My name is Kip Jones

                 and this is my story. . .


Hello. My name is Beaver Cleaver. Well, not really, I'm Kip Jones, and this is my story. I might as well be the Beav, for I grew up under nearly identical circumstances. For those of you not familiar with the 1950's TV show, Leave it to Beaver, it portrayed the idealized suburban American family as seen through Hollywood's eyes. All the classic perfect family images were present in the show and our family had them too—Mom making a special meal each night and then dressing up for Dad, the kids reporting for the evening meal promptly at 5:30, the shallow conversations about "how did your day go, Dear," or "what did you kids do all day?" My sisters and I lived it all.

Dad owned his own business, and had a comfortable income. Every summer he took our family on spectacular vacations, from dude ranches to Hawaii. Our parents were pillars of society and the church. Their genetic mix gave my sisters and I lots of smarts, so we did very well in school. In short, we had it made. Life was perfect, or so it seemed.

I never worried about where I should go to college because my parents decided DePauw University was the perfect school for me. After all, it had a strong pre-med program and I was going to be the doctor in the family. So I passively and naively went to school in Indiana. There I got my first dose of reality. I was miserable. That reflected largely in huge homesickness and being surrounded by strangers who cared little about my life in Ellwood City. At DePauw things weren't perfect any more.

Then at Christmas time, my older sister called home from college to tell my parents that she was pregnant. My mother's response was a classic – "You can't be pregnant, you aren't married yet." You see, such indiscretions just didn't happen to us. To add to the family consternation, I informed my parents that I wanted to go to another college. I transferred to Westminster, where I spent three happy years studying biology, trying to find the real me.

When my senior year arrived, my choices after graduation were medical school or the conflict in Southeast Asia. I chose the jungles of Oakland and Pitt Medical School over Vietnam despite no real passion for medicine. I rapidly regretted my decision. I was a misfit among students really dedicated to becoming physicians. Now I became really stressed. Had I made a bad decision about my future? But, of course, the Joneses never failed or quit, because that would be less than the perfect image. So I struggled to survive my 4 years and after graduation took a Medical-Pediatric internship at Mercy Hospital. I absolutely hated it. My medical future looked bleak, and I felt lost.

And then I received what in retrospect I believe was a true gift from God. A Radiology residency program opened at Mercy, and I took is as a last resort. Immediately I realized what a good fit this was for my interests. I am very visual and love photography. I could still be a physician, help people find out what ails them, and take pictures to aid in their treatment. Everything seemed back on track for the perfect future.

To this point I have not mentioned any significant others. I had a number of relationships along the way, but none were quite perfect enough. You see, that was what I had grown up thinking God intended in life and marriage. Perfect families, like the Cleavers - or the Joneses. Looking back, my parent's marriage had no such perfection, but they shielded my sisters and I from the reality of marital disharmony. Then in the 80's I was reacquainted with a high school classmate I had always liked. We hit it off immediately. The future seemed to be falling in place. Then, after seven years together, she decided unexpectedly she didn't want to marry a second time and she walked away.

That crisis spiraled me into an 18-month long severe clinical depression. At the time, I was Chairman of Radiology at Mercy, and to say my job performance suffered would be an understatement. But I had to exercise my duties, which included attending a number of often boring dinner functions. In October, 1989, one was held on the Gateway Clipper to honor new Mercy residents. While I stood there pretending I was enjoying myself, a young woman I did not recognize walked on board. For the second time, in retrospect, I received a big gift from God. Something in me said, "Do You See What I See?" And it wasn't even Christmas! I met Lisa that night and married her 14 months later.

We joined Orchard Hill and participated in everything. Finally, it seemed, life was going to be perfect. Only it didn't happen that way. Shortly after marrying, my wife began to show symptoms of Bipolar Disorder. Within the first year together, she developed Rheumatoid Arthritis. A major depression followed, which through therapy, was found to have its origin in previously unrecalled childhood sexual abuse. A pituitary tumor came next. And the diagnoses kept piling up. Through all this, I somehow functioned, but became increasingly exhausted. I felt like Rocky Balboa being continuously pummeled by Apollo Creed.

I wondered illogically what I had done to offend God so much that He gave my life one crisis after another. It took years of listening to Orchard Hill messages, prayer, counseling and extensive reading to clarify how distorted my perception of God was. Finally, through God's grace, my life began to make sense. I realized my hope didn't exist in living the perfect life before God. My hope lay in the perfection of God, and what in His infinite wisdom He allowed to happen to me. I now believe I needed to experience a depression to empathize with the mental pain my wife felt when she suffered the same problem. I needed to become a practicing physician despite myself. My work gave me connections to get her appropriate care and medications, which gave her back much of her life. I am now convinced I was placed on this earth primarily to help another human being struggle through a series of life shattering ailments, the causes of which we will never understand this side of heaven.

All of the events leading up to my marriage were simply preparing me for what my life was to be all about. Is it what I thought my perfect life would be like? Far from it. Does it wear me down? Sometimes, yes. And am I frustrated that things did not turn out – perfectly? Well, I've finally learned perfection only happens on Leave it to Beaver or whatever idealized scenario you choose. Life will consist of less than ideal circumstances for all of us, we 'band of imperfect brothers and sisters.' The real key to surviving and flourishing, from what I've learned, is faith and hope in the person of Jesus Christ. It took me almost 60 years to drop the pretense of perfection and place my hope where it belongs. I wish you success in finding yours a lot sooner.

That's my story until now. I'm Kip Jones, but you can call me the Beav.
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