Jimmy Locklear – Page 6 – Jimmy Locklear

A few takeaways from “In the Name of Jesus” by Henri Nouwen

I read this book over a year ago and some of the themes raised by Nouwen are still resonating with me. Here are a few:

Reflections on Christian Leadership based upon a lecture he gave in Washington DC in the mid 1980s on The Future of Christian Leadership.

1. The Temptation: To Be Spectacular. What are ways that I try to do things individualistically? Most everything — around the house; with my health. Instead of asking for help, I tend to say, “I’ve got this.” Why do I hesitate to ask for help? Am I afraid to expose my weakness? Fear of confessing my sin? Instead, we try to show strength, think big, pray big, so that we can become big. I don’t recall “blessed are those who think big for they will become big.” Instead Nouwen calls leaders to listen to Jesus who said, “Feed My Sheep” and to live lives of confession and forgiveness.

2. Henri shows profound insight to the challenges that pastors, ministers and church leaders face: “What if my people [congregation] really knew how I feel?”

He wrote, “When ministers and priests live their ministry mostly in their heads and relate to the Gospel as a set of valuable ideas to be announced, the body quickly takes revenge by screaming loudly for affection and intimacy. Christian leaders are called to live the Incarnation, that is, to live in the body, not only their own bodies, but also in the corporate body of the community, and to discover there the presence of the Holy Spirit.” (pp. 67-68)

This is so powerful. And is an approach that many can’t take because we lack faith. We fear being vulnerable. How do I do this in my church? Can you help us, Lord? Where do you want us to live in the body?

3. Recapturing Community — The need for simple community is real and ongoing. While we desire closer connections with fellow human beings, we fear the disclosure that more intimate connections will bring. Nouwen challenges leaders to allow themselves to be led.

If my friends come for a meal, they will see my old furniture, dirty carpet, and my food choices. What will they think? The first century church saw a vision of the body of Christ and the beauty of enjoying freedom and grace. They looked at each other and saw the resurrected Jesus. Instead of old carpet, we can see the hospitality of Jesus.

This book is available on most every book selling website. Here is the publisher information:

Paperback: 107 pages
Publisher: The Crossroad Publishing Company (October 1, 1992)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0824512596
ISBN-13: 978-0824512590

Cardiac Rehab: Chapter 7 – Chicken, Chili and Cornbread

I love receiving freshly cooked meals delivered to our door. It makes being under the weather just a bit easier to bear. And the visits with some of our closest friends during January and February made the food taste just that much better.

Most folks had a few minutes to visit and usually started off by saying, “You look good. How do you feel?”

Remember: It’s hard for me to give a short answer. “I feel good, a bit tired, but happy to be home,” I said. “I find it hard to believe that I actually had a major heart attack,” I explained.

I remember a conversation with Dan and Debbie Gyger. They are some of our longtime friends through our church. Dan is an elder and residential contractor and had recently remodeled our kitchen, dining and living rooms. Debbie is an accomplished nurse and grew up in Brazil as part of a missionary family. They have three daughters and brought us some amazing tortilla soup and salad.

Jenny was not home from school yet, so I sat and talked with Dan and Deb. Being a nurse, Deb had pretty specific questions about where the blockage had been and what the doctors did. She instantly picked up on the seriousness of having a one-hundred percent blocked left anterior descending artery was and how close to death I had been. They were both very serious in their comments and thankfulness to God on my behalf. Dan prayed for Jenny, our family and me before they left.

I coughed through most of the conversation as I was still feeling the effects of my allergic reaction to Benazepril. Even though the cough was the result of a chemical reaction, it was like most every cough that took on a mind of its own whenever the air flowed through my throat. It was uncontrollable. So, the best way to quiet it was to close my mouth and calm myself. Of course, the cough made my visitors uncomfortable as they were thinking that they didn’t want to make things worse for me. Consequently, they didn’t want to linger and make me have to talk to them.

The gifts of food and the visits of friends was another example of how suffering is a catalyst for community. If we are willing to share our weakness and fragility with others, folks are eager to come to our aid. My friends Jean Vanier and Curt Armstrong of L’Arche have pointed this out many times. Namely, we should be more trusting of the human heart. As we trust and allow others to share in our weakness, we bring out the glory and essence of our brothers and sisters who have been made in the image of God. I found this to be true as friends shared their good food and acts of kindness with us in our time of need.

The Problem With Writing on Spiritual Topics: Everyone is an expert.

I started writing things that would be published when I was in junior high school. That was in the 1960s and junior high included grades 7 to 9. As you are probably aware, “middle school” effectively replaced junior high sometime in the 1980s in the United States. While middle school started popping up in the 1960s, it wasn’t the predominant structure for that transition from elementary or primary school to high school until probably 20 years later. Like the Middle Ages, middle school was a dark time when there’s lots of reviewing going on about things we’d learned in elementary school and lots of preparation going on for the important things we were going to learn in high school. There are still 1-8 schools, K-8 schools and a few junior high schools around, but the majority of schools are K-5, then 6-8 and finally 9-12.

Nonetheless, when I was in junior high we had a randomly published newspaper and “yearbook.” The reason I put yearbook in quotes is because it wasn’t the sort of annual or yearbook that most of us remember or see today. It was a smaller format with a card stock off-white cover that was saddle stitched (stapled) and everything was printed in black and white. I did a bit of writing for those publications. Then I became a “stringer” for the sports section of The Chattanooga Times and I was paid for the first time for my reporting. My job was to attend certain high school sporting events, keep statistics on each team and take notes on significant plays: like who scored points and, of course, who won the game. Sometimes I would get a quote from a player or coach. Then I would go home and call one of the writers or editors at the newspaper and tell him everything over the phone. What I reported to him would show up in the next day’s paper as “from staff reports” which my family and I knew was me. And I got paid for each game I reported on. I don’t remember how much I was paid, but it was real money.

Hixson High School - Herald Newspaper - Assistant Editor 1969-1970 — Hixson High School – Herald Newspaper – Assistant Editor 1969-1970

In high school, I was on the newspaper staff as sports reporter, then sports editor, and in my senior year I was named assistant editor for the monthly publication. In that role I wrote editorial or opinion pieces for the newspaper. And that was the first time that I published an essay on a spiritual topic.

I’m going to skip ahead to when I was a news correspondent for Christianity Today. This was a freelance role separate from my fulltime jobs and I ended up usually reporting on events that happened to be occurring wherever I was living or that I happened to be attending. The primary challenge then was to remain objective when people or event leaders that I was writing about wanted me to be subjective and sympathetic to their position. The sentiment was, “we may be acting petty and self-centered, but we’re your brothers in Christ, so give us a break.”

And there it is. Whenever I write on spiritual topics, I know that someone is going to critique my theology, another person may question my application and, certainly, someone will find my practice suspect. The good news for me is that usually I’m writing about an experience or theme where my weakness, brokenness or human fragility is readily exposed. In fact, my imperfections may be the focal point.

So, why do I do it? Or, why does anyone write on a subject they know will be criticized?

I can’t speak for others, but I write on spiritual topics for a few reasons. Firstly (sorry for the British grammar), I write because I have to. I truly have an urge and need to process my life through writing. And after neglecting this need for a number of years, as I re-discovered the love of God over the past six years or so, I have a greater sense of urgency to write my life. It becomes a record of my past and a guide for my future. I feel God’s pleasure in it, too.

Secondly, as I share what I’ve written, those who read it tell me that they like what I say or it’s helpful and encourages them to do good things. There’s nothing like a phone call from someone who’s using my devotional book and saying that they were in tears before God that morning and wanted to tell me “well done.” It is thrilling for me to get word via social media or an email that my writing helped someone see their situation or God in a new and enlivening way. So, I’m motivated by the feedback and by helping people.

Thirdly, writing is a way that I connect my story with God’s larger story. Even in our brokenness, we each have a part to play in that larger story and if we don’t find a way no one will. This is my part. It’s important because it is connected to the Creator and expresses God’s essence placed in me. As C. S. Lewis wrote in The Weight of Glory, “You have never talked to a mere mortal.” Like Lewis, I believe we are eternal beings, and that the spiritual life is an eternal connection between our Creator and us. And that might be a fourth reason. I write and publish because it has eternal significance for all of us. That universality means that many of you may have an opinion or experience that conflicts with what I’ve written.

Sometimes that presents a problem to me. Do I want to write something that may be criticized? And that takes me back to the reasons that I write. Lately, my convictions about writing are stronger than my fear of being criticized. So, I’ll close with a final reason for writing that’s related to having the sense vividly imprinted on my heart that my life has been preserved for a purpose. Once we realize that today may be our last, choices come into focus rapidly. On most days, I’m going to choose to write. I hope you will choose to do what connects your story to God’s larger story. I long to see your glory lived out today.

Chapter 6 – Relational Re-Entry: Who knows and who doesn’t?

There were a couple of things that I knew would occur over the next few weeks. One, I’d be greeting good friends about every other day as they delivered meals to us. Some would want to visit and see how I was doing and ask a few questions. Others would want to make a quick stop, drop off food, but wouldn’t have time to visit. As one who has been told he has the “gift of gab” and finds it difficult to give short answers without appropriate context, I could expect to be frustrated by the brief encounters.

Ever leave a suitcase only partially unpacked after a long trip? We do it with our emotions, too.

And the longer visits would be deeply satisfying while helping me to release some of the emotional baggage I was carrying.

Good baggage, but baggage that needed to be unpacked and put in its proper place and perspective. Tears would show my fear, pain, anxiety and joy. Amazing what shedding a few tears can accomplish.

Secondly, I knew that “I had a heart attack a couple of weeks ago or a couple of months ago,” would be a part of my conversation with most everyone for a while. And with those who knew of my surprise heart event I would be explaining symptoms and warning signs that I had experienced before and during the attack.

Again, I felt a combination of anxiety and welcome as I anticipated future encounters. I would learn later that one thing I had not anticipated was a conversation where my fellow traveler would share about someone close to them who didn’t make it to the hospital in time or doctors weren’t able to save them. And, thus, the blocked artery had killed somebody closed to them.

These encounters hit me hard with a combination of sadness and wonder. Sadness was for my friend’s loss and wonder at God’s tender mercy for saving my life. I would ask myself what my life now meant. Was I suppose to make dramatic changes? Had God saved me for some enduring quest? Was he planning to re-direct my path into a new world? Or did it mean, simply, and profoundly, that my time on earth was not done. And the God of Wholeness had more rough edges to shave off before I was ready for heaven.

What does it mean that I am still alive? It is a question that would be my constant companion for months to come.

Chapter 5 – Meeting My Cardiologist – Friday January 18, 2013

Since leaving the hospital in Montreal, I had adopted the meal menu that was provided for me while I was in the Cardiac Care Unit after my heart attack. So, breakfast included a cup of coffee, two slices of whole grain toast with a little orange marmalade or honey. I also had a glass of juice and yogurt or a bowl of cereal would round out my meal. So, on the morning of my first meeting with my new cardiologist, I ate and then took about eight pills and dressed for an early morning appointment.

Jenny drove us to downtown Atlanta to Emory Midtown Hospital at 550 Peachtree Street and dropped at the entrance. We were familiar with the hospital because our son Jed had had corrective jaw surgery there in July of 2012. After she parked the car in the deck and came into the lobby, we made our way to the elevator and to the cardiology department on the sixth floor.

We carried a fat grey envelope of papers and two DVDs from Sacred Heart Hospital. These materials documented my stay and the two angioplasty procedures done by Dr. Thierry Charon. Dr. Guy Lalonde had translated the summary report into English, but everything else was in French. The envelope also included a list of the medicines Dr. Lalonde had prescribed for the next 12 months.

We handed the packet to the check-in person in exchange for several forms and check lists that I had to complete before seeing the doctor. One of the first jarring experiences was checking the “Coronary Artery Disease” box on the “Current Conditions” section. The form asked, “The Reason for My Visit Today?” I answered with, “A heart attack nine days ago.”

Disbelief still rolled around my brain from time to time and I was experiencing a bit of it this morning.

Soon a nurse invited us to an examining room. My weight was down to 196 from the fluid exaggerated 210 that I weighed before being discharged from the hospital in Montreal on Monday.

“Why are you here today?” the nurse asked.

“I had a heart attack last week in Montreal and I need a cardiologist here in Atlanta,” I said.

“Oh! Bless your heart,” she said. “How are you feeling.”

There was that question again. It would often leave me slow to speak as my mind went in a dozen directions as I decided what to say in response. “I’m feeling pretty good, but I have this cough that I think is an allergic reaction to some of the new meds I’m taking.”

“I’m sure Dr. Jaber can help with that,” she said.

My temperature and blood pressure were good at 97.9 and 121/80, respectively.

Meeting Dr. Wissam Jaber was enjoyable. He struck me as serious, but not intense with a good sense of humor. Around 40-years-old, I’d guess, wearing a dress shirt and tie under his white jacket, dark trousers and very stylish light brown shoes. I believe I had mentioned before that he was Mediterranean and went to medical school at the American University in Beirut, Lebanon. He also did work at Duke and the Mayo Clinic.

Dr. Jaber said that the Montreal doctors had done a very good job and everything looked good on the two stents that were inserted. He said that two or three other arteries that were marked as 30% blocked were a little “wobbly” but of no real concern and may not even be 30% obstructed. We talked about doing some blood work next week and an echo cardiogram stress test on February 22, 2013, before my six-weeks appointment. He said that at six-weeks the stents should be well connected in my arteries, but that I needed to stay on the blood thinner Effient® for twelve months.

He said that the benazepril in one of the blood pressure meds was causing my cough and he would change my prescriptions to alleviate the problem. He said that it could take 2-4 weeks to get it out of my system. He asked me to take my BP at home twice a day for a week and call his nurse Randy with a report to verify that the dosage was correct. Also, I should continue to take the fluid pill for a few more weeks, but my lungs appeared clear today.

I felt well cared for. Hearing confirmation of the treatment I received in Montreal and the likelihood of ending my cough by changing two of my meds gave me peace of mind and spirit. With Jenny there being able to ask questions and hear what I was hearing was an added comfort. All of this was also reminding me that God’s mercy was specific and his love was patient and kind. He would sustain me as days of light and dark would follow in the future. And I was realizing that my acceptance of this new reality would take many weeks to settle in.

Jenny and I walked to the hospital coffee shop and had a cup of Joe and shared a bagel. We reviewed what we had heard and made sure that we were in sync regarding next appointments and early rehab – which primarily meant rest.

I waited in the lobby while Jenny walked to the parking structure to get the car. She met me at the door and drove us to the pharmacy and then home.

Chapter 4 – Slow Motion: January 17, 2013

On Thursday, Jenny went back to work as a special education teacher at Tucker Middle School in Tucker, GA, an Atlanta suburb northeast of the city. It was her first day back at school after traveling to Montreal and bringing me back home. She wasn’t looking forward to the attention, but was happy to get it over with on Thursday even though she’d be staying home on Friday to take me to the cardiologist appointment. I wasn’t cleared to drive yet and Jenny wanted to understand more of what had happened and what we could do to prevent another heart attack.

One of our longtime friends and member of our church had already begun scheduling a meal to be prepared and delivered for us every other day. And she – Cindy Terrell – brought the first one the after we had returned from Canada. This would become a tremendous help to us as most folks would bring enough for more than one meal and there was just the two of us. Also, it allowed me to slowly re-connect with many families from our church and neighborhood. Cindy had planned meals for about the next four weeks which coincided with my orders to not work for the 30 days.

As friends would drop off a meal I would replay the events of early January in a linear fashion. Beginning with the question, “Why were you in Montreal?”

And the explanation and Q and A went on for a few minutes until my cough began to interrupt our conversation too severely.

For the first couple of days everything was in slow motion. I had a bit of soreness from the whole experience of the procedures and sleeping in five different beds in a five-day span. Truthfully, I would be in slow motion for a few weeks! And mentally and emotionally I was trying to get my bearings and figure out what all of this meant and how my life was going to change.

Spiritually, I was grateful and I had a growing appreciation for God’s protection and life-preserving love that had given me a thumbs-up as my heart attack had played out before him.

Chapter 3 — In Search of a Cardiologist

I’m not sure how many hours I slept last night, but I was eager to get up and get started in finding a cardiologist. Jenny and I both made calls to Emory Clinic doctors. I called Dr. Donald Davis, my internist and primary care physician, to let him know about my surprise heart attack and to ask him for a recommendation to a cardiologist. His nurse responded with a “glad you’re okay” and no particular recommendation, but a blanket recommendation of any of the Emory cardiologists.

Jenny talked to her cardiologist who said that he could see me next week. I held out for someone to see me this week. So, we contacted the general cardiology department at Emory and were offered an appointment for Friday with Dr. Wissam Jaber at Emory Midtown which used to be Crawford Long Hospital. We took it and continued doing research. My friend Joe Hope had touched base with me and had said that his neighbor was a cardiologist at another hospital and he could ask him for a favor if I wanted. Ultimately, I declined in favor of staying in the Emory system for this initial visit and then we’d decide about ongoing care.

That would turn out to be the right decision for a surprising number of reasons. Dr. Jaber went to med school at American University in Beirut, Lebanon and then had residency at Duke University Medical Center and The Mayo Clinic. He was fairly new to Emory Healthcare and I would come to know – fluent in French. So, at our first appointment on Friday he could read that summary notes that my Dr. Guy Lalonde, my Montreal cardiologist, had written in English as well as all of the notes and write ups from other members of the medical team that were written in French. This was truly evidence of God’s sovereignty in our daily lives and a significant encouragement to me in my desire to begin understanding the sacredness of my journey toward rehab and improvement.

In the midst of a growing realization that “yes” in the largest sense I was “OK”, but that I was forever changed and my body could fail me, the signs of God’s love and care were often like flashing lights on a roadside barricade reminding me that he was still aware of my journey. This was comforting to know as my cough and sleeplessness would persist.

My cardiac rehab story… Chapter 2 – Sweet Sleep. NOT.

[I won’t be posting multiple chapters on most days, but I have a bit of a backlog as I’ve written eleven chapters and just started posting them this week. And Chapter 1 was another intro of sorts. Anyway, here you are.]

Initially, I was lying in bed propped up as if in a hospital bed. When my mouth was closed my breathing would slow and I felt anxious – afraid that my breathing would stop. What made this scary was my appreciation of the fact that what I was experiencing was mechanical and not psychosomatic. I wasn’t imaging that my breathing was slowing; it was slowing.

Of course, this was complicated with my knowledge that there was still some excess fluid still resident in my lungs. During and after my heart attack, my heart had been less efficient moving my blood through my lungs and the heart chambers. This led to a build up of fluid in the lower part of the lungs. I was taking Furosemide (Lasix) which is known as a “water pill” to aid in reducing the fluid in the body that had build up due to heart failure. So, I was taking 20 mg per day which meant I was making more trips to the bathroom, but I was breathing better. The end did justify the means in this case.

Eventually, I gave up on the bed and tried the recliner in Justin’s room, but that was more similar to a bed than a chair. I was beginning to see that any time my posture was slumping toward reclining that there was added pressure on my breathing. I suppose my hunt became a bit like the story of “Goldilocks and The Three Bears” when Goldie was trying to find a “just right” bed to sleep in. And, like Goldie, my third try was successful.

The chair in our den where I ended up sleeping.

I ended up in our den sitting in a winged-back Princess Anne leather chair with a pillow on each side of my lower torso and leaning my head against a “wing” of the chair. This is similar to how I had slept the previous night in our hotel room in Montreal.

While learning to give thanks to God’s Spirit for the comfort and healing being wrought in my body, I wondered anew what all of this meant for my life expectancy, my vocation and my family. Taking my anxiety to God refreshed me enough to allow few sweet hours of sleep. I was so glad to have been given the gifts of intimacy and prayer that had grown in my relationship with God over the past few years. I don’t know how I would’ve survived those times of solitude before we fall asleep at night and are tempted to worry and loose perspective. Understanding that our monologues can be dialogues with our Creator gives oxygen to our metaphorical hearts that is just as vital as the O₂that our physical heart and brain needs. Being reminded that I am part of a larger story is a comfort that resonates deep within my soul.

Sacred Journey: Heart and Soul Rehabilitation. Chapter 1 – January 15, 2013

While Jenny drove Jameson back to the airport, I started thinking about being home and the profound gratitude I felt for God, Jenny and Jameson. I was particularly thankful that nothing crazy happened in our return flight from Montreal.

This was the morning of January 15, 2013 as I sat in a wheelchair at Montréal–Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport waiting for our flight to Atlanta.

So, I could report to Dr. Guy Lalonde – the cardiologist who oversaw my care at Sacred Heart Hospital of Montreal after my heart attack on January 9, 2013 – that we had a smooth experience returning to Atlanta and my house and bed. And by bed I meant one of our beds, chairs or couches.

You see, I had two anxieties staring me in the face: 1) Would I be able to sleep and rest? 2) How soon could I get in to see a cardiologist to change my blood pressure medicine that contained benazepril that was causing me to cough? You see, while in the hospital in Montreal I had forgotten that I was allergic to benazepril. I had discovered this a couple of years ago when my internist at the Emory Clinic had prescribed some blood pressure medicine for me and I developed a cough. This was in my file at Emory Healthcare, but not in my brain’s memory file when I was asked “Are you allergic to anything?” by the Sacred Heart nurses and doctors.

It had been several years since I had been examined by a cardiologist, so, one of the first orders of business would be to let my primary care physician, Dr. Donald Davis, know what had happened. I would ask him for a referral to an Emory cardiologist who could see me as soon as possible.

Of course, there was also the lingering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) symptoms that tended to add a layer of urgency to everything I thought or felt.

As I pondered what the rest of the week might look like, I began to realize that I was tired and sleep deprived.

I got up from the dining room table and slowly walked upstairs to our son Justin’s room where I’d likely sleep tonight. Justin lives in Dallas, so his room was available. I pulled the bedspread and sheet back and then went to gather some pillow options for putting together something to simulate a hospital bed, albeit much softer and more comfortable.

I walked back downstairs and took the three pills that were part of my daily regime. At the same time, I was pretty sure that one of these pills was propagating my persistent cough. The dry cough would become a governor to my conversations over the next few weeks and it could’ve been avoided had my memory been sharper a few days earlier. These kinds of “if only” questions can paralyze us if we let them. I’m not above feeling some regret about past mistakes or poor choices, but it would become clear that timing was critical in my cardiologist choice and I may not have reached out for help with such a sense of urgency had I not had this allergic reaction to the benazepril. So, perhaps we will see if my memory lapse doesn’t have a positive result in the days ahead.

Sacred Journey: Heart and Soul Rehabilitation. Prologue

Prologue

The official publication date of “Sacred Heart Attack | Sacrée Crise Cardiaque” (WestBow Press, 2013) was July 15, 2013. The book chronicled my experience of surviving a major heart attack while visiting Montreal, QC., Canada in January of 2013.

I had written the 108-page book over a two-month period while recovering from the heart event and beginning my cardiac rehabilitation. About the same time, I finished another manuscript I had worked on for a couple of years. And “Heart Journey: Following Jesus to the Heart of God” (WestBow Press, 2013) was published in September. It seemed that my heart attack had been a catalyst to more seriously listen to God’s call to me to write about my experience of God in everyday life.

Consequently, I began working on other ideas for books that I had mused about over the years. I was interested in writing on solitude and I had always had an idea to write a novel on my experience in the computer software business in the 1980s and 1990s. Those writing projects were a bit uninspired for me and were moving slowly.

The cost of my heart attack had been significant. First, I had strict orders from my Canadian and American doctors not to work for 30 days. This hampered my consulting work in a significant way and by May, two of my three clients did not renew their contracts with me.

Over the summer, I was immersed in publishing both of my books and decided to do a kickstarter project to help with funding. These were eventually successful projects, but took a great deal of my time and energy to accomplish. It was, then, not a huge surprise on Tuesday night August, 27, 2013, that I said to God, “My life is painful right now.”

What was a surprise was God’s reply, “Why aren’t you writing about it?”

Wow. I knew exactly what he meant. The reason that so many of my friends and family had responded positively to my short essays about my heart attack that formed the basis of the book “Sacred Heart Attack” was the personal nature of my sharing with which they identified. Many have commented that they felt like I was sitting beside them telling a story. They felt my presence in my writing.

And some readers had begun to ask me how I was doing now and was I going to write any more. The bottom line for me was that my best writing was from my own experiences. My ability to be open and honest about my experience of life and God was relatable to others.

So, the next morning I started writing this story and words flowed. I felt in the “sacred zone” again. That’s where this book came from – a midnight encounter with the Spirit of Love reminding me of my calling.