Okay, I really need to make out a test to give tomorrow, and I probably need to iron something to wear as well. Because of my need to be disciplined in my writing, I offer the following installment.
In the summer of ’97, I was 26 and had been married for eight months. After two years in the classroom and five years of part-time ministry, I felt that it was time to move into full-time ministry. After sending out resumes and talking to folks all over, I loaded up my bride and everything we owned and moved to another part of the state.
The church we went to serve is a wonderful church full of wonderful people. I knew I had much that I could learn from the pastor, a man who had been there for 13 years. I had explained to him that I was in need of someone to mentor me, and he had expressed both a willingness and an excitement. Two weeks after I moved there, he resigned. From there, things went down hill.
Suffice it to say that the next months were some of the hardest of my life. Rather than having a more seasoned pastor to invest in my life, I found myself alone. Not only was my ministry dying, my own spiritual life and marriage were suffering as well. After eleven months, I was asked to resign. I wasn’t even given the opportunity to tell my youth good-bye. All they knew was that I was gone.
Please understand, there was no moral failure on my part. There was no gross sin that resulted in my being disqualified from ministry. I was asked by a small group to resign. For all I know, their opinions represented only the six people in that room. I refused to allow it to go before the church because I loved the church too much. I knew there were people in that fellowship who loved me, and I knew that they would stand up for me. The church had not been doing well since the pastor had resigned, and I had no desire to put the church family… or myself and my bride… through such an ordeal. So with much shame… and even more anger… I typed up a letter of resignation.
The hurt went much deeper than I realized. Rather than run into the arms of a loving God, I ran away from Him. I had no support network in place; there were no close friends to encourage and love us through the ordeal. The next year was a time of self-destruction. We had been hurt at the hands of the church, and we blamed God for the way His children acted. I swore I would never again serve a church.
Miranda and I began to live a pointless existence. Many a late night was spent in various clubs in Birmingham. The rebellion many experience in their teens or college years, I experienced in my mid-twenties. Our marriage was a mockery… and after several months of living like there would be no consequences for our choices, we hit a brick wall.
Miranda had enough. She left me and filed for divorce. I spent that summer pacing, smoking cigarettes, and yelling at God. After all, this was all His fault. (It was easier to blame Him than to accept the fact that this was a mess of my own making.) I was an angry little boy in grown up clothes shaking my fist towards my Maker. Over the weeks, He changed my anger to brokenness. Before long, Miranda and I were able to reconcile. We moved to Montgomery, and the path towards healing and the return to ministry began.
Wow. I can really see how your journey has shaped you into who you are today. It’s actually a really good thing for me to hear this. Your sense of compassion for others and your desire for community in the world around you has really been chiseled by your past.
Be grateful for that valley. Without it, you might not know your summit.
Thanks for reading and commenting, bro. And you are absolutely right… like I said when I began this thread of posts… “the road to the future runs through the past.” To understand where I am and where I am going, you have to know where I’ve been.