Learning to listen.

Have you ever made a decision that was difficult to make and to execute? It seems that you go from a land of milk and honey into a barren desert, where the flying sand scratches at your face, the ground swallows your every step and you must kick your feet free in order to take another step forward, and a brutal sun wrings the strength out of you. This is how my summer has felt. It has not been enjoyable, it has not been fun. But it has been a time of growth.

In October of 2009, I resigned from my position as a youth pastor for strong theological reasons I held and still hold. Soon after this my father endured several months of extreme pain before he was finally diagnosed with colon cancer and was admitted to a hospital immediately for an emergency procedure. We had been told it was merely an ulcer, but the night that my mother called me in and I grasped his hand as he writhed slowly in a sea of pain and didn't realize I was there even after I spoke, I knew something serious was wrong. He would call me into the room where he would be lying, and he would tell me make my life count for something, and he would rub his hands through my hair as we both wept. He would go to church when he could and in reality shouldn't have. People would crowd in to speak with their pastor for a few moments, never knowing the pain he was in, or how taxing this was. When he was admitted to a hospital later, his kidneys had begun to fail and the doctors were amazed at the pain he had endured.

After his recovery I got a job at The Home Depot which I was grateful for, but soon came to dread. Loading 300 bricks in Texas heat is no fun. I dreamed of escaping Dallas, if not Texas altogether. Finally I was able to get another job at a department store, so I was out of the heat, but still, thats no one's dream job. I waited for the fall and a new semester of school that would prove to be my salvation. I hated going to the church I had been a youth pastor at, I hated people coming up to me and saying, "Were praying for you". I hated it. They were just being nice and showing there concern and I ground my teeth at them. I avoided church and church people whenever I could, but I still loved "my kids" as I called them. The ones whom I had lead for two years. I would watch them worship at the front and secretly I beamed because they didn't need me to lead them to worship God. In youth service I would sit at the back and watch them pray with an amazing intensity. And I was proud of them because they didn't need me. I remember a situation that come up, and I remember my heart breaking for this girl I had lead and knew so well, I ached for her family who to this day are all close friends of mine. I remember how she would just weep when she prayed and the guilt was thick enough to breathe. And I sorrowed for her. I remember the note I put in the bible I gave her, and how I would notice her carrying it with her on sundays, it's edges newly worn from use. I would hang out and chat with some of the guys and we would laugh and cut up, or they would ask me questions that I would try my best to answer. I remember a few former students of mine coming to me privately and asking me when I would be back, or when I was going to teach again. This always broke my heart, and I never knew what to say to them. One night a youth staff member was going to make the drive to pick up those who had gone to summer camp, and when they asked me to drive since I knew the way, I didn't hesitate. In fact when they asked me to do this I had been at a youth function.

But still I yearned for an escape. I never stopped reading theology or philosophy for that matter, and in so many ways I grew as a Christian and as a person, but I still wanted to leave.

This past Friday night there was a youth function that I attended. I sat at the back, a little angry, and bitter to be sure. But this time was different from the start for reasons I still don't understand. People whose greetings I usually brushed off, instead I smiled a toothy smile and grabbed their hand in greeting. The pleasant shock on their face shocked me. But still I sat in the back. I began to pray, in the way I do often-very low, almost a whisper, with songs and periods of silence thrown in. The preacher spoke, and it didn't really impress me. But something moved in my thoughts. People had been up at the front praying for some time now, and I felt as if I should go up there and pray. Not because I was wrong, or had this terrible sin weighing me down, but because I needed to be humble before God. I struggled with this idea for a few minutes, then realized that although this was about me a little, not in the I'm-the-center-of-the-universe way but because it concerned me, but that this was really about God. Screw what people think when they see you up there praying. Who cares if they think 'the prodigal' has returned. Perhaps in a way they are right. So I went to pray publicly before my God, this was not an act of pride because there are few things less disagreeable with me than this. People will gather about me as they push and pull on me, some yelling "give up!" others, "hold on!"

It wasn't like that though. People did gather around me, but it was my former students who did it. I could hear them weeping over my own tears. Nothing clicked immediately with a pop, but the gears began to turn. I went home early, presumably because I had to work the next morning, but really it was because none of this made sense to me.

That sunday was the same thing. Almost. I felt as if I should go to the front during worship service, and after fighting it, I went. This time however, I didn't get away from the crazies. A very sincere man came and laid on me, praying in some sort of tongue, and then he whipped out his handy dandy jar of olive oil and put it smack dad on my forehead...

If that had happened a week ago, I would have been furious. Indeed, I was. Dood, why are you dumping freaking oil on my face?! In front of the entire church no less?! These were my initial thoughts. Then I focused on God and began to pray again, and new, alarming thoughts came to mind, "This makes no sense. I think it violates a decent and orderly service that focuses on God and not human distractions...however what if there is something to this? What if God has to have a crazy(albeit well intentioned and indeed good man) literally anoint you for you to realize that you have been chosen? Remember what Bonhoeffer wrote that struck you so powerfully? 'Peter could have stayed with his nets but if he wanted to believe in god the only was to follow the incarnate Son, and although Peter could not achieve his own conversion, he can leave his nets', remember that? The call is irresistible. Remember what Kierkegaard said about the man who truly experienced god? How afterward he would forever be changed, as Jacob limped for the rest of his days so to will you bear the mark of God on you. Maybe you are meant to be in Dallas, the one place you didn't want to be until right now."

I thought it was about freedom. I thought it was about being your own man and slashing your own path. I thought I could hit the mark alone.

"...a prudent man will always choose to take paths beaten by great men and to imitate those who have been especially admirable, in order that if his ability does not reach theirs, at least it may offer some suggestion of it; and he will act like prudent archers, who, seeing that the mark they plan to hit is too far away and knowing what space can be covered by the power of their bows, take an aim much higher than their mark, not in order to reach with their arrows so great a height, but to be able, with the aid of so high an aim, to attain their purpose." Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince

I am no Odysseus, for no matter how hard I strive, I cannot even bend the bow to string it. I cannot go at it alone. I must accept my call and the it's roll in this local community of believers. Details will come later perhaps. I don't know where this will take me, but I do believe that God lead this happen to teach me lesson in months what otherwise may have taken years.

I see my father through different eyes. I always loved him, but now i see him as a great man. I can pick him up like a twig, but he is still the strongest man I know. He carries things that would crush me easily and immediately. And although we have our share of disagreements, I am proud of my father. Proud to be able to call him that as well.