Revealing Voices

In this episode, Tony and Eric explore the season of Lent and the reason for Easter hope. Lent is a time to let go obstacles for physical, mental, and spiritual wellbeing in order to make room for new life at Easter. This dynamic of letting go and making room is true for people of all faiths, and no formal faith connection at all. Jesus offers all a living hope for abundant life beyond death. Tony shares this story — In my faith, Easter is a season of renewal, resurrection, new life. Jesus said unless a kernel of wheat dies, there can be no harvest. If we allow things to pass away, however, we can embrace abundance beyond measure. Easier said than done. No one wants to let something or someone they care about die. We cling to addictions to feelings, thoughts, and behaviors that may once have served a purpose but now stunt our growth or even lead to our destruction. As a child, I experienced trauma in my life. This aggravated a genetic mental disorder. This could have been very disruptive. But I was encouraged by family, teachers, and coaches, to pursue athletic prowess and  scholastic achievements. I became addicted to success and recognition. But I couldn't get enough. After being humbled in college, I turned to alcohol, nicotine , and marijuana. Some call this self medicating To quote my good buddy Steve Franz, it's really dying by suicide in a manner deemed acceptable by society. I didn't die physically, but these death-dealing ways did great damage to me in many ways and I hurt others as well. I quit consuming substances to raise a family but I didn't tackle to root issue of the God-sized hole in my soul. For over 30 years I was a dry drunk — self-absorbed, self-righteous, self-destructive. When my life finally became unmanageable from things I couldn't handle I turned back to the bottle. Soon I was in the valley of the shadow of death and saw no way out. But God showed me the Way. A friend in recovery sent me a caring text. Are you tired? Hungry? Depressed? Angry? Christ reached out to me at my lowest point and, by God's grace, I reached back and held on tight. That was August 19, 2024. I have now been sober, sane, and serene for over 9 months now and I'm still counting each day, moment by moment. This Easter I celebrate the hope of renewed clarity, restored relationships, reconciliation with God. The Resurrection of Christ was not some incredible, irrational, inaccessible, one time miracle. God promises that all who believe and receive the Spirit of Christ have the hope of abundant life now and forever. Can you believe it? Will you receive it? To God be the glory. Now and forever. Amen. Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/cross-crucifix-jesus-crucifixion-1979473/

When I hit bottom in my descent through the hell of addiction and mental illness, I did what many modern spiritual seekers do — I turned to the god of Google, typing in the search bar “Inpatient Dual Diagnosis Treatment Centers.” In less desperate times, I carefully peruse several entries, note sources, and examine websites. But desperate times call for desperate measures, so I called the number at the top of the screen. A gentle voice poured forth — “Hello, this is Chris. How can I help? I shared some of my pain and suffering, summarizing over 40 years of struggle that had led me to a life or death cliff. “Tony, you are not alone. I'm here to help.” Chris guided me to an Inpatient facility in Western Massachusetts. Within 24 hours, a car was in my driveway to take me the three hours through the wooded wilderness of Upstate New York to a place designed to help people like me struggling with an addiction and a mental health diagnosis to take the first step toward sobriety, sanity, and serenity. My second day at that facility I had visitors. It was Chris and he brought along a friend — Mattie. If the Roman Catholic Church accepted nominations for patron saints of recovery, I would submit Mattie's name. Mattie listened intently. Barely spoke. I did find out he was the owner of Empower Health Group, a dual diagnosis rehab in Northampton, Massachusetts. Chris gave me a phone number and said if I ever needed more help, they would take care of me. Within 17 days, I desperately needed more help. My trust had been violated. My condition had deteriorated. I hadn't slept for days. I asked the case manager to call Empower. In no time, I spoke to Nate who reassured me they would accept me into the program and I could start immediately. Nate's warm and welcoming baritone voice reassured me that I would be okay, that things would get better. A few hours later I arrived. Nate did my intake and ordered me groceries. Bryan, an alumni director, gave me a firm handshake. Jonathan, who would become my therapist, brought me pizza. Nate then gave me a tour of the two-story office space. When we got to the top of the stairs, he gestured to the treatment rooms and said, “This is where the magic happens.” Over the next 100 days or so, one day at a time, I would meet the wounded healers who served Empower as staff magicians. The people who poured out their hearts to bring hope to those with troubled minds — a chance to choose abundant life over miserable death dealing ways. Shelby and her canine companion Vinny. Shelby makes things happen night and day with compassionate consideration. Jody, who attends to group process and family dynamics with a bloodhound's nose for codependency. Later came Kibbie, a master chef who serves up comfort foods from scratch. Emily, a model of serenity who maintains the ability to exercise tough love. Will, willing to tackle things behind the scenes. And recently two of my best friends in recovery — Tim, a brilliant spiritual mentor who has been like a brother to me, and Kyle, like a son, who masterfully chauffeurs people in the Empower van and sets a quiet example of devotion to sobriety. A final word about Mattie. Mattie is 33 years old, a heroin addict in recovery for over a dozen years who humbly points out he relapsed over 50 times before he was willing to surrender to God, his Higher Power, and do the work necessary to maintain sobriety, sanity, and serenity. Mattie's methods seem mad to many — he is ruthless in his pursuit of recovery and desperately wants that for everyone. He is at his best when assembling a top-notch team of wounded healers and empowering them to do their jobs. The sky's the limit for Empower, but they could also self-implode tomorrow if they are not daily vigilant to their recovering identity and mission. I am now an Empower alum, class of Feb 2025. I now offer service and pray daily that everyone impacted by their spiritual mission would be liberated to live in love. Empower Health Group,

On this episode, Tony returns from Sabbatical to discuss his journey from the chaotic waters of addiction, insanity, and spiritual disease to a life of daily recovery — sober, sane, and serene. Eric shares his inspiration for a new book — 575 Gardens. The book will contain haiku and life reflections written over the past decade. Tony and Eric then provide a sneak peek of the upcoming season 8 of Revealing Voices (March 1 marks our 7 year anniversary). In addition to Eric's occasional Haikasts, Tony will record “Healing Stories” about the people, places, and things that have contributed to his abundant life in dual diagnosis recovery.

I'm thankful for tears.  As I grow older, I find that the poignant times that often precede emotional moments are actually a mix of joy and sorrow.  I have also noticed tears arise in moments of intense gratitude - times when I am thankful for unexpected blessings that seem beyond what I deserve or could imagine. 2022 was definitely a year of more crying than normal.  The most outstanding of these experiences was over Labor Day and involved 3 straight days of tears.My son, Isaac, attended a spiritual retreat called Chrysalis over Labor Day weekend. About 15 years prior, I volunteered at the same 3-night ecumenical experience. The site is still at the same Brown Country deeply forested remote location. Taking Isaac to the retreat was one of those drives that helped me recall many memories that are hard to access unless I'm back in the same space. They were very good memories of helping others experience the meaning of sacrifice, love, and reconciliation.Doing a deep dive into an intensive weekend of self reflection and self discovery with mostly strangers is not necessarily a teenager's idea of a fun weekend. Like many teenagers, my son had a fair share of ups and downs throughout his childhood. Most notably, he endured the divorce of his mother and me - something that undoubtedly had a spiritual impact on him beyond my comprehension. Spiritual retreats tend to surface a lot of mixed emotions and is often the reason - whether conscious or unconscious - why people decide to not take the risk. Isaac was reluctant to commit to the long weekend, so I shared my personal experience of Chrysalis with him. We talked about the speakers over the weekend who would be sharing intimate spiritual experiences. We talked about the delicate discernment required to appreciate others' spirituality while also questioning some of the divergent religious beliefs that may be held by those speakers. We talked about honoring the many ways that people are moved spiritually and to not judge others' expressions of faith. I emphasized my spiritual belief that Christianity is, at its core, the cultivation and sharing of “agape” love - a concept that the weekend would help bring into sharp focus for him.What is agape love?  I think of it as acts of appreciation, encouragement, and service that are done without expectation of reciprocation. In daily life, it is easy to get caught in a cycle of transactional behavior. There is nothing wrong with this part of human culture, but to settle on transactions as being the basis for cultural meaning misses out on both giving and receiving in a way more aligned with agape love. This is different from romantic love. It is not intuitive or easy to learn unless intentionally taught and experienced. That is a big reason why the Chrysalis weekend is so important - it is a sort of crash course on how to better love others and - almost always - understanding how to better love yourself.In 2004, when I went on a similar retreat designed for adults, I attentively listened to messages about forgiveness and reconciliation. The times of prayer and reflection over the weekend allowed these life changing concepts to transform how I approached my relationships. I realized how much pain I held by not forgiving my father for the endless fights we had when I was a teenager. I'll never forget telling my dad that I was sorry for how I had treated him in high school and college. His response reminded me of the prodigal son parable as he embraced me and gladly accepted my apology - making a point to say that he had forgiven me a long time ago. I remembered this experience and other blessings born of forgiveness as Isaac was welcomed into the retreat center. It was a drenching rain as adults gathered to pray for the teenagers we referred to as “caterpillars” on the Chrysalis retreat. How would they change over the weekend? A few tears of gratitude percolated as I prayed.The next day, I was gardening in the sunshine at one of my favorite n...

People of a certain age likely have a vessel of pictures. To be clear, I'm not talking about a well curated photo album. For me, the vessel is a cheap plastic bin, about 8” W x 15” L x 4” D. Full of pictures. Many of them loosely organized in the original paper envelopes that they gave me at Target or Walmart or the drug store where the film was processed. Many of them are labeled: Summer 2005, Christmas 2003, Nela Baby Photos, STL trip 2004, etc. It's not a great organization system, but its full of serendipity. If there is any thought of hunting through them for a picture, I might as well go through the entire bin. Probably over a thousand photos piled high. A few often slip to the floor as I reach for them.Recently, I read the book “American Gods” by Neil Gaiman. The small g variety. It's a roadtrip romp through the Midwest. The main character is a recently released prisoner who, unbeknownst to him, makes a deal to be the bodyguard of the Norse god, Odin. It's a fun book. Emotive at times. I really liked the main character's love for his wife, who died days before he is released from prison and haunts him (in a good way) through the rest of the book. At the climax, there is a showdown between the old gods, mostly immigrants from ancient lands who couldn't quite make it in America and the new American gods (think Santa Claus), who capture our imagination and usurp our more deeply held spiritual wishes in accordance with cultural convenience. It is the kind of book that makes me ask questions like, “Does Jesus actually stack up to Santa Claus most Decembers?” and “What do Americans worship without knowing they are doing so?”The site of the book's final battle is Lookout Mountain near Chattanooga, TN. In real American history, the mountain has special significance as a sacred site of native American culture, an important Civil War strategic location, and - in contemporary times - as a tourist destination known for its extravagant gnome displays. It now captures people's interest with the unique style of advertising that you see painted on old barns on rural highways: “You're Almost There - Lookout Mountain!” You might call it a tourist trap. The author calls it a “thin place” where the geography, topography, and natural beauty of the place have attracted millions of people for many reasons over the centuries.In the author's world, a thin place is a location where gods gather because it is where people have historically gathered. These places hold significance that is mutable, where a constant battle for meaning shapes peoples' perceptions and experiences. Is the mountain a site of worship, military strategy, or commercialism? It can be all of these things and more. Ultimately, that meaning does not have to be culturally defined. It can be highly individualized and your own belief significantly influences the experience. In my own belief system, I worship a God who created the earth as a bountiful garden for all to share. This belief often leads me to natural areas in honor of the sublime beauty that no human hand will ever be able to create.In the Cherokee language, Chattanooga is translated as “rock coming to a point” or “end of the mountain.” On top of Lookout Mountain, as modern tourism marketing goes, you can see seven states. It is a visionary place. I wonder, before there were states, how did Indigenous people describe what could be seen from that point? On what occasions did people gather at the “end of the mountain?”In summer of 2007, I was preparing to go to graduate school to get an MBA from Indiana University. This was a major life altering moment for me. The week before school started, I went with my wife and two young children to Athens, GA to visit family. On the way back, we stopped in Chattanooga. At the hotel, I distinctly remember my fearless 18 month old son taking a dive into the water at the kiddie pool and my daughter being enthralled by the massive miniature train exhibit.

Bailee Taylor has a Bachelor of Science Degree from the University of Southern Indiana and Master's Degree in Art Therapy and Mental Health Counseling from Indiana University. She is a Board Certified Art Therapist (ATR-BC) through the Art Therapy Credentials Board, Inc., a Licensed Professional Art Therapist (LPAT) with the state of Kentucky and a Licensed Mental Health Counselor (LMHC) with the state of Indiana.Bailee advocates for art and other expressive therapies to be utilized as a tool to help people of all ages express, process and communicate their social and emotional needs when words aren't enough. She supports children ages 3+ and specializes in helping others regulate emotions, decrease and cope with stress, anxiety and depression; increase self-esteem, social skills and mood; and process traumatic events. She applies a person centered, trauma informed and family structured approach in her work.Since 2018, Bailee has worked with children, adolescents and families as an art therapist and mental health counselor. She lives in southern Indiana and has clients in multiple cities, including Columbus, Bloomington, Indianapolis, and beyond.

Kimberly Hoffman was diagnosed with ME/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome over 30 years ago and then with fibromyalgia 12 years ago. She works full time at Cummins Inc. in the New and Recon Parts Department as an Inside Sales Administrator and with the Disability Inclusion employee resource group. She is a writer and editor for the Disability Inclusion newsletter, advocating, educating and allying with others on the subject of disability inclusion. Kimberly is also a children's author of nine books with topics such as overcoming obstacles, dealing with big emotions, self-worth and diversity. She is a spinner of amazing tales that influence young minds to think deeply, reframing their impossibilities to reach their possibilities. She creates unique and innovative programming to engage any size of audience, from preschool to seniors, motivating, encouraging, and challenging them to think outside the box on a variety of topics.Kimberly resides in her hometown of Columbus, Indiana where she is also the vice president of the Friends of the Library board. She loves being creative through writing, dancing, acting, and making jewelry. She is married to Paul Hoffman, an author and publisher. Together, they have six children, one grandchild and many grand-fur and -feather babies.Be sure to find Kimberly on Facebook – Kimberly S. Hoffman – Author, Instagram @kimberlyhoffman_author or at her website – kimberlyhoffmanblog.wordpress.com. She can also be reached at khoffmanauthor@gmail.com.

I dedicate this podcast to Robert Pulley who has inspired multiple generations of artists in Columbus and beyond as an Arts teacher at Columbus North High School and as a professional sculptor. Mr. Pulley's work has been featured for over a year in front of the Fresh Start Recovery Center, the building that is the subject of this Haikast. Thank you, Mr. Pulley, for the generous sharing of your craft. It's a delight to garden around your sculpture. To learn more about Robert Pulley's work, visit www.robertpulley.com. (NOTE: The photo accompanying this episode includes the Fresh Start sculpture)Downtown Columbus does not have much greenspace. While there is Mill Race Park on the west side - hugging the river - it is literally across the tracks from downtown. Washington Street, the main street through the heart of downtown, lacks landscaped areas. The most notable flora are the callery pear trees lining the sidewalks for 7 blocks. They are celebrated for their rapid growth and abundant white blooms in early spring. Unfortunately, they smell bad while flowering, drop abundant mushy berries on cars and sidewalks in fall, easily break, and are short lived. And worse, they are an invasive tree species that easily spread to dominate public lands and poorly maintained properties. Being a native plant advocate, it was a dream of mine to find a place in downtown Columbus to feature a different landscape aesthetic. When approached by Landmark Columbus Foundation in 2020 to do just that, I jumped at the opportunity to write a grant to turn one of the only green spaces downtown into a native plant landscape.The property is at the corner of 7th and Washington, near the north end of the most heavily trafficked section of downtown. It hosts an old limestone building, over a century old, that was originally the post office. There have been many owners and uses over the years. Most recently, it was converted into the Fresh Start Recovery Center, owned by Volunteers of America, to support women recovering from opioid and other drug addictions. Pregnant women and mothers, along with their young children, are welcome for long term housing as they work towards sobriety.When I approached staff at Fresh Start, the supervisor immediately had the vision of the project providing opportunities for horticulture therapy for the women staying at the shelter. So after signing a Memorandum of Understanding, acquiring grants, hiring a landscape architect, renting a sod cutter, purchasing plants, and recruiting volunteers, we were ready to transform the turf grass surrounding the beautiful building. On the United Way Day of Caring in May 2021, a TV crew showed up, the volunteers poured in, and the installation was installed within 8 hours. Now butterfly weed, coreopsis, New Jersey tea, spicebush, blue mistflower, columbine, prairie dropseed, and other native plants are thriving.Native landscapes, while they may appear intimidating to maintain, are actually relatively easy to manage. Native plants have evolved to our local environment over thousands of years, and are an important part of healthy local habitats. In their native region, they are the most sustainable plants, growing deep roots and rarely requiring extra water or fertilizer. And almost all native plants are perennial, meaning that you don't have to plant them over and over each year by seed or with plugs purchased from a store. After they are established, the primary maintenance is pruning when they get a bit unwieldy and adding mulch to suppress unwanted weeds.Around the time of the original planting, I helped host a documentary of a film called “5 Seasons” about the landscape architect, Piet Oudolf. He is most well known for the High Line trail in New York City and the Lurie Gardens at Millennium Park in Chicago. Piet is credited for starting the “New Perennial Movement,” focusing on the structure of plants throughout the year - appreciating not just the color of flowers,

Craig Willers is a DJ going by the moniker DJ du Nord and a musical artist going by the stage name Omnös. He has always loved music from a young age. He was born in Corvallis, Oregon and raised in Hawaii. He has been interested in different types of music and currently enjoys Metal, Gothic, Industrial and Chillout. Craig is 61 this year and plans to fully retire at 62 and focus on djing and music full time in retirement. Craig was diagnosed with Schizophrenia at 18 and has endured 43 years of this horrible and deadly disease. He is retired from Safeway after 34 years and just made 32 years with his beloved wife Mindy. Craig has no children because the illness can be passed genetically. www.ktec895.comhttps://omnos.bandcamp.com 

After 7 years, I walked away from my longest held job on Valentine's Day 2023.I started at COSCO in January 2016 as a temporary worker. COSCO, whose name is a sort of acronym for Columbus Specialty Company, began in Columbus, IN over 80 years ago. To be clear, I do not work at Costco, the popular club store started on the west coast, known for being a slightly elevated version of Sam's Club.If you know COSCO, it is likely as a manufacturer of folding tables and chairs or, more recently, as the creator of a very impressive hand truck that you can buy at …. Wait for it…. Costco!So how did I, a proud Indiana University alum from the Kelley School of Business MBA program, start out as a temporary employee?In the summer of 2007, I started my first year in the MBA program as a married man with 2 kids, 5 years of banking management under my belt, a homeowner, and a leader of the youth group at my church. I received a scholarship and can still remember reading in my acceptance speech that I was prepared to manage my priorities of “family, church, and school” with an emphasis on that order. By the end of the first semester, I had spent most of the 4 months in an insomniac stupor, fueled by uncontrollable anxiety, resulting in a debilitating suicidal depression. The unexpected fall into the nadir of my life included spending Thanksgiving break at the Mental Health Unit of our local hospital, separating from my wife, moving into my parents' house, taking a leave of absence from the MBA program, and nearly losing my faith.  I was divorced 9 short months after the first day of class. It was an absolute tragedy.By the time I started at COSCO, 8 years had passed.During that intervening period, I had some significant accomplishments - writing a book about a major flood disaster in my hometown called “Watershed: Service in the Wake of Disaster,” marrying the beautiful Jennifer Anne Johnston, remaining a loving and engaged father of my 2 children, finishing the MBA degree through the IU evening program, and joining a church where I met a great group of new friends.What did not happen during those 8 years was a significant stride in career growth. I held down a full time job as a care partner at the hospital for 3.5 years, a year stint as an assistant manager at Walmart, a 3 year full time contract job as a grant writer at a local youth serving organization, and a 1 year temp job at Cummins in their HR department. I had yet to earn a salary that exceeded what I earned at the bank before I started as an MBA student.The stress of not keeping up with my friend's career trajectories, not living up to the potential after being a straight A student throughout my life, and failing to make progress after completing my MBA were all crushing to my self esteem. I had two more stress unit visits during this time and lived long stretches with severe depression.… And then I started as a temp worker at COSCO, helping out as a part time Administrative Assistant, committed to finding a way to be optimistic and gain full time employment.  A few months later, I was offered a full time job and over the years had multiple promotions until ascending to the Marketing Manager of the furniture department in 2022. Who could resist the new “Trusted Solutions” marketing slogan of the COSCO tables and chairs!?Something else had happened over those seven years with the company - I rekindled my professional self-esteem, found a deep passion for environmental work in the community, and started a weekly mental health recovery group at my church.I became a member of The Stability Network, a national organization with a vision for “People experiencing mental health challenges to thrive in supportive workplaces and communities.” To join, I needed to publicly recognize my mental health diagnosis on their website, attend mental health advocacy training, and be willing to share my mental health diagnosis in the workplace. I attended retreats in New York City and San Francisco with...

On this episode of Revealing Voices, we welcome Sherry Lanning to the show. Sherry wrote a letter to her son Robin called "The Fish Catcher" in Hope for Troubled Minds. She reads it and shares what it meant to write and publish it. Sherry is a retired nurse, living in Oregon with David, her husband of 53 years. Together, they've been blessed with 7 children and 10 grandchildren. She has volunteered during national disasters and with international medical missions, serving with relief teams to Guatemala, Haiti and Uganda.    The challenges of her son's schizophrenia required a safer environment. Robin was welcomed home with open arms. She balances her life by performing as a freestyle flutist and loving her 24 family members. In her spare time, she spoils her Weiner dog ladies, Annabelle and Dorothy. Sherry can be reached at goldenflute@comcast.net

In this episode, Skye Nicholson and Beth Hughes from the new Breaking Patterns podcast join Eric in Studio E in Columbus. Skye and Beth are 13 episodes into a podcast that explores how to recognize, change, and develop patterns in our lives to make us healthier and happier.  Recent topics on the Breaking Patterns podcast include: - Self-love through chronic illness- Help! Why can't I just ask for help?- Breaking Patterns with alcohol- Are you a Fixer? This is Revealing Voices first "mashcast" collaboration episode and we're grateful for how much fun we had with this interview. Let's do It again! To hear more from Skye and Beth, tune into the podcast feed at: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/breaking-patterns/id1740750976 

I have been hiking the Sheltowee Trace Trail in Kentucky over the past 8 years. The 300 mile trail from Morehead, KY to Rugby, TN goes through the heart of beautiful rolling woods- hugging Cave Run Lake, meandering through the epoch Red River Gorge, and then tightly winding around the perimeter of Laurel Lake. After hiking across the dam at Laurel Lake, the Sheltowee follows the Laurel River 2 miles where the trickle of a tributary empties into the majestic Cumberland River. From there, the trail heads south to Cumberland Falls, the premiere tourist destination of southeastern Kentucky. The trail goes west to the South Fork of the Cumberland River and then south until it reaches its final destination in northeastern Tennessee. Three hundred miles is a long way and so I hike it in increments. I have led 8 unique trips with 17 friends and family members since starting the hike in November 2016. I am most proud of going with my son, Isaac, on three of those journeys. He has joined me for 57 of the 191 miles that I have completed thus far.It was in the Big South Fork National River and Recreation Area of the trail where I found myself in May 2024 with my friends Slater, Jason, and Clyde. We were prepared for the most ambitious hike that I have ever planned - 43 miles over 4 days. As we neared our drop off point, we saw a black bear scrambling into the forest as our van rambled along the gravel road that terminated at our trailhead, Peter's Mountain. None of us had seen a bear before in the wild. It was relatively small, but I am sure bigger than my 200 lbs frame. We were thankful that it was about five miles from our starting point AND we would be walking in the opposite direction. Clyde dropped us off and we confirmed our plan to meet up at Yamacraw Bridge - 42 hours and 29 miles later.Three miles into the Sheltowee, we encountered another black bear, about the same size as the first, that ran uphill and behind a large boulder as we unsheathed a hatchet and prepared for the worst. We neither saw nor heard any more of the bear after we passed the bend where it emerged. Quickly, we descended to Desperation Creek and on towards the Cumberland River. The wildness represented in an animal like a bear is distinctly different from the wildness of a unique ecosystem, far from civilization. A beautiful, remote landscape elicits the joy of being the audience of a rare spectacle, while an animal strikes the fear of being part of the spectacle, where actions have real consequences in a unique and unpredictable situation. Wilderness is the setting where our historic relationship to nature can be experienced. In a controlled environment, a zoo for example, the wildness of a bear is obscured by the domestic surroundings. With the trappings of safety, it is impossible to truly feel the nature of the animal. Hiking brings you into the liminal space of wildness and unforeseen scenarios.We all stepped to that threshold before the bear - and the feeling it elicited - passed and was not seen again.At sunset, we found a beautiful beach camp location along the Cumberland. We woke to rain. And it rained, with a few hours of reprieve, for the next 24 hours. We were prepared for the weather, but it was nonetheless painstaking. When attempting to hike 18 miles in a day, there are many decisions to be made around conserving energy, pushing through pain, finding ideal rest sites, and understanding the needs of fellow travelers. Even very practical decisions like following a map are not always straightforward. The rain abated early on day three, but within 2 miles, we had to cross a creek carrying the previous day's rain - waist deep. Despite the challenge, we made it to our rendezvous point at Yamacraw Bridge on time with Slater departing and Clyde joining us for the remaining 14 miles of the trip. We had hopes of potentially, with good weather, finishing the trail a day early and heading back home to appreciate the luxury of dry clothes.

I wonder if our cultural understanding of heaven is associated with an ascension from the earth because humans for millennia were excited to join the nightly parade of sublime light?With the glow of city lights, the night sky does not speak as it did to our ancestors whose lives were accustomed to the astronomical events that defined so much of their seasons, calendars, and religious life. As an electrified civilization, we are so far removed from the moon and stars being a reliable navigation system and source of nightly beauty, that what are sometimes called “heavenly bodies” are, in some ways, forgettable. We don't really pay attention to them, partly because we don't need to, and, as is often the case, because we just can't see them anymore.The moon is an exception, practically, because it is just so large. It demands attention. Especially when its preparing to eclipse the sun.In summer of 2023. I was working with a team of volunteers at the Touch The Earth nature preserve just outside the city. The conversation turned to the expectation of uncontrollable crowds of people flocking to Columbus for an eclipse. I thought they were joking. Six years earlier, a partial eclipse was destined for Columbus and I didn't even think to put it on my calendar. In this case - with a full eclipse coming our way - I was told this would be different. A big deal.Websites began popping up. Greatamericaneclipse.com clearly delineated the “zone of totality.” The black line spanning a few miles wide and arcing across the United States from southern Texas to Maine would pass directly through Columbus, IN. My work colleague near Carbondale, in southern Illinois, who is an avid photographer, touted the town's merchandizing slogan, “Eclipse Crossroads of America” for having the unique distinction for being in the zone of totality for both the 2017 and 2024 celestial events. Everywhere I read, for communities in this special zone, tourism directors claimed tens of thousands of people may be coming to their city. So what is the zone of totality? It means approximately 4 minutes of the moon totally covering the sun, casting a shadow over the land. In the case of Columbus, the eclipse would reach its peak just after 3 PM.Five months before the big day, Monday, April 8, my friend announced he was organizing a Renaissance Festival at the Columbus Airport. He was planning for thousands.April 2024 was all about the moon. When the day finally arrived, I worked until noon, put on my Welsh dragon t-shirt, and jumped on my bike. My good friend joined me on our voyage to the Airport property. It was a beautiful day. Fears of a cloudy day that had circulated for the past week were dispelled. There were thousands of people. We bumped into many friends, none of us knowing quite what to expect. What we did know was that there were jousting competitions, falconers, knights beating each other relentlessly with swords and maces, troubadours doing improv comedy, and much more. The human spectacle was preparing for an astronomical spectacle. The minutes ticked by. I found my godsons and their family and we ventured to the one hill on the property. My friend set up a camera to virtually share the event with his family in Germany.    Wind whipped flags, then stoppedI stand on my moon shadow360 sunsetLater in the afternoon, my friend and I hopped on our bikes, joyously journeying across town to another friend's house to recount the wonders of the day. I was elated. It was better than I had expected- sharing a surreal experience with a silent multitude.While we saw the moon during the day, it was a new moon that evening - invisible. The following night, Tuesday, April 9, at the first sign of the waxing crescent moon, Ramadan ended. A Muslim colleague explained to me that one of the 5 main pillars of faith of Islam is fasting, most notably during Ramadan, when Muslims across the world commit to abstaining from food and drink during daylight hours for one month.

On this episode of Revealing Voices, we feature contributors to Hope for Troubled Minds.Born in Kentucky, Janet Coburn now lives in Ohio with her husband of over 40 years, Dan Reily. She also lives with bipolar 2 disorder. Janet loves reading and country music. Dan loves gardening and archaeology. Together they love travel, science fiction, and cats (they have two at the moment, Toby and Dushenka). A graduate of Cornell University and the University of Dayton, Janet writes two blogs, bipolarme.blog and butidigress.blog, which she posts in every Sunday. She often contributes articles on mental health to The Mighty website. Janet has also written two books on bipolar disorder, Bipolar Me and Bipolar Us, which are based on her decades of experience with the disorder, and frequently answers questions about mental health on Quora.Jay Tapscott is a poet, author, and also a Peer Specialist dealing with schizoaffective disorder and working in an inpatient psychiatric unit where he was once a patient in Philadelphia. There, he models wellness as he visibly coexists with his psychiatric condition in that setting seeking to offer hope and encouragement by doing so.Kevin “Earleybird” Earley is a mental health advocate and hip hop producer. His father Pete Earley is a Pulitzer Prize nominated investigative journalist. Kevin is also co-producer and sound editor of Revealing Voices. 

In this episode, Tony is back in Columbus and takes the opportunity to team up with Eric in Studio E to interview Vachel Hudson, a mental health leader in the community. Vachel Hudson is the Project Manager for the Mental Health Matters initiative in Bartholomew County, Indiana. He works for Columbus Regional Health, leading the community-wide initiative to improve the mental health system for the wellbeing of all individuals of Bartholomew County. He works with various stakeholders from different sectors to design, plan, and implement projects that enhance outreach, engagement, and mobilization. He ensures the quality, compliance, and data analysis of the Mental Health Matters ambassador program. Vachel holds an MBA in Operations and Management from Saint Mary's University of Minnesota and a BA in Mass Communications and Marketing from Kentucky State University. Vachel was born in Columbus and has lived in Louisville and Minneapolis for significant portions of his life before moving back to Columbus in 2023 to help launch Mental Health Matters.

I recently went on a search for my earliest recorded haiku from what I shall call the “Opening Era”.  That era began with the death of my last grandparent, Amos Harlan Rippy. After his funeral on the hillside cemetery in Tell City, Indiana in 2013, I felt a commitment with an origin outside of myself to dive into my feelings and express them poetically.   Rippy and Rip were the common nicknames for my grandfather, who was called “Pop” by my siblings and me. The last name of Rippy is Irish in origin. We have records dating back to the late 1700s when the Rippy family immigrated from Ireland to Orange County, North Carolina.  Upon his death, having had 2 daughters, his surname was now locked in time as my middle name, Eric Rippy Riddle, and further honored as my son's middle name. While it is impossible to say the nature of the poetic calling upon my life, I do think the passing of his generation summoned in me a need to bring definition into my own emerging adulthood. Perhaps the subtle influence of the Irish ancestry beckoned an articulation of the poetic impulse. I began to call the art flowing out of me, “Openings.” I had dabbled in poetry for years, always seeking to capture the emotions of important moments or diving into the depths of predicaments that I found myself bound. First, in the form of rhyming couplets and then in free flowing gifts to my first wife, inspired by the style of Beat generation author, Jack Kerouac.   It never really occurred to me that I was in the minority of people who choose to use language in this way.  As one compelled to write on occasions of heightened awareness, desire, or emotional resonance, it seemed only natural that much of humanity would be ushered into the same necessity of poetic expression. That is not the case. The longer form poetry that I was accustomed to writing became more difficult to conjure as I grew older. With adult responsibilities, even when I did feel the inspiration, I rarely had the time to capture the moment. I needed to lower my expectations to reignite my creative output. I chose haiku. I began writing a daily haiku with a commitment to maintain the practice for a year. I started a Google Drive document that I could easily type on my phone. My formal haiku writing journey began on September 9, 2016. However, in my recent research mission into writing “openings” following the death of my grandfather, I found scattered haiku that started in May 2014.  The occasion of the first haiku was a trip that I took with my then 7-year-old son and 10-year-old daughter to Red River Gorge in Kentucky. It was our first big trip together, just the 3 of us. I had started camping with friends in this part of Kentucky a few years prior and instantly found it to be one of my “happy places”.   The Red River on the day of our kayak trip was shallow. On many occasions, my kayak would bottom out. Under the much lighter weight of the kids, they even had to get out at times and drag their kayaks on the meandering stream. It wasn't until we got to the jumping rock that we hit deep water.   That day, at that rock, became one of those moments that I knew would last forever in my memory. It holds the joy of a hot day in the growing late spring where droves of rock jumpers and observers on the beaches huddled around a deep watering hole. Jumpers waited as kayakers like the kids and me passed through. We decided to stay. My daughter found a nice spot on the beach in view of the jumping rock.  My son wanted to jump.  He and I climbed to the top, feeling the communal anxiety of the 40 ft drop. Many grown adults waited as others stepped to the edge, stalled with apprehension. After watching many take the leap, my son and I made our way to the spot. We joined hands, but then he wanted me to go first. I had to wrestle my own fears to take the leap, trusting he would come after me.   And then there I was, submerged, the water deep enough to not even tickle my toes.

Co-Director and editor Erik Ewers has worked with documentary filmmaker Ken Burns for more than 30 years, including nearly all of his single and multi-episodic films. He currently serves as co-director and editor of Ewers Brothers Productions, a preferred collaborative company in the co-creation of Ken's films.  He and his brother Chris co-directed Hiding in Plain Sight: Youth Mental Illness, exploring the mental health crisis in our nation's youth and young adults, which aired on PBS June 27th and 28th to millions.  In this podcast, Erik opens up about his mental health struggles and the role tattoos played in his recovery, with interviewer Kevin, who was a subject of Hiding in Plain Sight: Youth Mental Illness, and fellow interviewer Tony Roberts, author of Hope For Troubled Minds.

I have a “life verse.”  Before adopting this so-called life verse, I always thought of people who said they had one as being a little woo-woo.  I didn't understand how to claim something from the Bible as my own.  I'm sure I was a little cynical about life verses before finding mine, because I assumed that people would find something they liked without a deep personal story and just roll with it. I was dismissive of the randomness of picking a verse.  I want to apologize to anyone that I didn't pay attention to because of that attitude.   A life verse can be consequential and anyone who claims one may have a story that is worth considering. Really, anything that is a lifelong commitment is worthy of our attention because of the great care it takes to select and cultivate.  I tend to not want to make life defining pronouncements. This is probably because they may be more of a fleeting fancy than something with the substance of a true resolution. As I write this, it is Lent in the Christian calendar. I normally honor the season by stopping or starting a habit as a way of focusing on the coming of Easter. This year, I decided to start reading the four Biblical gospels and stop eating food after dinner. Little more spiritual nourishment and a  little less dessert nourishment. I picked them as short-term commitments.  It seems logical that a long term commitment like a life verse would require even more consideration than what to do for Lent. However, what I'm about to tell you isn't so much about me picking a verse, it's a story of a verse picking me.As I was going through graduate school, I also worked full time at our local hospital.  To manage my stress level, I gravitated towards a hybrid role that was a mix of a floor secretary (processing medical orders from doctors and nurses), a Care Partner (having direct patient care responsibilities in partnership with the nurses), and, for difficult patients, a Sitter (literally sitting with them and carefully watching so they wouldn't fall, pull out their IVs, or commit self-harm). I sat with lots of people who were in critical condition. While I never saw someone pass away, there were a number of patients who I spent the last days or hours with - being on high alert monitoring the patients' vital signs and taking care of the family's needs.On my last day at the hospital - a day that I had no idea would actually be my last - I brought my Bible. It wasn't ever my expectation to read to the patient, but some days when I was responsible for sitting, I needed a good long read. I would only read the Bible to the patient if they directly asked me to share with them. It happened to be on this day, the patient was curious about what I was reading.  So I read to them this passage:“Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming. Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ. From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work.”My Bible does have lots of notes scribbled on the margins of the pages. However, it rarely lists the time and place when a verse carried indelible personal significance. I did make a note of this verse that day. March 2010. Soon after reading to the patient, I was asked to go to HR. I had been in two patient fall cases in recent weeks when I misjudged when I should give them privacy while they were using the bathroom. It was time for me to resign. Four years later, after a long bout of depression, I found myself on the edge of another resignation. I didn't know when it was going to happen, but it definitely felt like there was a strong possibility that I would need to step down. Many of my coworkers knew that I had been hospitalized the previous year...

Jen and Eric Riddle pay tribute to one another by reading their letters from Hope for Troubled Minds.Hope for Troubled Minds is a trove of tributes, collected to celebrate the lives, legacy, and strength of those who lead brave lives in the face of brain disorders and mental illness. These are testimonies and shout-outs to the ones we love who have supported us, or we have supported, through some of the most testing lifelong trials that come with having these kinds of health conditions.Throughout this anthology, you will hear from parents, children, spouses, siblings, and friends who have been inspired to share their hope for a fulfilling life, in spite of their ailments. Each tribute has been a carefully prepared gift waiting to be held in your hands to send a message of resilience in the midst of suffering, and hope in the midst of hardship. Most of all, these stories thematically resound the truth that we are here for one another, and never alone.All net proceeds from the sale of this book will be evenly distributed to three vital mental health causes: the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), the Treatment Advocacy Center (TAC), and Delight in Disorder Ministries (DiDMin).For more information and to find the order link, go to https://delightindisorder.org/hftm-order/

My name is Yanerry and I'm a mental health/sexual assault advocate. I'm currently working on a college curriculum that includes the documentary that I was featured in, Hiding in Plain Sight: Youth Mental Illness. The team I'm working with is a part of the organization Work2BeWell. You can find me by Instagram @Yan.erry. 

The 5-7-5 syllable format is not respected by all haiku enthusiasts. It took me 5 years of laboring away in private before I seriously began studying the centuries long history and learned how much of a rookie I really was in this poetic form. Now, for example, I tune in to a podcast about haiku called “Poetry Pea” (that is pea as in p-e-a, please don't ask me where the name originated). The British moderator, recording from her home in Switzerland, conducts lively conversations with guests from around the world. It's not as pretentious as it sounds. I appreciate the haiku that are submitted for analysis and judged for publication in the Poetry Pea journal. I encourage you to check it out if you have an interest in learning more about haiku. I was listening to the highlighted haiku on a recent Poetry Pea episode and counted out the syllables on my fingertips. 11 syllables, 10, 12, 12, oh…. there's a 14 syllable one. Nothing came close to 17. It is clear that professionals in the artform of haiku are not incredibly fond of the 5-7-5 arrangement.  In Japan where haiku originated hundreds of years ago, they traditionally stay consistent with 17 onji. While they contain similarities, the Japanese onji and English syllable do have significant differences. Onji normally represent a much shorter sound compared to an English syllable. By an academic analysis that I read, 17 onji actually average closer to 12 English syllables. I discovered this comparison of the two languages in a book published in 1985 called the Haiku Handbook by William Higginson and Penny Harter. Obviously, this notion of the differences in syllables has been well documented for a long time. This is the primary rationale why most professionals limit their syllable count.However, in popular culture, everyone will gladly agree with you when you confidently remember the 5-7-5 standard format. Haiku are the de facto elementary school introductory poetic form - inspiring the kind of school work that sentimental parents often keep to embarrass their kids at high school graduations. For young writers who are introduced to the notion of syllables at a young age, haiku could nearly be considered a bridge between math and phonetics. Since it doesn't take much time to finish your assignment, no wonder it is so appreciated and remembered by students! Who wants to remember the more complicated standards of limericks, acrostics, and kennings?I think many adults have come to consider haiku child's play - while they may remember with fondness the introduction of haiku as a young student and the fun notion that they had a quick portal into Japanese culture for a moment, it is largely dismissed. Often in an elementary English unit, haiku will be introduced along with other forms of poetry and then steamrolled by the Shakespearian sonnet - which is often considered “real poetry” because of its English heritage, complexity, length, and rhyming schemes.  But I challenge that assumption. The brevity of the haiku is its beauty. A great haiku can stand alone, with few words doing the work, giving the reader a space to contemplate, compare to their own experiences, and appreciate the beauty and delicacy of the subject matter.  In communication, we are often told that less is more.  Haiku has helped me to quiet my thoughts, concentrate on the small things, write shorter emails, become a better conversationalist, and look for natural moments of beauty all around me. It has taught me how to look and listen with more acuity for beauty. Back to the 5-7-5.  I was well into utilizing my rudimentary understanding of haiku before Higginson and Harter enlightened me on the onji and how it throws a wrench into the assumptions of our school teacher's common practice. I defer to the authors of “The Haiku Handbook” and the many other scholars who long ago made clear that us English speakers are not actually adhering to traditional Japanese haiku by using the same sound count.

One of my favorite words is verge. It is one of those fun words that can be either a noun or verb. I first gained a deeper appreciation for its meaning when reading a book about landscapes.  In that book, verge was described as a place that delineated the border of human made space and natural space. The leading example was of beachfront properties, describing how humans often desire to build sophisticated infrastructure as close to wild places as possible. So a coastline could be a verge - a transition space between the inevitable wild and the human built.  Another use of the word verge is the green space between a street and sidewalk. In this case, it is a highly controlled natural zone in the streetscape. Other terms used for that zone are berm, curb strip, swale, grass strip, terrace, green belt, tree bank, street lawn, sidewalk plot, etc. When I visited Portland, a town that does an incredible job of landscaping with diverse plantings in that zone, they refer to them as “hell strips.”  In this zone, the verge is technically, and very importantly, the right-of-way.  Say “right-of-way” 5 times fast and you'll begin to wonder how it ever got that civic definition. Whose right? What way?  It would probably be more accurate to call it a no-mans-land. Often, the sidewalk verge is an example of what is essentially the public commons gone wrong - either bare minimum treatment of weeds OR an immaculate fertilized and herbicide-fed turf grass that noone ever uses except to spend a few minutes burning fossil fuels to mow. A chemical dump.   How many verge acres are there when adding up thousands of small square foot patches in this country?  In my personal experience with a sidewalk verge, I was a volunteer leader for the landscape at my church (a former warehouse packed into a dense downtown neighborhood) that was surrounded by asphalt. Before I took on the role, there was no one doing it. I daresay that no one even thought it was a needed role because it was a weed covered hell strip next to a building that we did not own. This verge was practically invisible. I proposed a raised bed in the verge. With some TLC, it became a mini-rose garden at the side entrance of our nondescript rag tag church. A year later, Toni Costanzi, who helped us build the bed, passed away.  She was the first person from the relatively young church who had a funeral in the building, so we put a memorial sign at the corner of the bed. It was truly beautiful. A little bit of heaven on that strip. In the following three years, with some serendipitous support from local Indiana University Professor Kevin Lair, 100 linear feet of native flowers, grasses, shrubs, and trees were planted in front of the building. A section was designated as a neighborhood garden with a sign that encouraged walkers to take some food as they strolled down Sycamore St. The verge came to life. It was my introduction into native plants and forever changed my understanding of the value of ecological diversity.  There are other verges - the verb variety. Instead of a gray line of delineation, a verge can be more about decision making, at the cusp of a transition in one's life. It can be about connecting with a new opportunity.  People say they are “on the verge,” like walking towards the precipice of a monumental life decision. To verge can be like walking from the known into the unknown - facing all the pressure that comes from making a leap towards a new life.  Verges can be thwarted by outside forces - like being on the verge to victory, only to have the ball bounce the wrong way on the road to defeat. Or you can di-verge and decide to go a different way from where you had expected. In 2023, I attempted to verge into City Council political life. I walked into the Election Day party ahead in the polls, only to see my lead dwindle and then slip away at the last moment. I was on the verge to a new path in life and then I lost. The verge line between the public life of an elected offic...

On this special old school episode, Eric Riddle produced the show. The show begins reflections of friends and family members answering the question, "What Does Tony Mean to You?" The episode then transitions into Tony and Eric discussing his move to New York, details about his new book, "Hope for Troubles Minds: Tributes to Those with Brain Illnesses and Their Loved Ones," their experience going to an Indiana Hoosiers basketball game, and the background to Eric's Haikast episodes. The Revealing Voice podcast will continue in 2024 with more interviews, more Haikasts, and more news about Delight in Disorder ministries. Thank you for another great year as we wrap up the 6th year of podcasting!

I ran for City Council earlier this month. On the Sunday before the election, I decided to walk the outdoor labyrinth and then I went home to write, rather than continuing to seek, knock, and ask my way into office. This is an edited version of what I wrote while in that moment:  Beautiful fall day in early November. After 3 months of knocking on over 1,000 doors, I find myself sitting on my front porch, compelled to capture this moment of tension, 48 hours before the final votes are cast. I've never run for a political office. This year, I finally succumbed to the drumbeat of people telling me that I have the right personality and patience to do the job. This is what I have come to understand - people care deeply for their neighbor, but aren't sure what is best for others. In that quandary, some think that people should trust in self organization and caring for each other, free from the restrictions or requirements of a governmental authority. Others see the mounting needs of others in society and see great value in a public institution that cares for those who struggle.  I believe that humans have the capability and responsibility to organize effective governance so that the plight of poverty is diminished in civilization. But we must be actively engaged in our democracy to make this aspiration possible.  I am at peace with my participation in this democratic process. I entered this campaign focused on meeting my neighbors, sharing my story of developing my leadership sensibilities during the city's flood recovery, and focusing on affordable housing, the mental health matters initiative, supporting Nexus Park and the associated economic development around the area, and meaningful participation in the local climate alliance. I'm committed to the work of Landmark Columbus for preserving our cultural heritage and advancing design principles in our civic life.  Getting votes can have a corrupting influence on the imagination. It's easy to weigh every decision as an opportunity to gain as many votes as possible. And if not careful, it's easy to start objectifying and stereotyping people in the process. Asking yourself, who should I and who should I not care about in this time-constrained endeavor to win?  At some point about a month ago, I let go of the pressure to win and focused on the process. It is more about paying attention to democracy and less about politics. To care about people voting and wanting to be educated about the issues. This does not need to be a popularity contest.  When people talk about democracy dying, I think it's because we have turned our minds towards the abstractions of national politics and not towards the relationships that can be formed between voters and their elected officials. It is easier to have that relationship building value in a city election. I've been able to meet a large percentage of the people who live in this neighborhood. I have the experience of listening to and caring for all of the perspectives that have been expressed to me along the way. People have respectfully disagreed with me. Some have not been able to engage in conversation at all due to my party affiliation. Others have been willing to listen to change their mind. I've had big smiles and high fives and invites into homes.  I grew up in this district on Woodfield Place, went to school, bought my first home, attended church, and settled into this home with Jen for the past 11 years in this district. I raised my children here. It's been an honor to meet so many people who create the fabric of my existence. Who help keep me safe, who provide joy with their house decorations, who work to make this community better. I'm unconventional - more of an artist than an economist. I would like to think that I have the best designed signs among all the candidates. I'm not the best public speaker and I still get butterflies every time I think about knocking on doors.  Today is the first day that I did not feel those butterflies.

I dedicate this Haikast to my wife, Jennifer Anne Riddle, for our 11 year wedding anniversary! I asked Jen to marry me in the center of a labyrinth on a cold February afternoon. The previous week was Valentine's Day and she was clearly upset that I did not pop the question during dinner in downtown Indianapolis. She didn't know that I was waiting for Ash Wednesday the following week. I first met Jen in Boston in 2009. She was one of my sister's roommates. When I went to cheer on my sister in the Boston Marathon, the all women's Christian household where Suzanne lived allowed an exception to have a guy stay overnight since I was a family member.   I was dating at the time, so I didn't think beyond the budding of a platonic relationship. Besides, I have never had much of a radar for flirtation. We did share great conversations about Jack Kerouac, the band U2, the NFL, and my endeavor to write a book about the Columbus flood recovery. We even shared an ice cream cone. Platonically. It was about a year later when she called me randomly after the Indianapolis Colts lost the Super Bowl to the New Orleans Saints. She called again a month later when the Duke Blue Devils beat the Butler Bulldogs in the NCAA basketball championship. At that point, I was single and surprised by what became clear, after the second call, that these were not random conversations.  We quickly jumped to topics with a little more spiritual depth. Independently, in that spring of 2010, we both decided to give up all liquids except water for Lent. She was doing it for a ministry called Blood:Water mission. I was doing it because I realized that I had become entirely too dependent on daily coffee. This opened up our conversations of shared journeys.  You may say that we entered the labyrinth together that spring. Two years later, when we were walking a real labyrinth together - on the threshold of the marriage proposal - we had been through a lot. She moved to Columbus and transferred to Christian Theological Seminary in Indianapolis to complete her Masters of Divinity degree. We broke up twice as I navigated the nagging suffering of post-divorce life and introducing my children to her. We lived through me having a major depressive episode. It wasn't a straight shot to the altar. I don't think life ever is as linear as we want it to be. Labyrinths have been around a long time.  If you dive into the history, you'll discover that many ancient cultures spread across the globe have iconography related to labyrinths. Coins from Greece in the 5th century BC included labyrinth images. It is thought that the labyrinth has been part of human civilization for over 4,000 years.  If you are not familiar with labyrinths - or perhaps only associate the term with David Bowie's film from the 1980s - there is a very strong distinction from a maze. People get lost in mazes in a series of dead ends with only one way through. If doing a maze on paper, you may need to erase your path a few times before successfully finding your way out. You will not get lost in a labyrinth or need to retrace your steps. While the traditional labyrinth, codified in the 13th century floor of a French cathedral, may seem intimidating with 11 concentric rings leading to a circle in the middle - it is not a place of dead ends. You will find your way to the center - to what some labyrinth aficionados describe as the womb. A safe place to reflect before reentering the world.  Labyrinths are the home of spiritual ritual. On that Ash Wednesday with Jen, I chose the labyrinth walk as a sign that we would never face a dead end. We might not be able to anticipate the twists and turns, but we would do it together, we will find the center.   As we walked out, we headed inside the church on the property. We walked out with ash on our foreheads, a sign that sacrifice and mourning is part of this life. While probably not the first choice of most people who are minutes into engagement, it was fitting for us.

There is much good news from Delight in Disorder Ministries. Kevin Earleybird Earley has been appointed Associate Producer for Revealing Voices. He will also serve as co-host. This episode is a sneak preview of some of what lies ahead. The long-anticipated, eagerly awaited book Hope for Troubled Minds: Tributes to People with Brain Illnesses and Their Loved Ones will be released November 1. The 300+ page book is filled with letters, poems, and song lyrics from over 100 contributors. Until October 1, 2023, pre-orders for books signed by Tony Roberts can be placed at this link:https://delightindisorder.org/hftm-preorder/ The photo was taken by mental health advocate Linda Mimms at the 25th Anniversary Gala of Treatment Advocacy Center.

There is much good news from Delight in Disorder Ministries. Kevin Earleybird Earley has been appointed Associate Producer for Revealing Voices. He will also serve as co-host. This episode is a sneak preview of some of what lies ahead. The long-anticipated, eagerly awaited book Hope for Troubled Minds: Tributes to People with Brain Illnesses and Their Loved Ones will be released November 1. The 300+ page book is filled with letters, poems, and song lyrics from over 100 contributors. Until October 1, 2023, pre-orders for books signed by Tony Roberts can be placed at this link:https://delightindisorder.org/hftm-preorder/ The photo was taken by mental health advocate Linda Mimms at the 25th Anniversary Gala of Treatment Advocacy Center.

It's hard to accurately describe how big my parents' garden was when I was a child.  I remember many summer days working with them to dig rows, plant seeds, weed and harvest.  It was home to many vegetables, most notably the corn that my dad loved to grow and the green beans that I wasn't as fond of. But just as the corn towered over my single digit self, the garden also spread wide to be as big as any that I knew.  To my eye, perhaps only my dad's parents' garden in rural Green County, Indiana was larger. Whatever the dimensions, it was large enough to plant in me a seed of understanding and a desire to want to have my own garden.    I am excited that this year I only spent $10 on my entire vegetable garden thanks to a combination of saving seed packets from last year, harvesting my own seeds, trading plants with friends, getting seeds from the public library seed share program, and allowing volunteer plants to find their way. A package of brussel sprout plant plugs and a seed pack of green beans was my only expense for a massive harvest this year. It may seem counterintuitive, but the more involved with plants I have become, the less I have had to spend on their cultivation.  For people who did not grow up around the cycle of planting and harvesting, I can imagine that gardening may seem like a risky gamble into struggling with unkempt weeds and frustrating neighbors.  Depending on your property, a garden can be a public hobby and, if you aren't sure of your motivations or confident in what you are doing, may invite embarrassment at the site of perceived failure when the harvest doesn't seem worth the effort. What I can tell you is this - the more that I have gardened, the more I realize that I don't do the gardening for my diet, property value, public relations with my neighbors, or to fill my time. I garden for the plants and for the non-human life that benefits from the presence of diversity on my property.  Yes, all of the former that I mentioned are definitely benefits for me as well.. I will be the first to raise my hand to say that a late spring harvest of salad greens or a  long awaited late summer watermelon are among the most savory and sweet moments of my year.    In the garden, beyond the abundance of harvest, there is also death.  The use of herbicides, forgetting to water during dry spells, the mildew that may get hold of my squash before maturity, and all kinds of other unforeseen events may create less than ideal conditions of growth. The natural lifecycle of plants and insects, and, of course, rabbits' appetites, will inevitably dash one's ideal harvest dreams.  I have more than once accidentally pulled a maturing desirable plant in my hasteful weeding endeavor on a hot summer evening. It doesn't take too long to cope with death in the garden - both intentional and unintentional. This seasonal lifecycle welcomes my presence in this entire drama, especially with native plants.  The ultimate goal of a balanced, thriving environment around my home is my care and attention.  That is why I do my best to restrain myself from pulling plants that migrate to parts of my yard where they were not originally planted. Rather than dumping fertilizer at a fixed location, I let them show me where they want to grow. I figure that they know better than I do what conditions work best for them - small changes in sunlight, moisture, soil type and neighboring plants play a big role in what will thrive and what will falter. Knowing this, I do my best to work with the plants to let them exert their preferences, rather than me enforcing mine.  I have a perhaps too cautious concern for the use of fertilizers and anything that ends with the suffix “-ide”, so I rely on my time to be the best determiner of what grows and what dies.  So I watch, learn, and plan for the introduction of new plants and successional plantings to keep the bees busy. I want to attract other flying friends - whether it be birds or other insects,

It's hard to accurately describe how big my parents' garden was when I was a child.  I remember many summer days working with them to dig rows, plant seeds, weed and harvest.  It was home to many vegetables, most notably the corn that my dad loved to grow and the green beans that I wasn't as fond of. But just as the corn towered over my single digit self, the garden also spread wide to be as big as any that I knew.  To my eye, perhaps only my dad's parents' garden in rural Green County, Indiana was larger. Whatever the dimensions, it was large enough to plant in me a seed of understanding and a desire to want to have my own garden.    I am excited that this year I only spent $10 on my entire vegetable garden thanks to a combination of saving seed packets from last year, harvesting my own seeds, trading plants with friends, getting seeds from the public library seed share program, and allowing volunteer plants to find their way. A package of brussel sprout plant plugs and a seed pack of green beans was my only expense for a massive harvest this year. It may seem counterintuitive, but the more involved with plants I have become, the less I have had to spend on their cultivation.  For people who did not grow up around the cycle of planting and harvesting, I can imagine that gardening may seem like a risky gamble into struggling with unkempt weeds and frustrating neighbors.  Depending on your property, a garden can be a public hobby and, if you aren't sure of your motivations or confident in what you are doing, may invite embarrassment at the site of perceived failure when the harvest doesn't seem worth the effort. What I can tell you is this - the more that I have gardened, the more I realize that I don't do the gardening for my diet, property value, public relations with my neighbors, or to fill my time. I garden for the plants and for the non-human life that benefits from the presence of diversity on my property.  Yes, all of the former that I mentioned are definitely benefits for me as well.. I will be the first to raise my hand to say that a late spring harvest of salad greens or a  long awaited late summer watermelon are among the most savory and sweet moments of my year.    In the garden, beyond the abundance of harvest, there is also death.  The use of herbicides, forgetting to water during dry spells, the mildew that may get hold of my squash before maturity, and all kinds of other unforeseen events may create less than ideal conditions of growth. The natural lifecycle of plants and insects, and, of course, rabbits' appetites, will inevitably dash one's ideal harvest dreams.  I have more than once accidentally pulled a maturing desirable plant in my hasteful weeding endeavor on a hot summer evening. It doesn't take too long to cope with death in the garden - both intentional and unintentional. This seasonal lifecycle welcomes my presence in this entire drama, especially with native plants.  The ultimate goal of a balanced, thriving environment around my home is my care and attention.  That is why I do my best to restrain myself from pulling plants that migrate to parts of my yard where they were not originally planted. Rather than dumping fertilizer at a fixed location, I let them show me where they want to grow. I figure that they know better than I do what conditions work best for them - small changes in sunlight, moisture, soil type and neighboring plants play a big role in what will thrive and what will falter. Knowing this, I do my best to work with the plants to let them exert their preferences, rather than me enforcing mine.  I have a perhaps too cautious concern for the use of fertilizers and anything that ends with the suffix “-ide”, so I rely on my time to be the best determiner of what grows and what dies.  So I watch, learn, and plan for the introduction of new plants and successional plantings to keep the bees busy. I want to attract other flying friends - whether it be birds or other insects,

My basement stairs now have the “Rips Room” letters that I, Eric Rippy Riddle, inherited from my grandfather, Amos Harlen Rippy. The letters hung in the same formation from his home in Tell City, IN throughout my young life.  It is an honor to walk down my stairs and remember the familiar walk down my grandparents basement steps.  My grandfather was a quiet man.  Growing up, the things that I most identified with my grandfather were: His stable presence in all of my big life's moments He worked most of his life at the Tell City Chair Company He owned a golf cart at his local course and played all the time He absolutely loved St. Louis Cardinals baseball He was responsible for hanging the witty sayings and announcements with the black plastic letters on the church sign He stopped smoking in the early 1980s when I asked him why he smoked (I have little recollection of this, but it was often stated at family gatherings) He was in the Air Force in World War 2 The family called him “Pop”.  His friend's called him “Rip.” In 2013, Pop was my last grandparent to die.  I was close to all 4 of my grandparents, but Pop's quiet nature was overshadowed by my grandmother who showered love, attention, and lots of cookies on me. His quiet presence was one of solidarity, but not as much what I would call intimacy. It felt like there was something that I didn't know about him and wasn' sure how to find out. The funny thing is that I did not cry at the funerals of my other grandparents. I also did not speak at those funerals. I did both the day Pop was buried. His funeral is easily the most memorable for me.  I remember standing on the cemetery hillside, listening to the playing of Taps and getting an overwhelming feeling of what I can only describe as being opened.  I was compelled to begin writing poetry that I described as “openings”.  I wrote this after Pop's funeral:  Today, Pop was buriedNext to my mother's motherSunny, windy on top of Tell CityMy son watched the old man fold the flagRed, White, Blue describedI stood in the tent, feeling an openingA generation is goneMy mom, dad, aunt, and uncle said their goodbyeAt the church, I took the KleenexAnd mumbled through 8 tissuesI said death is a mythand my grandfather is alive – Pop lived 68 years after he flew over Tokyo in 1945.  It took me until 2022 to realize that my grandfather was part of Operation Meetinghouse. The air raids over Tokyo on March 9th and 10th in 1945 are considered the deadliest air raid in human history.  With a firestorm that killed nearly 100,000 people, the napalm burned a quarter of Tokyo to the ground.  While the atomic bombs get the attention, it was the Operation Meetinghouse air raid that my grandfather participated in that took the most human life. His generation fought the most lethal war in human history. Pop embodied the conflict that horrifies and amazes all who study that time in human history.  I can not imagine the psychological anguish - whether felt or stuffed into his unconscious that he must have experienced. I wish I could have known more and spoken to him about that time in his life.   I wept the day I pieced together the dates of Operation Meetinghouse with what my brother had discovered in Pop's journals. While it did not feel like a family secret, this realization was an unearthing of family history that has been life altering to me. It feels like a lost treasure with a key that could only truly be opened by talking to Pop. I think part of my emotional reaction is not being able to talk to him about the experience. I am not sure how this has shaped me or how this knowledge will play a role in my life.  It is real and painful and unforgettable.  When he died, and I felt opened, maybe it was a way of passing on a desire for my generation to be reconcilers in a world prone to war. This deeper understanding of Pop's Air Force service has drawn me closer to him since his passing. When I think of Tom Brokaw's book,

My basement stairs now have the “Rips Room” letters that I, Eric Rippy Riddle, inherited from my grandfather, Amos Harlen Rippy. The letters hung in the same formation from his home in Tell City, IN throughout my young life.  It is an honor to walk down my stairs and remember the familiar walk down my grandparents basement steps.  My grandfather was a quiet man.  Growing up, the things that I most identified with my grandfather were: His stable presence in all of my big life's moments He worked most of his life at the Tell City Chair Company He owned a golf cart at his local course and played all the time He absolutely loved St. Louis Cardinals baseball He was responsible for hanging the witty sayings and announcements with the black plastic letters on the church sign He stopped smoking in the early 1980s when I asked him why he smoked (I have little recollection of this, but it was often stated at family gatherings) He was in the Air Force in World War 2 The family called him “Pop”.  His friend's called him “Rip.” In 2013, Pop was my last grandparent to die.  I was close to all 4 of my grandparents, but Pop's quiet nature was overshadowed by my grandmother who showered love, attention, and lots of cookies on me. His quiet presence was one of solidarity, but not as much what I would call intimacy. It felt like there was something that I didn't know about him and wasn' sure how to find out. The funny thing is that I did not cry at the funerals of my other grandparents. I also did not speak at those funerals. I did both the day Pop was buried. His funeral is easily the most memorable for me.  I remember standing on the cemetery hillside, listening to the playing of Taps and getting an overwhelming feeling of what I can only describe as being opened.  I was compelled to begin writing poetry that I described as “openings”.  I wrote this after Pop's funeral:  Today, Pop was buriedNext to my mother's motherSunny, windy on top of Tell CityMy son watched the old man fold the flagRed, White, Blue describedI stood in the tent, feeling an openingA generation is goneMy mom, dad, aunt, and uncle said their goodbyeAt the church, I took the KleenexAnd mumbled through 8 tissuesI said death is a mythand my grandfather is alive – Pop lived 68 years after he flew over Tokyo in 1945.  It took me until 2022 to realize that my grandfather was part of Operation Meetinghouse. The air raids over Tokyo on March 9th and 10th in 1945 are considered the deadliest air raid in human history.  With a firestorm that killed nearly 100,000 people, the napalm burned a quarter of Tokyo to the ground.  While the atomic bombs get the attention, it was the Operation Meetinghouse air raid that my grandfather participated in that took the most human life. His generation fought the most lethal war in human history. Pop embodied the conflict that horrifies and amazes all who study that time in human history.  I can not imagine the psychological anguish - whether felt or stuffed into his unconscious that he must have experienced. I wish I could have known more and spoken to him about that time in his life.   I wept the day I pieced together the dates of Operation Meetinghouse with what my brother had discovered in Pop's journals. While it did not feel like a family secret, this realization was an unearthing of family history that has been life altering to me. It feels like a lost treasure with a key that could only truly be opened by talking to Pop. I think part of my emotional reaction is not being able to talk to him about the experience. I am not sure how this has shaped me or how this knowledge will play a role in my life.  It is real and painful and unforgettable.  When he died, and I felt opened, maybe it was a way of passing on a desire for my generation to be reconcilers in a world prone to war. This deeper understanding of Pop's Air Force service has drawn me closer to him since his passing. When I think of Tom Brokaw's book,

Technical producer Kevin Earleybird Earley is our guest host for this episode of Revealing Voices. He interviews fellow creative and long time friend Substantial. Prince George's County, Maryland-born MC, producer, artist, and educator, Substantial, debuted in 2000 collaborating with the late Japanese producer Nujabes, who later worked on the popular show Samurai Champloo. Legendary rapper and activist, Chuck D of Public Enemy referred to Substantial as “One of the great MCs of our time.” His soulful and introspective brand of Hip Hop music has received critical acclaim from Ebony.com, The Source Magazine, HipHopDX, DJBooth.net, and Okayplayer.com. His music videos have appeared on MTV, VH1, and BET. Substantial has performed in nearly 20 countries and has collaborated with artists such as Kool Herc, L Universe better known as Verbal (M-Flo), Oddisee, and more. Substantial has licensed music to major brands such as Ford Motor Company, Bentley Motors, and UBER and also had his music featured in films and television shows such as Kevin Hart's Laugh at My Pain, Kill Me 3 Times starring Simon Pegg, Daytime Emmy nominated show Tough Love and it's spin-off series Pillow Talk. Substantial has appeared in the documentaries, Freestyle: The Art of Rhyme and Give Back. He has also written and performed original songs for games such as PUBG Mobile, Mobile Legends Bang Bang, Arknights, Tree of Savior, and Renaine. Substantial is also a two-time Hollywood Music in Media Award nominee. Earleybird and Substantial discuss taking a leap of faith, challenges for mental healthcare in minority communities, and the inspiration of music and the creative process.

Technical producer Kevin Earleybird Earley is our guest host for this episode of Revealing Voices. He interviews fellow creative and long time friend Substantial. Prince George's County, Maryland-born MC, producer, artist, and educator, Substantial, debuted in 2000 collaborating with the late Japanese producer Nujabes, who later worked on the popular show Samurai Champloo. Legendary rapper and activist, Chuck D of Public Enemy referred to Substantial as “One of the great MCs of our time.” His soulful and introspective brand of Hip Hop music has received critical acclaim from Ebony.com, The Source Magazine, HipHopDX, DJBooth.net, and Okayplayer.com. His music videos have appeared on MTV, VH1, and BET. Substantial has performed in nearly 20 countries and has collaborated with artists such as Kool Herc, L Universe better known as Verbal (M-Flo), Oddisee, and more. Substantial has licensed music to major brands such as Ford Motor Company, Bentley Motors, and UBER and also had his music featured in films and television shows such as Kevin Hart's Laugh at My Pain, Kill Me 3 Times starring Simon Pegg, Daytime Emmy nominated show Tough Love and it's spin-off series Pillow Talk. Substantial has appeared in the documentaries, Freestyle: The Art of Rhyme and Give Back. He has also written and performed original songs for games such as PUBG Mobile, Mobile Legends Bang Bang, Arknights, Tree of Savior, and Renaine. Substantial is also a two-time Hollywood Music in Media Award nominee. Earleybird and Substantial discuss taking a leap of faith, challenges for mental healthcare in minority communities, and the inspiration of music and the creative process.

Fifteen years ago, on the day my divorce was finalized, I sat around a corner table with some friends at the Columbus Bar. This was not a celebration, but a solemn gathering of men who supported me through one of the most difficult times of my life.   A few months before, my best friend, Ben Stilson, and I had changed allegiances from Buffalo Wild Wings to Columbus Bar for a number of reasons - gigantic onion rings, best fish sandwich in town, first microbrewery in Columbus, and the kindness of the owner, Jon Myers.  The Diesel Oil Stout was a revelation in local brewing beauty. That night of the divorce, Jon was serving us. For old times sake, in remembrance of fun evenings I had experienced in England back in college, I ordered an absinthe. Jon brought it to the table, with the special glassware, spoon, and sugar cube. It was a bittersweet night, but one of remarkable fraternal bonding and creation of new memories as I started a new chapter of life. Weeks later, Ben and I, along with our friend Patrick Fosdick, were forming a Columbus Young Professionals team to compete in a summer long “Amazing Race” competition. The goal was to solve clues that led us to special spots in town. We needed to take a picture at each location and write a blog post about it. We were looking for a fourth team member, so on a whim, we asked Jon if he would like to join us. He did and the 4 of us gathered at the front plaza of City Hall to begin the competition. We had forgotten to create a team name. In a moment of creative clarity, Ben offered up the name “The Local Drafts.” The double entendre of being recruited to this team and promoting Jon's Powerhouse microbrewery immediately resonated.  So the Local Drafts ran around for 3 months, bonding while taking silly pictures holding empty beer mugs all over Columbus. We finished fourth in that summer of 2008. As we realized our formal time as a team was coming to a close, we reflected on the deepening bonds we had established and brainstormed how we could keep the fun going. So we organized a party called a Blind Beer Taste Test. We picked 8 beers in a particular style and randomly placed them into an elite 8 bracket. One person poured 1.5 oz samples into 2 separate glasses and after trying both, a vote was taken. There was then a Final Four round and a final head to head match to decide the champion of the beer style. In October of 2008, Keystone Light won the inaugural Blind Beer Taste Test competition in the Light Beer style.  We loved it. And kept doing it.  I was not in a fraternity in college. I didn't like the idea of hazing and the drunkenness associated with it. As the years went on and Ben, Jon, Patrick, and I invited more people to the taste tests, we realized that the fraternal bonds that developed through this ritual and all of the friendships that emerged outside of the taste test experiences were very special. No hazing required.   In 2012, we inducted a new “class” of 4 Local Draft gentlemen and 6 more by the end of 2018.  The “organization,” and I do put that in quotes, waxed and waned in attempts to formalize, but in the end we decided we all just wanted to be together. Not to have meetings, but to have gatherings. Random happenings. Maybe it was golfing or hiking or helping someone move or supporting a Draft through a job transition, or planting trees, or volunteering, or organizing spur of the moment happy hours.  In 2017, we had our first overnight trip on a trip to Cave Run Lake in Kentucky - starting an annual tradition of a 3-night, out of state trip. It will take too long to tell the stories of Three Rivers, Michigan - other than to say the Drafts have all left a piece of their hearts with our gracious AirBnB host, Mary Doezema, and her idyllic acreage with its winding boardwalk through beautiful wetlands. The relationships with these men have all become such an incredible blessing for me. I did not know any of these guys in high school or college.

Fifteen years ago, on the day my divorce was finalized, I sat around a corner table with some friends at the Columbus Bar. This was not a celebration, but a solemn gathering of men who supported me through one of the most difficult times of my life.   A few months before, my best friend, Ben Stilson, and I had changed allegiances from Buffalo Wild Wings to Columbus Bar for a number of reasons - gigantic onion rings, best fish sandwich in town, first microbrewery in Columbus, and the kindness of the owner, Jon Myers.  The Diesel Oil Stout was a revelation in local brewing beauty. That night of the divorce, Jon was serving us. For old times sake, in remembrance of fun evenings I had experienced in England back in college, I ordered an absinthe. Jon brought it to the table, with the special glassware, spoon, and sugar cube. It was a bittersweet night, but one of remarkable fraternal bonding and creation of new memories as I started a new chapter of life. Weeks later, Ben and I, along with our friend Patrick Fosdick, were forming a Columbus Young Professionals team to compete in a summer long “Amazing Race” competition. The goal was to solve clues that led us to special spots in town. We needed to take a picture at each location and write a blog post about it. We were looking for a fourth team member, so on a whim, we asked Jon if he would like to join us. He did and the 4 of us gathered at the front plaza of City Hall to begin the competition. We had forgotten to create a team name. In a moment of creative clarity, Ben offered up the name “The Local Drafts.” The double entendre of being recruited to this team and promoting Jon's Powerhouse microbrewery immediately resonated.  So the Local Drafts ran around for 3 months, bonding while taking silly pictures holding empty beer mugs all over Columbus. We finished fourth in that summer of 2008. As we realized our formal time as a team was coming to a close, we reflected on the deepening bonds we had established and brainstormed how we could keep the fun going. So we organized a party called a Blind Beer Taste Test. We picked 8 beers in a particular style and randomly placed them into an elite 8 bracket. One person poured 1.5 oz samples into 2 separate glasses and after trying both, a vote was taken. There was then a Final Four round and a final head to head match to decide the champion of the beer style. In October of 2008, Keystone Light won the inaugural Blind Beer Taste Test competition in the Light Beer style.  We loved it. And kept doing it.  I was not in a fraternity in college. I didn't like the idea of hazing and the drunkenness associated with it. As the years went on and Ben, Jon, Patrick, and I invited more people to the taste tests, we realized that the fraternal bonds that developed through this ritual and all of the friendships that emerged outside of the taste test experiences were very special. No hazing required.   In 2012, we inducted a new “class” of 4 Local Draft gentlemen and 6 more by the end of 2018.  The “organization,” and I do put that in quotes, waxed and waned in attempts to formalize, but in the end we decided we all just wanted to be together. Not to have meetings, but to have gatherings. Random happenings. Maybe it was golfing or hiking or helping someone move or supporting a Draft through a job transition, or planting trees, or volunteering, or organizing spur of the moment happy hours.  In 2017, we had our first overnight trip on a trip to Cave Run Lake in Kentucky - starting an annual tradition of a 3-night, out of state trip. It will take too long to tell the stories of Three Rivers, Michigan - other than to say the Drafts have all left a piece of their hearts with our gracious AirBnB host, Mary Doezema, and her idyllic acreage with its winding boardwalk through beautiful wetlands. The relationships with these men have all become such an incredible blessing for me. I did not know any of these guys in high school or college.

Judge Tim Fall is a California native who changed his major three times, colleges four times, and took six years to get his bachelor's degree in a subject he's never been called upon to use professionally. He's been a trial court judge since 1995 and has taught judicial ethics to California judges for twenty years. Tim was in private civil practice for a little over seven years before taking the bench and had not seen the penal code since law school. He's a quick study though (see the above comment about taking six years to get a four-year degree). Tim writes and speaks about being a judge with a diagnosed anxiety disorder, and seeks to remove the stigma of seeking treatment for mental illness. His mental health memoir Running for Judge: Campaigning on the Trail of Despair, Deliverance, and Overwhelming Success (Wipf and Stock, 2020) is available in print, as well as from Audible and Kindle.

Judge Tim Fall is a California native who changed his major three times, colleges four times, and took six years to get his bachelor's degree in a subject he's never been called upon to use professionally. He's been a trial court judge since 1995 and has taught judicial ethics to California judges for twenty years. Tim was in private civil practice for a little over seven years before taking the bench and had not seen the penal code since law school. He's a quick study though (see the above comment about taking six years to get a four-year degree). Tim writes and speaks about being a judge with a diagnosed anxiety disorder, and seeks to remove the stigma of seeking treatment for mental illness. His mental health memoir Running for Judge: Campaigning on the Trail of Despair, Deliverance, and Overwhelming Success (Wipf and Stock, 2020) is available in print, as well as from Audible and Kindle.

Reflecting on his pastoral career and work as a mental health minister, Tony shares what it is like to be a wounded healer with a bipolar thorn in his flesh.

Reflecting on his pastoral career and work as a mental health minister, Tony shares what it is like to be a wounded healer with a bipolar thorn in his flesh.

I really enjoy the idea of volunteer work in public spaces.  For me, it feels like the basics of civilization. Essentially, I am talking about convincing people that no one needs to get paid to benefit the common good. This is a difficult task on a number of levels. First, people like to get paid. Second, there are city and county workers who get paid to maintain public spaces who may not like volunteers working in these same areas. Third, doing large scale projects to benefit the public good requires money, talent, time, and coordination. Fourth, if the project is going to endure, maintaining public space designed and created by volunteers requires long term support from people who are paid. This is even more difficult to achieve when doing landscape projects. About three years ago, my friend, Ben, and I had just completed a volunteer landscape project and had ambitions for a bigger endeavor. We needed someone who had control over substantial amounts of grass (aka green canvas) and an appreciation for native plants.   We found our key supporter in Brian Payne, Director of the AirPark property on the north side of Columbus. In addition to the acre of land that he had already given us to create a meadow, he also has about a 2 mile People Trail going through his property. We developed a fundraising campaign for $15,000 to purchase plants, signage, raised beds, and a bench for a project that we dubbed, the “AirPark Pollinator Path.”  In year one, we completed the meadow and transformed an 800 square foot AirPark entrance area into a native plant bed.  We had only used about half of our money, so for spring 2023, we decided to take on over 7,000 square feet of space. It was much more than I had dreamed was possible when we started the fundraising campaign. By the end of April, 15 new beds were completed. Over the course of one of the most incredible weeks of volunteer coordination, led by multiple Sierra Club members, the sod was removed, mulch was added, plants were layed out, holes were dug, flowers and grasses found their new homes, and water topped off the effort. And then a glorious rain fell that Saturday evening after we were done. One of the new volunteers that came out mentioned that she is getting a Masters in Public Health.  She shared with me that she is convinced that taking care of plants improves health. She wants to be able to explore that more in her education. I told her that I am very confident that horticulture therapy is an effective way of improving physical and mental health.  In my opinion, on any list of options that a doctor, therapist, public health official, pastor, or concerned friend may give to someone in need of support for their mental health, working with plants should be top 5.  I do have a broad definition for working with plants!  There are lots of actions that I associate with horticulture therapy in my life. Planting, harvesting, cooking, floral arranging, smelling, weeding, watching the insect interactions, pruning, eating raw veggies straight from the ground, picking fruits from the tree, plucking berries from the bush, drying, saving seeds, composting, rubbing fingers on a mint leaf, waving my hand over the top of native grasses….  Imagine all of the things that you can do just on the other side of what you do not control - after germination, that beautiful creative act when the green shoot emerges from seed. That first glimpse of green has a name - radicle. It is in nurturing that life just one small step after the radicle moment that horticulture therapy emerges for me.     So in these beds of columbine, butterfly weed, western sunflower, joe pye weed, penstemon, aster, coreopsis, iron weed, spiderwort, rattlesnake master, wild quinine, prairie drop seed, little blue stem, and coralberry, our friends the bees, butterflies, bugs, bats, and birds will thrive.  The fauna will bask in this culinary floral delight. This becomes their ecological home.

I really enjoy the idea of volunteer work in public spaces.  For me, it feels like the basics of civilization. Essentially, I am talking about convincing people that no one needs to get paid to benefit the common good. This is a difficult task on a number of levels. First, people like to get paid. Second, there are city and county workers who get paid to maintain public spaces who may not like volunteers working in these same areas. Third, doing large scale projects to benefit the public good requires money, talent, time, and coordination. Fourth, if the project is going to endure, maintaining public space designed and created by volunteers requires long term support from people who are paid. This is even more difficult to achieve when doing landscape projects. About three years ago, my friend, Ben, and I had just completed a volunteer landscape project and had ambitions for a bigger endeavor. We needed someone who had control over substantial amounts of grass (aka green canvas) and an appreciation for native plants.   We found our key supporter in Brian Payne, Director of the AirPark property on the north side of Columbus. In addition to the acre of land that he had already given us to create a meadow, he also has about a 2 mile People Trail going through his property. We developed a fundraising campaign for $15,000 to purchase plants, signage, raised beds, and a bench for a project that we dubbed, the “AirPark Pollinator Path.”  In year one, we completed the meadow and transformed an 800 square foot AirPark entrance area into a native plant bed.  We had only used about half of our money, so for spring 2023, we decided to take on over 7,000 square feet of space. It was much more than I had dreamed was possible when we started the fundraising campaign. By the end of April, 15 new beds were completed. Over the course of one of the most incredible weeks of volunteer coordination, led by multiple Sierra Club members, the sod was removed, mulch was added, plants were layed out, holes were dug, flowers and grasses found their new homes, and water topped off the effort. And then a glorious rain fell that Saturday evening after we were done. One of the new volunteers that came out mentioned that she is getting a Masters in Public Health.  She shared with me that she is convinced that taking care of plants improves health. She wants to be able to explore that more in her education. I told her that I am very confident that horticulture therapy is an effective way of improving physical and mental health.  In my opinion, on any list of options that a doctor, therapist, public health official, pastor, or concerned friend may give to someone in need of support for their mental health, working with plants should be top 5.  I do have a broad definition for working with plants!  There are lots of actions that I associate with horticulture therapy in my life. Planting, harvesting, cooking, floral arranging, smelling, weeding, watching the insect interactions, pruning, eating raw veggies straight from the ground, picking fruits from the tree, plucking berries from the bush, drying, saving seeds, composting, rubbing fingers on a mint leaf, waving my hand over the top of native grasses….  Imagine all of the things that you can do just on the other side of what you do not control - after germination, that beautiful creative act when the green shoot emerges from seed. That first glimpse of green has a name - radicle. It is in nurturing that life just one small step after the radicle moment that horticulture therapy emerges for me.     So in these beds of columbine, butterfly weed, western sunflower, joe pye weed, penstemon, aster, coreopsis, iron weed, spiderwort, rattlesnake master, wild quinine, prairie drop seed, little blue stem, and coralberry, our friends the bees, butterflies, bugs, bats, and birds will thrive.  The fauna will bask in this culinary floral delight. This becomes their ecological home.

Dr. Stephen Grcevich (MD, Northeast Ohio Medical University) serves as the founder and President of Key Ministry. He is a child and adolescent psychiatrist who combines over 25 years of knowledge gained through clinical practice and teaching with extensive research experience evaluating medications prescribed to children and teens for ADHD, anxiety, and depression. Dr. Grcevich has been a presenter at over 35 national and international medical conferences and is a past recipient of the Exemplary Psychiatrist Award from the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI).  In his role as President of Key Ministry, Steve serves the primary vision caster and spokesperson for Key and plays an important role in Key's efforts to develop collaborations with church leaders, professionals and organizations both within and outside the disability ministry movement. He is responsible for strategy and oversees the implementation of Key's ministry plan. He blogs at Church4EveryChild.org, is a regular contributor for Moody Radio Cleveland and frequently speaks at national and international ministry conferences on mental health and spiritual development. His first book, Mental Health and the Church, was published by Zondervan in February 2018.  Steve and his wife Denise live in Chagrin Falls, Ohio. They have two daughters - Leah and her husband (Max) are students at the Alabama College of Osteopathic Medicine, and Mira is attending Belmont University and is majoring in psychology. Steve's work serves as a distraction from the abysmal performance of Cleveland's professional sports teams.

Dr. Stephen Grcevich (MD, Northeast Ohio Medical University) serves as the founder and President of Key Ministry. He is a child and adolescent psychiatrist who combines over 25 years of knowledge gained through clinical practice and teaching with extensive research experience evaluating medications prescribed to children and teens for ADHD, anxiety, and depression. Dr. Grcevich has been a presenter at over 35 national and international medical conferences and is a past recipient of the Exemplary Psychiatrist Award from the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI).  In his role as President of Key Ministry, Steve serves the primary vision caster and spokesperson for Key and plays an important role in Key's efforts to develop collaborations with church leaders, professionals and organizations both within and outside the disability ministry movement. He is responsible for strategy and oversees the implementation of Key's ministry plan. He blogs at Church4EveryChild.org, is a regular contributor for Moody Radio Cleveland and frequently speaks at national and international ministry conferences on mental health and spiritual development. His first book, Mental Health and the Church, was published by Zondervan in February 2018.  Steve and his wife Denise live in Chagrin Falls, Ohio. They have two daughters - Leah and her husband (Max) are students at the Alabama College of Osteopathic Medicine, and Mira is attending Belmont University and is majoring in psychology. Steve's work serves as a distraction from the abysmal performance of Cleveland's professional sports teams.

I love spring and love moseying around my yard, marvelling at the flowers popping through the mulch and the abundance of - are they pink, magenta, maybe even purple - or simply, redbud tree blossoms. There's so much to be thankful for. That being said, please take a few minutes with me to consider the suppression of this beauty.  The culprit is grass. It's mid-April and I just mowed for the first time this year. Thankfully, over the last 5 years, I have slowly transitioned the lawn into mulched flower beds and raised vegetable beds - drastically cutting the square footage of space for my human powered, reel lawn mower. It may not be the cleanest cut, but it's pollution free and a good workout.  There are empty lawn lots across this country. Much of it is public space, maintained by the city or state.  There are some immaculate lawns full of fertilizer, herbicide, and perfectly mown lines - my favorite are the diagonal strips that make X's. Like a baseball field ready for the World Series.  But I'm not talking about the outfield of the St. Louis Cardinals. You may not realize where these lots are in your city because they are so incredibly unremarkable.  The purpose of these spaces is to keep the grass from getting too tall to not get a complaint.  They are the kind of places that no one cares much about, so they are rarely used.   The funny thing is that they don't serve much of a human purpose, but we, as humans, can't help ourselves from mowing the spaces every week to literally kill any chance of other living things from finding a reliable food source and safe shelter. If non-human life do risk taking up residence, they'll probably get killed by a mower blade or someone who decided that the dandelions simply cast too yellow a glow on the turf.   CNN reported in April 2022 that in Palm Springs, California, it takes 63,000 gallons of water per year to maintain the green in a 1,500 square foot yard. That's not even a big yard. I could go on with stats from various sources about the immense cost of maintaining a yard - Business Insider magazine reported in 2016 that Americans spend more than $30 billion/year on maintaining their yards.  Some reporters describe lawn as the largest “cash crop” in the United States because of that expense.  Not cash for the homeowners who spend hours and dollars to - it is very odd to say - “raise grass”, but cash for the companies that perpetuate the need for these great green monoculture carpets.   What is the benefit of this cash crop?   I think it has a lot to do with control, senseless social norms, and the fear of wilderness.   A couple years ago, my friend and I approached the Columbus, IN city airport about the possibility of adding native plant space to the AirPark.  We identified an acre of space between the Columbus Community Garden and a nearby subdivision.  Thankfully, the AirPark Director saw the vision of creating habitat using native plants in the space that was the type of mow over zone I've been describing.  The Director understands that maintaining the grass is expensive and takes up the labor time of his staff. I had no experience in converting grass to a native plant meadow, so I followed the suggestion of our local Sycamore Land Trust. We began with spraying the field with Roundup 2 times over the course of 4 months. In February, we broadcast 40 different native plant seed varieties across the area and let it grow until July.  In July, it was moved to about an 8 inch height to knock down the weeds and give more light to the germinating seed.   Over Thanksgiving weekend, I went out into the field and did a 360 video of the space to send to my friend at the Land Trust. He was happy with the growth in the first year.   I brought to the field a large bin of harvested seed heads from my home. I added this seed to the edge near the bench we dedicated to my friend, Chelsea. It is exciting to have an acre that is growing wild in our city.

I love spring and love moseying around my yard, marvelling at the flowers popping through the mulch and the abundance of - are they pink, magenta, maybe even purple - or simply, redbud tree blossoms. There's so much to be thankful for. That being said, please take a few minutes with me to consider the suppression of this beauty.  The culprit is grass. It's mid-April and I just mowed for the first time this year. Thankfully, over the last 5 years, I have slowly transitioned the lawn into mulched flower beds and raised vegetable beds - drastically cutting the square footage of space for my human powered, reel lawn mower. It may not be the cleanest cut, but it's pollution free and a good workout.  There are empty lawn lots across this country. Much of it is public space, maintained by the city or state.  There are some immaculate lawns full of fertilizer, herbicide, and perfectly mown lines - my favorite are the diagonal strips that make X's. Like a baseball field ready for the World Series.  But I'm not talking about the outfield of the St. Louis Cardinals. You may not realize where these lots are in your city because they are so incredibly unremarkable.  The purpose of these spaces is to keep the grass from getting too tall to not get a complaint.  They are the kind of places that no one cares much about, so they are rarely used.   The funny thing is that they don't serve much of a human purpose, but we, as humans, can't help ourselves from mowing the spaces every week to literally kill any chance of other living things from finding a reliable food source and safe shelter. If non-human life do risk taking up residence, they'll probably get killed by a mower blade or someone who decided that the dandelions simply cast too yellow a glow on the turf.   CNN reported in April 2022 that in Palm Springs, California, it takes 63,000 gallons of water per year to maintain the green in a 1,500 square foot yard. That's not even a big yard. I could go on with stats from various sources about the immense cost of maintaining a yard - Business Insider magazine reported in 2016 that Americans spend more than $30 billion/year on maintaining their yards.  Some reporters describe lawn as the largest “cash crop” in the United States because of that expense.  Not cash for the homeowners who spend hours and dollars to - it is very odd to say - “raise grass”, but cash for the companies that perpetuate the need for these great green monoculture carpets.   What is the benefit of this cash crop?   I think it has a lot to do with control, senseless social norms, and the fear of wilderness.   A couple years ago, my friend and I approached the Columbus, IN city airport about the possibility of adding native plant space to the AirPark.  We identified an acre of space between the Columbus Community Garden and a nearby subdivision.  Thankfully, the AirPark Director saw the vision of creating habitat using native plants in the space that was the type of mow over zone I've been describing.  The Director understands that maintaining the grass is expensive and takes up the labor time of his staff. I had no experience in converting grass to a native plant meadow, so I followed the suggestion of our local Sycamore Land Trust. We began with spraying the field with Roundup 2 times over the course of 4 months. In February, we broadcast 40 different native plant seed varieties across the area and let it grow until July.  In July, it was moved to about an 8 inch height to knock down the weeds and give more light to the germinating seed.   Over Thanksgiving weekend, I went out into the field and did a 360 video of the space to send to my friend at the Land Trust. He was happy with the growth in the first year.   I brought to the field a large bin of harvested seed heads from my home. I added this seed to the edge near the bench we dedicated to my friend, Chelsea. It is exciting to have an acre that is growing wild in our city.

How do you forgive when you've been wounded deeply? How do you move past the pain that keeps you up at night, leaves you isolated, untrusting, and afraid? How can you possibly forgive them, especially when they don't deserve forgiveness? Pastor Mark Sowersby shares his testimony with his ministry and book by the same name, Forgiving The Nightmare. He writes — "After living through years of sexual and physical abuse, the Lord brought me on a journey to forgive the ones who trespassed against me. Forgiving the Nightmare is a ministry to help people walk through forgiveness from past hurts or abuse by sharing the love of God and encouraging people to accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. In 2019 I began speaking publicly about my personal journey, being transparent, open, and genuine. I have also written a book by the same name Forgiving the Nightmare Here is a link to my website and video." https://youtu.be/W07oCKA0iBk www.forgivingthenightmare.com FTN has been asked to produce a Forgiving The Nightmare TV series. They are fundraising to support this. Mark shares, “Thank you for your prayers and help. May the Lord be glorified. God bless you.” https://www.givesendgo.com/FTNTV?utm_source=sharelink&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_campaign=FTNTV

How do you forgive when you've been wounded deeply? How do you move past the pain that keeps you up at night, leaves you isolated, untrusting, and afraid? How can you possibly forgive them, especially when they don't deserve forgiveness? Pastor Mark Sowersby shares his testimony with his ministry and book by the same name, Forgiving The Nightmare. He writes — "After living through years of sexual and physical abuse, the Lord brought me on a journey to forgive the ones who trespassed against me. Forgiving the Nightmare is a ministry to help people walk through forgiveness from past hurts or abuse by sharing the love of God and encouraging people to accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. In 2019 I began speaking publicly about my personal journey, being transparent, open, and genuine. I have also written a book by the same name Forgiving the Nightmare Here is a link to my website and video." https://youtu.be/W07oCKA0iBk www.forgivingthenightmare.com FTN has been asked to produce a Forgiving The Nightmare TV series. They are fundraising to support this. Mark shares, “Thank you for your prayers and help. May the Lord be glorified. God bless you.” https://www.givesendgo.com/FTNTV?utm_source=sharelink&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_campaign=FTNTV

What are your thoughts on the cliche - “The universe is trying to talk to you?” Humans run a wide range in the coincidence through divine intervention spectrum. The Universe talking to you falls somewhere closer to the divine intervention side. Living the majority of my life as a Christian who relies on research to guide my decision making, I have been trained to respectfully listen to this entire spectrum of perspectives without rolling my eyes. So I appreciate the Biblical call to pray without ceasing, but I also appreciate the cause and effect nature of reality. I find that isolation is one of the many effects and causes of mental health struggles. I think part of that isolation is a desire to pause life, figure out how to stop having symptoms, and then play again once the struggle is over. During physical sickness, that pause for me is often grabbing a 2 liter of sprite, a few cans of chicken noodle soup, crackers, and some Tylenol, and hanging on the couch for a couple days to recover. After the temperature is normal and the fatigue lifts, I press play and am ready to get back to work. Society allows the time out and generally accepts that getting back to normal is a routine part of getting sick. We are expected to isolate and get well. There's even a growing use of the term “presenteeism” - which relates to the issues caused by working while sick and the negative impacts it can have on getting others sick. Since the pandemic, presenteeism is being addressed by encouraging more self care before getting back to work. Mental health struggles don't often work the same way. Symptoms don't reliably go away in 48 hours - sometimes they may hang round for 48 days or 48 months. During a recent struggle with feelings of isolation, I went to a mental health support group called Faithful Friends. We ate together and decided to play a game called Mad Gab. The game focuses on trying to unscramble three lines of words that sound like nonsense, but can be phonetically aligned into a common saying. For example, try to figure this one out: Key Pure Rye Sonnet I will say again, a little faster: Key Pure Rye Sonnet The answer is: Keep your eyes on it. At the Faithful Friends meeting, this was one of the Mad Gabs: Yule Nut Bar Hawk Howl Own Did you figure it out? Here it is again: Yule Nut Bar Hawk Howl Own The answer to this one is: You'll never walk alone. The 8 of us in the room played the game for a joyous 2 hours. One of my friends in attendance said he couldn't remember the last time he smiled that much. He is a music aficionado. He related the “You'll Never Walk Alone” gab to a song by the same name from the 1940s. As he talked, it occurred to me that lyrics from the song are passionately chanted at Liverpool's Premier League Soccer matches. We listened to the Liverpool crowd singalong that is included in the Pink Floyd song called “Fearless.” We then read the lyrics from the original Rodgers and Hammerstein 1945 musical Carousel. The chorus is: Walk on, Walk on With hope in your heart And you'll never walk alone The conversations that percolated around this song were very fortifying.. The next evening, I began reading The Antropocene Reviewed, a book by John Green. The first chapter is titled “You'll Never Walk Alone.” Ha! I instantly sent a message to my music aficionado friend. He and I may share mental health diagnoses that bring feelings of isolation at times, but we also know the joy of rediscovering how connected we really are. Physical recovery and mental health recovery are very different. In one, we are expected to isolate. In the other, we need to be encouraged to join a community of acceptance. We may not think that the universe ever talks to us, but we need to know that there are plenty of others who will. Synchronicity “You'll Never Walk Alone” song Appears twice this week https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkgaMFjo_lIhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OV5_LQArLa0

What are your thoughts on the cliche - “The universe is trying to talk to you?” Humans run a wide range in the coincidence through divine intervention spectrum. The Universe talking to you falls somewhere closer to the divine intervention side. Living the majority of my life as a Christian who relies on research to guide my decision making, I have been trained to respectfully listen to this entire spectrum of perspectives without rolling my eyes. So I appreciate the Biblical call to pray without ceasing, but I also appreciate the cause and effect nature of reality. I find that isolation is one of the many effects and causes of mental health struggles. I think part of that isolation is a desire to pause life, figure out how to stop having symptoms, and then play again once the struggle is over. During physical sickness, that pause for me is often grabbing a 2 liter of sprite, a few cans of chicken noodle soup, crackers, and some Tylenol, and hanging on the couch for a couple days to recover. After the temperature is normal and the fatigue lifts, I press play and am ready to get back to work. Society allows the time out and generally accepts that getting back to normal is a routine part of getting sick. We are expected to isolate and get well. There's even a growing use of the term “presenteeism” - which relates to the issues caused by working while sick and the negative impacts it can have on getting others sick. Since the pandemic, presenteeism is being addressed by encouraging more self care before getting back to work. Mental health struggles don't often work the same way. Symptoms don't reliably go away in 48 hours - sometimes they may hang round for 48 days or 48 months. During a recent struggle with feelings of isolation, I went to a mental health support group called Faithful Friends. We ate together and decided to play a game called Mad Gab. The game focuses on trying to unscramble three lines of words that sound like nonsense, but can be phonetically aligned into a common saying. For example, try to figure this one out: Key Pure Rye Sonnet I will say again, a little faster: Key Pure Rye Sonnet The answer is: Keep your eyes on it. At the Faithful Friends meeting, this was one of the Mad Gabs: Yule Nut Bar Hawk Howl Own Did you figure it out? Here it is again: Yule Nut Bar Hawk Howl Own The answer to this one is: You'll never walk alone. The 8 of us in the room played the game for a joyous 2 hours. One of my friends in attendance said he couldn't remember the last time he smiled that much. He is a music aficionado. He related the “You'll Never Walk Alone” gab to a song by the same name from the 1940s. As he talked, it occurred to me that lyrics from the song are passionately chanted at Liverpool's Premier League Soccer matches. We listened to the Liverpool crowd singalong that is included in the Pink Floyd song called “Fearless.” We then read the lyrics from the original Rodgers and Hammerstein 1945 musical Carousel. The chorus is: Walk on, Walk on With hope in your heart And you'll never walk alone The conversations that percolated around this song were very fortifying.. The next evening, I began reading The Antropocene Reviewed, a book by John Green. The first chapter is titled “You'll Never Walk Alone.” Ha! I instantly sent a message to my music aficionado friend. He and I may share mental health diagnoses that bring feelings of isolation at times, but we also know the joy of rediscovering how connected we really are. Physical recovery and mental health recovery are very different. In one, we are expected to isolate. In the other, we need to be encouraged to join a community of acceptance. We may not think that the universe ever talks to us, but we need to know that there are plenty of others who will. Synchronicity “You'll Never Walk Alone” song Appears twice this week https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkgaMFjo_lIhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OV5_LQArLa0

The Rev. Dr. Sarah Lund's mission is to partner with others to share hope and healing. She is an ordained minister in both the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) and the United Church of Christ.  Sarah has served as pastor to churches in Brooklyn, NY, Minneapolis, MN, and New Smyrna Beach, FL. Sarah served as Regional Minister in the Florida Conference of the United Church of Christ and as a Vice President for Christian Theological Seminary in Indianapolis, IN. She holds degrees from Trinity University (BA), Princeton Theological Seminary (MDiv), Rutgers University (MSW), and McCormick Theological Seminary (DMin). Sarah received the Dell Award for Mental Health Education at the 30th General Synod of the UCC. Sarah currently serves as Minister for Disabilities and Mental Health Justice on the national staff of the UCC and as senior pastor of First Congregational UCC of Indianapolis, IN. She volunteers on the national boards of Pathways to Promise, Mental Health America, Bethany Fellows, and Piedmont University. In January of 2022, Sarah joined two US Department of Health and Human Services national Think Tanks, the first about faith communities and suicide, and the second Think Tank about faith communities and youth mental health. Sarah is the author of several books about mental health: Blessed are the Crazy: Breaking the Silence About Mental Illness, Family, and Church (2014), Blessed Union: Breaking the Silence About Mental Illness and Marriage (2021), and Blessed Youth: Breaking the Silence About Mental Illness with Children and Teens (2022), and a pocket-sized mental health resource book for youth: Blessed Youth Survival Guide (2022). Sarah blogs at www.sarahgriffithlund.com.