Uncle Steve

It was the Summer of 1999, and I had just landed my first job. I was 18. I worked for Burger King as a counter and drive-thru cashier. Honestly, I LOVED it! I loved my crew, I loved my managers, I loved my customers. Customers loved me and so did my managers because the customers would sing my praises. One of my managers talked about giving me a raise after only about 10 days of working there. My team made me laugh every single day. I was loving life.

During my third week of employment, my aunt from Utah called me. She told me that her husband had just been released from a mental institution and that he was not legally allowed to care for their four children for a month. She was working full time and asked me if I would please stay with her for a month and watch her kids. She didn't want to ask, but she knew I didn't have school anymore, and she didn't know where else to turn.

I prayed about it, but I knew all along that I would do it. The saddest part of it was leaving Burger King. I gave a two-day notice, said I'd be back in a month if they'd have me, and left. They were very sad.

My uncle (we'll call him Uncle Steve) has bipolar. I don't know all the details of what happened in 1999, but it was something that was bad enough to get him institutionalized. I actually think he checked himself in. Anyway, my aunt needed me, and I packed enough stuff for a month, and to Utah I went.

People who knew Uncle Steve, or of him, would warn me: "watch out for him. He can be dangerous." "Be careful." "He's not a good person." and other warnings that scared me a little. I had no experience with bipolar or anything like it, and I had no idea what to expect. I didn't know Uncle Steve well, but I had one distinct memory of him yelling at my little brother about earthworms once. That memory in combination with all the warnings had me pretty worried.

Aunt Lisa and Uncle Steve had four kids, ages 7 to 6 months. I arrived excited to care for them; I'd always loved kids. It was an interesting month. For the first week, Uncle Steve hid in his bedroom almost all the time. I would see him when he went to the kitchen for some food. He would grunt some greeting and then go back to bed. It all played in with everything I'd been told about him.

But after that first week, he emerged from his cave and talked to me. A lot. He was fascinating and wonderful. I was immediately at ease. Soon I wondered why in the world anyone had ever seen fit to warn me about him. He asked me about my life, my opinions, my dreams. He was really interested! In me! He was so deep, and said so many profound things. He inspired me to forgive a years-long grudge. He inspired me to do better. He inspired to me unlock my heart and slowly begin to discover the worth of myself. I loved him. I loved to talk to him and learn from him.

After four weeks, my dear aunt Lisa asked me to stay another month. I obliged happily, phoned Burger King, said I wasn't coming back after all (they sent me a sad note with my final check, haha)and ended up staying another year.

All the warnings I'd had about Uncle Steve had proven to be false. Those who told me to watch out for him didn't actually know him at all. I came to respect mental illness. I came to respect my incredibly strong Aunt Lisa, who trucked through it like a true warrior. Her lot was more difficult than that of a single mom, because she had a job, did the child-raising, but had a husband. I don't know how she didn't kick him to the curb! While he was wonderful to me, he wasn't a shining example of a good and loving husband to his wife. She always said that she couldn't tell what was him or what was his disease, so she erred on the side of disease. She said that she knew it would be worth it in the Eternities, and that if she just held on, she'd have the man she fell in love with forever. What a wonderful example of endurance!

Steve was also an alcoholic. After I'd been living there a few months, I caught him drinking. Now, I had grown up in a very strict LDS setting, and drinking, in my young, naive mind, was akin to adultery in seriousness! I couldn't believe it! My uncle was drinking? He confessed to me that he'd been back to drinking for a while and begged me not to tell my aunt. The 18-year-old version of myself agreed that was the best way to go about it. But I hated the burden of a secret withheld from my aunt about her husband. Finally, she found out, obviously.

Steve drank and drank and drank. Twelve beers by noon. I began to despise the sound of a tab breaking a can open, and the fizz that followed. It meant my uncle was having another one. He was hurting himself and his family.

He was so mean, then. He was mean if he hadn't had a drink in a while, but he was nice and mellow when he'd been drinking. I began to prefer the alcohol-filled Steve. I prayed for him with all the energy of my soul.

But even in the middle of his addiction, he would talk of things of the Spirit. He would bear his testimony. He would talk about the love of God. He would serve his family and neighbors. He would love. And so I learned that alcoholism doesn't make one a bad person.

It was during my stay in their home when I, myself, rediscovered my own addiction. I had been clean for a full year. The night it came back was a horror-filled night, that perhaps I will recount another time. But it came back hard. And I felt worthless all over again. I would cry in the back yard for hours. Uncle Steve caught me once and said some kind and tender things. He tried to convince me of my worth, but I knew he was wrong. He didn't know what I'd done. It's ironic that right in front of me was an example that I was refusing to see. Addiction doesn't make you evil! But, I couldn't have known that I was an addict. The idea had never occurred to me. Even so, the truth that poor choices don't alter the worth of a soul was also right in front of me, and I still refused to see how that applied to me.

Steve sobered up and even began going back to church. It was a miracle. He gave me a blessing once, at my request, and told me in that blessing that I would look back on that time spent with his family with awe, and see that I was meant to be there.

Fourteen years later, I'm looking back at all the lessons I learned from Uncle Steve and Aunt Lisa. All the lessons that apply to me now. And I am so grateful for the time I spent there. Some of the lessons include:

-mental illness does not take the human out of people
-addicts are not bad people simply because of addiction
-miracles happen
-the Priesthood is powerful and real
-I matter
-Love can change circumstances and people
-Just because LDS people make choices that are against the Church does not mean they are faithless, and it certainly doesn't usually mean they shouldn't be members any longer
-Enduring to the end is vital
-If someone with bipolar can overcome addiction, then so can I
-Forgiveness (both giving and receiving) is liberating

And so many more. I love Uncle Steve. He rescued me, literally, one day. I was at college, two hours away from Steve and Lisa's house, and I was in my dorm with my boyfriend, about to damage my soul and his, when there was a knock on my door. It was Uncle Steve, and he had come to pick me up for a visit. He hadn't emailed, he hadn't called. He drove two hours in the night to pick me up. He saved me. I was so mad at first. How dare he! Who did he think he was! He told me "we're going. You're coming with me. I came to get you," or something like that. I only went with him because I would have felt horrible if he'd driven that far for nothing. My boyfriend was furious.

The drive home was quiet. He lectured me a little. God lectured me a little. But as I pondered through that trip, I realized what had just happened. God my Father had shown me clearly that I mattered to Him! Uncle Steve had followed a prompting, and he saved me that night. Uncle Steve loved me. Aunt Lisa loved me. Heavenly Father loved me. I could never ever deny it after that.

When we arrived home, I went into the bedroom I would be staying in and the weight of the love literally pulled me to my knees. I barely made into the bedroom before collapsing in deepest humility. Thank you for rescuing me. Thank you for sending Steve to rescue me. The love I felt was thick, tangible, warm and so peaceful. I basked in it for several minutes. How was it that I could be that important?

That's my uncle Steve.