or more aptly titled: my struggle to follow Jesus

Turmoil: There have been a lot of different things going on at church lately. Everyone on staff (in the last three years) has felt vulnerable without being able to be vulnerable. We’ve been afraid who to trust, who to confront, who to voice our pain to. There have been job changes, lay-offs, resignations, and moves. Basically on our staff there has been general unrest for the last couple years.

Frustration: In my time at FCC (three years), I have had five or six different job descriptions, and six or seven office moves. Some by my choice, some not. What I’m doing now (Graphic Design + Publications) is so much fun, and I really enjoy it, but I feel like I’m missing something. I miss ministering to people. I get some of that on Wednesdays when I help out as a volunteer with the students, but it’s not the same. I don’t know if I miss ministry or student ministry. But I miss something.

Disappointment: And then, to top it all off, in the last two weeks three men who I admire, consider close friends, and work with, have confessed serious sin in their lives. Two of them had grown to dislike each other and sinned in their negativity toward each other, and the other had some personal integrity issues (not sex). They are all in the process of restoring their relationships with each other, with the church at large, and with God, and one of them has resigned.

And with all this negativity, you would think I’d be depressed or angry or at least melancholy. But I’m none of those things. It would seem a natural move to head into sadness and perhaps think about working in ministry somewhere else. Maybe it would even seem like a good thing to withdraw from ministry all together.

But I’m not depressed. I’m not angry. I’m not melancholy. (I feel sad for these friends and the situation, but sadness is not the overarching sentiment.)

Hope is.

Even though men I admired have fallen from their pedestals, even though one of them will no longer work with me, even though my job has changed from what I had once thought I was created to do, I have this overwhelming, unending sense of hope.

Hope for our church. Hope that once the dust settles, once the hemorrhaging has stopped, once the dragon skin has been removed from the bride of Christ (see Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Chronicles of Narnia) that there is a church beneath it all that will bring more glory to God than anyone at FCC has ever seen.

It doesn’t make any sense. And I think that’s why I’m so emotionally drained. If you read this and are interested in praying for me, my family, and/or our church pray that God will work through our leadership and give them the strength and perseverance necessary to carry this through. Pray that this pervasive feeling of hope that I (and a few others on staff feel) would bleed into the rest of the staff, leadership, and church.

God is going to do more amazing things at FCC, and I can’t wait.