You Gotta Have Faith

When I was in group therapy, lo those 15 or so years ago, we had a wide variety of folks. There were some core members, including myself, and then there were people who came and went, be it through losing interest, being "cured," or feeling like they were "cured" and thus leaving us just as crazy and fucked-up as they were when they came in, but probably happier, at least for a time, because they were so sure they were "cured." And happy is about all that matters, so that's OK, only we know there's no such thing as "cured," so their happiness probably didn't last till the water got hot.

I never thought about it at the time, but we were kind of like a bigger version of Bob Newhart's group from the old TV show. We had our own Mr Carlin, though ours was nowhere near as harmless as the TV version. Nor did he wear a toupee. But he was as bitter, and as crazy, and I think in the deepest darkest recesses of our minds everyone in group had a fear that one day he'd snap and mow us all down right where we sat. In fact, one day he brought a hammer to our session - later on, some little something made him absolutely irate at the Dr, and at all of us, and he stormed out, swinging his hammer along with him. After he slammed the door, there was about 45 seconds of total silence, after which someone finally said, "I cannot believe he didn't take that hammer to one of our heads." And then there were giggles all around, because every one of us was thinking the same thing. He came back though; that kind always does. They have nowhere else to go.

We had a Mrs Bakerman, a little old lady who droned on and on and on about nothing anyone cared about, in general, and, in particular, about her son, who she'd spoiled absolutely rotten and now had all kinds of problems. (that sentence just won the comma award) You know, some people you just want to slap in the face and say, "Buy a clue!" We didn't have a Mr Petersen, but we had a Mrs Petersen, a woman who was run over by most of the people - and situations - in her life.

And I guess I was Michelle Nardo, loveable loser of no fixed attraction.

But that's neither here nor there.

There was a man who floated into our group for several weeks, then floated back out forever. But while he was there, a lot of his "problem" dominated our little group. He was a well-spoken, well-dressed businessman. He was about 48 years old. His problem was, well, that he was about 48 years old. He'd started thinking about the fact that one dark day he was going to leave this mortal coil and be no more. And frankly, it was freaking him out. And you know, I guess if I thought about it as much as he did, it might freak me out as well. Cause he thought about it a lot.

One of his setbacks was that he had sketchy religious beliefs. Now, before yall jump all over me for that statement (and I would jump on me too if I heard it), let me elaborate. Whether or not someone has any religious beliefs doesn't mean a hill of beans to me. But in this dude's case, I'd call it a setback in terms of, he was agonizing over the fact that he was going to die and be forgotten and no more, and that there may be no kind of afterlife or anything he was going to. You know, let's be honest here. After forty-(ahem,cough) years of living, I honestly don't know what I believe. I don't know if there's a God out there, and if there is, if He's looking after me with a kind hand or counting up all my sins in His heavenly notebook for later retribution. I hope there is, and I hope he's nice. It's a comforting thought that my departed loved ones might be in a nicer place now. So those who Really Believe have a sort of comfort zone built in where death's concerned, be they deluding themselves or not.

And so Mr Businessman, every week, would come in and wring his hands and talk about the utter miserableness of his life here on earth worrying about what would happen when it ended.

However. However. Considering where I live, and the people of our group, their ages and socioeconomic backgrounds and everything else, the other members of group thought Mr Businessman's sketchy religious beliefs were more than what I'd consider a "setback." They thought that was his whole problem in a nutshell. If he believed in God and Jesus and the Whole Nine Yards, he wouldn't have a problem, because he wouldn't be able to wait to die. And I call that missing the mark by just the teensiest bit.

Anyway, where all this is heading is that one week Mr Businessman was in our fair company, and was in his own personal tug-of-war struggle again, and all the other folks were telling him to trust in The Lord and all would be OK, and I remember letting off with some diatribe about faith. It was unlike me, especially to talk so long at one time, but it went something like this. If you don't have a concrete belief of God, you're certainly not the only one - even the only one in this room. But you can't force yourself to believe in something, or someone, all you can do is have the picture in your head of what you think it will be, or even what you want it all to be, and hope that when the end of your days come, you weren't wrong. And that's pretty much my half-assed definition of faith.

And I think that was the last time Mr Businessman ever came to group. Hmm.

I was going to say I don't know why that thought kept slipping into my mind lately, but I'd be lying. I know exactly why it did.

Trust and faith are dodgy things at best. They make us risk something. They make us put ourselves out there on a limb. We trust in people, or things, or ideas, and lay ourselves open. And sometimes it backfires on us. And we get let down. Or hurt. Or we lose money. Or worse. It makes us never want to have faith in anything or anyone again.

But then again, sometimes we put our faith in people and things and ideas and it works. We're not disappointed. We're satisfied. We're happy, and fulfilled, and content.

I guess it's just the putting yourself out there that's so hard. To not be afraid. To trust. To have faith.