Confessions

I have a confession to make.  Sometimes I doubt.  Sometimes I doubt that God exists.  Sometimes I doubt the call on my life.  Sometimes I doubt that life has a purpose.  Sometimes I doubt there's much worth doing at all.

Some people might think me a heretic for those doubts.  Some people might condemn me for that.  Some people might write me off and wonder how I can be an effective pastor having had such doubts.

But...

Some other people are drawn to this.  Some other people find life in knowing that there are others who struggle and doubt.  Some other people will be moved at my ability to be honest and authentic.

Recently, Rick Warren lost his youngest son to suicide.  Amidst all that he has gone through, he tweeted this:

I only hire staff who've been hurt deeply. People who've never suffered tend to be shallow and smug about other's pain.

How true he is.  Some of the people that I love most deeply are ones who have lost and hurt and suffered.  A friend who lost his 6 month old son.  A friend who lost his 2 year old daughter.  A friend who has watched their wife suffer and stood by her through her decline.  These are the people who move me, or who God uses to move me.

I would dare say that these very people have also doubted.  They have most likely sat in the stern of the boat during a storm and wondered at the outcome as the storm raged around them.  They have watched the whirlwinds turn about them and questioned whether there was salvation for them in the midst of it all.

I have doubted.....

but.....

I have never stayed there in my doubt.  The writer of the book of Hebrews writes, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God."  I will only stay in my doubt if my eyes remain on me, but if I lift them up to the One who gives salvation, I can rise above that doubt.

I do not doubt today, but I will doubt again.  When I do, I will not apologize, but I will be confident that the One who provides hope and assurance will lift me out of my doubt and show me salvation.

Starting Over

I started this post on my computer and was going to name it "The End is the Beginning" only to find out that I had used that exactly title 9 months ago.  It seemed like an appropriate title again as I just completed work on my second to last quarter of seminary.  In a little bit more than a month, I will be taking my last two classes to complete my degree.

Ironically, there are tears of sadness and heartache welling up in my eyes as I write this.  One would imagine that the tears that I would shed would be tears of joy, especially one who knew what the last 18 months of my life have held.  But there is a sadness there because of the ending of a long journey.  I imagine that when the last keystroke falls on the last page of my last paper of seminary, I will feel a similar emotion, except probably magnified by at least ten times.

The end of something, for anyone who sincerely wants to continue moving forward, signifies change.  Life will change for me again when December comes.  Things will be different, but different does not mean bad, it just means different and lends itself to new opportunities.

I was struck by my conversation with a friend who shared a recent experience of being away and unplugged for a few weeks.  He claimed that once everything was stripped away, there was no place to hide.  He could not hide in his work.  He could not hide from his family.  He had a choice to face or flee from reality.  I have a similar choice before me.

As I reflected on the title of my blog the other day, I realized that I probably have not confessed as much on here as one would expect from a blog titled "Confessions of a Recovering P.K."  I thought long and hard about why that was and the truth is, it's probably to protect others besides myself.  My father, the pastor, has not been in good health since my mom died.  In reality, he has not been in good health since long before then, especially when you consider that health extends far beyond our physicality and reaches to our spirituality and our mentality.

When my wife and I lived in Asheville, North Carolina, we began to notice a trend in my father.  He and my mom would come and stay with us for a week at a time.  As the week went on, we noticed a change in his demeanor as the day of departure grew near.  He would begin to disengage, to pull back from activities and isolate himself.  It almost seemed as if it were a defense mechanism from the pain of leaving. 

As we all age, there is a distinct realization in us that we are not guaranteed anything.  Years ago, when my aunt died, I vividly recall my parents dropping my wife and I at the airport after the funeral.  As I began to say good bye to my parents, that realization came over me and I was overcome with emotion.  I began to sob as I held my mom in my arms.  Fortunately, I had some years after that to enjoy, but the reality was too strong for me to deny.

The isolation that I observed in my father is present within me, we have the same DNA.  I can easily isolate myself or immerse myself in something that will take me away from the present reality that I should be facing.  If I am not careful, good things can pull me away from what is great in my life.  I could easily find myself withdrawing in an attempt to protect my feelings and emotions.  The right thing to do is not necessarily the easy thing to do.  As I've heard many people say before, "If it were easy, everybody would be doing it."

But that is the beauty of grace to me, it's like a Mulligan.  We get a "do over."  We acknowledge our mistakes, but we get back up on the saddle and try again.  Failures don't define us, they make us who we are, stronger and better if we learn from them.

December will be an end of sorts for me, but it will also be a beginning.  I will start over.  Something will finish but something else will begin.  I don't know what it is, but I can feel the murmurings of newness within me well in advance.  Aslan is on the move, but who's paying attention.  Who's looking to see where He is going, how He's moving?

Opportunity awaits.  Fresh starts lie just around the corner.  Will we run towards them or away from them?  I'm looking forward to what's lying just on the other side.