Overcoming Fear is Over Exposure

Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself will be hitting the shelves in late May. It will be available on AMAZON, KINDLE, and personalized copies at soulparole.com. It was a labor of love and pain. I had over 150,000 words of writings to comb through. My hope is that the book inspires addicts, and those with depression issues to seek treatment. You are not alone. I also hope that it gives the loved ones of addicts some insight into the way we think. Ultimately, I pray that it is a catalyst for anyone who has a fear or obstacle standing in the way of their ability to move forward. Dreams can become realities if you can get around your fear that they will come true. If you believe... they will.

The book was arranged loosely in chronological order, not by the date they were written. In Soul Parole I mention that in July of 2011, I was going to California to face a life long phobia. I feel that if I am going to make my mission on earth to encourage people to face their fears, I better face mine. I felt that it was hypocritical to speak of victory through adversity when I was not practicing what I preached. I am glad I faced it. As new ones' pop up I have the tools to overcome them. It will be the starting point of Soul Parole II: I was and I AM.

To me, fear is what holds us back from reaching our potential. There are healthy fears, and irrational ones. It is the power of our minds that discourages us from taking a leap of faith, not the real obstacles that stand in our way. Fear is paralyzing. It can override our rational, logical thinking. At the end of my using days I feared the thought of getting sober. The thought of living without a chemical crutch was even more difficult to imagine. It left me trapped in limbo between death and the fear of living life on its' terms.

I have three deep seeded fears that have gripped me for life. They are dentists, clowns and...bats! I have overcome the issue with dentists by finding one that uses gas and music to relax me during visits. That's one off the list. My revulsion of clowns is still with me. I can easily avoid them by not taking the family to the circus. The whole face painted, on a face, by a mime with big shoes thing will always be with me. I'm confident I can out run any of them.

My fear of bats goes much deeper. I hate EVERYTHING about them. My phobia revolves around the fact that I was uninformed about the grace of these misunderstood creatures. The terror bats created in me started when I was about seven, and I was Forty-five when I finally made peace with the winged devils. For years I was consumed with the fallacy that they were going to attack me or my family and give us all rabies. I feared for the dogs. I obsessed about them landing in my hair. There is a massive bat population in the county that I live in. I am one of the rare people who used to look for bat reports in the local paper. I have never taken my children to the zoo. I did not hang around wooded areas after dark. As I would find out through therapy, my fears were completely irrational, and centered in a deeper trauma.

Through a friend I heard ANIMAL PLANET was looking for people with deep seeded EXTREME animal phobias. I sent an email explaining my obsession with the filthy flying rats. I did not expect a call back. I figured it was like entering a sweepstakes. I was surprised when they emailed me back and set up a phone interview.

Through the course of my conversations with the therapy team, I was told of a treatment plan that Dr. Robin Zasio. from HOARDERS, was conducting. It was called exposure therapy. I thought I was familiar with it. I have heard of smokers who put butts into a jar when they are trying to kick the habit. When the urge to smoke comes along you take a whiff from the jar. They told me little more. I was to be flown to Sacramento and spend a week in a center for people with lifelong phobias of animals. I was hesitant but wanted to reclaim my nights, and NEEDED to get to the bottom of why they ruled me so long. The terror was very real. I had no idea what I was in for.

When I arrived at the center I was introduced to my housemates. They were younger ladies from the east coast. Laura was terrified of cockroaches. Roxanne freaked out at the sight of rats. Over the six days we were there we cried, and laughed, and shared our feelings about the pain these animals were creating in our lives. Without their support I would never have made it through the journey.

When we met Dr. Zasio she was all business! She is beautiful inside and out. She looks like a California blond. However, she is FAR from the stereotype. She is strong inside and out. She is also an amazing doctor and compassionate therapist. I am blessed to call her a friend. I didn't think so highly of her at the start of my therapy. She brings a full court press, but encouraged us  into making our own decisions in progressing through our phobias. She has a way of finding a persons, "I CAN DO IT," button. Her ability to read a person is uncanny.

I am glad I made the trip to the west coast.

My preconceived notions about exposure therapy were quickly dashed. This was hard core therapy squeezed into a week. The usual span of time for this treatment takes place over several months. It was the intensified, no holds barred version.

On the very first day we were given words, pictures and posters of our most feared animal. Our jaws nearly dropped when we were told to decorate our dorm rooms with them. We were all ready to bail after the first day. Each time I walked into my room I was assaulted by bats of all shapes and sizes. They were ALL staring back at me. Dr. Zasio was just warming up.

On the second day, irritable from a lack of sleep,we visited a Southern California college to face our demons. They were dead but as real as real gets. Each one of us was cajoled into touching them. I was out of my mind! I was physically sick as I approached a table full of dozens of preserved bat corpses. I  sobbed as I reached my hand out to put my finger on the beast that reminded me most of the one that had scarred as a small boy.

As each new day dawned we were pushed to a new level. During that day, my room was redecorated to resemble a cave. Rubber bats hung at eye level so that no matter where I walked bats would be hit me in the head. This was the therapeutic way to get me over my fear that living ones were going to land in my hair. Slowly, I was becoming desensitized of the nasty beasts. The girls were angry but moving forward. To say that each day was emotionally draining would be a gross under estimation. It was a daily barrage of fear then triumph. Each waking moment had me reliving memories I had spent years trying so desperately to blot out. The obsession was real. The memories flooded back in like I was a kid again.

After a week of getting closer and closer to live bats I was feeling less threatened by the greasy, winged critters. The final exposure was one I will never forget. It was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to face. The thought of intentionally seeking out the home of thousands of my lifelong nemesis was insanity.

My final exposure took place in "Old Sacramento." It is a quaint touristy area with riverboats, old time candy and souvenir shops. The 1800's era village covering several blocks. I had visited the area with Roxanne and Laura. I had no idea that the parking garage situated less than 100 yards from the downtown area was home to several thousand bats.

We waited until dusk. I was brought into the garage with Dr. Zasio. She was calm and reassuring in telling me that it was my final exposure. My fear level had started at about a nine. When I got out of the car and began walking towards the designated exposure area, I was on the verge of a panic attack. My discomfort was at about an eleven. Just more than ten for Spinal Tap fans.

Bats navigate with sonar, and have an amazing sense of timing. They are blind. Just like a grandfather clock chiming at midnight, the bats began to come out as the sun set. Through tiny crevices in the parking garage the black winged creatures spilled from the man made dwelling. First it was by the dozens, then hundreds, then thousands. There was no where to go. The funny thing was that not one of them hit me or brushed me. I could feel the whoosh of their wings as they darted by me. I was frozen, but invigorated, by the adrenalin that was rushing through my veins.

In one of the most beautiful scenes of nature I have ever been witness to, the bats flew from the garage and fell into formation with thousands of others. They were coming from the trees and buildings along the Sacramento river. They formed a perfect aerial formation. It was like a military fly over. It makes the line of geese formations pale in comparison. Hundreds of thousands of bats followed the river, and as if on cue, turned and made their way around a skyscraper in downtown Sacramento to search for food. They like mosquitoes and bugs, not full grown men. It was breathtaking.

After the initial shock and awe, I was directed to a baby bat that had fallen from the safety of the upper ceiling. It was no more than two inches long. I didn't like the little devils but I do not want to see any of God's creatures suffer. After being given special gloves, I held down my hand and the tiny bald creature crawled into the glove. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. My lifelong fear was arrested in that moment. I was given a chance to help a defenseless baby. God has a funny way of helping us sometimes. His methods of teaching me new lessons no longer surprise me. I am free.

During my therapy with the doctor it became clear that I associated bats with my stepfather. He didn't like kids very much. When I was small we went to a park. He tossed a can in the air and a bat flew into it. He had me stand at his side as the ugliest creature I had ever seen, staggered from the container and flew away. He thought it was funny. He saw my discomfort. I was ingrained with a fear that would plague me until my work with Dr. Zasio.

I can say with complete honesty that I still don't care for bats, but they no longer rule my behavior. I can take my family to the forest preserve or zoo. In the episode of "My Extreme Animal Phobia," Squeaky and I revisit the park where my stepfather had tormented me. Some bats even flew around us. I did fine. I no longer fear the nights in the country setting where I live. It reinforced my theory that irrational fear is usually tied to a deeper issue. Mine was.

You can see the episode on ANIMAL PLANET. I am blessed that they gave me such a life changing opportunity. If you go to Animal Planet.com enter "My Extreme Animal Phobia, then, "Man Faces Lifelong Fear." The video of the parking garage exposure will come up. Roxanne and Laura also made peace with cockroaches and rats.

Fear plagues all of us. Some of it healthy, a lot of it irrational. I am grateful to ANIMAL PLANET for the opportunity to experience exposure therapy. It is further testimony that you can face any fear. There is no obstacle that stands in the way of your dreams or unloading the baggage of your past. All you need is hope, faith, and the hand of a friend.

"The Quiet Man," My Pop's Goodbye and My Beginning

This chapter was written a year ago. I have updated my work. The rest is the unedited version from the one year anniversary of my Dad's death and the first day of me catching my dreams! Soul Parole:Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself will be out by April first on Amazon and Kindle. Personalized copies will be available at soulparole.com.
 Proceeds will benefit Chicago area addiction ,homeless and mental health facilities.


I woke up at exactly midnight today. It is the one year anniversary of my dad's death. Before you read on please understand that I am sad inside but glad that he is at peace. My life has changed dramatically in the year since his passing. Some of it good, some of it bad but all of it sobering and real.

I've heard it said that time heals all wounds. I didn't take the time to look up who said it. I disagree with the quote at this point. It seems harder now than when he went to meet his maker. He was in pain then and I prayed for him to be relieved of his human suffering. At 7:27pm July 21, 2010 God answered my prayers and brought him home.

I was watching "The Quiet Man," the John Wayne/Catherine O'Hara classic, set in Ireland, when I got the call from my sister at the hospital that he was gone. It was his favorite movie. Squeaky and I were watching the movie at the time because she had never seen it. I wanted to share Dad's favorite with her. It was kind of befitting that we were in the middle of THAT film when he passed on to paradise. Pop was big on making grand entrances and exits.

Tonight when I woke up at the stroke of midnight I actually called out his name hoping he would answer. I wanted him to give me a sign that he was here and safe up there. I wanted so desperately to know that he woke me up. Maybe he would knock a book off my night stand or rustle the blinds in an acknowledgement from the other side. He is here. I need only look in the mirror and see him. I resemble him more and more each day.

I am grateful that I was a good son in the final year and a half of his life. I was humbled to shower and shave him and help my second mom and sisters look after him whenever I could. I didn't do much but I did what I could. I can say that I was able to tell him all the things I wanted to say to him. I also heard all the things I hoped to hear from him in that last year and a half. I know he was proud of me. I know God got me sober when He did to be there for those days he needed me most.

At his memorial I did what amounted to a stand-up routine about him and his life. That is what he would have wanted. It was a celebration of his life. We laughed through tears and stories about his mannerisms and quirks. It was my best gig ever. I owe my sense of humor to him more than anyone. My Pop could tell a joke about darned near any subject. His laugh was a blend of Curly from "The Stooges" and Arnold Horshak from "Welcome back Kotter". It was infectious.

2 months later, in the first week of October, we had most of his ashes interred at Abraham Lincoln National Cemetery. The service was grand and patriotic. The twenty one gun salute was deafening. Each shot rattled me to my core. I broke down. All the emotion and stoicism I tried to display the previous 18 months collapsed and I imploded. My eyes flowed like rivers. I crawled around on the ground frantically searching for each of the ejected shells from the rifles that were fired in salute to SGT. Joseph Robert Connolly.

The remaining part of his ashes are to be returned to Ireland just as soon as I can get there. It will complete the wishes of two things my father was passionate about. He loved America and being a Vet, and he loved Ireland. A bagpiper played Danny Boy and Amazing Grace as the tribute was ending. Danny Boy was his favorite Irish song.

The military service was held on a Friday. My second sister Chris Jaksy had been telling me for years to try acting to compliment my comedy. My feelings about mortality were sensitive and raw. I didn't want to leave any regrets on the table. She gave me some names of Chicago casting agents. I sent out my stats and thin resume to a few on Saturday. On Sunday I was contacted by Darlene Hunt, CEO and president of Extraordinary Casting in Chicago She wanted me to play a featured extra role in "Ride Along." It would later be renamed "The Chicago Code" the following day.

My head was still spinning the next day as I sat a few feet from Jennifer Beals and Jason Clarke on my first day in show business. I thought about my dad and was bitten by the acting bug BAD! I loved everything about it. I wear my Dad's cross and carry a memento from him on every movie or TV project I do. I figure we are going to Hollywood together. I was not nervous about working with celebrities. My father's death showed me that mortality is for everybody. Some jobs are just more glamorous than others. That takes us back to now.

Since that day I have appeared as an extra in 8 TV series and done 7 films. I have had speaking roles in 5 films and have done 4 commercials and an industrial film. That's a busy 12 months. I have been blessed and driven. My comedy career has put me on stages around Chicago and at Statesville Prison as a part of Comics for Convicts Faith Outreach. I leave soon for Northern California seeking therapy for a life long phobia for a cable station.

I miss the Big Bopper more each day. Not less. I owe so much to him. He never gave up on me but did lay some tough love on me at the right times. I do not mourn his death. I mourn for his life and wish we could talk about the Bears just one more time. I feel him sometimes. I see him every time I shave. I thank God for my sobriety and his timing for it. My dad gave me so many gifts and bailed me out of jam after jam. I will make it through today moment by moment. I will watch the Duke and I will listen to Danny Boy endlessly and give thanks over a tear or three for having known Bob Connolly. I am proud to be his son. Thanks God for your grace, mercy and my dad. To my FATHER'S" in heaven I love you....

Christians Be Fishermen...Not Hunters!

I am a Christian. I will never back down from proclaiming that. This posting is not intended to imply that Christianity has all the answers. No man on Earth does. I read the Bible. I pray often. I serve in the community and I try to help other addicts find sobriety. I am happy to share my faith with those who wish to hear about the amazing things the LORD has done in my life. I do not think I am better than you or any man. The people who make me feel the most inadequate and demoralized about my faith are... CHRISTIANS.

I am a church going man. I serve on the baptism team. I am grateful to share my resources with my house of worship. I don't like war unless it is a means of last resort. I believe in helping the poor and sick. I am an Independent who tends to vote DEMOCRATIC. However, I don't vote a straight ticket. I vote based on what the man stands for, not if he's got an elephant or donkey on his lapel.

I have read the Bible cover to cover. I have my favorite verses. Psalms 40:1,2 are my life verses. I try to spend time daily in the words of GOD. Then I turn on the TV or go out in the world and am often shocked by the behavior of people who call themselves CHRISTIANS. They seem to talk from the mountain down on the foolish unenlightened SINNERS below. "If you don't love elephants you have no faith!" Donkeys are crazy, anything goes animals! Nothing could be farther from THE TRUTH. To say so is a sin. You don't know me. How can you judge me? Both animals have strengths and weaknesses. Faith can not be measured here.

I can't quote chapter and verse from the Bible very well. I can summarize the stories and paraphrase the content. There are actually 11 Commandments. The words JESUS left with the disciples before heading off to sit next to the FATHER were, "Love your GOD with all your heart, mind, soul and strength", and "Love your brother like I have loved you." It doesn't say, "sometimes," or "some of the folks." Those seem like pretty wise words to live by regardless of your faith. When Moses came down from the mountain with the TEN Commandments he did not call them the "Top 10 Commandments." Jesus goes on to say that ALL sin is equal in the eyes of his FATHER.

I get confused when a political party or people in certain demographics call themselves the "Godly." Throwing your name in the ring with HIM is dangerous territory for any man. What gets me most is that people who claim to be the "GODLIEST," seem to pick and choose their favorite couple of commandments and chuck the rest out the window.

The sins of Adultry, Greed, Envy, Coveting, Lusting, Stealing, Judging and LYING are equal in the eyes of God. It says it in the book. Stretching the truth is a lie. Leaving out all the facts is deception. Taking things out of context is bearing false witness. I have been guilty of many of these sins. I will sin again and again as a MAN. I strive to be a better one everyday.

All who call Jesus, Lord, and follow him are Christians. I have seen the well dressed Christian man call his child stupid on the way into church. I have seen homeless people with the faith of David. I am amazed that the elite call people of their station with drug and alcohol problems as suffering with "chemical dependency" issues. Men with the same problem who don't subscribe to the same beliefs are "junkies." When the CHOSEN commit adultry it is a "Family Matter." The commoner is called a "CHEATER!" How can you question someones' faith? Jesus sees through our motives and into our hearts. Yep, that's in THE BOOK too. What you think, is as bad as doing it. Motives are actions in the eyes of God.

I don't see how people misunderstand "ALL" and "BROTHER." How I LIVE and SERVE is what GOD is looking at. People who vote Democratic, Republican, Independent,or don't vote at all, may be CHRISTIANS. Helping the poor and feeding the sick are what JESUS did in the short time of his ministry on earth. Yet a man who wants to see the under served cared for is called a liberal. That's another word for generous. He is chastised for wasting taxpayer money. Guns are good. Being a "Good Samaritan," and helping the elderly and sick is irresponsible. I seem to recall that helping the less fortunate was ALL HE DID when he was here. How many barns do you build for YOUR grain?

The Bible says to "Give Ceasar what is his." Yet the well-to-do scream that they pay too much. Remember the woman with the two pennies who gave it to God? She did so with a glad heart. How much do you really NEED? Faith and works are the measuring stick in the kingdom. You can't buy your way into heaven. I've heard you can into hell. This kind of complaining is like a man relaxing on a beach complaining that the sun is too warm. Give with a cheerful heart is great. Gratitude for your good fortune is humility.

Christianity is open to all who choose to receive it and HIM. It is not based on how I vote or look. If I vote to help the few and hurt the many what have I done? It's time to show that we are one in the body. People turn away from religion or houses of worship because of OUR infighting and the intolerance towards each other! The hypocrisy is staggering. Goodness comes from the man, not the labels.

When I see GOD'S name thrown around and hijacked by one group of people I am saddened. All those who wish to drink from the cup are welcome. It doesn't matter what color you are. It means nothing if your hair is pink and your nose is pierced. If you are not a Christian, your faith is your faith. Who am I to judge? Faith is personal. Many men turn away those who wish to follow because they are made to feel as if they can't measure up. None of us can. So they walk away! Everyone is welcome at the table.

I am far from perfect. I sin. I pray for the day when as CHRISTIANS we unite in our faith. Politics is not the baseline for faith. There are Commandments. All of them are to be followed or he would not have included them. Not one or two. We are all God's creatures. I've heard he knows my name and the hairs on my head. That must mean he knows that stuff about all people. I am not gonna be the one to judge God's work.

A love and Faith in Christ is ALL INCLUSIVE. I hope we get to a place where we share that ideal  with ALL men, not through gritted teeth but outstretched arms. We will all stand before our maker. He looks at our hearts. He is love. There is not a line. It is one-on-one. He won't look at how long my hair is, if I have a tattoo, and a pierced ear. He doesn't check voting cards. He looks at what I have done while on earth. I'm pretty certain he likes love more than hate...

Though I walk through the shadow of death....

Everyone has fears. I know I do. Some of them are healthy. Yet others have been paralyzing.

I look strikingly like my paternal grandfather. He died of a massive heart attack when he was 39. He is buried in Toronto, Canada. My family immigrated from Ireland to Canada. Then they made their way to Chicago. My father was only fifteen when he passed. He has a picture of his tombstone. It reads Thomas Connolly. I also have a copy. It is sobering to see your name spelled out on a tombstone.

I wish it had continued to have a sobering effect on me. It did the opposite. His death at such an early age contributed to my justifications to drink. I figured I was going to croak by forty, so I might as well live fast and leave an average looking corpse. Through 28 years of addiction I was obsessed with a perception that I was going to die prematurely. It was going to hurt real bad too.

My stepfather died shortly after his 41st birthday. That was the deal closer. It set me off on my path of self destruction. It also ingrained in me the notion that GOD was smiting everyone down in anger. He was a vengeful guy as far as I could see. I ran from him and chased after him for years. I couldn't understand why he had it out for me.

From the time I was five until the age of eighteen, I was a member of no less than 6 different churches. Methodist, Lutheran, Baptist, The United Church of Christ and the Catholic church were just a couple of stops on my spiritual journey. Every where I went I heard stories of love and acceptance. I saw only pain and loss. I believed in the fella because I was in complete terror of what he was going to do to me. It was just a matter of time.

When my great grandmother died I was horrified at seeing her lifeless sweet soul lying in a box. As more of my elders passed I found myself thinking about death more and more. I believed with absolute certainty that GOD took the good and left the bad to wreak havoc on the planet.

Of course, like most folks, what I feared most was the way I was going to die, and the thought of how bad it was going to hurt. For me fire is the most horrific way to go followed by drowning. I conjured up scenarios and mental pictures of my crispy or bloated body sprawled out for all the world to see.

Right before I got sober I was having multiple panic attacks. If you have never experienced one I hope you never have to. They are devastating. Your mind convinces you your going to die at any moment. Your body follows suit with sweats, racing heartbeat and a myriad of other symptoms that compound your certainty it's curtains. It was consuming me..

By now I was 45. I had passed gramps and the stepfather. I was on borrowed time. As each birthday came I was certain I was going to kick the bucket and fall face first into my cake. 3 of my attacks put me in the emergency room. All of the visits led to the same prognosis. It was all in my head.

I am grateful to say that I no longer fear my lifelong obsession. I am comfortable with the fact that we all get our ticket punched at some time. It is out of my control. I can do things on my end to help promote a longer life, but ultimately it is in HIS hands. I hope to live many years and end up on a scooter with a miracle ear and those space clamps that grab my cereal off the shelf.

The key to conquering this fear was building a new relationship with my creator based on a one-on-one basis. It also stems from the fact that I try to live in the moment. I never try to leave a friend or family members' company on a bad note. My fear has moved to a healthy desire to get the most out of the rest of time I am here. I am sure I'm going to heaven based on my beliefs. My life is so much more fulfilling living in the goodness and opportunity a positive outlook creates. Fear only creates darkness and immobility.

Whatever your fear may be I hope you can take a good look at it. If it's death there is no point in obsessing about it. We all know it's coming. Why waste a day stuck on death? It prevents us from living. It's comparable to worrying if the sun is going to rise tomorrow. It is wasted energy. I would say that the key to removing those fears is based on a connection to YOUR GOD, the ability to love, an appreciation for the beauty of this world and a desire to make peace with yours. I wish you well.

Adapt! You Son of a So-n-So!

I hate Change, unless it's change I like. That kind of change is usually when things are going my way. It is when the universe falls into line with my grandiose plans. Natural selection dictates that only the strong survive. Adapt or be extinguished. I have made so many changes in the last few years in recovery that I see a different me when I look in the mirror. The fact that I can look in the mirror and be comfortable with the guy looking back at me is a miracle in itself.

I am grateful to GOD for giving me the chance to rebuild my family and start a new career in acting. As for my comedy career I'm at a crossroad. I haven't lost the passion. I still can write some decent material. I hold my own when I'm on stage. David Brenner told me in effect, "if you don't get butterflies before you hit the stage, get out of the business. Your passion is gone!" I do get a little nervous, or more accurately an adrenalin rush, when the emcee is giving me my intro and I hit the stair up on stage. After I have snapped out my first joke I go into the zone.

Chicago is a great comedy town. There are at least 6 major clubs in the city and plenty in the suburbs. I have played all over the city except the east side. I'll have to wait until they have a water taxi and floating club for that. On all seven days of the week you can find an open mic to try out some new stuff or catch the buzz!

When I was "out there" I was completely comfortable spewing out ANY material that would get a laugh. My conscience was set to my standards and that was pretty much, "Tom say ANYTHING for a laugh!" The bluer the better. The nastier the better. Nothing was taboo.

Last night I performed at a club in the heart of Rush Street. For my readers outside the "Windy City," that's the Bourbon Street of Illinois. The crowd wasn't bad. It was a comedy contest with me and 4 other comics competing to move into the semi-finals. I did not make it. I don't feel bad about it. The winner was outstanding. He is a touring comic and left me in the dust.

As I watched my four friends perform I was struck by the fact that my material was rated PG 17 or under. My fellows were rated R to X. That's cool. I know that's what people want to hear when their out partying. I can say without hesitation Carlin, Pryor, Kinison and Williams are personal favorites. Bruce, Foxx, Pryor and Carlin were ground breaking. Carlin's stance on free speech took him all the way to the Supreme Court. I miss ya' George.

Out of all the comedians you see today in the main stream only a handful of them do sets that are suitable for any age audiences. Dreesen, Brenner, Lewis, Foxworthy and Dunham are masters. Last night I became convicted with the fact that following in those guys footsteps is what I am going to do. I love comics who can make me laugh without feeling embarrassed when my kids are with me. Comic note: I still enjoy blue humor. I just don't think it's for me.

As I took the stage last night the other guys had covered coke, sex, hookers and racism. I had prepared my all ages set. As I began the laughs were coming in smatterings. There was one here, a couple there and occasionally I knocked one out of the park. After I noticed I wasn't keeping the crowd rolling I slipped back into the blue. I started throwing out the raunchy stuff from the old days. I was willing to do anything for the laughs again. It worked. They laughed. I left the stage feeling awful!

I was shocked at how quickly I was able to toss out my convictions on doing a PG set, more specifically it made me feel bad about my performance. I was recording the set to send out to clubs and agents. When I went to check on the camera after my set I saw a black screen. The batteries had died. I was actually happy I didn't have to review it. I also felt like the big guy upstairs was reaffirming my decision. That is, from here out I am only doing decent humor. I have to feel good with what comes out of my mouth. The crowd will see my ease and hopefully enjoy the ride.

As I get ready to release Soul Parole, I hope to do some signings and corporate events. I want to weave my comedy and laughter into my otherwise troubling story. I am a story teller. My new choice of decency may limit my opportunities in the clubs. It may also open some new ones. If I end up doing only fundraisers or the Florida Condo circuit, I'm cool with that. I have to remain comfortable in my own skin. If I get too uncomfortable, bad things will quickly follow. That is my M.O.! David Brenner went on to say that, "doing what you want, in a place you like, that makes you feel good is the only definition of happiness I ever found valid."The racy hard core comics rule. My hat is off to you guys. I agree with David. Look out world Mr. Clean is coming out swinging.

GRATITUDE and Passion Is Why I do WHAT I DO?

Over the last two years of writing this blog I have been asked, "Why do you share such dark personal secrets?" They are no doubt referring to the blogs about my addictions, alcoholism and Bi-Polar Disorder. I have bared my soul in talking about being homeless, hopeless, suicidal, insane and an all around jerk. Add to that 3 marriages and the loss of two children and the kettle can quickly turn black.

I can say that it is painful to recount the things I have done that were unfair, or down right ignorant to my family, friends and strangers. Some folks have said that the blog will hurt my career as an actor and comic. To all those offering warning, advice and personal insights thanks, IT'S OKAY! I never imagined that I would share stories of peeing on myself and living in my car, the insanity I lived in for 28 years and my new life in faith and hope.

You see I share my story because we all learn through pain. I do for sure. After a quarter of a decade of slowly trying to kill myself I have found light at the end of the tunnel. Many don't get that chance. More importantly if I can help someone seek treatment and escape the grips of addiction then all that time wasn't wasted in vain. If I kept all the pain inside it would be of no benefit to me or anyone. It would simply be pain.

This week I had a friend over who said he doesn't believe people when they, "If it helps one person, it was all worth it." I can appreciate that. It is an overly romanticized statement. I think we say things like that because it's humbling when you reach a point that you are grateful to be a positive influence even if it's to the few. In reality we hope to inspire many. Many people inspire me. I think that's what it's all about down here on good ole' Terra Firma.

My blog has had 15,000 reads in the 15 months I have been writing it. It has been read in 57 countries. I'll take that! I'm not the Huffington Post or Joyce Meyer, but I can see that I have touched some hearts. That is all I am supposed to do. I think that is what GOD wants from all of us. My happiest, most contented moments are when I step outside of myself and jump into serving or helping a friend in need. My melon and me don't get along very well alone.

It doesn't take a blog or becoming a missionary. We all have gifts that God has given us to share. I am sure you have had days when you were at your wits ends and feeling like doom was about to fall on you like raindrops. Then at the most unexpected moment some stranger says just the right thing to make you feel a little better. THAT is being a messenger! Every act we do outside of self makes the world a little better. It may be only one person. If my writings help ONE person that is being a messenger and fulfilling God's will.

If you aren't a person of faith, it's just a right way for living. Being a decent human being isn't a religious thing. Hold a door. Let someone into traffic. Call an old friend just to say hi. Catch the dream you have always been FEARFUL of going for! Lennon said, "You can dream alone, but it takes others to make them realities." You are unique in this world. SHARE YOUR UNIQUENESS! It's a gift.

I received an email today that someone had read one of my blogs and it had an impact on them. It is posted on the bottom of this blog. If you ask me if I'm happy to touch just one persons life I would answer with an emphatic YES! I see that I am. Trust me when I say the more help you offer to others...the less self-help you'll need to seek. Change someones world for the better today with a smile or simple gesture of kindness. Then try it the next day. You'll end up with many smiling faces and one of them will be yours....

I am truly touched by your article and I thank you for writing it. I am John Roberts' oldest daughter, Bonnie. I am so proud of my dad for fighting the war on heroin. Losing my brother, Billy has forever changed my family's lives. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of my little brother. You are right, he wasn't a "junkie" or "low life" -- He was a funny, smart, hard working, loving kid who was taken too soon.

Again, thank you for your kind words and support.

Than you Bonnie...You just touched my heart. Thanks for being a messenger of good news in my life today....God Bless You All! 

Friday is Good!

On Good Friday, 1999 I entered the SHARE Recovery Home in Hoffman Estates. I had been sober for eleven days after spending three days in the detox unit of Hinsdale Hospital. I spent an additional eight days in the psych ward on voluntary admission. That's how many days I had left on my insurance for inpatient care. I had been fired while there. I was so afraid that I was going to drink, that the extra few days with the guys in white was not of concern to me. I so desperately wanted to begin a life free from chemical dependency.

Although I had to surrender my shoe laces, pointed objects, belt and any thing else that I could do harm to myself or someone else with, I was free to come and go from the unit to attend recovery meetings. I spent time in the chapel trying to sort out the insanity that I had been living in. It's hard to make sane decisions with a sick mind. I loved the quietness and peace the tiny room offered and symbolized. I was still fearing, running from, and chasing after a GOD I did not understand. I still figured he didn't have the time to deal with my petty problems. My temporary stay in Hinsdale would be the start of almost five years without alcohol. It was also where I was first diagnosed as being Bi-Polar.

I chose not to participate in craft making during my stay. The thought of making Popsicle stick and macaroni pictures made me feel too much as if I was one of the lock down patients. They were nuts. I wasn't one of them! I surmised that putting yourself in a psych ward didn't count! I spent those times alone trying to sort out what I was going to do with my life when I was on the outside again. I also had visits with the psychologist who wanted to know what made me tick and sick. I lied and denied that I was a REAL alcoholic. I was just a guy who let things get out of control for a bit. He saw right through my addict speak and we got down to how my racing mind and tattered body had driven me to self-commitment.

I explained to him that while most folks could sit and read the morning paper while enjoying a nice cup of coffee, I didn't have the ability to focus on one thing...EVER! 2 minutes after I met someone I couldn't even tell you their name. I still struggle with that problem. I went on to intimate that while I was reading the paper and sipping my coffee, three different songs were running through my head. I was reliving painful moments of my past and obsessing about the doom that was certain to fall upon me at any moment. I was worried about war, famine and the laundry. All I did was THINK...THINK...THINK!

His diagnosis of manic depression, or Bipolar Disorder was swift. As he explained the symptoms and parallels to my life I couldn't deny that it was me he was describing to the letter. He went on to share the fact that many people with BPS and depression often self medicate with drugs and alcohol to slow their minds. I was put on a commonly prescribed medication and he went on his way. I had a hard time accepting the diagnosis even though I knew I suffered manic highs and the darkest of lows. I now embrace the fact, and try to educate people on the misconceptions of mental disorders, or more accurately chemical imbalances.

After my eleven days were up and I entered SHARE for 27 days. My loved ones didn't come to "Family Night." I spent Easter with my new recovery friends as most of the others laughed with their folks and children. After my treatment was complete, my third marriage fell apart. Our toxic relationship that was once strained by my addiction was unsalvageable in sobriety. I checked into the Lagrange YMCA. It was a sad desperate place. It was only 90 days after arriving there that I began to use pot and speed heavily. It was classic switch and control behavior. It was just new candy for the same sick kid. The thick roots of addiction erased the gratitude that God had given me yet ANOTHER chance. I began to have anger issues that I did not understand. The medication I was on was not working for me.

 I stayed on it for nearly 3 years before I realized that something was terribly wrong with my mood swings. The drugs I was ingesting was massive and grew with each passing day. I wasn't drinking. I saw no problem with the drugs. I didn't have a desire to drink. It is no wonder that I was not progressing in establishing. emotional balance. It often takes several different trials of medications to find the one that truly offers balance. I was once again masking my discomfort with prescriptions from Dr. Feelgood. As of this writing, through chemical free living, and the help of a therapist, my mania and depression have been arrested for the most part.

I stopped going to recovery meetings even though they held them in the very building I lived in, and throughout Lagrange. I quit talking to people like me. I did nothing that was suggested for a life of contented sobriety. I could do it all on my own. I was a survivor, a warrior! That need to figure it out on my own is a common addiction thread. Nobody understands us. Nobody feels like we do. No one can help us. We have all the answers.

It would be another nine more years before I was completely sober. Between my days living in the street to the last drunken end I learned to be highly functional in my disease. I lived 7 years with my depression unchecked. My addiction was a roller coaster ride of ups and downs and I couldn't get off! The highs were never high enough to slow my thoughts down. My using was increasing but my professional career was booming. Good money was coming in and bringing out bad behavior. I had all the justification in the world! I was salesman of the month! I was top ten in the country! How could I possibly be out of control? Even after Squeaky left me for a few weeks and I tried to end my life, I still couldn't stop....

On GOOD FRIDAY 2012 God's grace was shining on me. I finally completed and submitted the final manuscript for Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself. My marriage is stronger than ever. My friends are close. My recovery is strong. I am doing the next right thing, a day at a time. I have worked on 3 TV series in the last month and have a commercial and 2 movies to shoot in the coming weeks. I have two agencies considering representing me on a tour promoting the book.

As I felt the tension, brought on from deadlines and editing subside, I realized it was Good Friday. I saw the grace of God shining into my world. On that holy day that represents the end of suffering and the beginning of life renewed in paradise, I had come full circle. Where there was once only despair, there is rebirth. I was lost but now am found. Hopefully, Soul Parole will help someone seek sobriety, a relationship walking with God and let them know that dreams come true. For almost 28 years I was lost in the wilderness. I was lost but now...I'm found! HE saved a wretch like me. Every Day IS a GIFT.

Little Women Huge Hearts

There are often people who you meet on your journey that can impact your life forever. They are messengers of hope. They are angels on earth. They often don't know how much their words or actions shape others. They're not in it for the praise. They are in it, to give it.

In my journey through sobriety, and in the pursuit of my dreams two women changed the direction of my life. They shaped my dreams. They pushed me along not knowing that they touched my life and do for so many around them. Their names are Denise Baran Unland and Michelle Jo Whitmore Sanchez. One is an author and features writer. The other is a filmmaker who specializes in faith based films.

I first met Denise when she interviewed me for the local paper about my journey. We became fast friends. Her service work to God and Man is tireless. From home schooling her six children, to starting a church in her own backyard, Denise motivated me and helped edit the book you are reading.

As I began to write Denise shared the experiences and challenges she faced in the writing of her first book "Bryony." It is an amazing piece of literature. Based in the late 1800's Bryony is a vampire novel that is rich in history, classic literature and a snapshot into the romantacism of the Nineteenth Century.

Deep in her faith Denise penned a novel that is devoid of the sex, violence, foul language and horror that are the common root in the classic vampire book. I devoured it in only a few days. I turned to her for counsel on on the possibility of writing my own book. After reading a few blogs she said my story might help change the lives of addicts and gave great insight into the world of addiction. I was flattered by her praise after reading such a masterful work as Bryony.

Day after day I would call with questions about formats and reference pages, proper writing and punctuation. My manic obsession with my writings never seemed to phase her. She always took time to ease me off a literary cliff or calm me after a temporary set back.

While we spoke she was busy home schooling two of her children. The other 4 have passed through her classroom already. As we spoke more about her job as a features reporter for the Sun-Times Media Service her specialty floored me. Along with the latest news she focuses on those who have died and brings them back to life again through her stories recounting their amazing works while living. She brings their voices back from eternity to share the extraordinary feats of ordinary people who no longer speak for themselves. Hope is her mission. Shining light upon others her focus.

As she shared more and more about the service work she did in the community it sparked my interest to serve. It was weeks before we met after many conversations about God, hope and making a difference. Serving others comes as natural to her as breathing itself. Her faith is unshakable. From working with Big Brothers-Big Sisters to offering guidance to novice writers like me, she never once said no to somebody reaching out for help. I could never have completed Soul Parole without her direction, editing and advice. Our friendship is forged forever.

As I grew in my sobriety and my film work was moving from that of being an extra to feature work in commercials and films I met another amazing woman. Michelle Jo Whitmore Sanchez is a filmmaker and owner of Take 9 Productions. Sanchez specializes in faith based films and positive role models. Her specialty is rare in the film business these days. I am sure her works will help the genre grow by leaps and bounds. She is unstoppable.

During the summer of 2010 Michelle called me and asked me if I was interested in a small part in her film "Just Kneel." I was to play a recovering addict who finds faith and works to save others from life on the streets. It was my first faith based film. I know it will not be my last. The most intriguing thing about my part in the film was that after a few written lines Michelle wanted me to share my journey to faith. It was unexpected. It brought MY journey and faith to the story. I was taken aback by her trust in having me shape the film with my testimony.

Sanchez has written several faith based films including "Revision 7," "Heal," "Dancerball," and "Zapketball." All of them are aimed at bringing people to faith. They touch the nerve of our humanity and our daily struggles with freewill and putting our trust in God. I am honored to have my imprint on "Just Kneel." Michelle changed my life by further instilling in me the desire to share my story of addiction and my journey to faith.

I have met many people in my new life of sobriety. Denise and Michelle have showed me we can all make a difference. We all have gifts we are meant to share. We are all messengers here. God guides us. We do the footwork. I am grateful to have such driven friends in my life. They keep me centered and focused on my mission.look for Denise's riveting book at bryonyseries.com and Michelle's works at take9productions.com. You will quickly see why I am proud to call them friends. 

A Christmas of Love and Extra Hands of Hope....

On November 13, 2012 I was 3 months away from the anniversary of my third year of chemical free sobriety. My dedication to service work to those in need was at an all time high. I couldn't imagine my life without it. From helping others in sobriety to lending a hand at an area food pantry my life was rich with the desire to serve.

About that time a friend I had worked with as a movie extra came to me with an idea to start a toy drive similar to "Toys for Tots," mobilizing actors and extras to help the less fortunate. I loved the idea from the start. My all or nothing mentality set in. This cause was ALL IN for me. My mind began to brainstorm on who and how we could make it happen.

After working in several underserved neighborhoods on the South Side of Chicago in the past, I wanted to center our efforts there. In the inner city poverty, foreclosures and the jobless rate is double that of the national average. I did much of my work in Englewood where crime rates are high and the pressures of the economic downturn are clearly visible.

I called my church and asked if they could put me in touch with a community support organization on the South Side. They gave me names of worthy local programs and one in Englewood. It was as if God had directed me to the place I wanted so desperately to reach out to. The name of the organization is Urban Youth Outreach (urban7.com), a safehouse for underserved and homeless kids situated in a home at 63d and Union. The fearless man who devotes his life to the kids, and GOD, is Pastor Keith Vosler. I told him what we were trying to do and set up a meeting.

On my first trip to Urban Youth Outreach I was unaware that the home was located in the middle of a powerful gang controlled part of the city. I had been given the address and was looking for a church. I pulled down the street and pulled over waiting for the Pastor to pull up to what was the safehouse. I did not realize I had parked my car in front of a gang leader's home. I was  concerned when two cars with blacked out windows began driving past my car repeatedly. I quickly realized that it was not a good situation.

One of the cars began to pull along the side of my car. The window rolled down slowly and the driver was slouched down behind the wheel with just one eye peeking over the door. I knew instantly I was in trouble. My window was rolled down. I prayed and waited for his next move. I have been around the city enough to recognize he was a street soldier positioned to shoot.

 He asked if I was in the right place. I looked at the car as I spoke, careful not to show disrespect as I answered his questions. I replied that I was looking for Pastor Vosler. He never sat up, but told me he was in the corner house. I thanked him and breathed a sigh of relief. The car slinked away back to the areas he was protecting.

It wasn't long before a tiny white man pulled up in front of the home. He was all of about 5'7" and had a smile that was infectious. I have to be honest that based on our conversations, and the fact that we were in the middle of a stretch of African American churches, my mental picture was of a Black Minister with a swagger and unshakeable purpose in helping the kids.

I was instantly captivated by the conviction of this man, and the fearlessness that glimmered in his eyes. The house is more of a compound than a church. It truly is a safehouse. The Pastor quickly informed me that the houses down the street where I originally parked were home to street liutenients who commanded over 100,000 soldiers in the city. I thanked GOD again and knew I had chosen the right place for the drive.

During our previous discussions the pastor explained to me that the ministry served more than 200 plus families and several kids living on the streets. The house provided safety, food, games and access to computers, along with words of hope and a message of faith. After our talk I decided to expand the drive to clothes and books along with toys.

I returned home and began to work on a name for our cause. I came up with "Extra Hands of Hope." I drew a basic concept for the logo. It was a peace sign made of hands. A local graphic artist Victor T. brought it to life. The logo was amazing. It far exceeded my rough sketch and wildest dreams.

I immediately began to call the casting companies in Chicago. I contacted both extras casting and principal casting companies. The first on board was Atmosphere Casting owner Jon Kinnas, Joan Philo of JP Casting and Darlene Hunt of Extraordinary Casting. They all agreed to join in the cause. Jon offered to be media contact. Darlene offered field support and Joan said to call if we needed anything else.

I was amazed that the competitive nature of the 3 was cast aside to embrace a worthy cause. The next step was to secure drop box locations for toy, winter clothing and book donations. A plea on Facebook got the ball rolling. As we moved forward I approached the 3 biggest principal casting companies to see if they too would take part in our mission. Simon Casting, Paskal-Rudnicke and O'Connor Casting all said yes. Some have told me it was the first time that all of the cities casting agencies had come together for one common project. I was grateful to all of them and felt GOD was making things happen to make the drive a success.

The logos were printed. Jeffrey H., a Sag insider, offered a donation of 20 drop boxes. Jay D. promised to get the Screen Actors Guild involved. I reached out to several "Ma and Pa" stores and community centers to see if they would allow a drop box at their location. Not one of them said no.

Every day I made impassioned pleas to the Facebook community to join the cause. With well over 100,000 actors in Chicago I knew we couldn't fail. Along thwe way friends began to offer their help. Jeffrey H., Jan and Kera S., Theresa C., The Bolber family, Charmane W. and Randy B. were my elves. After trying to run the show alone I saw that as in most cases reaching out my hand to friends was needed if we were to reach our goals.We also took on two more organizations bringing the total number of families we hoped to serve to 800.

The drive was to run for 30 days between November 17th and December 17th. 16 locations were secured around the city. The casting agencies put notices of the drive on their home pages and Jon Kinnas did a press blast announcing Extra Hands of Hopes' mission. Boxed were put in place and I sat back and waited for them to fill up with everything the families needed to make Christmas extra special.

Yahoo Contributor Patricia B. ran a story on the cause (appendix). I was certain the city would embrace the idea. I was certain that as in "A Field of Dreams," if we built it they would come. I could just sit back and drop off the thousands of donations to Keith back at Urban 7. For the first few weeks things looked shakey.

Everyday I posted what we needed. I was emailing my drop box locations like a man posessed. I felt like a tv preacher trying to get people to "fill them boxes." I waited for the press to jump on the story. The casting agencies devoted more announcements and even pages devoted to the drive. Still there was no media pick up.

For the first 2 weeks dribbles and drabs of items began to come in. Charmane W. recorded a song to encourage people to give. I am confident that it will be a song known to many as we make the event an annual event. We moved from collecting only new items to "gently used." That would be the ticket. My prayer life couldn't be stronger. With every call I made to my satellite elves there was only a couple items in the box or nothing at all. I prayed harder but I can honestly say that I was discouraged. I was concerned about the kids and didn't want to let them down.

Meanwhile Jan S. and Jeffrey H. were making things happen on the North Side. The halfway point came and it looked like we would only be able to help about 25 families. There was no way we could accomodate the original goal of 800. I bought the website extrahandsofhope.org. I was beginning to see that a month was too short of a time frame to collect the amount of resources needed. Jon did another press blast. Paskal-Rudnicke, O'Connor and Simon Casting all had postings. Where had I gone wrong?

As we closed in on the collection date of December 15th I was happy for what we had accomplished to date but disappointed that I had not brought corporate sponsers into the mix. My own disdain for Big Brother got in the way of doing the best for the families. People shared kudos and posts congratulating us on a job well done. I set my goals so high I was having a hard time seeing just how much we had done.

On the the 14th we began to collect items from the boxes. Charmane covered the downtown. Pert cleaners on Irving seemed to be a fountain of giving. Randy had collected several items of his own. As we made our rounds to clear the drop boxes our cars began to fill up. Jen had a warehouse lined up for us. Kids were joining in. Police officers hopped on board. We were beginning to see things shape up at the finish line.

We assembled at the warehouse and were astounded at what we had. Darlene, Jon, Erin and Jess from Girls Gone Casting, Jennifer from Paskal-Rudnicke, Claire Simon all came in at the end with huge personal donations. We were blown away with what we had amassed. I finally felt the beauty and generosity of the actors and agencies around this beautiful city. I had been overwhelmed by the logistics and almost missed the spirit of the Christmas Season.

We counted and sorted. I had rented a truck for the haul down to Urban7. Pastor Vosler had assembled a team at the house and we were ready to rendesvous at 3pm. There were clothes, coats, toys, books, bikes and every conceivable item. The two funniest donations were a can of pumkin filling and a karate outfit. It was all the more encouragement as it was a bitter cold day as we sorted. Theresa was dressed as an elf. We had Santa hats donated to us. We laughed and shivered our way as we organized the booty.

By the time we had finished we had hundreds of coats, shoes, kids outfits, books, jeans, toys, stuffed animals and various odds and ends. We would meet our original goal of helping Urban7's 200 families. I was grateful to have such wonderful friends and supporters of the worthy cause. I imagined the smiling faces of the kids and gratitude of their parents. I felt Christmas joy bubble up inside me. It warmed me to the core.

We made our way to the safehouse. The cube truck I had rented was completely full. As we arrived at Urban Youth Outreach there were small children dancing and singing by the gates excited to see what the truck held inside. The Pastor's army of volunteers began to pur out and move the haul from the truck into the house. A team of missionaries had come in from Arizona to help sort the gifts for distribution to the families during the annual community dinner.

At the last minute we were shocked and amazed that a few groups outside of ours were delivering packages to the center directly. I was extra grateful because I wanted others to see the amazing work the Pastor was doing in the community. It is a place where some kids get their only meal and clothing from. I pictured them with a shiny new toy as they returned to the street. I prayed for them that they would find safety and a home.

As we finished up the drop Pastor Keith explained that he treated a gun shot wound a week at the home. These are mean streets where he had set up the home. The little man with the big heart was fearless. Stories of kids coming to the compound with guns and intentions to shoot other youngsters after losing basketball games left us gasping. Our respect for the Pastor's mission grew. He is truly a miracle worker.

Jeff and I left the outreach feeling blessed that we were making a difference. It was another example in my life that I can't go it alone. So many people stepped up at the end and took us over the finish line. We warmed ourselves in the truck and began talking about Christmas 2012. My plans are to make Extra Hands of Hope a full time charity. This time I will put my feelings aside and approach every store and corporation I can find. A council of elders will be in place to relieve me of the burden of such a massive undertaking. We will start months earlier instead of weeks. I will have a game plan in place.

My wife asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I thought about her question and couldn't find an answer. I was filled with the joy of giving. My normal practice of self-criticism had been pushed aside. I told her I was grateful for whatever her and the kids chose. As we sat opening gifts on Christmas morning I couldn't help but think of the kids in Englewood. We had made a difference and put some smiles on tiny little faces. Pastor Vosler told me the items were gone within hours and the new gifts were distributed at the dinner.

God gives me all I need and more. It is so easy to forget those underserved and overlooked in our world and city. I get frustrated when people say the folks in the inner city have the same opportunities and resources we have in the suburbs and nicer city neighborhoods. It is just plain not true. I would suggest to those who hold that philosophty to take a ride down to Englewood for an afternoon and come back and chat with me again. I defy anyone to return with the same thoughts about the area.

I am grateful to all those who helped, donated and were drop locations for the first year of Extra Hands of Hope. It will certainly become an annual event. I have the elves in place. They took a simple plan and turned it into a beautiful reality. My worry that the kids would not be served was for naught. God came through working through his people. He always seems to amaze me with his grace when I least expect it. I am humbled by his surprises.