I’ve worked at five different churches over the past 20 years. Not one of them was all good or all bad. But each one shaped me spiritually, emotionally, and theologically.
One question has emerged through them all, one I think we each need to answer: What kind of person is my church forming me to be?
If Jesus calls us to die to ourselves, why is it so hard to let go of our own desires?
As the sunrise peaks over the mountains and through my dining room window, I sit on my blue armchair, thinking of the day ahead. Suddenly, I hear the door open. My seven-year-old wakes up and, without hesitation, walks right up and climbs on my lap. He doesn’t think anything of it. I’m not even sure he’s fully awake yet, but his first inclination is to sit with me in silence as we watch the sunrise.
There are no right words to share with those in grief, but there are definitely wrong words.
“For Jesus, character formation of an individual is personal but it’s never private.”
Grace isn’t free, it always comes at a cost.
We’ve long been convinced to remain silent, that whatever burdens lay on our hearts need not be spoken; can’t be spoken. There’s no way we can say it. After all, we’ve been conditioned not to say our inside thoughts out loud.
Is it possible to miss God’s will? How should we go about making God-honoring decisions? Does God care where I live or who I marry?
One by one, my secrets slowly broke free. Each time, with failed attempts to lessen the seriousness of it all. The more I fought it, the more I saw bits of the façade of the life I had built crumble to the ground. As control over my life fled, I was drawn deeper into the lure of my sin. But the secrets wouldn’t stop exposing themselves. God would no longer let me get away with it.
I was born into the sunset. Strung up in the sky, all of time pauses while you search to find your breath. If you’re lucky, there is a moment of silence, and you can reflect and give thanks.