Congratulations on surviving (and thriving) through 25 years! When Mark Meeks and I became co-directors of Karis Community in 1976, we were new to town and had no experience running a non-profit organization. But we recognized the need (and the opportunity) and picked up the reins with full-hearted friends to help us: Rama and Ambrose Mallett, Joe Maw from Heidelberg, and especially Jessica Stone, our primary clinician.

Jessica helped to shape the vision for Karis, suggesting we let people stay in the community as long as they were making improvement, which would naturally lead them out (a brilliant idea), since mental illness often means lives of dependence and withdrawal. For Jessica, people were people, mental illness or not. That they were schizophrenic or brain-damaged didn't mean they weren't responsible for taking control of their lives. It also didn't mean they couldn't grow, change and build a better life.

Managing a residential community center was a brand new experience; we relied on intuition, close communication and a common vision. It was a tight-knit, loving family and a thriving, fascinating community, and we worked hard together to overcome the many obstacles we faced. As we worked with the clients of Karis, we began to piece together the mosaic of their needs, not really so different for most of us: finding a school program or job, a group of friends and permanent housing.

Mental illness has been part of my life since childhood. I grew up with a schizophrenic half-brother, Hassie; in college, I worked with an autistic child; studied and trained as a psychotherapist; trained as a chaplain at a mental hospital; led the reform of a municipal mental health system; organized a statewide council dealing with the homelessness; and funded, served on, and chaired dozens of non-profit organizations, boards, and commissions dealing with mental illness. Each encounter shaped me internally, hollowing me out, making space for the fullness that has fueled my life.

In the years I lived with Hassie, I learned to look beyond words that were not linked to any reality I could comprehend, to see the person behind the behavior. It was a lesson I put to good use at Karis. I remember finding Donna in bed with the covers pulled over her head. "Come out, " I insisted. "I'm taking you to the hospital." I eventually got Donna into my car, in spite of her constant protests. We headed for Denver General Hospital. At a red light, she motioned, "Turn left here, it's faster." I've often thought of that lesson from Donna: that while one part of us may be dragged, literally kicking and screaming, into change, a wiser part of us may welcome it.

Eventually the changes in my own life led me out of Karis Community, but the lessons I learned there and the gifts I received will always be with me. On this 25th Anniversary I congratulate you on your hard work and continued commitment to making the necessary changes that are often so difficult. I also take this opportunity to remember with great fondness, Jessica Stone, who passed away in 1989 (a woman dedicated to helping people) the residents of Karis Community, the staff, and me, to make those difficult changes. I know you will continue to embrace Jessica's belief that Karis is a place where all are welcome as they make progress that leads them toward the independence we all seek.