The angry monster who came home from camp

This is a story from "way back" as Nathan would say. But as I encounter families in my work who are at this stage of life, it catapults me back to that time and that place and I am reminded of the pain, anguish, and deep lessons learned.

I remember Nathan going to camp for a whole week in summer. I know he went several years but I don't remember if it was a yearly thing. I don't really even remember the time being home without him. All I know is that it went by with lightening speed. It felt less like 7 days and more like 7 really long minutes of hold-your-breath anticipation of an explosion. It was like a New Year's Eve countdown that started days ahead of time, but didn't end with kissing. It ended with anger. Lots and lots of anger. Looking back, I think it might have been a whole week's worth of unexpressed, pent up emotion that he had been saving for us, like a reverse welcome home present.

He had spent a week without his own room to escape to. A week without his music. A time filled with fun activities but also a week of putting up with everyone else's moods and behaviors. The boundaries, rewards, and negative consequences were all different that week. I can imagine that being a very difficult adjustment.

He would say that he liked camp and would want to go again the next year so I guess it was worth it for all the fun he had. I was never quite sure it was worth it for me though. Sure, I got a week without him and I enjoyed it and missed him. But the truth is he would come home and instantly suck all the joy, and respite I'd just experienced, right out of me.

He was a ball of rage, an angry monster, who paced up and down the sidewalk outside, banned from coming inside until he calmed down a little bit. He reminded me of a predator in a movie, who was stalking his prey. I'd watch him from the edge of the front window as though I was in a shootout and needed the wall for protection. There he was huffing and puffing and pacing, his eyes wild with fury. If he made eye contact with me, he'd lunge at the window and I would flinch and duck because he scared me when he was out of control. I wanted to follow my mom's lead and not give him him any attention but I also wanted to watch him to see if he would self destruct or decompress. I wanted to understand him and wanted to help him. But more than those things, I wanted to know exactly where he was at all times so I wouldn't be the victim of a surprise attack.

He made me so angry because I wanted so badly for him to be able to come home like a normal person and not like a home invader! I felt like camp should be taken away from him, as punishment. But he had already gone and waiting a year for a consequence was ludicrous and ineffectual. I just wanted him to feel what we were feeling, to know the pain he was inflicting on the rest of us. I wanted him to suffer enough to change his behavior.

But my logic was flawed. The fact is he was suffering. He was sleep deprived, hungry, and actually happy to be home. So the answer was not to punch him out, unfortunately. The answer was to welcome him  home, like the prodigal son, with unconditional love and compassion. He still couldn't come inside without taking a few deep breaths but he didn't need any more punishment than he was already experiencing in his own body. He knew home was a safe place to act this way. He knew he was a member of this family and that would never change, even if he self-destructed. Eventually, he would come into the house and the process of reentry would continue. After some time in his room blaring his gospel quartet music, eating some good meals, and sleeping in his own bed for a few nights, he would be back to his usual self.

Though these experiences, God teaches me more about Himself. When I am completely out of control, He sees me. He knows my weaknesses and my depravity. He is acquainted with all my ways (Psalm 139). Yet He never leaves me or forsakes me. He never regrets His decision to send His Son to die for me. He never fails to show me that His grace covers all my sin and His love endures forever.

I can't help it, he's my role model.

It was Sunday, September 20, 2015. I was visiting my parents, as I often do on Sundays. When he's there, I always show up. I respond every time. If he's there for the weekend, i often get a text on Friday evening. He tells my mom, "Text her this 'Go Dodgers! Come see me. your brother". And I respond, "Go Dodgers! I'll be there on Sunday." If I listen hard, I can hear him exclaim from 30 miles away "Yessssssss!!! She's coming!"

When I show up, he is waiting for me. He used to wait all weekend but now he knows I come after church and usually after they have eaten lunch. If he's had a rough day, and is in a bad mood, then he won't be there but if it's any other kind of day--average, fare, borderline, meh, good, great--then he is the first to see me and announce my arrival. Before I even open my car door, he opens the front door and yells, "It's about time you got here! Hi sister! Go Dodgers sister! Here's a cold one! Here you go sister! A nice cold pepsi!!" In the time it took me to turn my car off, grab my purse, and get out of my car, he had already seen me, gotten, up, gone to the fridge, grabbed a can of pepsi, run to the front door, flung it open, and started celebrating my arrival. 

He doesn't do greetings half way. He either ignores you and disappears into his room or he mauls you with excitement. 

He used to open the can of pepsi for me but, after years of yelling at him for that, he finally stopped. What can I say, I felt strongly about opening my own soda.

So back to September 20, 2015. I wasn't sure yet but I was getting closer to making the decision to stop drinking soda. What would that do to me? How would he react? I could think of a million excuses not to stop. But I found myself floating the idea out there to my parents that day. He was in the room but I didn't think he was listening. I said, "I think I need to stop drinking pepsi." I felt myself cringe in anticipation of--I don't know what--a bad reaction, a mournful reaction, something else that would make it harder for me to stop and validate my excuses. I think just the act of saying out loud was made it more real in a way that sacred me a little. I knew I'd been dragging my feet as I searched for an excuse to build a foundation on. I even thought that since this might be hard for him, maybe I shouldn't do it. I was getting altruistic in my desperation! 

Then he made a simple statement that, looking back, closed the door on all my excuses. He said, "Drink water! It's healthier!" And just like that, the deal was done. I was at the end of the road of reasons to keep my habit. The next day I had my last drink of pepsi. 

It's been almost 9 months since that pivotal day. And as I've pulled up to my parents house, I still hear, "It's about time you're here!!" 

It was this experience piled on top of many others that I realized, I can't help it, he's my role model.