Mid-Life Crisis

When I turned 50, I had my mid-life crisis. What would I do with my life now? All I ever wanted to do since I was a young teen was to be a minister in a church. Now that was taken away from me. So I thought about what I enjoyed doing: research, public speaking and helping people. Ever since the time I spent with the lawyer during the lawsuit at the church in Jacksonville, I had the idea of pursuing a career in law in some way. So I made up my mind to go to law school. I had already had my share of degrees, a bachelor degree in religion, a master's of divinity in biblical languages and a doctor's degree in pastoral ministries. Even though I had been in school for much of my life, I decided to go to law school. At 50, in the summer of 2008, I began my studies at The Birmingham School of Law. At the time I was employed as a hospice chaplain during the day and attended law school 3 nights a week. It was difficult going back to school. I received my Doctor of Ministry degree in 1993. Now, some 15 years later I was once again a student. I can't tell you how many times I asked myself what on earth was I doing. People don't usually begin law school at 50. But I did...and I actually graduated in 4 years. I wasn't in the top of my class and still have to pass the Bar, but I have my Juris Doctor degree.

During those years several significant things took place.

Medically I had several scares. One took place while I was still at MBBC. During an X-Ray a dark spot showed up on my liver. I was put in the hospital for further tests. All signs pointed toward cancer. But after further tests, cancer was ruled out. It was just a shadow. While I was in the hospital thinking I was dying of cancer, my dad was in a Tampa hospital. He had a very rare platelet disease, TTP. He died while I was still hospitalized.  Several years later, I had another scare. After heart tests, I was told that my heart was enlarged and all of my valves were leaking. A friend of mine who was a surgeon turned pale when he heard what I was dealing with. But when they put a camera in my chest to look at my heart, everything was normal. God had some reason to keep me alive. What the reason was, I still don't know.

After my father died, my mother lived in an apartment with my youngest sister. My dad did not leave my mom financially destitute. He had a life-insurance policy and she had his pension as well as Social Security. I did not have any worries that she had the means on which to live. Then, one day, she called me asking for grocery money. I told her that she should have plenty to live on. Then she told me that her bank account was empty. I decided to check into it. She was right. She had no money. It seems that some of my siblings visited the ATM several times a week and had taken all of her money for their drug habits. I visited her and went through her records to confirm this. It was then that I decided to take over her finances. I placed her in an assisted-living facility, got Power of Attorney, and had her pension and Social Security checks sent to me. I paid her bills and sent her a monthly allowance for her cigarettes and other needs. I continued to do this until she died. I had to move her to several different facilities because she would often wear out her welcome. I was also able to get her on Medicaid. Since my dad was a veteran of the Korean War, the VA said they would pay part of her assisted-living bill. They did this for several years. Then one day I received a letter stating that they should never have paid

anything, and that she would have to pay back all the money they had paid. I wrote and called the VA, as well as her Congressman. But it was to no avail. So the VA took several hundred dollars out of her Social Security check every month until they got their money back. It seemed like a nightmare at first, but if they had not done that she would not have qualified for Medicaid. So it actually turned out for the good.

I received a call one day from my sister telling me that mom had lung cancer that had moved to her brain stem. I was told that she had only a few days to live. My oldest son, Ben, and I left on New Year's eve for Tampa. Mom had told the doctors that she didn't want chemo or radiation treatment. They moved her to a hospice facility. She was alert when we arrived. After a few days I found out the doctor was giving her chemo meds. I pulled the doctor aside and reminded her that my mom had specifically told them no treatment. After being with her for 14 days, she died. It was on the night of the NCAA football championship game. I was in the living room of the hospice house watching the game. Something...Someone/God...told me to go to her room. Ben was in there reading. I said "Ben, come over here. She is about to take her last breath." Then she breathed twice and died. Ben and I held each other and cried. I called my brothers and sisters, Anne and Alex, and let them know mom had died. Her service a few days later was officiated by the hospice chaplain. I had asked him to do it. I spoke at my father's service, I couldn't officiate mom's funeral. There wasn't much good that I could say.

When I arrived back in Birmingham and tried to go back to work in my job as a hospice chaplain, I found that I could no longer do the job. My supervisor was very patient and supportive. I worked as best I could for several months but it was too difficult. I was forced to resign. Again, I found myself out of work. I was still in school. I searched for other work and eventually got a job with a law firm as a Title Specialist. I tried my hardest to do the work, but between bad training and problems with my short-term memory, I was let go.

It became very clear to me that since the debacle at MBBC, I was angry with God. I could not understand how the God who had called me to the ministry would let it be taken away just like. How could he let evil win? How could he have called me, prepared me, and seen me and been with me  through so many situations and years of ministry, just to let it be taken away from me? Anne tried to get me to see that God still had a place for me and that he hadn't given up on me and I shouldn't give up on him. I was too hurt (and too stubborn) to listen. I also knew that I was damaged goods. It would take a miracle and a special church to bring me back into doing ministry. My confidence was gone. I felt defeated and useless. Anne continued to pray and encourage me.