If You're Ever in Bend . . .

The Harris Family

The following is a note previously published on Facebook.  It is about 2 families I had to say goodbye to awhile back, and the process of releasing them.  If you're ever in Bend, Oregon look up Epikos Church or Bend UpCycle and go say hello.  They are some of the friendliest (and in one case, craziest) people you'll ever meet. 

Learning to Let go (Lessons from the Bend Team)

They say there are 5 stages of grief: 

1) Denial

2) Anger

3) Bargaining

4) Depression

5) Acceptance                                                                                                                                                       

As the team headed to Bend prepares to leave, my stages have gone more like this:

1) Shock

2) Anger

3) Deep sadness

4)Denial                                                                                                                                

I'm hoping to stay in denial a few more years, and be pleasantly surprised whenever we have visitors. 

I grew up in a small town in Alaska where it was normal for people to come and go.  Alaska is the land of adventure where many people come for a few years, only to move on when the sense of adventure (or jobs) dries up.  Most Seniors in high school go away to college or move "Down South"--a healthy alternative and rite of passage to today's overprotected generation whose parents insist they go to school in their hometown and can't endure empty nest syndrome long enough to let their newly adult children grow wings of their own. 

As a kid, I learned to say goodbye a lot.  College was no different.  I made some of the deepest (and most playful) friendships of my life, only for us all to be scattered 4 years later, rarely together since.

But nothing really prepared me for the Harris's announcement.  Oh, I had heard things over the years, and had noticed their frequent out-of-town invitations to speak.  But none of it phased me, because I knew God would never let them leave.  City Harvest needed them too much.

Like Bob and Sue, their touch reached everyone.  Somehow, even with 6 near-perfect kids to raise, they found time to come alongside us, and speak a quick word.  One of encouragement, one of faith, one of great belief in who we are, and who we are destined to become.  They chose to coach by affirmation, and I soaked it up, since its my love language.  In a big church where everyone is serving, they SAW me, even in the little moments and breathed "MORE, MORE"  in every interaction. 

So when Pastor Bob started to make THE announcement, and my eyes took in the front row, with every single Harris having their own seat (That never happens), I realized with all of you what was happening.  And I wept.

By the end of the service, I was angry.  And disillusioned.  Why would God take THIS family from us?  Hadn't He taken enough?  I arrived at CHC right about the time J.O. and Raydean were leaving, but I didn't know them well enough to grieve.  Next to go were Matt and Lisa, our "original" members and a couple I never thought would go.  We felt the pain of one of Bob's arms being cut off and the adjustments as new arms were grown and the body was strengthened again.  The next wave was 3-fold as we bid the Horns, Gallis, and Harveys farewell.  I remember in that season coming across a post by Casey saying goodbye to Access.  I misunderstood and thought he and Brandy were leaving too, and though I didn't know them well at the time, started to cry.  I hadn't realized how much the goodbyes were affecting me. 

But nothing prepared me for the Harris announcement. I remember praying over them months before at a joint house church meeting.  God gave me the word "NO LIMITS,"  but I immediately qualified, "That doesn't mean you have to go start a church."  They evidently didn't listen to that part. 

When Andy and Keri announced a few weeks after the Harris's (over FACEBOOK no less), I wasn't surprised and was already grieving them.  Keri would often start sentences with, "If Phil and Shanda ever go start a church and we go with them . . ."  It took 4 kids to remind them what the rest of us had always known.  There are certain relationships that are called and yoked in covenant and God honors that. 

In fairness to Andy, he DID tell our house church first.  5 minutes before the world knew.  Via Facebook.  Facebook.  Maybe it was 2 minutes.  Had you been at that first house church after their announcement, you would either have thought we hated them, or that we loved them passionately.  No one said, "Congratulations!" No one encouraged them in their exciting new phase of life and how the Lord was leading them on a great new adventure.  We yelled at them.  We mocked them.  We disowned them.  We calmed down and heard their passionate retelling of how their CHILDREN heard from the Lord and how confirmation after confirmation came.  Then we yelled at the children, and mocked them and disowned them.  We weren't ready.  We still aren't honestly.   

Andy's modus operandi is something like this.  1st week new person comes:  HI!  Welcome to house church!  We're going to put you in the middle and pray over you.  2nd week:  Hey!  So glad you came back.  You're giving a word tonight.  You have 5 minutes to find a Bible verse and prepare something.  What's that?  You've never held a Bible before?  That's ok---here's mine.  God will help you.  Just go do it.  I used to hide in closets.  You don't hide in closets do you?  No? Great you'll do fine!"     

(After working behind the scenes a bit, I now know the conversation Andy and Keri had 5 minutes before everyone walked in.)  

Andy:  What are we going to do tonight?

Keri:  I don't know . . .let's do the egg game.

Andy:  No, we just did that 2 weeks ago.  People will remember.

Keri: They might not.

Andy:  Oh, I know.  I'll just assign all of our new people to give a word. 

Keri: How many new people are coming tonight?

Andy:  Only 8.  Slow night . . .                                                                                                                                 

Keri works a little faster than Andy.  Upon seeing a new person at church:  Hi, I'm Keri.  You ARE coming to our house church.  It's already decided.  By the way, I have this party in December . . .what's your name again?

As August approached, I waited for the deep grief of impending loss to abate.  I WANTED to be happy for Phil and Shanda.  I wanted to be happy for Andy and Keri.  They ARE going off on a great adventure.  A city WILL be shaken, God WILL move, and every team member WILL find their place and see their gifts grow in a new day and new annointing.  Jesus will be lifted up, people will be saved, and a new story will be written.  It's a GOOD thing.

But the joy didn't come.  Then the Lord reminded me of how action can sometimes shift emotions.  So I started collecting boxes for Phil and Shanda.  These cardboard things which will ultimately help carry them further away.  Yet as I have determined to serve them (in a small small way), the emotions have begun to shift.  I've found myself praying for them, for Bend, for a people I don't know crying out for fresh bread.  I spent time with their daughters and imagined them growing up with parents who held nothing back, running after the full call of God on their lives, jumping off cliffs in faith, expecting God to catch them, lives lived without limits.  I saw the daughters leading worship, prophesying, witnessing, and building the Kingdom of God---not someday, but in a few months.  I've lived long enough to know the need can pull it out of all of us, even as children.  They will be part of the great adventure of faith and destiny that we are all called to.

I haven't reached the final stage of grief yet:  ACCEPTANCE.  Where you let go and release the people you love to their calling.  Maybe by August. Or maybe the first time I get to visit Epikos and Keri finally cooks me the pie she owes me.

One thing I know.  I will always be grateful to Andy and Keri for believing in me in the NOW and not waiting until the NOT YET to put me to work.  And like Phil and Shanda, I will always seek to SEE people in their big and small moments in the Kingdom and prophesy MORE! MOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRE! into their spirits.  Even if it's not Tuesday.  :-)

Andy & Keri 

Epikos Church

The House of Grace

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I was cooking last night, and the kitchen was somewhat of a mess.  I knew one of my roommates would be home soon and I purposed to apologize for the disorganization and let him know I planned to clean it up before bed.  Then I stopped myself and realized how strange an apology like that would sound to him.  Because, you see, we live in a house of grace.

I found my home on Craigslist.  I was perusing shared housing, but not seriously, because it was August and I didn’t have time to move with school starting.  But this house was PURPLE.  And gorgeous.  I decided to check it out.

From the very beginning, things were laid back.  I agreed to move in and was approved before I even met my roommate who owned the house.  My roommate’s mom showed me the place and I said yes right away, and met my roommate and signed paperwork a little later.  My roommate trusted her mom’s opinion of me, and her mom approved of me instantly.

I was leaving a similar situation, also found on Craigslist.  My former living space was a 7-bedroom mansion-like place with fancy fixtures and heated floors and white carpet throughout. The couple I lived with were lovely.  His mom also lived there.  But it was never a comfortable place for me. 

Everyone was extremely quiet.  The lights were never on no matter what time I got home, because my roommates were frugal and wanted to save money.  Because the home was so immaculate, I felt self-conscious about ever leaving a single dish out.  If I did, it was cleaned and put away by the next morning.  And I felt guilty because I knew the mom had cleaned for me.  In fact, she cleaned for all of us.  She even cleaned my restroom, which also made things a little odd. So although no one ever sat me down and told me “the rules,” it felt very rule-driven.  Don’t leave the lights on.  Don’t make any noise.  Don’t leave anything at all undone.  But the rules were unspoken rules.  The worst kind.

I taught once in a school where unwritten rules prevailed.  Being a new hire, I felt lost much of the time because it seemed I was just expected to “know” things.  When I didn’t understand an email or had questions, I would go to the office and ask the secretaries.  They would answer but then scold me for asking them questions that my team was supposed to fill me in on.  Once I even got in trouble for teaching place value because I used old math texts to do it, and our current curriculum didn’t cover it.

Both my last home, and this school were “Houses of Law.”

Now? I live with 3 roommates.  The owner of the home is a great gal who works nights.  Then there’s 2 college-aged brothers, who were raised right!  The home is a beautiful 4-bedroom house with huge rooms and a 3-car garage.  The best feature is the great room---one gigantic square (purple!) space with living room, dining room, and kitchen all blended perfectly together in harmony.  It’s a great place to entertain, which I can do whenever I want.  (I had to ask permission in my old place.)

When I moved in, I asked about sharing chores, cleaning responsibilities, etc.  My “landlord” roomie was like, “Oh geez.  I hate cleaning.  I had to do it all the time in my marriage.  I don’t want to HAVE to do anything anymore.  So you guys don’t have to either.”  That pretty much sums up the culture of the home.

So . .  .no one does dishes or cleans unless they want to.  There are no musts.  It’s pure grace.  I can entertain all I want, and so can the boys.  We mostly share dishes, pots and pans and often borrow food.  We always tell one another, and the brothers are so honest that they even replace a serving of ice with a full bag. 

So how does our home stay clean?  It’s interesting the effect that grace has on us.  We all contribute.

I find myself preferring my roommates above myself.  When I’m cooking a lot, I clean a lot.  I don’t want my roommates to have to come home to a pile of messy dishes, so I clean them all, even if half of them belong to them.  I empty the dishwasher (my most loathsome job) even if I filled it.  I try not to hog the washer and dryer, and if I must move their laundry I try to do it so that important things like shirts stay unwrinkled.  When I do their dishes or move their laundry, I do so freely without judging them or complaining to myself (most of the time, we all have our days).  I’m happy to do it, because no one is forcing me to.

And we have all kind of found the jobs that make sense to us.  I vacuum the hallway and sweep the stairs a lot.  I bring the mail in and recycle our kitchen items.  One of the brothers vacuums downstairs and fixes everything broken. He also takes out the trash every week. None of us like to mop so our kitchen floor is often sticky.  We’re ok with that.  No one but me, I’m convinced, has a burden for counters.  I don’t think the guys even know they exist.  (The gal never cooks at home, is never in the kitchen.)  So I clean the counters 3 or 4 times a day.  It’s all good in our house of grace. 

What I’ve learned? Is that:

Grace motivates.  I do way more cleaning in this home than any home I’ve ever lived in.

Grace covers.  When I’m stressed and overworked and barely have time to eat, much less clean---my roomies cover me, and do my dishes without complaint, without keeping track or mentioning it. 

Grace creates peace.  There are no expectations, so there are no conflicts.  My pastor once encouraged me out of Romans 4:15 which reads,  “Where there is no law, there is no transgression.”  He went on to articulate that if I’m finding people disappoint me too much, it’s because I have too high of expectations.  Drop the law and you’ll drop the offenses.  Easier said than done.  But my experience in our home, tells me my pastor is right.

Grace brings out the best in me. 

I’m still learning how to apply grace in other situations.  I must lay out expectations on my students.  But how can I make my classroom a “House of Grace” so that my students feel safe and not controlled or coerced?  Is it possible to communicate expectations, but still leave the choice up to them?

Are my friendships “Houses of Law” or “Houses of Grace”? Do I allow my friends to make mistakes with free walks home?  Or must they always apologize to be back into my good graces?  Do I have a list of rules that go with my friendship or are there “no strings attached”?

How about my relationship with God? Or my emotions and thoughts towards my church and it's policies ?  Do I give grace there?

How do I interact with people I come in contact with in daily life?  At the grocery store? In traffic?  

Jesus said whatever I do to the least of my brethren, I do it unto Him.   

What about you?  Are you living in a House of Law or a House of Grace?

The God in Heaven Laughs

By Joe Sarembe from Pfungstadt, Germany (Abends am Meer) [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Ok, this is one of my all-time favorite stories.  It won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but I’m pretty sure my friend Tammii will love it.  Mom, you might want to stop reading.

When I was young in the Lord, I didn’t know what I didn’t know.  I didn’t know hearing God’s voice was supposed to be hard.  I didn’t know that I needed to read up on how to pray so I could do it right.   I had a burden for a friend, so I asked the Holy Spirit to help me.  I asked Him to teach me to pray.  For a summer I committed to pray an hour a day just for this friend. 

My friend was the most immoral person I had (and have) ever met.  He was convinced that he was apostate and before the summer was over, he about made a believer of everyone he knew.  He also had an almost Charles Manson-like ability to bed women.  In a given week, he might sleep with 2-3 different people.  (I can almost hear the men reading this laughing in disbelief and imagining my naïveté.)  It was a small town.  I knew the girls. 

I don’t remember everything I learned in prayer that summer. But what I did learn is that God is not uptight, and that He has a sense of humor.  I was praying one day and felt the Lord say, “Plead the blood of Jesus over him.  Over every part.”  So I began.  I pleaded the blood over his mind, over his heart, over his limbs, over his feet---kind of like I’d learned to apply the armor of God to myself.  When I was done, I heard God say, “I said every part.” 

I was a little embarrassed, but it was God, and back then I didn’t know to question His voice and wonder if it was just me.  So I did what I knew He was asking.  I pled the blood of Jesus over my friend’s penis.  (I can say that word thanks to a few colleagues and friends.  You know who you are.  Ahem.)

Later that week, I ran into my friend.  A little tongue in cheek, I asked how his “love life” was. 

He was impotent. 

I think it’s high time I left the books, and the doubts.  I want to learn to pray again with the one who makes me laugh. 

Spiritual Separation Anxiety

One of my earliest memories is standing at the screen door of my first home, watching my mom get in our station wagon and pull out of the garage.  I was probably two.  I can remember distinctly how angry I was.  I was sobbing hysterically, and yelling at her, if not in words, than certainly with my spirit.   My sense of betrayal ran deep.  HOW DARE SHE LEAVE?  Yes, I knew she was returning in a few hours. Yes, I knew my dad was there.  Yes, I knew everything would be fine.  I would not be soothed. 

One of my earliest memories as a teen who had just made the decision to make Jesus Lord of my life---was my first time in the desert, that “deep night of the soul” that saints of other eras reference when God seems to disappear.   I had loved Jesus from a young age, often retreating to the wooded islands and beaches of our small Alaskan town, to climb a tree and sing to Him.  At age 16, I had just made a fresh commitment to God---after a season of trying what the world had to offer.  I was young and had spent a lifetime in great worship services and youth meetings where the sweet honey of His presence flowed freely.  His felt presence had been there as long as I could remember even in the rebellious moments.

Then, all of a sudden, after entering into true covenant---His presence was gone.  I prayed and felt nothing.  That sweetness of heaven which had always been my portion and which I took for granted vanished.  My sense of betrayal ran deep.  HOW DARE HE LEAVE ME?  I had just pledged my lifelong love!

There have been many deserts since that first one.  Some I have handled well, and others mirror my early childhood experience of separation anxiety.

We all have a degree of fear of abandonment in relationships.   Perhaps because we’ve all experienced important people in our lives walking away.  Friends who up and left that we had thought would stand the test of time.  The internet is filled with sour grapes wisdom that amounts to rejecting those who reject us.  (You know the ones:  If they left, they were never your friend.  Or the slightly more fatalistic---People come into your life for a season to teach you a lesson.  They weren’t meant to stay. )

Somehow that fear of abandonment gets superimposed upon a 100% faithful God too.  We ascribe to God the qualities of man and believe in our humanness that the Sovereign Lord of the Universe is capable of the same acts as those who have let us down by leaving.

Sometimes our spiritual separation anxiety comes in different forms.  We might still enjoy His presence, but not be able to discern His voice for a season.  It could be that everything is going well—but we lose faith in one area---such as healing for our own infirmity, or faith that God can turn the heart of a wayward child.  Maybe we have faith for cancer, or our finances---but can’t quite find Him or His will in the middle of a relationship conflict which is crushing us, and has thrown our social equilibrium out of balance and left us emotionally bankrupt.

We think that in these instances, He is there for everyone but us.  We believe He has walked away or no longer sees us, or maybe even that in certain situations, He no longer cares.  The reality is:  One of God’s redemptive names is actually “THE GOD WHO IS THERE.” (Jehovah Shammah).  The reality is: God will never leave us nor forsake us.  The reality is: God is a Father like no other. 

When we can’t feel Him, He is there.  When we can’t discern His voice, He is still speaking.  When others betray us, He is still 100% faithful.  When others give up on us, He never will.  If you’re experiencing a season of spiritual separation anxiety, here are a few thoughts which might help:

1-Experts suggest that one way to combat a child’s separation anxiety is to leave a familiar object with the child which will remind them of family.  In my early years as a Christian I kept a running list of all of my “special” times with the Lord.  Reading them from time to time would evoke the strong emotions of that experience again.

2.  Rehearse the truth of God in your life.  Find Bible verses on your area of need and declare them each morning over your life.  For example, when you feel like God is absent from your life, you could quote Psalms 119:151 Thou art near, O LORD, And all Thy commandments are truth.  Declaring the truth out loud dispels lies.

3.  Spiritual separation anxiety that continues over a long period of time may stem from a fear of permanent abandonment of God---or the fear of hell.  Studying balanced books on grace and the Fatherhood of God can help erase that fear and replace it with a Godly perspective of the gospel.  A great author to start with is Timothy Keller.

As a good dad loves his kids even when away from them, so God’s love for you and I remains real, even when we don’t feel Him or sense Him moving in our lives.  Instead of asking HOW DARE HE LEAVE US? we can rejoice in the knowledge of the faithfulness of a GOD WHO IS THERE and who gives us free access to His person whenever we ask.

For Better or For Worse

I attend a warm, friendly church in Vancouver, WA where Jesus is lifted up, and the presence of God is treasured. We have small group meetings during the week called "House Church" that become like minature families.

A few weeks ago our house church pastor posed the question, "What brought you to this church, and why do you stay?" A week or two later our discussion focused around staying put in difficult situations. These questions and our discussions have been tumbling around in my spirit, begging expression.

Maybe it’s in part because I’ve seen so many give up on church.  Or give up on the particular body they were in community with, the people they had invested years of time with.  It seems like there’s been a lot of folks walking away lately.

There are a lot of reasons people leave specific churches, or the institution of church altogether. Doctrine, job relocation, disillusionment, a breakdown of relationships, stagnancy . . .offense.

The reality of life is . . . stay any place long enough, and offenses come. Make deep enough connections and open your life up . . . there will be inevitable hurt. Relationships are messy. We live in a fallen world, with others equally as marred by sin as ourselves. Offenses will come.

The question is: what do we do when offenses come? And then more come? What if they come at an inconvenient time, when we are already dealing with something bigger than ourselves? What if they come in groups, not singly? What if our offenses are with those we trust to watch over our lives? What if our quarrels are with those whom usually speak hope and comfort? What then? What if the wound is to our spouse? Or to our child? What if the wound is in the name of love, but we don't agree with the judgment?

What do we do when we know we've been legitimately hurt, but the individual causing the pain won't admit wrong, won't apologize, and expects us to bear all of the blame? What if the one who hurt us is being promoted? How many offenses, or how many hurts have to happen before we're willing to walk away?

These are questions I've had to deal with as a Christian, either personally, or as one watching friends battle offense.

I don't have all the answers. But I do know I'm staying put where I am. Why? I thought you'd never ask.

1-Wherever there are people, there will be pain. Escaping to a different church when hurts pile up might be a quick fix, but stay long enough for relationships to be meaningful? And more offenses will come.  Why walk away from relationships it’s taken years to cultivate?

2-We learn by gathering our crop. Ultimately, we reap what we sow. We have to stay in a place long enough to gather our harvest. If we don't like our harvest, then it's time to plant new seed. If we never stay in a place long enough to see what our seed has produced, how will we ever know to change our planting?

3-It doesn't pay to run from God, or the dealings of God. Jonah was assigned to preach to his nation's enemy. He ran the other way and ended up smack dab in the belly of a whale. Running from God never ends well.

If you've been in church for any length of time, you've probably observed that a fair amount of people's offenses are with leadership. Often time, these offenses come because leaders have given feedback to a person. Not the warm, fuzzy kind. But the "I'm telling you this because I love you and you need to change" kind.

If you get this kind of feedback, trust me, it's the worst time to run. My pastor says this, "If a pastor expresses a concern about something, it's like the Holy Spirit yelling to get your attention." I have found this to be true.

It's also true that if you run, you're just setting yourself up to learn the lesson again someplace new.

4-True character is forged in the crucible of true relationships. True relationships (the kind where you can share anything and the friendship has made it past a fight and there's covenant) take time to grow and develop. God often uses these covenant relationships to change us the most. Staying put allows time for these friendships to be cultivated and grown.

5-The good is still good. No matter what offenses I may encounter, the things which I love about my church will always be true. The worship is great, the preaching is balanced and convicting, the leadership LOVES their flock, people are real, it's ok to not be perfect, and when we party, we party. Why in the world would I ever give up a great place because it requires me to forgive? And work on my stuff?

I believe that where we choose to go to church is almost as important as whom we marry.  And the commitment is one worthy of deep commitment and loyalty.

Hupomone is one of the Greek words translated "patience" in the Bible. It literally means "to stay under." Dr. Jim Cecy says, "Hupomone speaks of the ability to stay under something without buckling from the weight of it. It doesn't avoid painful circumstances; it learns through them. It never gives up. It is the mark of the truly mature believer."

I choose forgiveness, I choose hupomone, I choose to stay in the place God has planted me.

Tennessee Road

Sandee Swarner and some of my Kentucky friends.

I had spent the summer in Kentucky at a small local church that was putting on a "Discipleship Training School" modeled after YWAM's program for their college and career-aged adults. We were driving back from a conference in North Carolina and by this time in the summer, the eight of us in the program had bonded deeply as a team, and loved being together. One person at a time had to take turns riding in the pastor's comfortable air-conditioned RV where the individual could stretch out and sleep. In the van, we were all scrunched, and hot all the time. Still we rotated turns in the RV, with the "loser" having to take their turn away from our little "family" and a summer's full of inside jokes and good-natured teasing and laughter.

My place in the van was at the base of the bump between the driver's seat and shotgun seat. I would sit there in bliss as Curt and Donald would innocently play with my hair and lightly massage my head. We had camped outside a church in North Carolina, and listened to some great teaching, ending our time in the state on the beach playing in the Atlantic. We were driving home at a leisurely pace, and had even stopped at one point to take a short hike.

As dinnertime approached, we were somewhere in Tennessee and for some reason unbeknownst to us, Pastor Billy was all of a sudden very concerned about time. We pulled into a fast food strip and Billy announced. "Everyone out! You have exactly 1/2 hour to eat and get back to the van. Anyone not back in 30 minutes will get left." We sized up the situation. The restaurants closest to us seemed packed and had a long wait.

And to be honest, we didn’t want what was close.   Kentucky Fried Chicken had caught our eye in the distance and even though we knew it might cost us, we wanted what we wanted.  Three of us decided to chance it. We booked it all the way there, collected our food and booked it back, planning to eat upon our return. We didn't make it.

When we arrived breathless, we found the rest of the team sitting at a picnic table waiting for us, Billy’s RV and the van long gone.  "We weren't going to leave you here by yourself," Curt said. "We stick together."  I remember cycling through emotions.  First, surprise.  There didn’t seem to be any real purpose behind our half-hour directive.  Then fear. I 100 percent believed that Billy had left for good, and as we discussed how to get home, it was clear that none of us had much money.  I envisioned having to call my parents and having to try to explain where I was, and why I needed hotel and bus fare.

Then, the anger came.  Who did this pastor think he was? Was he just being grumpy? Was he trying to teach us something?  Was there some reason we all of a sudden needed to rush that we all weren’t aware of?  And if so, why didn’t he explain it to us?  Why the leisurely pace all day, and then the sudden demand and hurry?

After about 45 minutes, Billy’s RV and the van pulled up to us.  Billy was quietly angry and ordered us all into the vehicles.  I had a couple of hours to cool down before I had to face Billy, and I needed every minute. 

It was one of the first times as a young adult that my will was crossed by a spiritual authority in my life.  Yes, I was attending a Bible College that had more rules than most, but most of the rules were common sense and didn’t bother me (at least until my Senior year when I spent a number of sessions with the Dean questioning each rule, confessing crimes, and asking for exceptions.)

I struggled, praying the whole time, patiently explaining to God (Who must have been watching the Middle East or something while all of this was going on) the situation and why the pastor was wrong.  It didn’t seem to matter.  God still expected me to apologize and forgive. And worse.  Submit.

We pulled over for gas and snacks and Billy one by one, found the 3 of us culprits.  After a couple hours with God, my heart had softened and I just wanted to have the confrontation over.  Billy came over to me, and warmly said something to the effect of “So, you made kind of a selfish decision back there.”  “Yes, I did,” I said.  “I’m sorry.”  He hugged me tight and said that I was the only one who hadn’t tried to justify my choice or offer an excuse.  Later, he used me as an example of the right way to repent and apologize. 

I never found out why we were asked to hurry.  I just know that God wanted me to learn to submit in the hard times----when there is seemingly no reason for the request----and when everything inside of me tells me that the person I’m being asked to submit to is wrong, and mean.

As a Christian, I believe that we are subject to the leaders of the land, our employers, and our spiritual leaders.  Are our leaders always right? No.  They are human like anyone else.  If we purpose to hold our hearts in submission and do what they ask of us, will that keep us from hurt? No. The path of Christendom is littered with believers who were hurt by leaders and dropped out of the race. 

But what I have learned? Is that God will honor us when we honor those who have charge over us.  When we choose to stop complaining (against the government, against our boss, against church polices or programs which we think we could design better).  When we choose instead to speak well of elected officials, go with the flow at work, and support and encourage our pastors and leaders, God blesses us.

Since that day in Tennessee, my will has been crossed a multitude of times by spiritual leaders. I used to look back to my Kentucky summer and think it was a time in a near-cult. The intense expectations put upon us, and the gentle but intense correction when we didn’t meet them, seemed over the top and abusive to me.

Now, after more than a few sessions of correction with other pastors, in Alaska, in New York, in my present church—I have other words for it.  Discipleship.  Mentoring.  Love.  Spiritual Parenting.  PASTORING.

Maybe someday I’ll thank Billy.