ramona said. “His work in Joplin is not done.”

The Shieldses are members of St. Philips,

Joplin.

14 | epicenter.org

FAITH AND HEALING

After my 12-year-old son Will died, I was never afraid to come to church. Some days, I was afraid to go to the bus stop or the grocery store. Most days, I was afraid to go to my son Alex’s school. I felt like there was a flashing neon sign above my head, announcing my bereaved status. But I always felt okay at church, as if the sign were off. I learned right away that you want to be where you find comfort, and you won’t know which places will be comforting until you’re in the thick of grief.

Being comforted was a big part of my process of receiving care during Will’s illness as well. My husband Brice and I let everyone know about his cancer and became open to accepting care from many people in many different ways. Part of it was practical; we needed help with the parts of our lives that didn’t involve being in the hospital with Will. Part of it was emotional and spiritual; we needed love, support and prayers. Will’s cancer was a life-changer for sure, whether he went into remission and recovered or not. Some people might shut down and circle the wagons—I called for reinforcements.

Our church gave us care in a myriad of ways from the minute one of the priests showed up at Will’s bedside on Sunday, Dec. 7, 2008, less than 24 hours after he was admitted to the hospital. We had learned the night before that doctors suspected the mass in his chest was lymphoma. Because it was a weekend, we’d barely begun the conversations about staging, surgery and treatment plans. But Rose was there with a smile and kind words of comfort. There were cards from both boys’ Sunday School classes, a moving prayer service with my Mothers’ Group friends just before Christmas, dinners left on our porch, cards in the mail, a special Ash Wednesday visit from our rector, and a thoughtful bookmark for parishioners to use in prayer and to access our CaringBridge site. These concrete acts and gestures were very meaningful and helpful, especially in the early days of adjusting to our life in the hospital.

For me, spiritual things were happening as well. In

the past when people spoke of being “held up in prayer,” I hadn’t given it much thought. Now I knew what it meant. Literally, I felt held up. Not as if I were falling and people were supporting me from behind, but as if I were being pushed closer to God by the hands of so many. The feeling was intense during Will’s illness, and though it has since passed, I still carry a sense of it with me each day. At one point, I remember that Will asked us, “Why are all these people being so nice to me? Why are they doing all these things for us?” As I explained to him and Alex, this is what you do when something bad happens to someone in your community; this is how you show you care. When you can’t provide the cure, you provide the care that eases the burden of those who suffer.

After Will’s funeral in April 2009, I felt like I had a very real and immediate choice to make—stay open and connected or shut down. Will and I had talked a lot about what was in his or our control and what was not. During that first spring without him, I thought about the same idea. If I spent my time asking “Why?” I suspected I would become angry and resentful. There will be no answer to that question in my lifetime. Instead I have tried to focus (not always successfully) on “What now?” in the hope that I can stay connected to my family and friends and be open to all the love that is still around me.

I don’t think my reaction was unique; I just needed to find the right thing for me to do. Will was kind and generous, but he went about things quietly and gently. To me, he epitomizes Wordsworth’s lines from “Tintern Abbey”

“that best portion of a good man’s life,/ His little, nameless, unremembered acts/ Of kindness and of love.” I wanted to find something to do that would complement my strengths but also be consistent with Will’s way of living.

As I moved back into the routine of my life after Will’s long hospitalization and death—making dinner again, taking Alex to soccer practice, getting back into the rhythm of my part-time job for a medical journal—I thought often

by Michele Prince

Receiving Care Can Be Grace Filled


Photo: Brice PrinceMichelle Prince and her son Will.

about how I could be a source of comfort to others in the wake of my own family crisis.

I continued to show up at church week after week because I found comfort there and because I wanted Alex’s connection with the church to grow as well. I knew there were lots of activities at church, but I wasn’t sure which would be right for me. I was in a holding pattern, watching and waiting for something to come my way.

One Sunday last January I heard an announcement about the Stephen Ministry program. I got that funny feeling I get when something I’m supposed to do is being revealed. After I completed the forms, I learned that six people were needed to hold the training and mine was the sixth application. Another reinforcement that I was doing the right thing.

The Stephen Ministry classes

included 50 hours of training, so I spent many evenings at church with the other trainees and a number of Stephen leaders. It was an amazing experience. I met new people and the classes were thought-provoking. My master’s degree program included courses in areas covered in the Stephen Ministry materials, so the ideas were familiar. But framing them in terms of Christian caregiving was new. Beyond that, my experience in receiving care reinforced for me the value of being a caring presence for others. Now I am part of a powerful nationwide— ministry. I hope that I will be a source of comfort for others in our parish who need it.

Care receiving means being open to having another person in your life at your most vulnerable times and fragile places. Caregiving means being with the other person wherever they are—vulnerable and fragile. God’s

grace allows this miracle of human connection, but we have to be open to the process.

My son let this happen every day of his illness. While it was obvious that Will was a receiver of care from many, especially as his illness progressed, I was witness to him as a giver of care as well. He thanked everyone who left his room, even after painful or humiliating medical treatments. He considered others’ feelings, even while in pain or discomfort. He made connections with nurses and doctors and other hospital staff, even when he was desperate to go home. So with his example as my guide, I am moving forward in this new life I didn’t plan for, trying to be open to both receiving and giving care.

Prince is a member of St. Columba’s, Washington, D.C. Her story first appeared in the church’s newsletter and is reprinted here with permission.

16 | epicenter.org

FAITH AND HEALING

In 2010 my kind, 49-year-old sister, Emma, killed herself. Just before I flew from Boston to England to organize the cremation and remembrance services, Brother Curtis called me. I work for a religious order of Episcopal monks, the Society of Saint John the Evangelist, and Curtis had been my boss for four years. He said, “I have been praying for a word for you to take with you, the word ‘wonder’ keeps coming to me.” I thanked him, feeling it would be a long time before I ever felt wonder again.

The year before Emma died she wrote a long poem that described a detailed walk through a wood in Devon, England. After the services I went with seven of Emma’s friends, my ex-wife and my 10-year-old daughter to Devon. We read the poem and figured out where Emma had been when she wrote every verse. At one point my daughter called out, “Daddy, how much more of the poem have we got to go?” And I began to feel wonder again. Were we in the woods or in the poem?

The next day, on what would have been Emma’s 50th birthday, we gathered where she had described sitting on a mossy seat at the river’s edge. We read the whole poem, then friends produced poems and read them. I waded into the river and poured Emma’s ashes into the river, into her poem. At that moment I was flooded with wonder.

The “Grief & Wonder Trilogy” revolves around this moment of pouring my sister’s ashes into the greater cycle of love and of accepting the outpouring of love that I received from friends and strangers that holds me to this day.

You can read about Emma, her friends’ love for her and see some of her art at emmacoats.wordpress.com, and you can read some of my writings at wingedboots.com. The SSJE Brothers give out words every day to help us all at ssje.org/word.

Coats is the director of Friends of The Society of Saint John the Evangelist, Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA

by Jamie Coats

GRIEF & WONDER TRILOGY: WONDER? WONDER, WONDERFUL

Emma Coats with her niece Alexandra.


Wonder?

We all have tragedy.

Will it hold us

And we pass it on

Tragically?

Or can we let

Our friends hold us

So hold our own tragedy

And then let it like ash

Spread into the stream

Returning to the cycle

Of a greater love

And experience wonder?

Wonder, Wonder, Bounding Tiger

Awoke to find a tiger

By my bedside.

“Resolve to pray your day

I’m from your sister.

I am here to give you courage

No fear you need to have.”

“At night you sleep well?” she asks

“I fear what lies under my bed,” comes my reply.

She nuzzles me, says,

“My eyes catch demon lines

In the swirling dark underneath.

I catch and hold them tight.?

WonderfulThere is nothing more wonderful

Than to have ones way

Blocked by an angel,

Holding a gift from God

A practice when received

Let’s us feel God’s love.

Blind

We bump into the angel.

“Get out of my way”

But the angel does not move

If we fight we lose like Jacob

If we turn the angel moves around.

Fear comes to attack

But sees a man confronted by an angel

Receiving a gift from God.

Fear can not confront

As the angel is in the way

And its wings wrap the man in love.

He lets the angel

Place his broken heart

In a nest of feathered love

Where broken pieces come

To lie and heal

To rest in wonder,

And the Angel says,

“Know in your church of friends

You can place your hurt heart on the altar

And know there will be no hole in your chest

But a space filled with the heart

That God gave Jesus.”

www.wingedboots.com

18 | epicenter.org

PERFECT IN EVERY WAY

The other day I was riding down a street in our neighborhood on a bike next to my six-year-old son, who had just learned to ride a two-wheel “big boy bike” all by himself. Riding down the street, the two of us smiled as the wind blew past our faces. This was certainly not an unusual sight in our neighborhood—but it was for me. I never thought my son would ever ride a bike.

My son, James, has autism.Autism for James means that his

challenges involve those things that we take for granted daily—conversation, eye contact, concentration, empathy. For James’ first four years, he spoke very little, and my wife Marla and wondered if he would ever speak. Speech has come for James, thanks to a lot of early intervention and schooling. His curiosity about the world never ceases to surprise me. It is remarkable to me how far James has come in only the first six years of his life.

Before he was born, my wife and I went in for a twenty-week ultrasound to learn if we were going to have a boy or girl. During the ultrasound, the radiologist spent what seemed to us a lot of time looking at James—especially his brain. As I remember that day, another doctor came in and examined the images on the screen, and then began to explain to us what we already knew: something was not right. A part of James’ brain called the cerebellar vermis, the doctor explained, was below the average size of a typical child’s cerebellar vermis at this point. Although the doctor was unable to tell us to what extent this might affect him, both my wife and I were absolutely devastated at

by the Rev. Jimmy Grace

James Grace contemplates a butterfly. Photo: Andrew Kuhn


the news. The vision of a perfect birth of our first-born immediately was snatched from our midst that day, replaced with a hollow anxiety and dread to fill a now empty space.

I remember days later at some point we were counseled to consider abortion. At this time I was finishing my final semester of seminary, and it is hard to remember a time when I felt more alone and frightened. I prayed. Our community at seminary came over on Monday evenings to our home and they prayed with us and for us and James. It was odd that during a time of great anxiety and chaos that I felt so comforted by the Holy Spirit in a way that I never had before. Something beyond all reason informed me that all things would be well.

James was born a week or so after I graduated seminary, and soon after we moved back to Houston to begin work at Epiphany, Houston. Since then we have welcomed two other boys into our family, both of whom are typically developing (i.e., rambunctious!).

I have heard it said before that there is no such thing as a blessing without some blood being shed. I believe that to be true. In many ways James has blessed my life—he has certainly taught me more about love, humility and the nature of God than any priest, bishop, or seminary professor.

James’ entry into my life forced my heart to break and open in uncomfortable ways. But as I think about this experience, I wonder about God. It wouldn’t surprise me if God has autism. Or Down Syndrome. Or multiple sclerosis. James is a sacrament of a paradox I was unaware of until his birth—that disability often seems to be God’s greatest strength.

Grace is canon for Christian formation at Christ Church Cathedral, Houston.

On November 14, 2007, my world shattered. My precious daughter Cammie committed suicide. I could not function. I thought her death might kill me. In our book Journey to Wholeness my therapist and I write about my journey back.

By working through the grief, by doing the hard work that it takes to return to wholeness, I have become a different person. I am able to look at life in a totally different way. My values have changed. My character has changed. My priorities have changed.

At first I was angry at God because Cammie was taken away, but out of my great grief I came to an understanding that life is a gift. I now understand that everything in life is a gift, and I am only a steward. Cammie was an incredible gift. God graciously gave her to me for a season, but I never possessed her, she was a gift. I came to a point of great gratitude in my life. I am now able to give thanks to God for sharing her with me and allowing me to be her earthly father. She has returned to the loving arms of her heavenly Father, and I know I will see her again.

Simons is a member of St. Matthew’s Austin.

JOURNEY TO WHOLENESS

by Larry E. Simons and

Carmen DiNino Alspach, LPC, LCDC

Journey to Wholeness offers a road map for your life, focusing on hope and faith. Learn how to rise above the worst tragedies of your life, and start to heal your broken heart.

Now available online at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and at your favorite bookseller.

VETERANS PROVIDE LESSON IN FAITH

Carmen DiNino Alspach is a psychologist who works with veterans after they return from active duty. Read more at tinyurl.com/vetsfaith

20 | epicenter.org

by the Rev. Russell Levenson, Jr.When James wrote his epistle to the early Christians, one of his concerns was that they had become a bit too focused on the soul, over and above the day-to-day needs of those around them. “What good is it ... if one claims to have faith, but has no deeds? ... Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, ‘Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?” (James 2:14). This verse alone has been the inspiration for many of the outreach initiatives of the Church and certainly many within the diocese.

But it was not just the needs of the body, but the overall health and wholeness of the body to which Jesus extended his ministry of healing and hope. His desire was that our love for God would extend from heart ... soul ... mind and strength, (Mark 12:28-31; Matthew 22:34-40). But it is difficult to love with these facets of human life if one, or all, are in some way in need of healing. No doubt, that is why we see Jesus sometimes focusing his healing ministry upon the soul, other times upon the mind, still others the emotions, and often last comes the body—as he often showed that physical sickness can have its roots in the unphysical or metaphysical aspects of our human nature.

The world of science and medicine is increasingly recognizing the connection between overall health and the experience of faith. The Church, however, has been a bit slow to respond with an equal connection or receptivity. One might wonder if James’ message speaks to the Church of the 21st Century.

Our pews are filled with people not just with hungry souls, but with brokenness as it is experienced in every age of the life cycle affecting every facet of human life. For instance, one in eight people is addicted to drugs or alcohol, and 40 percent of those have a dual diagnosis where their addiction is connected to a mental or nervous disorder.1 The average age today when a youth tries alcohol is between

11 and 13, and the average age when Americans begin drinking is 15. Teens who begin drinking before age 15 are five times more likely to develop alcohol dependence than those who begin at age 21. Two of the leading causes of death related to persons between the ages of 15 and 24 are automobile accidents and suicide—and alcohol is the leading factor in both.2

Depression continues to be a growing problem in our modern culture. Seven percent of people suffer depression after the age of 18; one out of every 33 children and one out of every eight adolescents. Suicide is the third leading cause of death for those between the ages of 10 and 24.3

25 percent of all cancer patients experience depression; one-third of all heart attack survivors and half of all Parkinson’s patients experience depression. By 2020, depression will be the second most common health problem in the world.4

We all know that married couples have a hard time staying together. About half end in divorce in America; 67 percent of all second marriages and 74 percent of all third also fail. One half of American children will see the breakup of their parents’ marriage—40 percent of U.S. children today are being raised without a father.5

Children from broken families are nearly five times more likely to suffer damaging mental troubles than those whose parents stay together. Family studies author Patricia Morgan says, “Broken families … produce homes full of conflict and chaos and they are terrible for children …”6

The breaking apart of families because of divorce—as they have to do sometimes for the better of all—does not diminish the impact in the overall mental, emotional, physical and spiritual health of family members who need support and care after the divorce.

I have worked in the Church for well over two decades now, and I confess that while we have often led the way in

Hope and Healing

FAITH AND HEALING


Ministry to Body, Mind, Heart and Soulhelping people “pick up the pieces,” (recovery and support groups, for instance) we have not been leaders in providing preventative care, education and insight in providing the building blocks for a comprehensive understanding of what it means to live a healthy life. One may be healthy in heart and soul, but sick in mind and body; and vice versa—one sick place, often, if not always, impacts the others.

This challenge was one of the embryonic wombs that has brought to life St. Martin’s new Hope and Healing Center, (HHC). An outgrowth of a year-long study of the membership of St. Martin’s was the clear desire to increasingly be known as a parish the helps those “broken by life’s

circumstances.”

St. Martin’s appointed Dr. Scott Basinger as the Founding Director of the HHC and its teaching companion, the Hope and Healing Institute (HHI). A nationally recognized leader in issues of recovery and mental health, Basinger believes the HHI “will draw on experts in psychology and counseling to offer seminars, speaking engagements and programs, as well as to author articles for Chrysalis, its quarterly journal.” The more than 13,000-square-foot, state-of-the-art facility includes classrooms, offices and recovery meeting rooms, as well as a teaching auditorium that can seat more than 100 people. Finally, an exterior meditation garden is also

being designed as an integral part of the Center. Scheduled to open in the fall of 2012, the HHC will immediately house more than a dozen recovery and support groups that already regularly meet at St. Martin’s. In addition, it will begin to spread its ministry across the city of Houston and the greater diocese through a wide variety of seminars and workshops that fulfill its mission of offering hope and healing to those making their way through the river of life.

Levenson is rector of St. Martin’s, Houston. For more information on the HHC or HHI, visit www.hopeandhealingcenter.org.

1U.S. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration.2U S Department of Health and Human Services, The Surgeon General’s Call to Action to Prevention and Reduce Underage Drinking, Office of the Surgeon General, 2007.3DepressionHelpSpot.com, 2006-2011.4Ibid.5Forest Institute of Professional Psychology, Springfield, Mo.6Steve Doughty, “Broken Home Children,” UK Online, 21 October, 2008.

22 | epicenter.org

PROFILE: LUMINARY


CEB: Can you give us a brief snapshot of Mark Gwin?

MG: I grew up in San Antonio and have been fortunate in

both upbringing and circumstance. I’ve hiked, hitchhiked,

hopped a freight train, lived off my bicycle and lived on

the streets for the joy and freedom of it all. I worked odd

jobs along the way but that began to change when I met

my Jennifer. We married and have been blessed with three

beautiful boys—Oliver, 5; Lincoln, 3; and Forest, 1. They

are the biggest challenge I have ever faced, but they have

also carried our family through many tough patches—they

make it impossible to give up. I’m currently assistant

editor at the Austin American-Statesman.

CEB: Many people in the Episcopal Church didn’t

start there. Where does your faith story begin?

MG: I was actually baptized in the Episcopal Church,

but raised Catholic. I backed away from organized

religion, though I kept some curiosity and fundamental

belief about spirituality and the validity of all religions

so long as they pointed to kindness, respect and

thankfulness. I sometimes attended church, particularly

when I was with my family and after my wife and I were

married (a fun ceremony—there were three celebrants

—an Episcopal priest, a Catholic monseigneur and

a Grade-A hippie). We knew we wanted to raise our

children in a community of faith and when Jennifer

joined the choir at Calvary Episcopal Church in

Bastrop, I slowly began attending services. These

days I feel like something is missing if I miss Mother

Lisa’s (Hines) sermon, trying to listen while corralling

the children. Mother Lisa has been an incredible

inspiration to me, and this was true well before the fire.

Her calmness and grace gave me the freedom to explore

the church and its teachings and I was confirmed in

February of this year.

CEB: As a child, was there someone who helped to shape

your faith?

MG: I was fortunate growing up in that my family lived

close to my mother’s parents. Every Saturday night we had

the same ritual — we would go to five o’clock mass, then go

to Luby’s for dinner where I would order tapioca pudding

to be just like my grandfather McD. After church, my sister

and I would get to go spend the night with them and our

Mark Gwin

Mark Gwin is a member of Calvary, Bastrop. He joined fellow firefighters last year to help bring a historic wildfire under control. Gwin’s family has experienced a number of changes in the last months as well as profound grace.

Fire Opens Possibilities

24 | epicenter.org

parents would pick us up on Sunday. It was a very

comforting, very safe space, and that regularity

and fun forged a positive association deep in my

heart, not only for church but also for family.

CEB: You are a volunteer fire fighter in Bastrop.

How did that come about?

MG: Remembering how we came to Bastrop

makes it easier to feel adrift since the fire. My

wife and I scoured South Central Texas for

suitable farmland to rent. We would stop in small

towns and pick up a newspaper and go through

the listings and we found the perfect place in

between Smithville and Bastrop—within six

months I was working at The Times. Smithville

is where I learned about community. Having

grown up in a big town, I wasn’t prepared for

the depth of involvement and caring that are

everywhere you turn in that town. It’s an amazing

place, and I learned more from that town than

any school I ever went to. I became a volunteer

firefighter because that’s what guys (and girls)

like—cool machines, fires, adventures, etc. The

fire department is an extended family, and one

of the funniest and wackiest ones I’ve ever had.

I’ve never been around such a diverse group of

people/ideas that still managed to function so

well.

CEB: What was your personal experience with

last fall’s wildfires, can you share how you first

heard about the fire, what you did immediately,

what it was like at the height of the fire?

MG: When the first fire call came, I was asleep.

Just that morning I had finished the 100-mile

canoe/kayak race along the Colorado River

and needed to recover from 25 hours of near-

constant paddling so I looked at the page and left

it to my fellow volunteers.

A second page came, and my wife and

I went outside where we could see the smoke

overhead, and the sun was a deep orange, like

at sunset. Then we noticed a light raining of

ash. We live at the end of a dead end road so we

packed some necessities, diapers, a few clothes

and keepsakes (though we forgot most of them)

—and went to the cars. As we rounded a sharp

turning in our driveway to a clearing, we could

see the huge pillar of smoke and flames right

there.

Jennifer took the boys to the grandparents

in San Antonio while I went to evacuate

neighbors. I was panicked, in a hurry—the fire

was right there—and it was then I made my

worst mistake. I went to each house, honking and

yelling like mad. I saw two dogs looking at me,

but I was already out of the driveway and onto

the next house before I thought about getting

them. They died in that fire because I was too

hurried, too panicked. I can still remember those

two faces looking at me from behind the fence.

I was still tired, but I did what I could with

fellow firefighters. When you are faced with a

wall of fire more than 30 feet tall, rolling through

the trees at whim, you just watch in awe and

disbelief. You can count on a fire to “lie down” a

little at night. This one didn’t. Not Sunday night.

Not Monday night. It had a forest of yaupon,

pines and cedar—dried and dead from the

drought—as a huge fuel.

I was a firefighter, so I was spared the agony

that 1,600 families faced, wondering for weeks if

their home was gone. I suspected mine was gone

as we drove away Sunday, and I walked through

a decimated forest to our land on Monday

morning. There was nothing left. Not just for

me—every neighbor on our street had lost their

home. It was an odd sensation—just confirming

the expected, and more in awe at the power and

ferocity of the power than anything else.

CEB: How did you manage through those first

weeks after the disaster? What kept you going?

MG: Keeping busy—both with the fire

department and the newspapers—was helpful,

trying to focus on the task at hand. I also learned

the wonderful fact that our church is always

unlocked. I had so many responsibilities that

I wasn’t able to be with my fellow parishioners


during that time, but I would go

into the church from time to time. I

would pray, sing the doxology, fall on

my knees and cry. It was extremely

cathartic, to be there and experience

your small suffering in the home of

the great redemptive suffering of Jesus

Christ. I was free to weep, but also set

free from the need to dwell in pity.

Obviously my family, and

their safety, made it easy to

compartmentalize the loss as a material

one. I put two years of love into

building that home with my own hands,

but the love is still there. That it’s gone

is hard, but that the love among our

family has been blessed with additional

time together makes everything else

pale in comparison.

CEB: I understand you faced a job

change in the midst of this disaster.

That must have been salt to the wound.

How did that compounded challenge

affect you?

MG: It’s funny, but the loss of our

home has been less disruptive than the

reassignment from my the newspaper

company about a month after the fire.

I lived and worked in the communities

I loved, publishing the Bastrop and

Smithville newspapers. I could walk

my son to school, pick him up in the

afternoon and be home for dinner most

every night.

I was fortunate to get a job at the

Austin American-Statesman, and I’ve

had a blast. Newspaper people remind

me of firefighters – ragtag, wicked

smart, suspicious of everything but with

an upbeat attitude. It’s an amazing and

vibrant newsroom. But it’s also a daily

newspaper with late deadlines. Rare

indeed are the nights when I make it

home to put the boys to bed, let alone

eat dinner with them.

The loss of both home and job

in the community has made the world

seem wide. Our options seem so much

more vast. We have more questions

so we’re just praying for patience and

clarity and giving ourselves a year to

mull it all over. We call it our 20-minute

lifestyle because every 20 minutes we

have a new idea of our family’s future.

It’s liberating but scary because we don’t

yet feel called in any one direction—just

lured and dizzy by the thoughts of a

million different directions.

CEB: In the months following,

how did your relationships with your

neighbors/friends change or alter as a

result of the disaster?

MG: In a large sense I’ve become

extremely isolated from the friends and

neighbors I had before and just after

the fire. Our newspapers were a family,

and I rarely see my former co-workers.

Because I work so late and our rental

house is so far away from our old home,

I don’t see my fellow firefighters much

anymore. We still travel into Bastrop

most every Sunday for church, which

has helped anchor us. And occasionally

we go out to our neighborhood to see

the land and visit with our neighbors.

It’s pretty amazing—they are all

rebuilding—some have already moved

in. Part of me is very envious of that

certainty. I have new friends at work,

but my main focus is trying to spend

what time I do have with our family.

The boys are the best entertainment

ever, even if they aren’t always the most

relaxing.

CEB: How did the experience change

you? Did your perception of the

disaster change?

MG: It seems too early to know how

the disaster changed me. I know our

circumstances have changed, but I can’t

pretend I’ve arrived at any newfound

wisdom. It has opened my eyes to the

kindness of humanity, however. Having

been treated so kindly by so many, both

friends and strangers, it makes it easy

to laugh at moments of despondency.

You can’t cure everything with a bit

of perspective, but it helps you not

take yourself too seriously, which is

important during a time like this. Our

losses are so small, our abundance

so overwhelming, particularly in

comparison to those outside of our

country, it has helped me to pray in

thankfulness and pray for others to

find, if not material comfort, at least

God’s peace.

CEB: Did you find it different helping

others and having others offer to help

you?

MG: Helping others is easy—virtue

is its own reward, so long as you are

helping by doing something that you

enjoy, which was the case in both

writing about the fire and fighting

the fire. It was a once-in-a-lifetime

experience and I don’t want to sum

it up as good or bad. It was both—

God stretched us, took us down into

loss and confusion and lifted us into

the abundance of human kindness.

They are both hard to believe—the

destruction wrought by the fire and

the overflowing of grace and kindness.

I’m sad, sometimes floored, by what

happened, but I don’t want to regret it. I

want to be in awe.

26 | epicenter.org

PROFILE: THE ARTS

Houston’s Homeless Tap Their Artistic Talents

On the third Saturday of each month, Houston’s homeless men and women leave the streets to become artists for a day. Christ Church Cathedral’s homeless day center, The Beacon, serves as a monthly meeting space for the Marnoble Art Project, an art therapy class for the homeless. Typically, 10–15 people attend the class to gain a sense of peace through a catharsis on canvas.

“It is really just a release of emotion and imagination and

creativity,” said Coley Jones, who has taught the class since its inception in the summer of 2009. “People really enjoy their ability to sit down in a peaceful, relaxing environment and just express themselves.”

The Marnoble Art Project began as a temporary project for 17-year-old Victoria Noble’s Girl Scout Gold Award. Noble found Jones, who was a volunteer coordinator at The Beacon, and the

Lemuel Richardson by Luke Blount


two planned a single program combining art and breakfast. Noble’s aunt, Chris Noble, offered to sponsor a permanent program, naming it after her computer business, Marnoble Computer Sales & Services, Inc.

The decision to continue the class was simple, Jones said. “Chris and I were standing to the side with tears in our eyes and she said, ‘If someone would teach this, I would fund it.’ And I said, ‘Well, if someone would fund it, I would teach it.’”

Jones is now an independent professional organizer, but she is also an artist with a degree in psychology. Since 2009, she has worked with other volunteers to facilitate the class using different mediums, including acrylics, oils and paper collages. To raise additional funds for supplies, the artists are given the option to donate their works to be sold anonymously or with attribution.

The class means something different to every individual, and Jones noted that some projects have a tendency to spark an emotional reaction in herself as well as the homeless artists.

“I really love this and art in general,” she said. “It teaches me as much as it teaches them.”

When Diolog visited in March, Jones began the class by laying out the ground rules for about a dozen participants. “There are only two rules in this class,” she said.

“One: be positive. Two: don’t be negative.”

In honor of St. Patrick’s Day, the artists had to paint in monochrome. They were given only green paint along with black and white. Soothing music played in the background as the artists created original paintings. Some painted abstract pieces and others worked on St. Patrick’s Day themes.

One of the regular participants,

Lemuel Richardson, has been living on the streets since 2008. “When you are out here, you’re just trying to keep your mind from going insane with what’s around you,” he said as he painted a shamrock. Richardson likes to create art as well as write, but he doesn’t carry a journal. If he writes, he just throws it away. “These people will dig in your stuff,” he said. “They’ll steal whatever is not nailed down as soon as you turn your head the wrong way.”

Richardson, like many of the other artists, once had a stable life. He was an Air Force electrician, but a series of unfortunate events landed him on the streets. As a kid, he loved comic books and taught himself how to draw, and as an adult, he took art classes.

“Now I’m trying to do my best to get a meal from day to day,” he said. “(Being on the streets) teaches you a lot about life. One

thing it teaches you about is the love of God.”

But Richardson doesn’t go to a church. “I just read the book. It’s about the relationship with him,” he said as he pointed skyward. “It’s not about other people. People will forsake you. It says in the Bible that a mother will forget her own suckling child.” He paused for a second before adding, “I don’t depend on people.”

Another artist, Kelly Brown, visited for the first time and expressed her enthusiasm about returning. She also participates in poetry readings around town, reciting her original works. During the art class, she painted a picture of a tree with dollar signs all around and the word “money” written underneath.

“This one is called ‘money is on the way,’” she said. “It’s the power of positive thinking.”

Photos: Luke Blount

To view more paintings from the Marnoble Art Project visit tinyurl.com/marnoble.

28 | epicenter.org

PROFILE: ADVOCACY

Dr. Aijiz Ali Khowaja of the Ibn Sina Foundation was sitting in his office on Bissonnet when he heard a banging on the front door. It was a young mother—in her late teens or early 20s—crying as she held her small, sick son and begged for someone to help him.

She said she was referred to the Foundation’s community medical clinic from an area hospital through Project Safety Net (PSN), an interactive Web portal designed by St. Luke’s Episcopal Health Charities that provides free healthcare access information. This young mother had only enough money to take a bus to the corporate office, not the clinic, so a staff member drove her and her child to the clinic, where the child received quality care at no cost. Another staff member helped them get home.

The Charities has provided grant funding for the Ibn Sina Foundation

Community Medical Clinic, which is one of the only healthcare centers in Houston that offers comprehensive medical care to uninsured families. Project Safety Net has led more than 1,000 patients to this clinic.

“We are so grateful to St. Luke’s for its funding and partnership throughout the years,” Khowaja said. “And we’re thankful (to the Charities and PSN) for its presence and commitment to serve low-income, uninsured patients.”

Web Portal Fills Information Gap in Medical Care


Project Safety Net allows health planners to layer safety net locations over sub-county maps that show the uninsured population. This uninsured data resource was developed by the Charities through a unique estimation model. Together, these tools enable planners to prioritize and identify, with greater specificity, underserved areas where there is insufficient capacity and to determine expansion potential.

Currently, the PSN portal provides a comprehensive list of primary care physicians at community-based health clinics within the greater Houston area. The clinics include city and county health clinics, faith-based and school-based clinics and Federally Qualified Healthcare Centers. The clinics offer health services to underinsured or uninsured patients and Medicaid, Medicare or CHIP enrollees.

The Charities, in collaboration with the Texas A&M

Health Science Center, School of Rural Public Health, is working to expand PSN to the 57 counties in the Episcopal Diocese of Texas, and philanthropy will be needed to make that happen.

“As the Charities’ vision continues to evolve in innovative ways consistent with the original mission, our philanthropic partners will play a vital role in our efforts to improve the health and healthcare of the nation’s most vulnerable populations,” said Patricia Gail Bray, PhD, executive director of the Charities. “The expansion of Project Safety Net throughout the Diocese will allow us to help even more of the state’s underserved, giving them access to convenient and affordable care they might not otherwise have known about.”

For more information on PSN, visit www.slehc.org.

Photo: LaShane K. Eaglin

30 | epicenter.org

PROFILE: CONGREGATION

Walking through the doors of a St. Luke’s Episcopal Health

System clinic or hospital, one realizes a vision that originated

more than 60 years ago. When a small group of Houston

physicians and community leaders approached Bishop Clinton

Quin, they proposed a facility that would be an Episcopal

hospital focused on the patient’s physical, emotional and

spiritual needs.

In 1954, St. Luke’s Episcopal Hospital opened its doors in the

heart of the small but growing Texas Medical Center. What started

as a 180-bed nonprofit general hospital has grown into a health

system—a comprehensive network of hospitals and area clinics.

The system expanded from the single location in central Houston

and today includes St. Luke’s The Woodlands Hospital, Lakeside

Hospital, St. Luke’s Sugar Land Hospital and, more recently, St.

Luke’s Hospital at the Vintage in Northwest Houston as well as St.

Luke’s Patients Medical Center in Pasadena. Each facility shares a

common commitment to outstanding, compassionate patient care

and the healing power of faith.

Although St. Luke’s has grown, it has retained the original

belief that a hospital should care for all of God’s children—body,

mind and spirit. Chaplains are integral members of the St. Luke’s

clinical care teams. These skilled professionals allow every

patient and family member to draw on their beliefs for strength

and support. There also are chapels throughout the system that

Faithful, Loving Care


welcome patients of all faiths. While these

efforts may be seen at other hospitals, it

is St. Luke’s dedication to continually

integrate faith and healing into every

aspect of care that sets it apart from other

healthcare institutions.

A few months ago, St. Luke’s at the

Vintage participated with LifeGift—a

not-for-profit organization working with

hospitals to recover organs and tissue

for transplants—in the donation of two

kidneys and two livers. A patient at the

hospital had died but had made the

generous decision to become an organ

donor to bring new hope to a small

number of the more than 113,000 men,

women and children across the country

who are desperately waiting for a lifesaving

transplant.

The ICU nurse and priest who

accompanied the donor to the operating

room asked for a moment of silence

before the start of the procedure. They

wanted to allow everyone in the room the

opportunity for prayer and silent reflection

to honor the donor for the remarkable gifts.

LifeGift had never seen this simple tribute

before but has now decided to encourage

hospitals to incorporate this opportunity

to honor the donor and the gift at all

recoveries.

In 1997, the Episcopal Diocese of

Texas expanded the healing ministry

of St. Luke’s through the creation of

St. Luke’s Episcopal Health Charities

(SLEHC). A grant-making public charity,

SLEHC extends its reach to underserved

communities and partners with St. Luke’s

as it fulfills its charity care obligations

and faith-based mission. As it approaches

its 15th anniversary, SLEHC has awarded

more than $85 million through grants

to nonprofit health service programs

throughout the Diocese of Texas.

St. Luke’s employees are proud to be

a part of a healthcare system that cares

for some of the most critically ill patients

in the region, has created programs that

are world renowned and understands the

importance of community outreach. These

efforts go far beyond the walls of a single

institution—they impact the entire region.

This is what Faithful, Loving Care® means

to those who work for St. Luke’s.

TALES OF HEALING

Bishop High shared his stories from St. Luke’s Hospital online. Read them at tinyurl.com/bishophigh.

Photo: Gustavo M. Salinas

32 | epicenter.org

BAND-AIDS TO THE ER, CAMP NURSES COVER THE FIELD

by Carol E. Barnwell


One of the strengths of Camp Allen’s summer camp program is often not apparent to the camper or parents, but is a vital component for a safe and healthy campus. The summer camp nursing staff works year round to plan and maintain the highest standards and practices to care for more than 1700 campers, ages 8–17, who attend camp each summer.

Carol Murphy has been a nurse at Camp Allen for12 years and has served as nursing director for the past five. She attended nursing school in Oklahoma and is a retired school nurse who works as a patient surgical educator for several doctors in Bryan/College Station. Murphy learned about Camp Allen in 2000 at a school nurse meeting when the camp was recruiting for summer camp work. “At the time, I had more than 10 years of experience in faith-based camps in Oklahoma, California, Louisiana and Texas when my children were campers,” she said. She was thrilled for the opportunity to be a camp nurse close to home.

After more than a decade at Camp Allen, Murphy finds the outstanding staff and the opportunity to “teach and influence God’s children in a beautiful, natural environment,” to be highlights of her time there. “It’s like a ‘reprieve’ from the world … and gives me a boost to return better equipped to serve God and man,” she said. Many of the RNs that serve on staff throughout the summer consider the time at Camp Allen a “mini” vacation, she said, even though the

hours may be long with campsite calls in the middle of the night for ill or homesick campers.

Nurses are called on for many situations. They provide medical care but also dish up ample doses of TLC for first time campers who are homesick. “We check for physical symptoms, then try to refocus the camper,” with lots of encouragement and reassurance, making sure the staff knows they need special attention. Chris Burton, RN, said there are times she touches base with a parent “to get a little more information on a camper and learn how we can encourage them to enjoy their week.”

Sometimes, they are faced with broader issues like the 2010 H1N1 flu epidemic. Murphy recruited the staff chaplain and other staff members to assist the nurses with dozens of campers who came down with the flu. “We all worked together,” she said, “caring for the kids, assigning beds, calling parents, washing linens. It was rewarding to see how smoothly the medical protocols I helped develop actually functioned. It also gave us opportunities to improve our response to any future situations,” she added.

As director, Murphy works with local hospitals and clinics throughout the year to set up the summer camp health care plans that are directed and overseen by Dr. Glen Lawrence, a Scott & White College Station pediatrician, who also serves as consulting camp physician. Staying in touch with parents is also under her purview. Whether it’s a broken arm, poison ivy or other difficulties—

parents are kept in the loop. “Timely communication

with camper’s parents/guardians is extremely important in assuring optimal health care for campers,” Murphy acknowledged. “Whether it’s an ongoing medical need or a trip to the local ER, communication is a part of the nurses’ professional role, but also demonstrates the loving, caring way that Camp Allen nurses practice nursing ministry at summer camp,” she said.

“We may be in a very relaxed setting but we need to be prepared and ready for any emergency that may occur,” Burton said.

Camp President George Dehan makes sure that they have a first-class nursing staff on hand at all times. Camp Allen enjoys a high percentage of returning nurses year after year.

“Mr. Dehan continues to view nurses as a vital part of the summer camp program and makes sure they are compensated above the basic rate,” Murphy said.

Camp Allen has a significant faith component to their summer camping program. Murphy finds that a “blessing,” especially the opportunity to teach campers and staff that a healthy body is the first step to being prepared to serve God.

Murphy loves the moments of success when she witnesses a camper realize they can handle their independence, sometimes a difficult time for them. “It gives them the groundwork for working through other problems that they may eventually encounter,” she said.

34 | epicenter.org

CALENDAR & PEOPLE

June

2 9 a.m. Election of Bishop Suffragan, Christ Church Cathedral, Houston

3 1 a.m. St. Stephen’s, Houston, CF 5 p.m. Hope, Houston, CF 6 6 p.m. International Community of Hope Conference,

Camp Allen 10 11 a.m. Iona School Graduation, Camp Allen 12-13 Executive Board, Camp Allen 16 10 a.m. Deacon Ordination,

Christ Church Cathedral, Houston 17 11 a.m. St. Thomas’, Houston, CF 24 10:30 a.m. St. Peter’s, Brenham, CF 27 7:30 p.m. St. Timothy’s, Lake Jackson, CF

July 1 9:30 a.m. Grace, Galveston, CF 3-12 General Convention, Indianapolis

August 12 9 a.m. St. John’s, Center, CF 11 a.m. Christ Church, San Augustine, CF 15 6:30 p.m. Holy Trinity, Dickinson, CF 19 10:30 a.m. St. George’s, Texas City, CF 26 10 a.m. Trinity, Jacksonville, CF 5 p.m. Christ Church, Jefferson, CF

The Rev. Jimmy Abbott accepted the call as rector of Holy Comforter, Spring. He was previously the curate at St. Alban’s, Waco.

The Rev. Dr. Israel W. Ahimbisibwe accepted the appointment as vicar of Redeemer, Houston. He also serves as college missioner to the University of Houston and as assisting priest at Holy Spirit, Houston.

The Rev. Susan Barnes accepted the call as interim assistant at Christ Church Cathedral, Houston. She was previously associate at St. Matthew’s, Austin

The Rev. Matthew Fenlon, assistant to the rector at St. John the Divine, Houston, is now canonically resident in the Diocese of Texas.

The Rev. Dorothy Gremillion accepted the call as interim rector of St. Mark’s, Bay City.

The Rev. Patrick Hall accepted the appointment as campus missioner to Rice University. He was previously associate rector of Holy Spirit, Houston.

The Rev. Scotty Innes accepted the call as associate priest, Calvary, Richmond on January 15.

The Rev. John B. Johnson accepted the call as Vicar of St. John’s, Silsbee. He was previously the vicar of Trinity, Anahuac.

The Rev. Doug Lasiter is now the vicar of Emmanuel in Miles City, Montana. He most recently did interim work in the Diocese of Texas.

The Rev. Ken Malcolm accepted a call as rector of St. Mark’s, Durango, Colorado. He was formerly at St. David’s, Austin.

The Rev. Bill Phillips transferred his letters dimissory to the Diocese of Western Louisiana.

The Rev. Josephine Robertson accepted the call as assistant rector at St. Paul’s, Waco.

Deaths The Rev. Susie Comer’s father, the Rev. Dr. James Millen Darnell,

died February 9 in Memphis, Tennessee.

Dana Danford, mother of the Rev. Chase Danford, passed away in Waco on March 3.

The Rev. Martha Frances’ mother, Frances L’Huillier, passed away Sunday, February 12 in Kerrville.

Barbara Lowrey, widow of the Rev. Jack Lowrey, died in Schulenburg on April 11.

Rob MacDonald, father of Pamela Wittmayer and father-in-law of the Rev. Kevin Wittmayer passed away in Kent, Washington.

The Rev. Milton E. McWilliams, Jr., retired, passed away at the age of 91 on March 17 in Fredericksburg.

Evelyn Platt, mother-in-law of Shirley Platt, diocesan database services manager, passed away March 8 in Houston.

Catherine B. “Kitty” Powell, widow of the Rev. George Powell, passed away February 20 in Jacksonville, Texas.

Please keep these families in your prayers.

Bishop Doyle’s Calendar People

When the Texas Episcopalian became a

quarterly magazine, parish news relocated

to the website. Sign up to receive a weekly

digest of parish news and events at tinyurl.

com/diologenews. And share news and

photos of your summer mission trips at

www.epicenter.org/share.

A Little Homework for You


Bishop Andy Doyle will be throwing the first pitch.

Stay late... Post-Game Fireworks

EPISCOPAL NIGHT AT THE BALLPARK

For groups of 20 or more please contact Brent Broussard at 713.259.8316 or email [email protected].

A portion of the proceeds will benefit new initiatives of the Episcopal Church.

VS.

Special Pricing

Field Box : $26

Bullpen Boxes : $19

Mezzanine : $16

View Deck I : $13

View Deck II : $11

Christ Church Cathedral will host a pregame cookout. They will start serving free hotdogs with all the fixin’s and beverages at 5 p.m. Contact Melissa White with any questions: 713.590.3302.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2012 7:05 PMASTROS.COM/EPISCOPAL

The Episcopal Diocese of Texas1225 Texas StreetHouston, TX 77002-3504

The summer camp program at Camp Allen is one of the largest summer camp programs in the Episcopal Church. Plan to be part Summer 2012 with: 1720 Campers, 24 Clergy, 118 Counselors, 12 nurses, 165 Adult Volunteers, 45 College Resident Cabin Counselors and 25 Senior Staff.

BRACE YOURSELF:SUMMER CAMP

IS COMING

It’s never too early to get excited about camp.

Diolog June 2012

Documents

texas episcopalianwww

texas episcopalian pe

autism page

prayer page

episcopal church

episcopal night

houstons homeless page

lot of people