Wednesday Morning, October 4, 2006

It's Wednesday Morning. I really had thought that I wouldn't be so broken on Monday... or Tuesday... or Wednesday. But I feel worse today, than I did on Sunday. I have a horrible pain where my head meets my spine. It's almost overwhelming. I packed one room yesterday - Shiloh & Shara's room. Today, I have to finish the playroom, the closets in the hall, and the bathroom. If I accomplish that, I'll feel as though I have done something. All that, and still I must get a sermon together for tonight.

There is a weight on me, in that I feel as though I am leaving with "stuff" still to do. I don't feel as though I have a sense of completion. I don't feel like I have done what I came to do. But I can't take responsibility for that. I have to do what I need to do for family.

My in-laws grew up in a time when ministry was the end-all. Nothing was more important. They didn't neglect their family, but many did - to the detriment of their children, their extended families, etc.

I can't do that. Ministry, as important as it is... has to be secondary. It must be GOD; then FAMILY; and finally, the MINISTRY. I cannot put the ministry above either of the first two. Some put the ministry above God - when God has told them, "You need to step out of the ministry, and learn of me. You need to breathe. You need to heal." Some put their ministry above their own family, when they don't focus on the needs of their own marriage... their own children... their own extended family.

And I have been guilty of that in the past. I would suffer spiritually myself. I would need healing... spiritual restoration... but neglect me, to help others.

The weight of that was a small thing until this year. When my nephew died in May this year, at 13, it was a real wake-up call. I scarcely knew what an air embolism was; let alone that it could kill someone. On a Friday in May, it happened. On Mother's Day 2006, he was gone.

Probably more than the mourning of the death, it was this intense guilt that I couldn't be present for my own family. It was one of a thousand times when I was not present. But the snowball was rolling down the hill now, and I was unable to stop it. The reality of all these things hit me all of a sudden.

There was a pervasive fear that "If this could happen to Joseph, it could happen to anyone." All of a sudden, being there for their surgeries was more important. Being present for death and loss, and happiness, and stupid stuff - like big football games... and dance recitals... and birthday parties. I know those things don't seem very important to others. Maybe it's a midlife crisis in me. But I have to be closer to those I love.

So there is a guilt. I came to Elton Woods with a vision. I knew what I had to do. And I'm not at the place I wanted to be at by 3.5 years. I wanted to see 200 in attendance. I wanted to see 10,000 a month in tithes. I wanted to see things more healthy than they are. There is a disappointment. There is a feeling of failure. There is a doubt. There is a fear.

Praying like I never have before. There is the words of the old Jimmy Durante song...

"Did you ever get the feeling that you wanted to go... but still have the feeling that you wanted to stay?"

Nothing has ever more aptly expressed my feelings than that.