Robin Williams, depression, The Church, and me.

I suffer from depression and anxiety.  I thought about the many ways I could begin a post about the loss of Robin Williams and honestly, I think it's just best if I say this out loud: I was clinically diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and adult attention deficit disorder. But more about me in a minute...

Robin Williams killed himself yesterday. If that isn't a wakeup call, I don't know what is.

Depression is a subject that has a stigma to it, even though 1 out of 9 Americans report suffering from it. So why is it such a taboo subject? Why are we afraid to talk about mental health issues?

I am a worship leader and I believe that we in the Church (with a capital C meaning all churches) need to start talking about it. Regularly. 

We need to remove the stigma from mental health issues. People who suffer need to know they are not alone -- that they are not "doing something wrong". They need to know that it's okay to seek out help. And they need to know that it's okay to do more than just pray for healing. God gives us miracles every day through modern medicine.  

Four years ago I decided it was time to do something about my A.D.D.  I had lost a job over it and after leaving another job to pursue music full time I was having a lot of trouble getting anything done at home without the discipline that comes from an actual boss. So, after reading this article in Relevant Magazine, I decided I should go and do something about it. 

I went through a battery of tests and came to find out--and by "find out" I mean, admit--that I have depression and anxiety issues on top of the A.D.D.

And you know what? There is nothing wrong with that. There is nothing wrong with me that can't be taken care of by medicine. Since going on medicine my life is better. It's not perfect and I still have a lot of work to do, but it's better. 

There are still long periods of depression for me. To be even more transparent than I've already been here, I'm in one now.  Often times, the other 8 out of 9 Americans who have never dealt with depression seem to think depression is conditional. So some people might hear me say that I'm depressed and assume it's because one of my heroes died yesterday. It's not. There is a chemical imbalance in my brain that medicine does its best to fix, but it's not always gonna happen.

The medicine does allow me to better cope however. If you take nothing else from this than that, take that. If you are suffering from depression or other mental issues, take it seriously. Take it as seriously as you would a bleeding wound that won't heal and go to the doctor.

I no longer lay in bed and fantasize about not waking up. Yes, that was me a few years ago.  This comes as a shock to people when they hear it from me. They equate that I'm funny with me being happy. I am a funny person. I don't have to be modest about that. It's just a fact. Ask anyone who knows me. I'm frickin' hilarious sometimes. If I didn't have musical ability I might have wanted to be a comedian. But to be honest, being a comedian is a heck of a lot harder. 

And a TON of funny people suffer from depression and other mental issues. That's why we've lost so many of them to suicide and overdoses. Comedic greats like Freddie Prinze, Richard Jeni, and Greg Giraldo all killed themselves. John Belushi, Chris Farley, Mitch Hedberg and others did it accidentally because they tried to cope using drugs that never produced the high that being on a stage making people laugh provided.

And now we add Robin Williams to the list. He was probably my first favorite comedian. The only other stand-up that came close was Bill Cosby. But Robin made me laugh harder. He made me laugh harder than anyone on television. He taught me on Mork and Mindy that, as Time Magazine said yesterday, "weirdness wasn't just o.k.--it was amazing."

Between his movies and his appearances on late night shows from Carson to Letterman to Fallon, he shaped my view of adults. As a grown up I know that it's okay to be silly sometimes and still expect people to take me seriously. I had never thought of it until this very moment, but he really had a great impression on that aspect of my personality.

Taking a cursory glance at Robin's IMDB page, I was amazed to see how many of his movies I not only had seen, but had loved. In fact, I've seen almost all of his movies. I mean, I am a cinephile, but come on...that's pretty rare. Come to think of it, within the past year I've shown my kids Aladdin, Hook, Ferngully, Jumanji, Happy Feet and the first two Night at the Museum films. That's seven movies in one year that my family truly enjoyed. (Yeah, we watch a lot of movies.)

He was like a family member that most of us never had the good fortune to meet. My cousin Jennifer and I have noted on many occasions that as he was getting older, Robin was beginning to look more and more like a Coomer. As I created the artwork above, I could not help but be overwhelmed by that.

There's a reason why there was a point yesterday where most if not all of the top trending topics in the United States on Twitter were based on his death. Robin Williams is a part of our fabric. It's why we (and the news stations) are talking about it so much when there are other things we need to be talking about like Iraq and ISIS and Ferguson, MO. and Israel. But in some ways...like it or not, this is more important to us. We've lost someone very near and dear to our hearts.

Two good things can come out of this loss. The first is that we will experience the healing power of laughter as we watch his movies and television appearances again. The top trending Twitter topic as I finish this post is #RobinWilliamsWillLiveOnForever.

The second is that we can begin to talk about depression. We can bring it out into the open. We can destigmatize it, demystify it. And we can begin to heal. 

People are posting abt their grief re: Robin Williams but are unwilling to check in with their friends who have the same struggles.
— Lindsey Harris (@MonacleMonOncle) August 12, 2014

My friend Lindsey's tweet brings me to my final question: "When was the last time I was brave enough to ask (or even lovingly confront) someone about their depression... Or to open up to them about mine?"

How can we be the hands and feet of Christ and reach out to them to let them know we are here, to let them know God is here. How can we be the sign from God that they need? How can we be the butterfly on the cliff from which they're about to jump?

with you in the journey.

This has been a (insert adjective here) month. On June 10th, we welcomed our second child, Evan James into the world. Nine days later, my father, James Harold, died.

I don't know how to feel. I know dad's in a better place. I know he was able to see his father (and mother, and brother and sister, and so many others) on when he left on Father's Day. But I don't know how to feel.

I really don't know what to write. I know I should write. I know that's what dad would want me to do.

Right now I can't.

For now I'll just say thank you to everyone who has prayed for me and my family in recent weeks. Thank you to everyone who has helped in providing food for Daphne and Jackson and me after her complicated surgery. Thank you to everyone who came to the hospital or house to visit us. And after dad died, thank you to everyone who came to the funeral home for visitation and church for the memorial service.

Today would have been Mom and Dad's 45th wedding anniversary. I looked it up and that's the sapphire anniversary, but then again so is the 65th. So, I suppose they might as well have been married 65 years.

It's my hope that I can be as good a father--and a better father--than my dad was. It's my hope that I can be as good a husband--and a better husband--than my dad was. He has taught me well in both departments.

My dad used to sign every letter he wrote with the words "With you in the journey." And even though he's no longer physically with us in the journey, I still feel him. Perhaps that's the one thing I do know I feel: I feel my father with me in the journey.

Steven Curtis Chapman's "Beauty Will Rise"

Growing up, I was a big fan of Steven Curtis Chapman. His songwriting, singing, and guitar playing were all influential on me. I was so sad to hear about the tragedy he faced last year.

I have been amazed at the strength of the Chapmans in the months that have followed the death ,and after listening to "Beauty Will Rise" all I can say is wow.

Steven Curtis put his whole heart into this new album. The entire project is about losing his little girl and learning to live without her. And yet is filled with the hope that only Christ can provide and the faith that one day he will see her again.

Go here and listen to "Beauty Will Rise" in its entirety.

Aaron Marrs

One huge thing that happened when I wasn't blogging last month is that my friend Aaron Marrs died at sea in Alaska. I have pasted the Courier Journal (Louisville) article below.

Aaron was a very special person. Halfway to Louisville I turned to my cousin Jennifer and said,

"I knew Aaron for no more than a few hours collectively. What was it about him that makes me want to drive three hours to Louisville? I want to be that kind of person."

Aaron was a beautiful person. A roaring lamb. A man who lived with wild abandon and dangerous wonder.

I met him at Camp Loucon. I go to Loucon every year to be a counselor for my mom's choir camp. Loucon is a big place and usually 4 or 5 camps are going on at the same time. So, Aaron wasn't even at my camp. He was at the high school camp and I met him through Jennifer (who didn't know him much better than I). Jennifer had met him at another camp and just thought he was the coolest kid ever. After talking to him for a few seconds I realized she was right.

Here is this guy, a couple years younger than me, and I looked up to him because of how together he was--how cool he was.

Jennifer and I felt validated and affirmed at the memorial service. Everyone kept saying that Aaron was the kind of guy who you could know for a few minutes and feel as if you were his best friend.

I want to live like Aaron did. I want to be that kind of friend. There were hundreds and hundreds of people at the service. I know we weren't the only ones who didn't know him very well because he never really lived in a single place too long. He lived in Louisville where he put out a couple punk records. He taught himself graphic design and moved to Nashville to work for
Gotee records where he designed album covers. He lived in Paris. He was in Africa for a while. He move to Hollywood to pursue film. And he went to Alaska to film a boat of crab fishermen.

He lived an amazingly full life, especially when you consider he was only 27 years old. The summer I met him he had everyone call him "Ocean". So, I've always known him as Ocean. How fitting that he would leave us the way he did.

There will be a benefit show on Sunday, March 13 at Rocketown with Relient K, Bleach, John Reuben, The Evan Anthem, The Kick, and The Lonely Hearts. The money that is made that night will help complete the movie he made. Here's his film company's site:

http://www.paperjackfilms.com.

________________________________

Here's the article:

Louisville man missing after crab boat sinks
Search continues in Alaskan waters
Louisville man working on a snow-crab boat off the coast of Alaska is missing after the craft sank Saturday in the Bering Sea.
Aaron Marrs, 26, had gone to Alaska earlier this month to earn money, according to a friend, William Wallace of Louisville. Wallace said Marrs was aboard the Big Valley, a 92-foot crab boat, when it went down. The boat had a crew of six: One man survived; two died; and three, including Marrs, are missing.
Coast Guard spokeswoman Sara Francis said in a telephone interview yesterday afternoon that search-and-rescue efforts are under way, as is an investigation into what occurred.
The Associated Press reported that the vessel sank 70 miles west of St. Paul Island, about 750 miles west of Anchorage, in seas that were said to be 25 feet and with winds at more than 40 mph.The Coast Guard received an "emergency position-indicating radio beacon" Saturday morning from the Big Valley, the AP reported. A patrol vessel sent to the location of the beacon found "a debris field," Alaska State Trooper Sgt. Lonnie Gonzales said. The three crewmen recovered were wearing survival suits, indicating the crew knew the vessel was in distress and had time to don the bulky gear. Survival in the 37-degree water is estimated at slightly more than five hours for people wearing the suits, the Coast Guard said.
Marrs, who owned a company called Paper Jack Films, ventured to Alaska last summer to film a documentary on the fishing industry, Wallace said. He returned this month to work on a snow-crab boat to make money to distribute the film, Wallace said. Marrs is a self-taught graphic designer and lives in the Highlands, Wallace said. He is the son of Richard Marrs, of Louisville, who declined to comment yesterday. The commercial crab season in Kodiak and the Bering Sea opened at noon Saturday.

"The family has been in constant contact with the Coast Guard," Wallace said.

"Basically at this stage, he's still considered lost at sea."

Marrs also is a founding member of Sojourn, a Christian church in the Highlands that was started by a group of young adults.

"Aaron is the type of guy that if he has a dream and vision he goes for it," Wallace said.
"He decided he wanted to do this documentary, and he did it. ... He always had an interest in sailing and the sea life."

Lost at sea - Exuberant Louisvillian dies pursuing dream
He took a job on an Alaskan crab boat so he could make enough money to develop and distribute his independent film.

Aaron Marrs, 26, of Louisville, knew the job's risks, working endless hours each day in freezing temperatures aboard a sea-tossed ship.

Crabbing is one of the world's most dangerous jobs, but the money was good, potentially pulling in thousands of dollars for a few weeks' work. And Marrs figured that he'd earn enough to help complete his documentary on life in Alaska's commercial fishing industry.

He didn't figure that it would cost him his life.

His ship, the 92-foot Big Valley, sank Saturday in the frigid Bering Sea, some 70 miles west of tiny St. Paul Island. Of its six-member crew, one survived; two died; and three, including Marrs, disappeared into the sea.

Yesterday, after four days of searching, the U.S. Coast Guard called off the rescue effort for the three and officially declared Aaron Marrs and the others lost at sea.
His father, Rick Marrs, sitting in the living room of his Anchorage home yesterday, remembered his son — the child who loved fishing and water, the young adult always seeking adventure and the man who devoted his life to Jesus Christ.

"He lived his life being a fisher of men," Rick Marrs said, sobbing, "and he died a fisherman."

`Free-spirited individual'

Aaron Marrs was born and reared in Louisville and loved fishing in the pond behind his family's house.

"He knew every pond in Louisville," his father said yesterday.
In first grade, for a school project, Aaron Marrs wrote and illustrated his own book, "Timmy the Tortoise," the tale of turtle who was swallowed by a whale, only to be spit out its spout.
The book, its red construction-paper cover now faded, foreshadowed the life that Marrs would lead: independent, adventuresome and dangerous.

Aaron Marrs played in Christian rock bands that traveled the country, performing in churches, coffee houses and bars — anywhere the bands could get gigs.

"He was a free-spirited individual," Rick Marrs said.

A few years ago, Aaron Marrs went on a mission trip to Africa and quickly made friends with the village children.

He also helped build and renovate homes in Eastern Kentucky's mountains.
He spent time in Europe, taught himself to be a graphic designer and landed a job several years ago with the Christian company Gotee Records, designing covers and promotional materials, in Nashville, Tenn.

He and other teenagers and young adults who hung out on Bardstown Road, with its eclectic restaurants and locally owned shops, helped start their own church, Sojourn Community, which reaches out to youths.

A couple of years ago, Aaron Marrs took an interest in film, his father said. He purchased some equipment, learned how to shoot documentary-style films, and created his own company, Paper Jack Films.

Dangerous profession

Combining his love of water and fishing, Aaron Marrs soon selected his first project — documenting the lives of people in Alaska's commercial fishing industry.
Last June he and three friends from Louisville — Tyler Deeb, Jason Irvine and Jesse Hargis — packed up and left for Alaska. A journal, posted on the Web site paperjackfilms.com, told of the adventure.

Dated July 23, the journal entry reads: "Team Paper Jack leaves for the island of Kodiak, home of the world famous Kodiak bear, first thing Monday, July 26. ... Though we don't know for sure what to expect once there, we hope to find some weathered and worthy, tired and true seamen, who will take us on as part of their crew."

They discovered Gary Edwards, captain of Big Valley. The crew heard about Edwards while eating at a Chinese buffet, Hargis said last night.

A woman outside the buffet had borrowed a quarter from Aaron Marrs and struck up a conversation with the four.

After discovering they wanted to document life as a crabber, she suggested they check with Edwards, her former boyfriend.

Tyler Deeb and Jason Irvin left Alaska after a few months, but Aaron Marrs and Hargis stayed and later boarded Big Valley to begin shooting the life of crab fishermen.

They would return to Louisville in November but only Aaron Marrs would head back to Alaska.
Crab fishing is considered one of the most dangerous professions in the world, according to the U.S. Coast Guard Auxiliary Web site.

Alaskan waves routinely reach 20 feet, and heavy winter storms bring blankets of snow, hail and ice. Fishermen who fall overboard can quickly succumb to hypothermia, the Web site says.
The danger is compounded for crab boats because of the giant steel crab pots stacked high on the deck, which can help capsize the boat. During the 1990s, the Alaskan shellfish industry averaged 400 fatalities per 100,000 workers, according to CNN News.

Despite the danger, Aaron Marrs loved the adrenaline of working on the boat, Hargis said yesterday, and he worked hard to fit in with other crew members.

When Aaron Marrs returned home last fall, he came back with loads of tales.

"They had so many stories about how people befriended them and that is was cool because they were all Christian," Rick Marrs said. "They lived with people, they barbecued with people. They went living from one town to the next, not knowing what their next move's going to be."
In November, Aaron Marrs told his family that he was going back to Alaska after Christmas, to work on Big Valley. Edwards had offered him a job for the snow crab season and told him he might earn up to $8,000, enough, Aaron Marrs figured, to finance the rest of his film.

"This Alaska thing was like a journey," Rick Marrs said. "They were going to check out all these fishing villages. He thought this would be something interesting for people to know, that fishing in Alaska is one of the most dangerous (jobs). He really had a passion to do this."

The life and death of fishermen was a key component of the documentary.

"We will explore what compels a person to choose this life-threatening, labor-intensive job, in which many crews work around the clock for days at a time, without sleep or food. We will speak with women who have been widowed, children who have lost a parent to the sea," the Web site states.

Aaron Marrs left Louisville on Dec. 28. He called his family about a week before boarding Big Valley, knowing that once the boat was on the Bering Sea there would be no telephone contact until it returned to land.

"Aaron and I had talked about all the dangers, and he said Capt. Edwards was one of the most safety-conscious persons," Rick Marrs said. "That gave me a sense of security."
Still, he said, he tried to talk his son out of getting on the boat.

"`Dad, we've already has this conversation,'" Rick Marrs remembers his son saying.
He said his son's last words to his family were: "I love you. I will talk to you in a month, and I will see you in two months."

One of six survives

Big Valley was on the Bering Sea on Saturday when something went wrong and the boat began taking on water.

It sent an emergency signal to the Coast Guard, which dispatched a boat to the area and found a "debris field," The Associated Press reported.

The only survivor was 30-year-old Cache Seel. Authorities recovered the bodies of Carlos Rivero, 35, of Uruguay and a 33-year-old Belgian man whose name hasn't been released.
But they never found Aaron Marrs, Edwards or 48-year-old Josias Hernandez Luna of Kodiak and Anchorage.

Seel called Rick Marrs on Sunday night, relaying what he knew of the events.
Seel said he was jarred awake to find himself nearly standing on his bunk bed, with the boat turning over on its side, Rick Marrs said.

It was dark, except for the boat's lights. Seel rushed to put on his survival suit, designed to keep him warm while afloat in frigid water. Then, Seel said, he helped Aaron Marrs and other crewmates onto the deck.

"By then, the boat was well on its way to half-way over," Rick Marrs said, recalling the conversation.

Seel said he told Aaron Marrs to get into a nearby life raft, then helped Marrs put on his survival suit. But the raft apparently went down with the boat.
Aaron Marrs and his other crewmates went into the sea as Seel clung to what was left of the boat while another life raft automatically deployed.

Seel told Rick Marrs he swam to it — and waited.

"He said it was so noisy and so dark that he never heard anymore and never saw anybody again," Rick Marrs said.

The Marrs family kept in touch with the Coast Guard every day and monitored Web and news sites.

But, Rick Marrs said, "the last glimmer of hope just seemed to fizzle" after he talked with Seel.
At 9:49 p.m. Monday, the Coast Guard called to say it was ending the search.
Aaron Marrs will be remembered during a memorial service at 7 p.m. tomorrow at St. Margaret Mary Catholic Church, 7813 Shelbyville Road.

His family has created the Aaron Marrs Memorial Fund. Donations will be used to complete his Alaskan film.