I wasn't supposed to see, but I had proceeded too quickly after my knock at his bedroom door had not been heard. I was twelve I think. He was on the floor, sobbing into the carpet. I quickly backed away into the hallway, closing the door in front of me.
I learned a few years later that he had been enduring terrible grief related to the church and his ministry. For me, this revelation yielded equal parts explanation and confusion.
I loved my dad, and I loved the church - mainly because he modeled such devotion to her, and I wanted to love what he loved. I wanted to be a part of the body he lived to serve, a part of the flock he loved to lead and feed and protect.
Today marks 28 years since his death. I can still see his smile, the fervor and whimsy in his eyes, and his short stubby fingers curiously smoothing the pages of his open Bible. His sermons my whole life were deep dives of sage exhortation, simple outlines springing up from scripture, and well-developed word pictures with a fair amount of self-deprecating silliness.
I am blessed to be able to describe him as joyful and fun. But I will never forget that single image of him, broken on his bedroom floor, buried in the weighty rubble of despair. He was desperate and literally crying out … empty with nothing left to give and nothing more to lose.
I don't think he wanted me to see, but I did. A little seed was planted in the secret places of my mind: "hide your heart".
Was he told that big [little] boys don't cry … the day his mother suddenly died? Then, in between his father's lengthy deployments, did he miss the opportunity to watch a grown man grieve?
His father died when I was a baby. I wonder if dad felt like, once again, he needed to "be strong" for the family especially his beloved step-mom who, yet in her forties, had been widowed twice. The oldest son, a licensed minister fresh out of college … did he feel pressure to shut out his own struggles and sadness? Or perhaps, for the sake of self-preservation, he was already accustomed to involuntary suppression.
I really don't know. I appreciate his efforts to shield me from pain back then, but I wish I could offer him a safe space to process now. I'd love to hear his heart.
He was not perfect, but his love for God and the church was undeniable. During my teen years he took a sabbatical from pastoring. I remember noticing how faithfully he attended to Christ and His bride even when it wasn't his "job".
I inherited Dad's affection for the body of Christ, the family of God. In his footsteps, I have spent my days in pursuit of a call to shepherd … in every corner of my life. I see little gatherings of folks and my soul is on alert. I am naturally aware of where we could be headed, what needs can be met, nourishment to offer, and little nudges to keep us on track.
But after repeated opportunities to stumble or be humble, my spirit is developing a supernatural awareness that my only hope to serve well is to remain deeply dependent on the Savior.
Jesus meets me behind closed doors (just like He did with dad). He shows up in my desperation with pure compassion because nothing is hidden from Him. With resurrection power He helps me to stand again to walk in hope and peace.
But also. I have learned to celebrate that recovery with others. I have sponsors and mentors who frame my challenges with gentle rebuke and solid wisdom. I have a mental health counselor who offers tools and language so I can better navigate the mysteries and mess. I have a husband who is honest to the core as he loves me.
And I have children who have seen me cry. They know when I am struggling with sin, when I'm scared about the future, or when I am simply sad because the world is filled with hurting people hurting people.
Maybe I've let the transparency pendulum swing too far, and maybe they wish I'd close my door more often. But I know the heartache and joy associated with following Christ. It is a package deal that Jesus makes abundantly clear.
You can't have the blessings of the Father without enduring the sufferings of the Son. You can't corporately worship in spirit and truth without the risk of getting wounded by humans bent toward deceit. You can't devote yourself to Jesus and then despise His bride.
I don't want my kids to give up, and I don't want them to sell out. And I never, ever want them to think they have to suffer alone because that is absolutely not the truth.
"This, in essence, is the message we heard from Christ and are passing on to you: God is light, pure light; there’s not a trace of darkness in him.
If we claim that we experience a shared life with him and continue to stumble around in the dark, we’re obviously lying—we’re not living what we claim. But if we walk in the light, God himself being the light, we also experience a shared life with one another, as the sacrificed blood of Jesus, God’s Son, purges all our sin."
(1 John 1:5-7, MSG)
