Feeling sane again

If you only look at us, you might well miss the brightness. We carry this precious Message around in the unadorned clay pots of our ordinary lives. 2 Corinthians 4:7, The Message

So we're not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. 2 Corinthians 4:16, The Message

I'm a usual upbeat guy. In fact, I like to tell people that I'm usually encouraged for no reason in particular. It is my nature – or, has been, for as long as I can remember. Of course, like everyone else, I have my “blue” days, too. In the “old” days, those usually came on a Thursday instead of Monday typical for folks of my profession. That was the day after youth group when a despondency would settle on me about the dumb choices kids I knew and worked with had made, were making or were in the process of making. Looking back now, I took too much of the blame for their lack of spiritual progress. That they were choosing poorly wasn't because they were misinformed or ignorant – or they weren't loved. Our carnal nature is such the lodestone that apart from the grace of God, I would have jumped right in that cesspool with them.

But lately, a blue mood has settled on me that has been difficult to shake and I'm not sure the reason why. Maybe it's the reality of turning 50. I don't have anything really to complain about: I have a wonderful wife who loves me in spite of myself, I have four amazing children, a fellowship of Christian people who continue to choose me as their pastor (and pay me to do just that), I have work that I love, I have good health, my own home, and a bunch of stuff fills my garage and basement. What more could I ask for? So the view at 50 isn't discouraging...but, as I tried to tell my dad last night while we talked on the phone, I've had a few moments lately where I find myself looking at that same view and saying, “This is my life. Were I to keel over today and kick the bucket, what would be the evidence that I was here?” It's not a question based on logic and therefore it can't be answered logically. I shared with Linda yesterday that I have been feeling insecure of late – and all it takes is a whisper to make me look over my shoulder and second-guess myself.

For instance, this past Sunday for the first time in a long time I feel like I bombed when it came to my delivery. Usually, I don't try to overly assess the affect a sermon has on people. Experience has taught me that often what I say is not what they hear. And like a fellow-pastor recently reminded me, “We're the only profession that can't claim success when something goes right because it's God's work and not ours.” But this past Sunday morning, after working two hours on organizing my thoughts, the power went out momentarily and when it came back on everything I had gathered was lost to cyberspace. I didn't swear. I just figured, well, I guess I'm gonna ad-lib this one. Besides, since I had already hashed out the major points it should be fairly fresh in my mind. But while I hit on some of the points I just felt like I rambled on and on...and on in a stream-of-consciousness-sort of way. I didn't even ask Linda what she thought afterward. Better not to ask than to learn that, yes, you did ramble incoherently for nearly an hour. Better just to hope that look on their faces was wonder and not, “I wonder where he is going with this...”

A few days later, only half of the team from my 2011 Cross Country squad showed up for the fall sign-up. That's fairly typical but when you are already feeling insecure, it's another body blow to the solar plexus. These past few days I see “problems” instead of “potential” and feel “fear” instead of “faith.” I realize it's all so subjective and someone else who may read this who is crossing through far more murkier waters would be totally right to roll their eyes at my pouty-ness. After all, Kari, a woman from our fellowship whose whole world was turned upside down about a month ago when her husband was in a terrible motorcycle accident has far more real fear and problems than the imagined ones that recently have descended on me like a minor plague of gnats.

Yesterday, however, was a good day. It was my sabbath day and for the first time in many a Thursday I could look forward to an entire day and evening with nothing planned. So, I slept in until 7 (a rare thing in and of itself) and after I took Emma to school, Linda and I sat together enjoying our morning coffee and watching the Today Show. In fact, I lazed around the house for a good part of the morning enjoying Linda's company and tending to a project I have been working on. By late morning, the sun had come out and for a good part of the afternoon I enjoyed myself doing yard work (for a pastor, there is some satisfaction in getting something done because so much of the focus of my work – people – is never really done.) I cut and trimmed grass, pruned some branches, and spread some mulch in the pumpkin garden. After dinner, Linda, Charlie, Emma and I drove up to Rice Lake to drop off a few of our bikes that needed repair and then when we returned home I burned the brush I had accumulated during the afternoon. My day was full of simple errands and tasks that merely required my attention. That the day turned out to be an awesome late spring afternoon to tend to these tasks was only a bonus. And then last night, after the fire had died down, I walked downtown to sit in the House of Prayer (HoP) for about an hour. I needed some coffee first so as I was walking down to Kwik Trip I ran into Hannah, a young woman from our fellowship who asked to accompany me. I was glad for the company as we spoke of movies and weekend plans. Ed lead worship during the gathering at HoP last night, so it was nice to show up, sit down and resist the urge to “start” something. As good as the day had been, my heart was feeling cold. But worship was good and later, when Josh accompanied Ed, they hit a vein that all of us followed into a spontaneous time of worship in tongues and English. By the end of it, the blue mood had lifted and when I finally stepped out to walk home on a beautiful evening I enjoyed a long, leisurely conversation with my mom and dad. My sanity – from the Latin word sanitas meaning health -had been restored and when I crawled into bed it was with a renewed sense of God's presence with me. 

 

No one lives on Cloud 9 perpetually. We all now live east of Eden amidst the falleness of mankind, yes, as well as within our neighborhoods and homes. So much of what I do is potential – a sermon is merely an exercise in casting or watering seed. So is conducting a Bible study, visiting an inmate at the Justice Center, and praying for a guy who came within inches of losing his life a month ago. The seed will either grow like gangbusters (as my dad used to say) or be crowded out to the margins and become simply words. The hope is that my visit and my prayer will stimulate hope and faith but things can run askew there, too. It is all so much potential. And again, if things go right – the seed grows or thrives or bursts from the ground or sends out more shoots – there is no credit I can take for myself. It is all so much the secret work of Him who continues to work in all of us “giving us the desire and the power to do what pleases him.” (Philippians 2:13, NLT)