Be still my soul: the Lord is on thy side!
Bear patiently the cross of grief and pain;
Leave to thy God to order and provide-
In every change, He faithful will remain.
Be still my soul: thy best, thy heav’nly friend
thru thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake
to guide the future as he has the past;
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake-
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still my soul: the waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.

Be still my soul: the hour is hast’ning on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
Be still my soul: when change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

- This song has been ringing in Kim’s head for a few weeks, and after she shared it with me, I find it’s stuck in my head, too. I’ll admit I was more familiar with the melody than the lyrics, but after reading the lyrics I have to say it’s one of the most powerful songs I’ve ever heard. The words are incredibly applicable to us right now, and we’re amazed at God’s consistent faithfulness and love. I know how pithy that sounds, but once you experience it as truth, the pithiness shrinks away.

-Kevin

This is a story that a friend of mine shared. I thought it would make for good reading as we continue our “Meat Street Saga.”

- Kevin

______
In Omaha one day, years ago, I was outside a PC computer and parts retailer — right in the middle of town. It was a Spring day, and as I got ready to get into my car a plump, Mafioso-looking guy pulled up in a white, non-full-sized pickup truck (think Chevy S-10) with a low topper on the bed. The topper had a ridge running lengthwise down the center of the bed and insulated, fiberglass doors which opened up, hinged along the ridge.

Guido (or Vinny — had to be one of the two) got out and made his introduction. He was clearly from New Yahwk or thereabouts. No one could have stood out more smack dab in the heart of the midwestern plains. Like your experience, it was about the strangest thing I had ever seen. He had slicked black hair, a prosperous belly, gold chain, wide collars, and was about 50. He caught me and another customer (who was on the way in) and started his pitch.

(Guido) “So, ya got a computah dare, huh? Yeh evuh hafta get dose tings cleaned out? Huh? About how awftun do yuh hafta get dose tings cleaned?”

(Me) “???????????????????????????”

(Other guy) “????????????????????????”

(Guido) “Hey I wanna show you guys dis. You interested in some really nice steak and lobstuh? [opens a lid on the pickup revealing a pit filled with small ice cubes, vacuum-sealed steak pieces, and lobster tails.

Guido lifts out a convenient lobster tail Dees are really nice pieces hee-uh (“here”)”

(Me) [Strangely smiling, because that's what you do when you're nervous/curious “Umm, no thanks.”

As I got into my car and left, Guido was still pitching the ingoing patron.

Picture this: It’s 6:07pm the other night, and I’m chasing Kyler around
the room, like I do most every night (sans meatcleaver, thank you).
Suddenly the doorbell rings. Calling a “time-out” from our race, I rush
over to the door (always hoping it’s something from UPS that I forgot I
won on eBay). Throwing it open with glee, I quickly frown, as it’s not
the UPS guy. This guy had greasy hair and was wearing jeans and a black
leather jacket. With a chain or two hanging off of it.

Nope. Definitely not UPS.

Stepping outside, the conversation goes something like this:

“Hi! What’s up?” I ask.

“Oh, hey man,” Greasy begins, “I’m going around the neighborhood here
and I’m selling top-notch, high-quality cut meats.”

“Okay…”

He points a finger to a white, windowless van idling over at the curb.
“I have that van stocked full of the choices meats, all guaranteed for a
year from now…”

I stare at him blankly.

“And…” he continues, unfazed, “Just to show you that we’re the real
deal and not just some fly-by-night company, you can see here” (whips
out a laminated flyer) “where our contact information is and how to get
in touch with us in the future. Seriously,” he continues, shoving the
flyer back in whatever pocket it appeared from, “These are the best
meat you’ve had in a long time, and they’re guaranteed for an entire
year!!”

I nodded. “Ah.. thanks, but I think I’ll have to pass for now. Good
luck, though!”

“Okay, man. Thanks!” And off he goes, tromping back to the van… or to
a neighbor’s house… I didn’t really know or care…

Sounds strange? Imagine being in my shoes, on the porch, having a total
stranger offer to sell me meat from his van.

I’ve never, EVER heard of such a thing, and I’m racking my brain to
figure out what the catch is. Where the con is. Is he scoping houses to
see who’s home and when? I have no idea. I’m clueless as to the true
purpose of the Mystery Meat Street Vendor, so if anyone out there has
any insights, be sure to share them…

Who knows? Maybe he was just too high on crack to know what he was
doing… baffles the brain, it does…

Kevin

Before I begin, I want to apologize for the last post. I don’t know why
it turned out to ugly, but it might have been because I sent it as an
HTML e-mail instead of plain text. Either way, I’m sendin’ it as text
this time, just to see if it’ll play nicer…

So, I’m still working at Love’s, but this will be my last week. They’re
working on the program I’m using, so they’ll need to doctor it up next
week. There’s a chance I could be back after that, but none of us are
holding our breath. (It’s up to the accounting department… or…
another area of the accounting department… whatever…)

It’s been a great ride, though. Today I was able to sift through a ton
of Cds I had bought last summer but never listened to. Within hours I
was able to determine whether they were worth further scrutiny or if
they should go in the eBay stack. Sorry to say, but out of some 10 CDs,
not a one is worthy of keeping at this point. But, c’est la vie, right?
At least I had the chance to explore ‘em…

In the meantime, I should mention that I’m continually astounded by
eMusic’s selection a breadth of new music. For a mere $10 a month, I’m
getting 40 mp3′s for me to listen to and use as I’d like. (If you’ve
ever considered joining eMusic, drop me an e-mail and I’ll get ‘em to
send you a special offer… where I’ll get a hefty 50 freebies just for
pointing them your way. Yowza…)

Lastly, I should also mention that I’ve been called back to LifeChurch
for my second interview tomorrow (Thursday). I went last week and took
the pre-screening tests so they could verify that I’m not an idiot and
I’m basically who I claim to be. (They also had a test on spiritual
gifts, which was pretty cool…) So I meet with them again tomorrow and
we’ll see what happens from there. (Fingers crossed, clenching my legs
to keep from wetting myself….)

Just kidding. I’m not crossing my fingers…

Kevin

For the first time since the Summer of 2002, I, Kevin Mills, have a full-time job.

I’m currently working as a temp for Love’s Country Stores, in the accounting department, Technically I work for AccounTemps (or OfficeTeam, depending on who you ask). I’m pretty impressed with this temp agency, I should say. After signing up with Express Personnel back in December with nary a job lined up, I went over to OfficeTeam and had a job lined up the very next day. Plus, I took a lot of fancy tests which said I’m a whiz at Microsoft Word, Excel and Adobe Photoshop. And hey – who doesn’t want that kind of immediate feedback, huh? So not only did I get a job lined up, but I snagged some Gee-Whiz Atta-Boys in the process.

At any rate, I’ve been working here for the past week, and it’s not too bad. Granted, punching in numbers and dates on invoices all hour – for eight hours straight – can be a bit mind-numbing. Heck, it’s probably the dullest job I’ve ever had as a temp, and I’ve had my share. But the people I work with are nice, and they appreciate my sense of e-mail humor, so I’m, not complaining at all. (I’ve always believed that 90% of one’s job satisfaction is garnered from your co-workers. Might be overstating it a bit, but it’s a hefty percentage, I’m sure…)

In the meantime, I’m also in the application process for a job at LifeChurch.tv, as the “Internet Campus Administrator.” The title is kinda corn-cobbish to me, but the description was right up my alley. “Excellent communication skills. Chatting ability. Self-starter & a people person.” It sounds mighty nice, and I’m pleased to say that after last Thursday’s interview I’ve been called back to undergo the “pre-employment testing” THIS Thursday. Yee and haw. (I fully expect to pee in a cup. In fact, I’ll be disappointed if I don’t…)

So I’m thanking God for the opportunity to work at LifeChurch, and I hope He’ll continue to open the doors according to His will, whether there or elsewhere.

And now… back to number crunching…

Kevin

A sad thing happened this week. I turned off my iMac so I could take a nap in silence (without the hard drive spinning ambiently in the background). After a restful hour or so, I return to my chair, press the power button, and – then it happened.

There was an ugly BZZZT! sound, followed by nothing. No startup screen, no power whatsoever. But that wasn’t the worst part. The WORST part was seeing the thin wisps of smoke slowly waft out of the top of it.

Oh, yes. THAT was the worst part. By far.

So, there you go. In .5 seconds my iMac up and died on me. :\ It lived a good 5.5 years, and I loved it dearly. I’ll say I was pretty sad to see it go, but not devastated. Why not? Because I had the foresight to BACK UP on a regular basis. (Much thanks to Greg DeWilde in St. Louis for the extra FireWire drive he had on hand a year ago…) Thus, I only lost a few days’ worth of files, and to my recollection, there wasn’t anything irreplacable. (Just a few freshly acquired MP3s, etc…)

Still, I was faced with a dilemma. While I had planned to snatch my dream machine – an iMac 20″ Flat Panel that came out a few years ago, I just didn’t have the extra cash to plunk down for it these days. In the end, I decided on this baby on ebay.

Basically, it’s a clone of my indigo iMac. I needed the 40gb drive (because that’s how large my backup files were), and I know that everything I plugged into my previous iMac would work (not to mention most of the software, if not all). PLUS, I get the added bonus of having Tiger (10.4.2) preinstalled, so it’ll be running the latest system software. (Assuming the processor can actually handle it well…)

In addition to these perks, I’ll also be able to use the RAM I had in my previous iMac – a whopping 1gb. I should note that I just bought some RAM two weeks ago – a 512mb stick – and installed it. There might be a link between the new RAM and the ZAP, but I just don’t know. (And who wants to go about proving such an allegation? Talk about headaches…)

So what am I running on now, you ask? Why, one of the extra PCs I snatched up at a garage sale last year for $20. The esteemed Century City 100. So far I’ve used it over the year for installing MP3 ringtones on my Motorola v400, as well as letting Kyler play PC games on it (Richard Scary’s Busytown). But now it’s really earning it’s keep. Thankfully it has the USB slots to let me connect to the Internet over broadband, otherwise, bargain no. (That’s a reference to some sci-fi TV show I saw in the 80′s, but I forget which one… Star Wars? Trek? I dunno….)

So that’s the harrowing tale of the life and death of my iMac. And the moral of the story?

Back Up Your Data. Or take your chances when the spectre of death takes a smoke break in YOUR computer.

Kevin

Okay, this is going to throw some of you for a loop, but bear with me as I try to summarize last week’s events in a coherent yet accurate method. (With a little bit of funny thrown in, just for yuks…)

The past few entries have been about my depression and the various ways I’ve dealt with it. Well, last week things took a turn for the better as a total stranger ministered to me in a way I never saw coming.

The backstory…

A few months ago my Dad, Dr. Richard Mills, operated on a woman’s eyes. She didn’t have the money to pay for her operation, but the very same day that she came in for surgery, ANOTHER woman had called and told my father that she was so impressed with her own surgery, she wanted to pay for another patient’s operation. You read that correctly. One woman offered to pay the exact same day another couldn’t. (Can we say “providence”?)

Now, the second woman, named Kelli McCabe, is 82 and has a prayer / healing ministry in Tulsa. She has a prayer team of about 15 people who pray constantly. Well, she was so grateful for her own surgery, that she asked my father if there was anything he needed prayer for. And my father, being the humble, gracious man he is, immediately thought of… me.

He let her know that I’ve been struggling with depression for the past few weeks, and asked if she would pray for me. So from that day until last Thursday, her ministry team was praying for me. I say until Thursday, because that’s when I met Kelli at her home.

Backpedal to Tuesday. I’m in Tulsa visiting my folks, having dinner with Dad and he tells me about Kelli and asking her to pray for me. A spiritual DING! goes off in my head, and suddenly I Just Know: I’m supposed to meet with Kelli McCabe. So I mention this to Dad, and he gets ahold of her on Wednesday, and I set up a time to meet with her on Thursday.

Now, I thought I was going to meet with her for a reason other that to get prayer for my depression. I was mainly wanting to ask her questions about how a healing ministry works, how to pray for people, and that sort of thing. (There have been numerous times God has led me to pray for people’s healing, so I wanted to get a better handle of how I should approach such a gift…)

So I show up, we sit down on the couch (her niece was there to pray with us as well) and I’m about to ask her questions when she smiles sweetly and holds up her hand. “Before you say anything,” she says quietly, “Let me just tell you what God has told me about you.” Dumbfounded, I sit back and nod my head. (What else is a guy to do when you’re in that kind of a situation, right?)

Then she proceeds. She proceeds to tell me, specifically, why I’m depressed, the thoughts that have gone through my head during the depression and so on, as if she were reading a piece of paper in front of her. I kind of stare at her and swallow silently. How does this lady know this stuff? Who is she, exactly?

A few minutes later, we agree to pray and she lays her hands on my head and chest and prays for my depression, my mind, my heart, my soul and my future. I didn’t feel anything spiritual at the time, no tingles or hair-raising or hair growth or anything. But I was thankful for her prayer, nonetheless.

After this she asked me to kneel on the floor, and asked her niece to bring her some towels. She said that she would like to annoint me with oil, in preparation for ministry in God’s kingdom. Again, what’s a guy to say to that? No? I’d rather not be annointed at this time? I don’t think so.

So I kneel, towels around me, and she smooths some oil on my right hand and fingers, then pours it over my head. I was glad I had shaved that day already, because then the oil wasn’t going to get any hair sticky. Granted, that’s probably not the right thoughts to think when you’re being annointed, but I gotta be honest, here.

So she prays for me as the oil slowly spread across my head, drizzling down my eyebrow and into my eye. I try to retain my composure through all this, as my eye begins to sting and I try to receive God’s blessing. Finally, I raised a portion of the towel and wiped as much of the oil out of my eye as possible. “Got a little bit in my eye,” I smiled. “Well, now,” she says with a smile, “I guess that eye’s annointed now, isn’t it?”

Nice to know 82 year old ministers have a sense of humor.

Before I left, she gave me this assignment: to read the book of John three times in the next 30 days.

So… what’s changed? What difference did it make in my life, being annointed by this stranger I had never met? There are three:

1) My depression is almost entirely lifted. I’m no longer overwhelmed with the feelings and thoughts that used to trigger me into a funk. They still come, but it’s like someone sprayed my head and my heart with spiritual teflon. Nothing sticks. I might get hit left and right, but nothing sticks to me anymore. The thoughts and feelings just slide away. Just like that.

2) I have a greater sense of peace, a peace that literally is passing my understanding. Regardless of how my day goes now, I don’t have a desire to mope, run away or smack myself around. I’m… okay. I’m at peace.

3) Lastly, I pray in tongues now. Fluently, that is. I’ve been praying in tongues close to the beginning of this whole mess, back in August, but it’s always been kind of stuttering… unsure of myself. After last Thursday’s events, my prayers come out like butter now… smooth and fluid. Do I know what I’m praying? Not usually, but sometimes God has shown me what or who I’m praying for. What does it sound like? Well… kind of like a mix between a poor man’s beat box and some African or Malaysian click-cluck dialect. It’s strange, but it feels natural.

So. There you have it. What God has in store for me, I have no idea, but I’m slowly getting back to a place where I’m yielding myself to His grace and leading once again. I’m functional again. Productive. Hopeful. He has lifted me out of the muck and mire, and I’m standing up again.

It’s good to be back.

Kevin

Your word is a lamp to my feet
and a light for my path.

I have taken an oath and confirmed it,
that I will follow your righteous laws.

I have suffered much;
preserve my life, O LORD, according to your word.

Accept, O LORD, the willing praise of my mouth,
and teach me your laws.

Though I constantly take my life in my hands,
I will not forget your law.

The wicked have set a snare for me,
but I have not strayed from your precepts.

Your statutes are my heritage forever;
they are the joy of my heart.

My heart is set on keeping your decrees
to the very end.

If there’s one piece of apparel I’ve never subscribed to, it’s the belt. It always seemed so useless to me, so foolish. Either buy the right sized pants to begin with or don’t bother. And if it’s just for fashion? To say “Hey, I’m a professional-lookin’ guy,”? Ferget it. I’ll earn your respect some other way than how I dress (or don’t dress… as the case may be for some suitemates of mine back at JBU.)

So in my youthful days I used to throw endless jibes at those who wore belts. And moustaches. In fact, I often said if you ever saw me with a moustache or a belt, you should kill me, because it’s an evil Kevin impersonator and the real Kevin is probably locked in a basement somewhere.

Well, I’m here to make an official plea not to be killed.

No, I’m not sporting a fancy handlebar moustache for the world to see (you can still kill me for that, FYI). But I AM wearing a belt these days.

I’ll give you a moment to catch your breath.

Yes, Kevin Mills wears belts now (and T-shirts, I should add). And all for the same reason: I done got skinny. Shed the pounds. (Like a second skin…) “But wait,” you’re saying, “He wasn’t even fat! What did he have to lose? Besides hair….” I can see your point (especially about the hair…), but the fact of the matter is, I lost about 15-20 pounds within the first two weeks of my depression. (I was going to add “Bam! Just like that!” but it was neither “like that” nor with any kind of an exclamatory quip…)

The secret? Stop eating.

Christian Bale said as much when he prepared for his role as a chronic insomniac in the utterly-boring-yet-fascinating movie, The Machinist. The six-foot-something guy lost who knows how many pounds and became absolutely unrecognizable. You’d never guess it was the same guy who played Bruce Wayne in the new Batman Begins, yet it is. And when people asked him how he lost so much weight, he simply shrugged and said he stopped eating.

So when I first fell into the depressive pit, I found my appetite just wasn’t what it used to be. Everything tasted like sawdust (isn’t that in the Bible somewhere?), chalk, styrofoam, etc. I was just sick of eating. So I survived on nibbles and bites, just enough to choke it down and wash it with water. Sometimes the PowerBar would keep me going (still does, to be honest), but you can only handle a few of those before you long for something more… organic. Anyhow, two weeks later I’m putting on my slacks with the 32 inch waist and they fall off me. Boom. Down to my ankles. I kind of stared at ‘em in disbelief. Betrayed by my beloved Plugg slacks. Whodathunkit?

But no, t’was not my pants that had changed, but my gut itself. Actually, my entire body. My face, stomach, hips and butt all melted by a few inches. After swimming for nearly an hour a day for 3 months, I lost the most amount of flab (and muscle, I suppose) when my mind petered out. Only serves to bolster the mind-body arguments you hear people making, I guess. (You know, how the mind affects the body, etc…)

So this is all to say please don’t clean my clock with your glock just yet. I’m still me, I’m just a leaner, cleaner Kevin (inside and out). But again, if you see me with a moustache some day, please dispatch me as soon as possible. (Isn’t there a joke out there? “Friends don’t let friends wear moustaches”?)

Well, there is now…

Kevin

Dear Faithful Readers,

Some of you may have noticed I’ve been absent from blogging for the past… oh… two and a half months. For someone who wrote pretty much every day to not writing a lick, I’m sure it was a bit perplexing for the lot of you.

Well, here’s the scoop:

Since the end of July I’ve been struggling with a serious bout of depression. As in, depression so severe it’s mind-numbing, debilitating, curled up in a fetal position in bed kind of down. As in, I spent a week at Laureate Psychiatric Hospital in Tulsa because I had reached a point where I was suicidal.

So I haven’t exactly been myself lately. Thus, the lack of writing and entertaining and doing the typical dance of life that Kevin’s used to doing. As of now, I’m doing quite a bit better. I’m on a decent anti-depressant and am having a decent day today, but there are other times I’m once again socked in the gut, down on my knees crying my eyes out.

Some of you are reading this with jaws dropped. Kevin? Depressed? No way! While it’s true that I’m usually up and positive, there was always a day or two out of every other month that I was a bit down. Nothing like this, mind you, but once in a while I’d be sad. This is something else. I’ve NEVER felt like this in my life before.

Is it spiritual? I’m sure some of it is, but I’m equally sure that the majority of it is psychological, emotional and situational. Bottom line: life dished out more than I could handle, and my mind kind went on a vacation until it could return when the world was safe again. Even now, I’m maybe 70-80% of who I used to be, with the other 20% rearing it’s ugly head every so often.

It really kind of stinks. But I want to start writing about it, not only because I find if therapeutic, but because this is a large part of who I am. I write. I live, I feel emotions, I experience things, and I write about ‘em. I also believe strongly in having a transparent lifestyle, where my pain and my failures are there for the world to see and learn from, if they can glean anything from it all. I don’t want to hide things just for the sake of my pride.

So here I am. Arms open wide, telling the world, now. My name is Kevin Mills, and I’m suffering from depression. I look forward to the day I’ll be back to normal again (as normal as Kevin Mills could be, har har har…). In the meantime, all I can do is lift my pain up to God and ask Him to hold it together for me when my world comes apart.

Kevin