At this point I began to change. I still did my young adult and teen work, planning lessons, leading discussion, organizing events, and both ministries continued to do well, especially the young adults. However, other things began to slip. We ended up missing a couple Saturday nights, for one reason or another, and I stopped pushing for them, as a result, this prayer ministry ended. I used to get to the church an hour early and spend time in the balcony of the sanctuary praying. I would still be the first one there everyday, but it wasn't an hour early, and I stopped going to the sanctuary. The change in my emphasis on prayer is significant, especially as it relates to what the real wound ended up being.
My relationship with the pastor, my boss, became strained. We began to really disagree on the emphasis of ministry, and I'll take responsibility for my part in this. Part of it was my youth. At this point I hadn't thought through a lot of "philosophy" on ministry, I was in many ways still trying to figure out exactly what that meant (it's encouraging to look back at this now and actually have a clear philosophy of ministry). Part of it was stubbornness. I've never been good at the political game, I'm really not a fan of it at all, and at 23 I was too proud and stubborn to even think about playing it. Third, it was hard for me to submit to leadership there. I didn't feel that there was a lot of vision for the church, and I didn't end up seeking advice from the pastor very often. When I had a question or needed guidance, I would call one of the two pastors I had interned under during my last years of college. All of these things combined for a difficult working relationship.
Perhaps my biggest failure in this aftermath was that my attitude became evident to those I ministered to. I'm a really honest person, at times probably too honest, and though I don't believe I ever said anything negative about the situation or the pastor, the young adults I was working with knew that I was really dissatisfied with the situation I was in, and I really think this impacted my effectiveness as a leader.
I had been there less than a year, but I began to feel that I had accomplished all that I could in that setting. I started to casually browse for another position, and I just began to get more and more frustrated and guarded. I began to avoid people, particularly the older lady who ran the children's ministry, and as much as possible the pastor. It made ministry hard, it made going to church even harder.
I began to channel the pain and frustration into arguments that challenged things. In a normal setting, coming from someone who wasn't wounded, and phrased as suggestions, they may have actually done some good. I still think back about what really ended up being the final straw, and my point was solid, I still stand by what I said, but my delivery came from a wound, not a scar, and that made all the difference...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Friday, August 31, 2018
Wednesday, August 29, 2018
The Misplaced Wound, Inflicted
This whole experience is an interesting one for me. Again, I'm calling this the misplaced wound, and so I'm going to be writing about what I thought the issue was. It wasn't until healing took place that I realized what had really happened. The inflicting I'm about to share is the moment that I held on to and attributed to this wound.
It was sometime in the spring, I had been at the church for about six months, and honestly things were going pretty well. The new young adult group was growing rapidly, and they were really into the study we were doing. We kept out growing our space, and we were discussing expanding to a second night, and even kicking around the idea of starting a young adult focused service on Saturday nights. The prayer nights I had started were also going well. They weren't growing, but that didn't bother me as we were meeting after dark, but we had seen some really amazing things happen on Sunday mornings that I can only attribute to our prayer time. The teen group was also doing well. Again, it wasn't growing numerically, but the teens were learning, and remembering, the things that I was teaching them. Honestly, I felt good with what I was doing and the fruit I was seeing.
Every month we had a meeting with the Sunday School Board. This consisted of the pastor, his wife who led the children on Wednesday night, another lady who led the children on Sundays, myself, and one other woman who led another class (she and her husband were a huge encouragement to me, and I really had a genuine love for them). I don't remember the specifics of what happened in this meeting. I know we were at one point talking about how to split the pre-teens and teens more effectively because there were some kids who were outgrowing the children's ministry but not ready for the youth group. Again, I don't remember the specific moment, but at one point I felt the passion I had leave me. It might sound weird, but it actually happened. The pastor told me a later, "I saw the fire leave your eyes."
I don't know exactly why, maybe because I was being challenged illogically, maybe because I was leading one of the few ministries in that church that was growing, maybe simply because I was a 23 year old kid with his first real job, maybe it was a combination of all three, but something changed with that meeting. I began to dread going into work. My relationship with the pastor, my boss, began to be strained, as did my relationship with the other children's leader. Honestly, I'm going to attribute a lot of my feelings and reactions to youth and immaturity. I've grown up a lot in the past few years, and I've learned a little about playing the political game with organizations (though I still have a lot to learn when it comes to putting this into practice).
At that moment, my whole attitude and outlook began to change, and this would be the moment I would keep coming back to as the defining wound of my time in Michigan...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
It was sometime in the spring, I had been at the church for about six months, and honestly things were going pretty well. The new young adult group was growing rapidly, and they were really into the study we were doing. We kept out growing our space, and we were discussing expanding to a second night, and even kicking around the idea of starting a young adult focused service on Saturday nights. The prayer nights I had started were also going well. They weren't growing, but that didn't bother me as we were meeting after dark, but we had seen some really amazing things happen on Sunday mornings that I can only attribute to our prayer time. The teen group was also doing well. Again, it wasn't growing numerically, but the teens were learning, and remembering, the things that I was teaching them. Honestly, I felt good with what I was doing and the fruit I was seeing.
Every month we had a meeting with the Sunday School Board. This consisted of the pastor, his wife who led the children on Wednesday night, another lady who led the children on Sundays, myself, and one other woman who led another class (she and her husband were a huge encouragement to me, and I really had a genuine love for them). I don't remember the specifics of what happened in this meeting. I know we were at one point talking about how to split the pre-teens and teens more effectively because there were some kids who were outgrowing the children's ministry but not ready for the youth group. Again, I don't remember the specific moment, but at one point I felt the passion I had leave me. It might sound weird, but it actually happened. The pastor told me a later, "I saw the fire leave your eyes."
I don't know exactly why, maybe because I was being challenged illogically, maybe because I was leading one of the few ministries in that church that was growing, maybe simply because I was a 23 year old kid with his first real job, maybe it was a combination of all three, but something changed with that meeting. I began to dread going into work. My relationship with the pastor, my boss, began to be strained, as did my relationship with the other children's leader. Honestly, I'm going to attribute a lot of my feelings and reactions to youth and immaturity. I've grown up a lot in the past few years, and I've learned a little about playing the political game with organizations (though I still have a lot to learn when it comes to putting this into practice).
At that moment, my whole attitude and outlook began to change, and this would be the moment I would keep coming back to as the defining wound of my time in Michigan...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
The Misplaced Wound, Setup
Sorry this is a day later than the normal schedule. Yesterday ending up being a pretty rough day, and I would greatly appreciate the prayers of anyone who reads this. I'm fighting a pretty intense lion right now. I fully believe I'm going to come out of this in victory, but that doesn't make the fight any less difficult and draining. Psalm 54 is the main Scripture I'm praying though on this one, and I greatly appreciate anyone who takes the time to lift me up and help me fight.
I graduated college on May 23, 2009. I was at the top of my class, had gained some really good experience with the internship opportunities I had, had grown and matured a lot in four years, and had a really solid relationship with, and trust in, God. The one thing I didn't have was a job. I had been looking, sending out resumes, but I hadn't been looking super hard. Part of me was still living in a bubble, and I was too scared and nervous to really step out and try something. Because of this, my job search was limited to a really small area, and church jobs aren't easy to get, especially for a new college graduate, because there are more people looking for them then there are jobs to fill.
This brings up one regret I have, which has nothing to do with the story really, but I had a chance to join an organization called, "A Christian Ministry in the National Parks". With this organization, you do ministry in one of the National Parks, it would have been awesome, but I was too scared to step out and go for it, and that's something part of me still regrets. The lesson in that is don't let fear control you and guide you, step out, live boldly, and go for it.
Back to this wound. I went back to the church I had interned at the previous summer, I had built a really good relationship with the pastor, but this second summer didn't end up being nearly as good as the previous one. At this point I began to broaden my search area, and I sent resumes to 20 different district Youth Leaders in 7 states. This ended up having a positive result, I got one phone call from a pastor from Burton, Michigan, a town just outside of Flint.
We talked on the phone, I went up and met him, we talked some more. They offered me the job, and after some wrestling, dealing with feelings of being overwhelmed, and trying to get past the fear and apprehension I had about moving somewhere were I literally knew no one at all, I accepted the job, and got ready to move to Michigan.
The church was smaller, maybe 120 people (teens and children included), not tiny, but by no means limitless resources. I was the director of youth and young adult ministries, and I love that part of my job. I had a great group of teenagers who began to grow and learn. I started a specific young adult ministry, which grew rapidly, and overall I had an awesome time leading this great group of 18-22(ish) year olds. If any of you read this, Ohio still rocks, but you guys were definitely a high light to that horrible state to the north :). I was even put in charge of something on Sunday mornings, and I had the opportunity to share a brief summary of our youth lesson every week before praying each Sunday morning.
The first few months were going well. The ministry was growing, teens were learning, I had started a Saturday night prayer ministry where we would gather at the church and spend time praying throughout the building for the next day and upcoming week, and then we would end with communion in the sanctuary. I felt good, like I was accomplishing something good, and then everything hit.
I call this the misplaced wound because for years I kept thinking about one significant event that took place in a meeting. For so long I kept dwelling on that meeting, thinking it was the root of everything, but later I realized it was just the final straw...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
I graduated college on May 23, 2009. I was at the top of my class, had gained some really good experience with the internship opportunities I had, had grown and matured a lot in four years, and had a really solid relationship with, and trust in, God. The one thing I didn't have was a job. I had been looking, sending out resumes, but I hadn't been looking super hard. Part of me was still living in a bubble, and I was too scared and nervous to really step out and try something. Because of this, my job search was limited to a really small area, and church jobs aren't easy to get, especially for a new college graduate, because there are more people looking for them then there are jobs to fill.
This brings up one regret I have, which has nothing to do with the story really, but I had a chance to join an organization called, "A Christian Ministry in the National Parks". With this organization, you do ministry in one of the National Parks, it would have been awesome, but I was too scared to step out and go for it, and that's something part of me still regrets. The lesson in that is don't let fear control you and guide you, step out, live boldly, and go for it.
Back to this wound. I went back to the church I had interned at the previous summer, I had built a really good relationship with the pastor, but this second summer didn't end up being nearly as good as the previous one. At this point I began to broaden my search area, and I sent resumes to 20 different district Youth Leaders in 7 states. This ended up having a positive result, I got one phone call from a pastor from Burton, Michigan, a town just outside of Flint.
We talked on the phone, I went up and met him, we talked some more. They offered me the job, and after some wrestling, dealing with feelings of being overwhelmed, and trying to get past the fear and apprehension I had about moving somewhere were I literally knew no one at all, I accepted the job, and got ready to move to Michigan.
The church was smaller, maybe 120 people (teens and children included), not tiny, but by no means limitless resources. I was the director of youth and young adult ministries, and I love that part of my job. I had a great group of teenagers who began to grow and learn. I started a specific young adult ministry, which grew rapidly, and overall I had an awesome time leading this great group of 18-22(ish) year olds. If any of you read this, Ohio still rocks, but you guys were definitely a high light to that horrible state to the north :). I was even put in charge of something on Sunday mornings, and I had the opportunity to share a brief summary of our youth lesson every week before praying each Sunday morning.
The first few months were going well. The ministry was growing, teens were learning, I had started a Saturday night prayer ministry where we would gather at the church and spend time praying throughout the building for the next day and upcoming week, and then we would end with communion in the sanctuary. I felt good, like I was accomplishing something good, and then everything hit.
I call this the misplaced wound because for years I kept thinking about one significant event that took place in a meeting. For so long I kept dwelling on that meeting, thinking it was the root of everything, but later I realized it was just the final straw...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Friday, August 24, 2018
The Young Pastor Wound, Healing Part 2: Back Again
For the first time in my life I got the summons, report for jury duty. I called the night before and I had to report the following day. I let work know, put a couple different books in my bag, along with a couple pens and some 3x5 index cards (obviously), and Monday morning drove to the county court house to due my civic duty.
I got there, got checked in, tried to find a seat that was somewhat isolated, and then pulled out The Hobbit and began to read. After about two hours they came in, called about two dozen names, and then told the rest of us we could go home. I had taken the whole day off work, and at that point really didn't feel like going home, changing, and going in, so I decided to do something that had been on my mind for a while. I was only about 20 minutes from the church I had pastored, and since I had nothing else I had to do that day (since I had prepared to sit in a jury selection room all week) I left and drove down to the community where I had spent a year and a half as pastor.
It was the first time I had been back in three years, and nothing had changed. The church is on a corner lot, and right next to it is the community center building, which is where I parked. I just sat in my car and began to reflect. My mind went through different moments there, the really successful trunk-or-treat we put on, and the two drive in movies we tried to do that no one showed up for. The funeral I officiated, honestly the most rewarding thing I've ever done, and the disastrous board meeting I wrote about.
I began to think about the people, Ron and Sue (Ron had sadly passed away shortly after I left, and Sue passed away shortly after I made this visit back to the church), the couple who had been married for over 60 years that I spent so much time in hospitals with, the teen boys that I had tried to invest in. These were people I missed. Then there were others who had caused pain, and these also came to mind. I began to remember things that were said, things that were done, the wounds that had been inflicted, and how I had responded to each of them. I began to write.
I pulled out a couple of 3x5 cards and began to write a heart felt and completely in the moment letter. I don't remember what exactly I said, but it offered forgiveness and sought forgiveness. I admitted the pain that had been inflicted, apologized for how I had handled that pain, was the final step of healing I needed to take with this wound.
I finished my letter, and then tried to figure out what to do with it. There was a new pastor at this point, but he wasn't there, and he had nothing to do with anything while I had been there. I honestly had no idea how many, if any, of the people who had been there when I was there were still attending. I thought about simply taping the note to the door, but for the above mentioned reasons I opted against this. This was a personal moment, something I had to do for myself, and leaving it publicly displayed felt insincere and self-righteous. I wasn't sure what to do, and so I called a pastor fried to ask his advice. As we talked through the situation and scenarios he threw out this idea, "Why don't you bury it?" He mentioned a sermon another pastor, an older and wiser man, at the church he serves at had done where he talked about burying the hatched, and this suggestion felt like the right move.
I have a small folding camp shovel in my car (I have random survival gear in strategic places just in case) and so I got it out, found a small area in the back flower bed where nothing was planted, dug a small hole, and buried the letter I had written. I got back in my car, said a final prayer, and went to see what had happened to the local coffee shop I used to frequent.
I haven't been back since, I really have no reason to go back. I no longer dwell on the pain that was inflicted, or the people who dealt it. I'm not consumed by anger because of how I was treated, and there is no longer hatred towards those who wounded me. God has brought healing, and from this experience I've developed a heart for small churches and the pastors who lead them. The scars I carry from this wound give me the desire to help others who are in similar situations, for that reason I am glad I went through this experience.
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
I got there, got checked in, tried to find a seat that was somewhat isolated, and then pulled out The Hobbit and began to read. After about two hours they came in, called about two dozen names, and then told the rest of us we could go home. I had taken the whole day off work, and at that point really didn't feel like going home, changing, and going in, so I decided to do something that had been on my mind for a while. I was only about 20 minutes from the church I had pastored, and since I had nothing else I had to do that day (since I had prepared to sit in a jury selection room all week) I left and drove down to the community where I had spent a year and a half as pastor.
It was the first time I had been back in three years, and nothing had changed. The church is on a corner lot, and right next to it is the community center building, which is where I parked. I just sat in my car and began to reflect. My mind went through different moments there, the really successful trunk-or-treat we put on, and the two drive in movies we tried to do that no one showed up for. The funeral I officiated, honestly the most rewarding thing I've ever done, and the disastrous board meeting I wrote about.
I began to think about the people, Ron and Sue (Ron had sadly passed away shortly after I left, and Sue passed away shortly after I made this visit back to the church), the couple who had been married for over 60 years that I spent so much time in hospitals with, the teen boys that I had tried to invest in. These were people I missed. Then there were others who had caused pain, and these also came to mind. I began to remember things that were said, things that were done, the wounds that had been inflicted, and how I had responded to each of them. I began to write.
I pulled out a couple of 3x5 cards and began to write a heart felt and completely in the moment letter. I don't remember what exactly I said, but it offered forgiveness and sought forgiveness. I admitted the pain that had been inflicted, apologized for how I had handled that pain, was the final step of healing I needed to take with this wound.
I finished my letter, and then tried to figure out what to do with it. There was a new pastor at this point, but he wasn't there, and he had nothing to do with anything while I had been there. I honestly had no idea how many, if any, of the people who had been there when I was there were still attending. I thought about simply taping the note to the door, but for the above mentioned reasons I opted against this. This was a personal moment, something I had to do for myself, and leaving it publicly displayed felt insincere and self-righteous. I wasn't sure what to do, and so I called a pastor fried to ask his advice. As we talked through the situation and scenarios he threw out this idea, "Why don't you bury it?" He mentioned a sermon another pastor, an older and wiser man, at the church he serves at had done where he talked about burying the hatched, and this suggestion felt like the right move.
I have a small folding camp shovel in my car (I have random survival gear in strategic places just in case) and so I got it out, found a small area in the back flower bed where nothing was planted, dug a small hole, and buried the letter I had written. I got back in my car, said a final prayer, and went to see what had happened to the local coffee shop I used to frequent.
I haven't been back since, I really have no reason to go back. I no longer dwell on the pain that was inflicted, or the people who dealt it. I'm not consumed by anger because of how I was treated, and there is no longer hatred towards those who wounded me. God has brought healing, and from this experience I've developed a heart for small churches and the pastors who lead them. The scars I carry from this wound give me the desire to help others who are in similar situations, for that reason I am glad I went through this experience.
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Wednesday, August 22, 2018
The Young Pastor Wound, Healing Part 1: Let it Go
This one was rough, and healing didn't come easy. I was angry, at a lot of people, but specifically at the one lady from the church. For a long time I wouldn't even say her name, and thinking about her just made my blood boil. Her attack had been direct, intentional, and personal, and it stung. I was angry at the fact that I had no help at the church. I was angry with the two pastors who had met with me after I left the church, and I was angry with the people who had promised to help me but hadn't.
I began to ignore phone calls and text messages. I played through conversations I'd like to have, things I'd like to say in my head, and looking back, I'm glad I was never in a position where I could have said any of these things. It would have done a lot of damage, and it would have inflicted wounds on those who had wounded me. That's our go to reaction to a wound, strike back and wound them more painfully then they wounded us. The human side of me wanted to strike back, wanted to inflict wounds, but the part of me that is wanting to strive to be more like Jesus allowed me to at the very least hold my tongue. It led me to stay silent rather than speak, and I'm grateful that I responded that way.
This wound ate at me. It impacted me differently than the wrestling wound. That one made me withdraw, silently moping and feeling sorry for myself, this one made me want to go on the offensive. It began to consume me, but if I'm honest, I have to admit that I liked being angry. I didn't want to forgive these people, I wanted to hurt them as they had hurt me. It wasn't a healthy response, but it was the easy one. It was easier to to be angry with people than to pray for those who hurt me. It was easier to desire to inflict wounds than offer forgiveness. As I'm writing this my mind keeps thinking Yoda's words in Phantom Menace "Anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering."
The longer I stayed angry, the more I moved towards hating people, and more hatred built up, the less love I had. The less you can love, the more you suffer. Hollywood writers are actually pretty brilliant, or they just have fantastic time to look stuff up and be creative, one or the other.
Enter the wisdom of Frozen, as the dad of two little girls I have seen this movie way too many times. I even did the stupid thing of putting the sound track on my phone so they can listen to it in the car (I did something even stupider this past week and bought Moana for them because it was on sale, no idea why I put myself through this stuff). I digress, the song every parent with a child under 10 has heard ad infinitum tells to very simply let it go. Don't let the past hold you back anymore, let it stay in the past. Turn away from anger and slam the door of unforgiveness. Let it go.
Almost three years ago everything fell apart for me. I began to spend late nights crying out to God, asking Him what I needed to do, and I very clearly remember Him saying "Forgive ..." (I'm not going to share the name of the woman at the church but God used her name and told me to forgive her). It wasn't an easy thing to do, but I knew that this was a step that I had to take to move towards the healing I was seeking and needing. For the first time in three years, alone in my living room I said her name after the words "I forgive". I wrote it out in my journal, along with other names of people involved in the whole process, and began to let go of anger to embrace forgiveness. It's amazing how freeing this process is.
The process began that night, but God wasn't done. I had granted forgiveness, but there was one more step I needed to take to complete the healing of this wound...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
I began to ignore phone calls and text messages. I played through conversations I'd like to have, things I'd like to say in my head, and looking back, I'm glad I was never in a position where I could have said any of these things. It would have done a lot of damage, and it would have inflicted wounds on those who had wounded me. That's our go to reaction to a wound, strike back and wound them more painfully then they wounded us. The human side of me wanted to strike back, wanted to inflict wounds, but the part of me that is wanting to strive to be more like Jesus allowed me to at the very least hold my tongue. It led me to stay silent rather than speak, and I'm grateful that I responded that way.
This wound ate at me. It impacted me differently than the wrestling wound. That one made me withdraw, silently moping and feeling sorry for myself, this one made me want to go on the offensive. It began to consume me, but if I'm honest, I have to admit that I liked being angry. I didn't want to forgive these people, I wanted to hurt them as they had hurt me. It wasn't a healthy response, but it was the easy one. It was easier to to be angry with people than to pray for those who hurt me. It was easier to desire to inflict wounds than offer forgiveness. As I'm writing this my mind keeps thinking Yoda's words in Phantom Menace "Anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering."
The longer I stayed angry, the more I moved towards hating people, and more hatred built up, the less love I had. The less you can love, the more you suffer. Hollywood writers are actually pretty brilliant, or they just have fantastic time to look stuff up and be creative, one or the other.
Enter the wisdom of Frozen, as the dad of two little girls I have seen this movie way too many times. I even did the stupid thing of putting the sound track on my phone so they can listen to it in the car (I did something even stupider this past week and bought Moana for them because it was on sale, no idea why I put myself through this stuff). I digress, the song every parent with a child under 10 has heard ad infinitum tells to very simply let it go. Don't let the past hold you back anymore, let it stay in the past. Turn away from anger and slam the door of unforgiveness. Let it go.
Almost three years ago everything fell apart for me. I began to spend late nights crying out to God, asking Him what I needed to do, and I very clearly remember Him saying "Forgive ..." (I'm not going to share the name of the woman at the church but God used her name and told me to forgive her). It wasn't an easy thing to do, but I knew that this was a step that I had to take to move towards the healing I was seeking and needing. For the first time in three years, alone in my living room I said her name after the words "I forgive". I wrote it out in my journal, along with other names of people involved in the whole process, and began to let go of anger to embrace forgiveness. It's amazing how freeing this process is.
The process began that night, but God wasn't done. I had granted forgiveness, but there was one more step I needed to take to complete the healing of this wound...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Monday, August 20, 2018
The Young Pastor Wound, Impact
The church gave me two months severance pay, and let us stay in the parsonage for two months. I had been looking for a new job, but in complete honesty good church jobs are hard to find. I had an interview at a church in Indiana the week after I preached my final sermon, but after meeting with their church board I knew it wasn't something I wanted to take. I had one more interview at a church in West Virginia, but this also wasn't a situation I wanted to get into. I even looked at getting back into youth ministry a couple times, but those doors didn't open up.
I did a little pulpit supply (filling in for a pastor who is out one Sunday), but no where near as much as I was hoping. I was frustrated. A couple older pastors on the district asked to meet with me, wanting to talk and offer their guidance from experience. They were people who had encouraged me up to this point, so I gladly met with them. Unfortunately, the meetings turned into, "Here's everything you did wrong". I was already down, and now I was getting kicked.
This whole experience made me guarded, angry, and bitter. There were very few people I wanted to talk to about my experience because didn't feel like getting kicked anymore. I was already feeling like a failure, I was always told how gifted I was, one of my professors had said about me "He's the top pastoral candidate to come out of this school in a long time." One professor told me at the end of my junior year that I already preached better than 90% of pastors in the denomination, and to be completely honest, I didn't let this stuff go to my head, I was past that stage of life and immaturity, and instead saw it as the encouragement of trusted men. I now look at those things as areas to continue to grow.
I was angry with the people I had been trying to lead and pastor, particularly the lady who worked so hard against me. I was angry with a lot of people, I felt that I had been put in a dying church, and no one would help. Other pastors had asked, "How can I help? What do you need?" When I finally figured it out and told them, the requests were ignored. I felt abandoned and expected to work a miracle, and when that didn't happen, I felt cast and forgotten about.
I slowly became bitter. For years I blamed so many other people. I held onto feelings of resentment towards the pastors who talked to me afterwards, towards the people in the church I had tried to lead, and towards the district superintendents. Whenever any one of these people would reach out to me with phone call, text message, or Facebook, I'd ignore it. All of this really began to eat at me.
So what is a young, 25 year old to do in this situation? Well, a more mature individual would have taken the opportunity for personal examination. I internalized everything, shut a lot of people out, and ended up walking away from professional church ministry. I gave up looking for jobs in churches, I didn't want to talk with anyone who had hurt me, didn't want to think about most of them, and to be honest, I got a little frustrated with God. He had sent me to this church, He hadn't answered my prayers for this church or my ministry there in the community, and now He wouldn't open the door for me to do professional ministry.
This wound shaped a lot of my life from that point on. For years it went ignored, but God never forgot about it...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
I did a little pulpit supply (filling in for a pastor who is out one Sunday), but no where near as much as I was hoping. I was frustrated. A couple older pastors on the district asked to meet with me, wanting to talk and offer their guidance from experience. They were people who had encouraged me up to this point, so I gladly met with them. Unfortunately, the meetings turned into, "Here's everything you did wrong". I was already down, and now I was getting kicked.
This whole experience made me guarded, angry, and bitter. There were very few people I wanted to talk to about my experience because didn't feel like getting kicked anymore. I was already feeling like a failure, I was always told how gifted I was, one of my professors had said about me "He's the top pastoral candidate to come out of this school in a long time." One professor told me at the end of my junior year that I already preached better than 90% of pastors in the denomination, and to be completely honest, I didn't let this stuff go to my head, I was past that stage of life and immaturity, and instead saw it as the encouragement of trusted men. I now look at those things as areas to continue to grow.
I was angry with the people I had been trying to lead and pastor, particularly the lady who worked so hard against me. I was angry with a lot of people, I felt that I had been put in a dying church, and no one would help. Other pastors had asked, "How can I help? What do you need?" When I finally figured it out and told them, the requests were ignored. I felt abandoned and expected to work a miracle, and when that didn't happen, I felt cast and forgotten about.
I slowly became bitter. For years I blamed so many other people. I held onto feelings of resentment towards the pastors who talked to me afterwards, towards the people in the church I had tried to lead, and towards the district superintendents. Whenever any one of these people would reach out to me with phone call, text message, or Facebook, I'd ignore it. All of this really began to eat at me.
So what is a young, 25 year old to do in this situation? Well, a more mature individual would have taken the opportunity for personal examination. I internalized everything, shut a lot of people out, and ended up walking away from professional church ministry. I gave up looking for jobs in churches, I didn't want to talk with anyone who had hurt me, didn't want to think about most of them, and to be honest, I got a little frustrated with God. He had sent me to this church, He hadn't answered my prayers for this church or my ministry there in the community, and now He wouldn't open the door for me to do professional ministry.
This wound shaped a lot of my life from that point on. For years it went ignored, but God never forgot about it...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Friday, August 17, 2018
The Young Pastor Wound, Aftermath
Once the wound was inflicted I began to withdraw. As a result of the meeting with district leaders at the request of the one lady who had it out for me, the district superintendents wanted to get me out of the church. This brought on a full range of emotion, from relief to anger, joy to frustration, contentment to bitterness. After announcing this decision to the church, I began to spend less and less time there, my heart was no longer in what I was doing.
I didn't want to be around the people who had attacked me, and so I began to spend less and less time at the office. I began to write my sermons Saturday night, and Sunday morning I would pretty much read them. My heart wasn't in it anymore, so I performed my duties out of obligation, doing what I had to do, but I wasn't willing to open myself up anymore to be hit in the same spot.
As I prepared for that final Sunday, my mentor at the time was talking to me about leaving well. Peyton Manning had recently been released by the Colts, and my mentor said I should watch the press meeting where the announcement had been made; he told me it was an excellent example of someone leaving well. I did, and it was, and that was how I wanted to leave.
I had been preaching through the Gospel of John, and I was somewhere around John's account of the last supper (I don't have the flash drive with me so I can't tell you the exact passage), and communion fit into the service. I decided that the best way I could leave well, was for my final act as pastor to be to offer communion to the congregation. Typically the church would use the tiny cups and wafers, but this time I held a piece of bread and a cup of juice. Everyone came forward, broke a piece of bread and dipped it, and to each one of them I said, "The body and blood of Christ, broken and shed for you (their name)".
After the service I wanted to leave. Typically, everyone left after service, but today they all came forward to shake my hand, give a hug, and say goodbye. I stood there and met them all, some of them it stung a lot more than others. Then at the end of the crowd was one lady named Sue. Her husband, Ron, was sick battling cancer, but these were two of the best people I had ever met. I loved going to sit with them in their home, and they just genuinely loved me. She stood there, and as I took a step toward her she put her hands to her face and began to cry saying, "We were supposed to love you!" I assured her that she and her family had, and that they had been the biggest joy for me while I was there.
I went home, not knowing what I was going to do the next day, waiting for the phone to ring in response to the resumes I had sent out, but I wasn't really trying to process anything at the point...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
I didn't want to be around the people who had attacked me, and so I began to spend less and less time at the office. I began to write my sermons Saturday night, and Sunday morning I would pretty much read them. My heart wasn't in it anymore, so I performed my duties out of obligation, doing what I had to do, but I wasn't willing to open myself up anymore to be hit in the same spot.
As I prepared for that final Sunday, my mentor at the time was talking to me about leaving well. Peyton Manning had recently been released by the Colts, and my mentor said I should watch the press meeting where the announcement had been made; he told me it was an excellent example of someone leaving well. I did, and it was, and that was how I wanted to leave.
I had been preaching through the Gospel of John, and I was somewhere around John's account of the last supper (I don't have the flash drive with me so I can't tell you the exact passage), and communion fit into the service. I decided that the best way I could leave well, was for my final act as pastor to be to offer communion to the congregation. Typically the church would use the tiny cups and wafers, but this time I held a piece of bread and a cup of juice. Everyone came forward, broke a piece of bread and dipped it, and to each one of them I said, "The body and blood of Christ, broken and shed for you (their name)".
After the service I wanted to leave. Typically, everyone left after service, but today they all came forward to shake my hand, give a hug, and say goodbye. I stood there and met them all, some of them it stung a lot more than others. Then at the end of the crowd was one lady named Sue. Her husband, Ron, was sick battling cancer, but these were two of the best people I had ever met. I loved going to sit with them in their home, and they just genuinely loved me. She stood there, and as I took a step toward her she put her hands to her face and began to cry saying, "We were supposed to love you!" I assured her that she and her family had, and that they had been the biggest joy for me while I was there.
I went home, not knowing what I was going to do the next day, waiting for the phone to ring in response to the resumes I had sent out, but I wasn't really trying to process anything at the point...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
The Young Pastor Wound, Inflicted
The most important person I had at that church was leaving. He led the youth group, drove the van to pick up kids, his wife led music and the children's ministry. They were key financial supporters of the church, two people who were dependable and had my back, and suddenly they were gone. At this point, the other board members began to turn on me, there was one lady in particular who seemed to have it out for me. I later found out that it had to do with something that happened decades before I was even born.
My grandfather was a pastor, and he was leading a church this lady was attending. While he was there he had an affair, which led to him leaving my grandmother with their four kids, and running off to Oklahoma with the woman who would become his new wife (this whole event triggered a lot of family chaos, as is to be expected, and part of me is still realizing I need to take some time and process this part of my story). Anyway, this lady who was now attending the church I was leading, around half a century later, couldn't get over what my grandpa had done, and began to take it out on me.
There was one board meeting where three of the four board members ganged up on me (I was 25 at this point), and tore me apart for two hours. I had to take on relentless attacks, with no one to back me up or support me, and this lady was at the center of it (As a result of this experience, I have a heart for young pastors, and pastors in small, struggling churches. If you ever find yourself in a situation like this here's my advice. You say, "This board meeting is over. I'll be in the sanctuary praying, all of you are welcome to join me." Don't sit there and take a relentless beating, force the situation to focus on connecting with God. If you want to talk more comment on this post and we'll connect.)
Sadly, this story didn't end there. This lady began to slowly turn the rest of the church against me. We had a weekly prayer meeting at one couple's house, two people who happened to be leaders in the church, and I don't know what was said, but I'm confident she turned them against me. She even called my "boss", in this denomination there is a district superintendent over several churches in an area of the state, and asked for an all church meeting to discuss the issues we were facing as a church. I was told to bring my strongest supporters, and she was told to do the same (I picked the wrong people to be my advocates, as this ended up similar to the board meeting).
One by one, people left the church. Those who remained began to complain and blame me. I continued to preach, visit people at home (this ended up only being with one couple, and these were two people who I loved and who genuinely loved me, more on them later), be involved in the community, focus on outreach, and try to inspire the people to serve, but all of it was to no avail. That meeting had pretty much sealed my time there, and shortly after this, the district superintendents decided to get me out of there.
I wish this story ended here. I'd love to be able to say I got out of that church and that was the end, but things don't work that way...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
My grandfather was a pastor, and he was leading a church this lady was attending. While he was there he had an affair, which led to him leaving my grandmother with their four kids, and running off to Oklahoma with the woman who would become his new wife (this whole event triggered a lot of family chaos, as is to be expected, and part of me is still realizing I need to take some time and process this part of my story). Anyway, this lady who was now attending the church I was leading, around half a century later, couldn't get over what my grandpa had done, and began to take it out on me.
There was one board meeting where three of the four board members ganged up on me (I was 25 at this point), and tore me apart for two hours. I had to take on relentless attacks, with no one to back me up or support me, and this lady was at the center of it (As a result of this experience, I have a heart for young pastors, and pastors in small, struggling churches. If you ever find yourself in a situation like this here's my advice. You say, "This board meeting is over. I'll be in the sanctuary praying, all of you are welcome to join me." Don't sit there and take a relentless beating, force the situation to focus on connecting with God. If you want to talk more comment on this post and we'll connect.)
Sadly, this story didn't end there. This lady began to slowly turn the rest of the church against me. We had a weekly prayer meeting at one couple's house, two people who happened to be leaders in the church, and I don't know what was said, but I'm confident she turned them against me. She even called my "boss", in this denomination there is a district superintendent over several churches in an area of the state, and asked for an all church meeting to discuss the issues we were facing as a church. I was told to bring my strongest supporters, and she was told to do the same (I picked the wrong people to be my advocates, as this ended up similar to the board meeting).
One by one, people left the church. Those who remained began to complain and blame me. I continued to preach, visit people at home (this ended up only being with one couple, and these were two people who I loved and who genuinely loved me, more on them later), be involved in the community, focus on outreach, and try to inspire the people to serve, but all of it was to no avail. That meeting had pretty much sealed my time there, and shortly after this, the district superintendents decided to get me out of there.
I wish this story ended here. I'd love to be able to say I got out of that church and that was the end, but things don't work that way...
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Monday, August 13, 2018
The Young Pastor Wound, Setup
It was Easter Sunday 2011, and I stood in front of the sanctuary delivering my first sermon as a lead pastor; I was 24 years old. I had been out of college for nearly two years, I had moved to Michigan and served as a youth and young adult pastor, and had spent six months working for my cousin cleaning out foreclosed homes. I had been looking for a full time ministry for a while, and when I heard for the umpteenth time that I didn't have the experience that pastors were looking for in a youth pastor candidate I began to look at taking on the role of a lead pastor. I hadn't seen myself stepping into this role at this point in my life, but this is where God had led me.
I was excited. I had done well in school, had a great mentor, and had been given an incredible encouraging compliment from one of my professors. I went into this church not knowing what to expect, but I had big dreams. There was a solid couple who were dependable workers, and people seemed to be excited and ready for the next chapter of the church's life.
I was ministering to the people as best I could. They were an older congregation, most of them were my grandparent's age, so I spent a lot of time in hospitals. I would visit those who couldn't come, and even made breakfast for a couple families (this is something that I told people they didn't want because it meant someone was dead or dying). I ministered to a man dying of ALS, walking through the last months of his life with him, and performed his funeral. I was involved in the community, building a relationship with local business owners, the school superintendent, the local funeral home director, and I was a volunteer wrestling coach and a member of the Chamber of Commerce.
I started to reach out to the community. I worked to plan different outreach events, that would focus on serving the young families in the condo development across the street. I did the best I could to give an excellent event on a limited budget, and personally went door to door (something totally out of my introvert comfort zone) and invited everyone to the different things we had planned.
I was preaching well, started a prayer meeting, and it really felt like things were about to turn around. I remember the Sunday morning so well. The service had gone great, my relationships in the community were continuing to grow, and the people in the church were beginning to serve. Then everything began to fall apart. After the service my key volunteer came up to me, and said, "There's no easy way to say this" and then gave me a scrap of paper with a date on it as he told me, "That's going to be my last Sunday." Even thinking about it now really discourages me. He was my biggest supporter, the one I could count on all the time for anything, and now that support was leaving.
That was when the wound was first struck..
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
I was excited. I had done well in school, had a great mentor, and had been given an incredible encouraging compliment from one of my professors. I went into this church not knowing what to expect, but I had big dreams. There was a solid couple who were dependable workers, and people seemed to be excited and ready for the next chapter of the church's life.
I was ministering to the people as best I could. They were an older congregation, most of them were my grandparent's age, so I spent a lot of time in hospitals. I would visit those who couldn't come, and even made breakfast for a couple families (this is something that I told people they didn't want because it meant someone was dead or dying). I ministered to a man dying of ALS, walking through the last months of his life with him, and performed his funeral. I was involved in the community, building a relationship with local business owners, the school superintendent, the local funeral home director, and I was a volunteer wrestling coach and a member of the Chamber of Commerce.
I started to reach out to the community. I worked to plan different outreach events, that would focus on serving the young families in the condo development across the street. I did the best I could to give an excellent event on a limited budget, and personally went door to door (something totally out of my introvert comfort zone) and invited everyone to the different things we had planned.
I was preaching well, started a prayer meeting, and it really felt like things were about to turn around. I remember the Sunday morning so well. The service had gone great, my relationships in the community were continuing to grow, and the people in the church were beginning to serve. Then everything began to fall apart. After the service my key volunteer came up to me, and said, "There's no easy way to say this" and then gave me a scrap of paper with a date on it as he told me, "That's going to be my last Sunday." Even thinking about it now really discourages me. He was my biggest supporter, the one I could count on all the time for anything, and now that support was leaving.
That was when the wound was first struck..
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Friday, August 10, 2018
The First Wound, Healing Part 2: Back where it Happened
I had stepped back on a wrestling mat, and even interacted with my former coach, but God had not finished His healing work on this wound. I remember talking with a pastor friend about it, and still being angry about the situation, talking about how unfair the whole thing was, and how I got screwed out of my shot at a State title. Long story short, he pointed out that yeah the situation might have been unfair, but the reality is I lost, and that hit me.
God had been leading me and challenging me in many areas of my life. I ended up doing my first vision quest (which you can read about on here, it starts with the fourth post in January 2018, "The Beginning of a Journey"), and I had even experienced healing from a another wound where God led me back to the place where the wound occurred. It was late Summer 2017, five and a half years since seeing my coach, and I was getting ready to make a trip up to Michigan to deal with another wound. It was a Saturday and I was getting a few things done, but I couldn't shake the feeling that God wanted me to go out to the wrestling room at my old high school.
I fought God on this. I really didn't want to go out there. It was an hour round trip, they no longer used for practice as they school had added on and build a new facility, and I didn't even know if I'd be able to get in to the old wrestling room. I made excuses, but God didn't let up, and so finally I drove out there, being fully prepared to not be able to get in and turn around and drive back home.
I got to the school, and parked in front of the building that used to be the wrestling room. I got to the door, and turned the handle to find that it opened. Before anything else, I was hit with the smell of that room. It's one I can't describe, but one that is so familiar to me. I heard the quiet buzzing of the heater, a noise you can only hear when the room is silent, and then I turned on the lights. I spent so many hours in this room, drilled moves over and over until I couldn't do them wrong, sweat off hundreds of pounds (literally), had three of my front teeth broken, and pushed myself beyond so many physical limits.
I took a little while just to take in everything. It had become a bit of a storage room for wrestling equipment, and it wasn't the neat, organized practice facility it was when I was a student athlete. I walked around remembering and letting it all come back. I sat down on a bench and began to try and process. I wrote a few things down on 3x5 index cards, but didn't have the break through that I was looking for. I began to get frustrated, and I asked God why He had me come all the way out here just to sit in a room. Then God began speak, here is what I wrote in my journal after about a month of reflecting on my time there.
"I had a goal of being a state champion. there had been set backs and disappointments up to that point, but I pushed through, worked harder, become more determined. That last season pushed me past all my limits, and it broke me. That last match was it. It broke my will, broke my spirit, and I was done. I quite so close to my goal. I feel like that truth was why God led me back there. The reality is that I had the state tournament in sight; a title was within reach, and I gave up because of a set back. I gave up feet from the finish line."
The final aspect of my healing was a realization of what had happened, I gave up everything I had worked so long and so hard for because of a set back that I refused to fight through.
In my journal I asked myself these questions:
What if the next lion is the last lion?
What if I get eaten because I wouldn't dig deeper for one more battle?
Battle doesn't last forever. Don't get taken out because you were sick of fighting.
Don't get killed on the eve of victory because you refused to fight one more lion.
I closed the journal entry with this quote:
"You're a warrior. Warriors don't give up, and the don't back down. Pick up your sword and shield and fight."
God took me back to the place where I gave up on my dream so close to the end. He used this moment as a challenge for the future, as a reminder of what giving up can cost. What if there is only one more lion to fight? What if the next lion that you face is the last one before a huge break through?
I said a final prayer, and began to walk out of the room. Above the door it used to say "CHAMPION", and every time I left practice I would hit the door frame, every time except that last time in 2004. I turned off the lights, and as I walked out of the room I hit the door frame. I had gone back to a place of wounding, faced the past, experienced healing, and killed the lion.
I will never be a state wrestling champion, the time for that has come and gone, but I will never again give up on a dream because of a set back. Right now I'm facing a bigger lion than I did at 17, and this time there is a lot more at stake than my own achievement. There has been setback after setback, the past few weeks have been the most defeating and discouraging ones I've had in a long time, but this time I'm not giving up.
"For a righteous man falls seven times, and rises again, but the wicked stumble in time of calamity." (Proverbs 24.16)
My identity is no longer based on my success at what I attempt, but on who God says I am. Because of this, I can get back up time and time again, because God is there pick me up when I fall.
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
God had been leading me and challenging me in many areas of my life. I ended up doing my first vision quest (which you can read about on here, it starts with the fourth post in January 2018, "The Beginning of a Journey"), and I had even experienced healing from a another wound where God led me back to the place where the wound occurred. It was late Summer 2017, five and a half years since seeing my coach, and I was getting ready to make a trip up to Michigan to deal with another wound. It was a Saturday and I was getting a few things done, but I couldn't shake the feeling that God wanted me to go out to the wrestling room at my old high school.
I fought God on this. I really didn't want to go out there. It was an hour round trip, they no longer used for practice as they school had added on and build a new facility, and I didn't even know if I'd be able to get in to the old wrestling room. I made excuses, but God didn't let up, and so finally I drove out there, being fully prepared to not be able to get in and turn around and drive back home.
I got to the school, and parked in front of the building that used to be the wrestling room. I got to the door, and turned the handle to find that it opened. Before anything else, I was hit with the smell of that room. It's one I can't describe, but one that is so familiar to me. I heard the quiet buzzing of the heater, a noise you can only hear when the room is silent, and then I turned on the lights. I spent so many hours in this room, drilled moves over and over until I couldn't do them wrong, sweat off hundreds of pounds (literally), had three of my front teeth broken, and pushed myself beyond so many physical limits.
I took a little while just to take in everything. It had become a bit of a storage room for wrestling equipment, and it wasn't the neat, organized practice facility it was when I was a student athlete. I walked around remembering and letting it all come back. I sat down on a bench and began to try and process. I wrote a few things down on 3x5 index cards, but didn't have the break through that I was looking for. I began to get frustrated, and I asked God why He had me come all the way out here just to sit in a room. Then God began speak, here is what I wrote in my journal after about a month of reflecting on my time there.
"I had a goal of being a state champion. there had been set backs and disappointments up to that point, but I pushed through, worked harder, become more determined. That last season pushed me past all my limits, and it broke me. That last match was it. It broke my will, broke my spirit, and I was done. I quite so close to my goal. I feel like that truth was why God led me back there. The reality is that I had the state tournament in sight; a title was within reach, and I gave up because of a set back. I gave up feet from the finish line."
The final aspect of my healing was a realization of what had happened, I gave up everything I had worked so long and so hard for because of a set back that I refused to fight through.
In my journal I asked myself these questions:
What if the next lion is the last lion?
What if I get eaten because I wouldn't dig deeper for one more battle?
Battle doesn't last forever. Don't get taken out because you were sick of fighting.
Don't get killed on the eve of victory because you refused to fight one more lion.
I closed the journal entry with this quote:
"You're a warrior. Warriors don't give up, and the don't back down. Pick up your sword and shield and fight."
God took me back to the place where I gave up on my dream so close to the end. He used this moment as a challenge for the future, as a reminder of what giving up can cost. What if there is only one more lion to fight? What if the next lion that you face is the last one before a huge break through?
I said a final prayer, and began to walk out of the room. Above the door it used to say "CHAMPION", and every time I left practice I would hit the door frame, every time except that last time in 2004. I turned off the lights, and as I walked out of the room I hit the door frame. I had gone back to a place of wounding, faced the past, experienced healing, and killed the lion.
I will never be a state wrestling champion, the time for that has come and gone, but I will never again give up on a dream because of a set back. Right now I'm facing a bigger lion than I did at 17, and this time there is a lot more at stake than my own achievement. There has been setback after setback, the past few weeks have been the most defeating and discouraging ones I've had in a long time, but this time I'm not giving up.
"For a righteous man falls seven times, and rises again, but the wicked stumble in time of calamity." (Proverbs 24.16)
My identity is no longer based on my success at what I attempt, but on who God says I am. Because of this, I can get back up time and time again, because God is there pick me up when I fall.
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Wednesday, August 8, 2018
The First Wound, Healing Part 1: Back on the Mat
After I decided I was done wrestling, I never thought I'd step on a wrestling mat again. I went to a college that didn't have a wrestling program, but was always willing to take on a challenge when someone was talking smack. It was weird because I still loved the sport, still do, but I didn't want to do anything with it. I didn't even want to watch the NCAA tournaments, it was painful to watch others do what I loved.
In the fall/winter of 2010 I moved back home after almost a year in Michigan, which brought about its own wound, and ended up at a match my little brother was competing in as a seventh grader. His coach happened to be the very first wrestling coach I ever had, and he saw me and called me over. As we talked he asked me if I was interested in helping out with the eight grade team. At this point I hadn't wrestled in years, but decided it might be fun to help coach, and so I agreed. I dug my stuff out of my parent's basement and started going to practice again. I got to meet some good kids, and since their mascot is a bear, and I'm a bigger guy with a decent beard, they gave me the nick name "Grizzly Bear" (I'm not going to lie, I really like that nick name).
Being around the sport again was good. I still had it (at least enough to be able to beat some eighth graders who had only been wrestling for a few months), but I got to teach a couple things, and help encourage guys with potential. I learned that I enjoyed coaching, and it opened my eyes to opportunities to be involved in the community as a pastor.
The season ended in February, I took a job as a lead pastor of a church in April, which also brought about a wound, and that fall I met with the new head wrestling coach of the local high school to talk about doing some volunteer coaching. Again, I got to meet some great kids and coaches, because of my job they gave me the nick name "Preacher" (it was cool because it showed they liked me, but I still prefer Grizzly Bear), and got to be involved with the school district in some unique ways. Sadly, I only got to spend one season with this team, it was one of the highlights of my time as pastor in the community, and I was really looking forward to the next season. However, this opportunity led me see my high school coach for the first time in almost a decade.
For a while God had been laying it on my heart to try and reach out to my old coach. I wasn't sure how to go about that, and in all honesty I really didn't want to face him. The wound was still unhealed, but I couldn't get over the fact that God was leading me try and talk to him. I had gotten to the point where I had forgiven him, but I didn't really know how I felt about telling him that. Then the post season started, and the head coach I was working with invited me to come the District Wrestling tournament and help coach. I was free that Saturday, and so I agreed to go. After I agreed, it hit me that my former high school competed at the same district tournament as the school I was coaching with, and there was a good chance I'd see my old coach.
I drove to the tournament that morning thinking about what I'd say, how I'd bring it up, and if I'd even have the opportunity. I got there, found the team, and got caught up on who was still in, and when guys were wrestling (This tournament also happened to be in the same gymnasium where I wrestled my last official match).
I had been working with the heavyweights on our team, and he was one of the first matches that day. As I waited with him by the mat he'd be wrestling on, I looked up and guess who was standing two feet in front of me to the left. Yup. I froze for a minute, doing a triple take to make sure I was seeing my former coach. I didn't know what to do, I figured I'd see him at some point during the day, not literally right before the first match. I tapped him on the shoulder before I could talk myself out of anything, and he turned and just stared at me, I was heavier, and fully bearded, and then I told him who I was. He immediately recognized me, we shook hands, he looked to see what school I was with, and then started telling me that they had just been talking about me in practice, working to push their guys to do well academically (I averaged a 3.9-4.0).
The topic of my wrestle off never came up. I never got the words "I forgive you" out of my mouth, and in all honesty the middle a gymnasium floor surrounded by wrestlers, coaches, referees, and score keepers really isn't the place to open that up. I only saw him one other time that day, we passed each other in the hall, acknowledged one another but didn't exchange any words, and I feel that's ok. I had forgiven him, and I knew that.
Part of me thought this marked the end of the wound, that the healing was done, but it still hurt, I still talked about the event with anger, and there was still work God needed to do...
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
In the fall/winter of 2010 I moved back home after almost a year in Michigan, which brought about its own wound, and ended up at a match my little brother was competing in as a seventh grader. His coach happened to be the very first wrestling coach I ever had, and he saw me and called me over. As we talked he asked me if I was interested in helping out with the eight grade team. At this point I hadn't wrestled in years, but decided it might be fun to help coach, and so I agreed. I dug my stuff out of my parent's basement and started going to practice again. I got to meet some good kids, and since their mascot is a bear, and I'm a bigger guy with a decent beard, they gave me the nick name "Grizzly Bear" (I'm not going to lie, I really like that nick name).
Being around the sport again was good. I still had it (at least enough to be able to beat some eighth graders who had only been wrestling for a few months), but I got to teach a couple things, and help encourage guys with potential. I learned that I enjoyed coaching, and it opened my eyes to opportunities to be involved in the community as a pastor.
The season ended in February, I took a job as a lead pastor of a church in April, which also brought about a wound, and that fall I met with the new head wrestling coach of the local high school to talk about doing some volunteer coaching. Again, I got to meet some great kids and coaches, because of my job they gave me the nick name "Preacher" (it was cool because it showed they liked me, but I still prefer Grizzly Bear), and got to be involved with the school district in some unique ways. Sadly, I only got to spend one season with this team, it was one of the highlights of my time as pastor in the community, and I was really looking forward to the next season. However, this opportunity led me see my high school coach for the first time in almost a decade.
For a while God had been laying it on my heart to try and reach out to my old coach. I wasn't sure how to go about that, and in all honesty I really didn't want to face him. The wound was still unhealed, but I couldn't get over the fact that God was leading me try and talk to him. I had gotten to the point where I had forgiven him, but I didn't really know how I felt about telling him that. Then the post season started, and the head coach I was working with invited me to come the District Wrestling tournament and help coach. I was free that Saturday, and so I agreed to go. After I agreed, it hit me that my former high school competed at the same district tournament as the school I was coaching with, and there was a good chance I'd see my old coach.
I drove to the tournament that morning thinking about what I'd say, how I'd bring it up, and if I'd even have the opportunity. I got there, found the team, and got caught up on who was still in, and when guys were wrestling (This tournament also happened to be in the same gymnasium where I wrestled my last official match).
I had been working with the heavyweights on our team, and he was one of the first matches that day. As I waited with him by the mat he'd be wrestling on, I looked up and guess who was standing two feet in front of me to the left. Yup. I froze for a minute, doing a triple take to make sure I was seeing my former coach. I didn't know what to do, I figured I'd see him at some point during the day, not literally right before the first match. I tapped him on the shoulder before I could talk myself out of anything, and he turned and just stared at me, I was heavier, and fully bearded, and then I told him who I was. He immediately recognized me, we shook hands, he looked to see what school I was with, and then started telling me that they had just been talking about me in practice, working to push their guys to do well academically (I averaged a 3.9-4.0).
The topic of my wrestle off never came up. I never got the words "I forgive you" out of my mouth, and in all honesty the middle a gymnasium floor surrounded by wrestlers, coaches, referees, and score keepers really isn't the place to open that up. I only saw him one other time that day, we passed each other in the hall, acknowledged one another but didn't exchange any words, and I feel that's ok. I had forgiven him, and I knew that.
Part of me thought this marked the end of the wound, that the healing was done, but it still hurt, I still talked about the event with anger, and there was still work God needed to do...
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Monday, August 6, 2018
The First Wound, Impact
Wrestling had been a huge part of my life. It taught me how to push through obstacles, made me physically and mentally strong, and it taught me how to work towards a goal. For five years I gave the sport everything I had. I trained for hours a day, year round, made my body go all out on little water and less food, dropped more weight in so little time that it wasn't healthy, but to me all of it was worth it because I was chasing a goal and everything I did moved me closer to that goal. I also saw how easily that goal could be taken away, and I began to develop an attitude of why even try because you'll get so close to achieving what you've worked for.
This wound impacted me in more ways than I initially realized. I've told people that my life stopped going the way I thought it would when I was 17 years old, and this wound was the catalyst of that change. Wrestling was everything, and I was good at it. When I lost my varsity spot, and as a result my shot at the State Tournament in 2004, I didn't know what to do.
I didn't want to go back out on the mat for a coach I no longer trusted. I put myself through hell that year, dropping weight I didn't have to lose, starving myself and going all out at practice and even more before school and after practice. For the first time in my life I quit something; I faced a set back, really the first one I had ever encountered in my life, and I didn't know what to do. There were feelings of anger, betrayal, disappointment, and I gave up on something that I loved because of an obstacle.
Before I began to experience God's healing of this wound my response would be shutting down and withdrawing when I felt betrayed or attacked, discouragement and frustration when things got hard and didn't seem to work out, or wanting to quit when I hit an obstacle to seemed too impossible to begin to tackle. All of my mental toughness was shaken after one event, due to the depression I had gone through leading up to this event, I didn't have a solid relationship with my parents anymore, I didn't have a youth pastor to talk to, wrestling had taken up so much of my life that I wasn't particularly close to any teachers or many kids at school, and none of my teammates or coaches understood my perspective of the event, or they didn't care. I was alone, trying to navigate the most difficult thing I had faced, and I began to be completely self-reliant, not willing to trust people, let them get too close, or need anyone.
Writing this out is still a little hard, mostly because I'm intentionally working to not sound like a victim, but part of healing is acknowledging the pain, and I'm working to find balance in sharing this while not vilifying anyone. This wound shaped so much of how I see the world and relate to it. I'm constantly working to check my attitude and reaction to set backs, and because of the healing God has done in my life, I'm able to be aware of when I begin to slip into indifferent, withdrawn, self-pity.
This one was big, and there were aspects of the healing that I really didn't want to undergo, but God knew what had to be done...
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
This wound impacted me in more ways than I initially realized. I've told people that my life stopped going the way I thought it would when I was 17 years old, and this wound was the catalyst of that change. Wrestling was everything, and I was good at it. When I lost my varsity spot, and as a result my shot at the State Tournament in 2004, I didn't know what to do.
I didn't want to go back out on the mat for a coach I no longer trusted. I put myself through hell that year, dropping weight I didn't have to lose, starving myself and going all out at practice and even more before school and after practice. For the first time in my life I quit something; I faced a set back, really the first one I had ever encountered in my life, and I didn't know what to do. There were feelings of anger, betrayal, disappointment, and I gave up on something that I loved because of an obstacle.
Before I began to experience God's healing of this wound my response would be shutting down and withdrawing when I felt betrayed or attacked, discouragement and frustration when things got hard and didn't seem to work out, or wanting to quit when I hit an obstacle to seemed too impossible to begin to tackle. All of my mental toughness was shaken after one event, due to the depression I had gone through leading up to this event, I didn't have a solid relationship with my parents anymore, I didn't have a youth pastor to talk to, wrestling had taken up so much of my life that I wasn't particularly close to any teachers or many kids at school, and none of my teammates or coaches understood my perspective of the event, or they didn't care. I was alone, trying to navigate the most difficult thing I had faced, and I began to be completely self-reliant, not willing to trust people, let them get too close, or need anyone.
Writing this out is still a little hard, mostly because I'm intentionally working to not sound like a victim, but part of healing is acknowledging the pain, and I'm working to find balance in sharing this while not vilifying anyone. This wound shaped so much of how I see the world and relate to it. I'm constantly working to check my attitude and reaction to set backs, and because of the healing God has done in my life, I'm able to be aware of when I begin to slip into indifferent, withdrawn, self-pity.
This one was big, and there were aspects of the healing that I really didn't want to undergo, but God knew what had to be done...
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Friday, August 3, 2018
The First Wound, Aftermath
I was in a weird place. There was no point in going to practice anymore, and so I'd go if I felt like it, which I really didn't. I immediately put on about 30 pounds, due to the limited number of calories I was taking in each day my body was in starvation mode, and eating normally again caused me to gain weight pretty much over night. I had a lot of time on my hands since I didn't have anything to train for, and even thought my bought with depression had ended, I was dealing with a whole new situation. I didn't spiral out of control, my grades were still solid, and since I was only 17 I never thought about alcohol for any other substance abuse, but my world had been shaken. Five years of my life had been spent work towards something that was taken away in 6 minutes.
People tried to encourage me, tried to get me to focus on what was next, on my senior season, but I really didn't want to hear it. No one understood how I felt, or what I had experienced and I didn't have the ability to explain it at that time, and at that point I really began to not trust anyone. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to wrestle the next year, I think I knew for sure that I wasn't going to, but everyone else still held out hope.
My dad tried to get me to talk to my coach, and I really didn't want to. My parents had him come to our house to talk, and I remember being in my room, hoping they wouldn't make me come outside, they did, and I remember sitting across the patio table from him, not even making eye contact with him the entire time.
Things began to get tense at home. I wasn't working towards a goal anymore, I wasn't training all the time, and my dad and I began to argue a lot. He didn't understand how I felt, and I didn't know how to explain it, and without wrestling to bond over, he invested so much time into my pursuit of a State Title, we began to drift apart.
I mentioned a great coach, Deke, in the first post of this series, he was the one person who really seemed to get it. I remember he came in one day and pulled me out of study hall. He gave me a book, Failing Forward by John Maxwell, told me he loved me like I was his little brother, and didn't try to push me in any direction. I heard that the following year the entire coaching staff was pushing him to get me wrestle, which he didn't do. He was the first person I told that I was done, and he told me that he understood and respected my decision. He's the only one I've really talked to at all since high school ended.
All of this feels really randomly thrown together. This is the first time I've really talked about any of this in about three years, the first time I've ever shared the last three paragraphs, and up until now I would always rant about how unfair the entire situation was. That attitude made me angry and bitter. I was hung up on the injustice I had suffered, blamed others, and gave up on my dream...
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
People tried to encourage me, tried to get me to focus on what was next, on my senior season, but I really didn't want to hear it. No one understood how I felt, or what I had experienced and I didn't have the ability to explain it at that time, and at that point I really began to not trust anyone. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to wrestle the next year, I think I knew for sure that I wasn't going to, but everyone else still held out hope.
My dad tried to get me to talk to my coach, and I really didn't want to. My parents had him come to our house to talk, and I remember being in my room, hoping they wouldn't make me come outside, they did, and I remember sitting across the patio table from him, not even making eye contact with him the entire time.
Things began to get tense at home. I wasn't working towards a goal anymore, I wasn't training all the time, and my dad and I began to argue a lot. He didn't understand how I felt, and I didn't know how to explain it, and without wrestling to bond over, he invested so much time into my pursuit of a State Title, we began to drift apart.
I mentioned a great coach, Deke, in the first post of this series, he was the one person who really seemed to get it. I remember he came in one day and pulled me out of study hall. He gave me a book, Failing Forward by John Maxwell, told me he loved me like I was his little brother, and didn't try to push me in any direction. I heard that the following year the entire coaching staff was pushing him to get me wrestle, which he didn't do. He was the first person I told that I was done, and he told me that he understood and respected my decision. He's the only one I've really talked to at all since high school ended.
All of this feels really randomly thrown together. This is the first time I've really talked about any of this in about three years, the first time I've ever shared the last three paragraphs, and up until now I would always rant about how unfair the entire situation was. That attitude made me angry and bitter. I was hung up on the injustice I had suffered, blamed others, and gave up on my dream...
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
Wednesday, August 1, 2018
The First Wound, Inflicted
That year had been rough, both wrestling and life. On the mat I was cutting a lot of weight, working out before school, at practice, and at home after practice, all on minimal food and water. Outside of wrestling I was dealing with other things. I had been struggling with depression for several months, and I'd randomly go through periods of really intense sadness and apathy, all of which was compounded by the limited food I was consuming. On top of all of this, there was a girl. I won't say she broke my heart, but I had thought things were going somewhere, and it was the first time I had put myself out there only to have her changer her mind and go after someone else.
In spite of all of this, I was doing well wrestling. I placed in the first tournament of the season, had a winning record, and was competing with and beating guys who were solid wrestlers. As the season progressed I continued to improve, and just a few weeks before the post season began I was wrestling better than I ever had before. We had just finished a tournament, and thought I hadn't placed, I had wrestled well. I left practice Monday night about 20 pounds over weight, that wasn't uncommon due to the low body fat I had, and even though it was going to be a rough couple days I was feeling great, really satisfied with how I was wrestling, and really confident in myself heading into the post season.
I had just started my evening workout, three hours on a treadmill in multiple layers to sweet off weight, and I got a phone call from my coach. He told me that I was going to be wrestling off for my spot the next day. I remember just shutting down at that point, just in shock because of the news I had been given; wrestle offs don't happen that late in the season. I felt betrayed; my coach had invested so much in me, had challenged and pushed me so much, I felt we had a good relationship and that he really cared, but this made me question all of that.
I got off the treadmill, took off all my layers and went to bed. I walked through the next day in a funk, and went to practice where I lost the wrestle off and my varsity spot. I left the room, called my dad, then went back in, got my stuff, and left practice.
I wasn't sure what to do at that point. I was angry, I had worked so hard, sacrificed so much, and felt that I had been unfairly treated. I was sad, I was so close to my goal, and all of that I had worked for had been taken away. Someone I had trusted, who I thought had my best interest at heart, someone who I thought would help me get where I wanted to go, had dealt me a wound that would impact my life for years to come.
This wasn't the first wound I had ever received, but it was a defining one for years to come...
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
In spite of all of this, I was doing well wrestling. I placed in the first tournament of the season, had a winning record, and was competing with and beating guys who were solid wrestlers. As the season progressed I continued to improve, and just a few weeks before the post season began I was wrestling better than I ever had before. We had just finished a tournament, and thought I hadn't placed, I had wrestled well. I left practice Monday night about 20 pounds over weight, that wasn't uncommon due to the low body fat I had, and even though it was going to be a rough couple days I was feeling great, really satisfied with how I was wrestling, and really confident in myself heading into the post season.
I had just started my evening workout, three hours on a treadmill in multiple layers to sweet off weight, and I got a phone call from my coach. He told me that I was going to be wrestling off for my spot the next day. I remember just shutting down at that point, just in shock because of the news I had been given; wrestle offs don't happen that late in the season. I felt betrayed; my coach had invested so much in me, had challenged and pushed me so much, I felt we had a good relationship and that he really cared, but this made me question all of that.
I got off the treadmill, took off all my layers and went to bed. I walked through the next day in a funk, and went to practice where I lost the wrestle off and my varsity spot. I left the room, called my dad, then went back in, got my stuff, and left practice.
I wasn't sure what to do at that point. I was angry, I had worked so hard, sacrificed so much, and felt that I had been unfairly treated. I was sad, I was so close to my goal, and all of that I had worked for had been taken away. Someone I had trusted, who I thought had my best interest at heart, someone who I thought would help me get where I wanted to go, had dealt me a wound that would impact my life for years to come.
This wasn't the first wound I had ever received, but it was a defining one for years to come...
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
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