Author: ctfuqua

I see life as full of possibilities and the world full of beautiful people possessing unique and often untapped talents. I’m a learner and connector, seeking ways to leverage the abundance in this world through strong community.

The Power Of A Question: Who Are The Healers In Your Community?


Some of my other entries have touched on the “Power of a Question.”  It can often completely change our thinking or the outcome of a situation because it invites new perspectives.

I have a friend who does this well.  Even when I imagine he has advice to offer, or experience to share – he will hold back, “play dumb” and probe with a series of questions. The beauty in this is it invites dialogue.

Another friend used to say, “I can choose to be right, or I can choose to be happy.  I choose to be happy.”  I’ve taken that a bit further with “I can choose to be right, or I can choose to connect.  I choose to connect.”  Again, by asking a question instead of giving advice, we’re more likely to build rapport and create dialogue, which is far more important to me now than being right.

One of the other places I’ve come across the Power of a Question is from my daily devotional, by Mark Nepo.  The readings introduced me to a series of questions Native America medicine men ask of the sick: When was the last time you sang? When was the last time you danced? When was the last time you told your story? These questions would be put to the sick and dying by the tribe’s medicine man. In my recovery journey, I’m learning it’s just as important to ask these questions of the living. I also used these three questions to celebrate my mom’s life journey last year, reflecting on her song, her dance, her story…

“The right question at the right time changes the way we look at things around us.”

This past Sunday, I heard a sermon by my pastor and friend Mike Mather that embodied this “Power of a question.”  It was truly inspired and moved me. Mike talked about a visit some folks took to meet with Dr. John Rich, recipient of a MacArthur Foundation Fellowship. As a primary care doctor at Boston Medical Center, Rich created the Young Men’s Health Clinic and initiated the Boston HealthCREW, a program to train inner city young men to become peer health educators who focus on the health of men and boys in their communities.  His recently published book about urban violence Wrong Place, Wrong Time: Trauma and Violence in the Lives of Young Black Men has drawn critical acclaim.

Mike shared in the sermon how two simple questions from Dr. John Rich profoundly affected the group, and fundamentally changed how Mike now sees the world. It’s also permeates the structure, mindset and “ministry” of our church. Dr. Rich asked the group:

“Who are the healers in your community?

He then asked them,

“How are you supporting those healers?”

At Broadway, we ask not about what someone’s needs are, but about someone’s gifts. Asking people what they are gifted at rather than what they lack changes the way we see the world. And while we are far from perfect at it, it really is a mindset that transcends a single “leader” and has become a way of life for many or most of us.

Others from outside of Broadway have confirmed this, which helps remind me why we do things the way we do.  It really does make a difference in the long run.  It can be a little messier, or shall I say less tidy and well defined.  It’s harder perhaps to measure or articulate through “program objectives” because the work or ministry doesn’t take place from the center, but is instead supported from the center.  The church’s role becomes one of making visible that which is already taking place – through the gifts, passions and efforts of our members, out in their neighborhoods, workplaces and communities.

The following clips capture some of what I’m talking about, so I will close with them.  You can also find the rest of Mike’s sermon podcast here: http://www.broadwayumc.info/audio/10-19-14_Sermon.mp3

Insight on Self-Preservation vs. Community


About a year ago, I stopped going to 12 Step Meetings, and began exploring a recovery program that works for me.  I wrote about it briefly then.  Looking back, the year had its challenges, but I believe I’m finding my voice through those experiences, and for that I’m grateful.

This past weekend, I was at a camping trip and ran into someone who I knew from the rooms.  We’ll call her Linda for sake of this blog.  Linda and I talked a little about my experiences – I shared how when I would struggle or relapse, which often meant isolating and not attending meetings, I rarely heard from folks — particularly from my homegroup.  I had the impression, from what was expressed, that “they would be there for me.”  Yet, when I would go missing, there was silence – no phone calls, or texts or check-ins…with a few exceptions.  And those two folks, I continue to see today and count as a friends.  The rest are largely AWOL.  As I wrote last October, I was needing more.  I heard the promise of “community” – but what I found was far from it…at least for me.

As I told Linda about my experience, she had a single response:  “Self Preservation.”

And in that word, she summed up the value of my time in twelve step groups — it was about learning to stay alive, literally.  It helped my with some strong fundamentals and gave me new principles — much like my time in a Christian cult at college.  But, she also summed up the limitations of those groups (for me) — the very thing that had saved me reached a point where it was no longer serving my needs.  In fact, it was hindering my growth.  I needed (and still need…) to move from self-preservation to community – in all of its messy, ugly, real, but authentic beauty.  And for that transition, the rooms were no longer serving my needs.

Today, with some work and self-growth, I have a tight network of friends who do demonstrate their concern and support through phone calls, texts, or visits…even when they don’t know what to do or say, they reach out and ask how I’m doing.  They tell me I’m missed, and look for ways to reconnect.  It’s sometimes messy – sometimes awkward – but always real.  For me, that’s community.  For me, that’s the deeper connection and commitment for which I’ve been yearning.

When I was reading Peter Block’s book “Community: The Structure of Belonging” this summer, I found myself repeatedly shouting “Yes, that’s it…”  His insights and challenges are so thick with truth that I could get through about a dozen pages, before having to set it down and ponder that I had just read.  (Here’s a YouTube clip of Peter talking about his book…)  Having put the book down earlier this summer, I’ll be picking it up again – and using it, along with other resources and people in my network, to continue to grow and build deeper connections with others, and refine the role I want to play in creating intentional community.  

And for those fundamental principles, I find my friend Mark McAleavy’s reframing of the 12 Steps into an Asset-Based framework to be useful as well.

As I wrote a year ago, it’s important for me to remember that this doesn’t mean other people are wrong and I’m right. It just means that I found what has worked for me, just for today.

As someone once told me, people are in our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime.  I’m realizing now that the people in AA and NA were there for me for a reason, perhaps a season…but not a lifetime.

AIDS or Alzheimer’s…remembrance with transparency


Celebrating a life as it should be…

This week, we lost a soul due to complications due to AIDS, as he was living with the HIV virus. He was in my men’s group where I receive care coordination for my own life care as someone living with the HIV virus. I only knew him from the group, but his passing touched me for many reasons. I’d like to share a little of his story to keep his memory alive.

We will call him Scott. The fact that I have to pick a false name “to protect his family” goes to show that even today, with all the progress we’ve made in the treatment of this nasty virus, there is still the need to protect people’s dignity because of the social stigma that is still out there in our society. His family chose to have contributions go to the Alzheimer’s Association, as opposed to where he received life care for this real disease. Sad, for me at least, because I really don’t think the Alzheimer’s Association did anything for Scott. Each week, he found support and camaraderie from a small circle of men who met in the basement of a non-profit organization, dedicated to those infected with HIV/AIDS.

So if you’re reading this and you’re willing, please make a contribution to your local HIV/AIDS organization in Scott’s memory.

And let me be clear – I don’t fault his family for making this choice. If we lived in a society where caring for someone with Alzheimer’s was equally respected as caring for someone with the HIV virus and/or complications from AIDS, then they could be transparent. But, we don’t…yet. So, they felt this was necessary.  I respect their decision.  I hate they had to make it…but I understand.

I’ll remember Scott for his love of music. For his love of food. For his sense of humor.

I’ll remember Scott because he was confined to a wheelchair, living in an assisted living home where we was often treated with disgust. Food would be taken from his fridge. Human excrement would be left in his bed sheets or on the floor, because the staff wasn’t willing to clean up after him. Granted, Scott was a cantankerous man who was probably difficult to live with. He sometimes made us uncomfortable in group – but he was human, alive and living with this painful, ugly disease. He felt trapped in the nursing home – a victim, perhaps by choice, but perhaps not. At least he had our support group, where he could vent and process and find support. How many people are out there who don’t have that?

I’m reminded of a song by Barbara McAfee, entitled “When I Die.” It’s given me much comfort in my living, and given me hope that I can die with grace and dignity, surrounded by friends and family.  The opening lines are:

“When I die, I know there’ll be singing
By my friends all gathered around.
As their sweet voices fade behind me,
I will join in the one great sound.
And I’ll stand on a sunset hillside
Just like I did in that dream
Join the multitude there that is singing
The song inside everything.
…
When I die I’ll fall into a hammock,
Woven of each song I’ve ever sung.
I have sent them a forward to catch me
On the day my life is done.”

When I die, I want this song played at my memorial service.

And, if I happen to die of complications due to AIDS, I want that listed in my obituary.  And I want donations made to the Damien Center, or IAIC, or Broadway UMC…or similar organizations, should I live somewhere other than Indianapolis.

I want people to know one can die with dignity from this disease, or from addiction, or from natural causes…or from a motorcycle accident.  I don’t know how I’ll go, but all of those are real possibilities, as I live life “in the grey” between the “!” and the “?”

The more we talk about it and tell our stories, the less shame and stigma there will be…

So Scott, I celebrate your life – your struggle – your smile.  May you find rest on a hammock that was prepared just for you…