After Counting the Cost, I Quit!

I can’t. It’s too much. The cost is too great! What sacrifices will I be forced to make? Am I willing to do that?

I’ve made the excuses, put my foot down then walked away, believing it wasn’t worth it. The cost was too great, and the sacrifice...far more than I could handle. I’ve put the book on the shelf deciding it would be much better suited as a piece of decor item rather than anything worth reading. The expectation had been too much. The change required for me to follow that life. I simply...couldn’t.

Walking away had been easier than anticipated, but only for a season.[1] I tried new things, experienced the unknown, but failed to find substance. I reverted to old things, went down old roads, visited some old stomping grounds, but never found satisfaction. Sure, I smiled, laughed, and on a few occasions even managed to convince myself I was better off on my new path.

Years passed as I grew numb to the inner longing for something different. Better. I didn’t find it. Beneath my skin and false exterior, I had become an empty shell. The wreck I saw in the mirror had become unrecognizable. The reflection lacked hope and truth. Still...I brushed my teeth, plastered on a fading smile, combed my hair, then stepped past the reflection's edge.

Besides, I knew going back to what I’d left would have too high a price now that’d strayed so far off the path. Would I even be accepted if I tried? Would there be repercussions, reparations? Of course, there would be and I simply couldn’t afford that price no matter how much I missed the thing I’d left.

Then a hand, I’d refused to see reaching toward me, stretched out with a simple request. Reach back. In my deficiency, He held enough strength to pull me up and out of despair’s pit. I’d been given an opportunity to right my wrongs, correct my mistakes, and start over. With the chance at my fingertips, I dropped my pride, let go of the chains I’d held for far too long, then finally weighed the cost.

Even with nothing holding me down, I knew I couldn’t pay the toll it took to ride on this road. There would be sacrifices I’d need to make, changes would have to happen to move forward, friends I’d need to leave behind in hopes that one day they’d meet me on the same road. Could I afford that? Could I afford not to? Would walking away from this path be worth the expense?

A still small voice echoed within me “The price has already been paid. At a place called Calvary, I bled and died so the shattered pieces of your brokenness could be restored. I wept, as you wrestled with your pain and my heart ached when you walked away from the truth. On a wooden tree with three nails, I reached for you. I’ve been reaching ever since, waiting for you to reach back.”

What if I fall again? What if I fail? What if...I succeed? With questions unanswered and His hands still ever reaching, I cautiously reached into the warm arms of the Savior. He’d weighed the cost, stepped down from heaven, knowing I’d fail, met me in my brokenness, and still found me worth His love. He took the crown of thorns, endured the ridicule, felt the weight of the cross, and outstretched his arms toward me. He loved me, even when I didn’t think myself worth his love.

One step at a time, I returned to the life I’d left, believing in God, and trusting in him. You can too. It doesn’t matter how far you’ve fallen. He’s already weighed the cost. He still sees you, He still loves you, and He’s still waiting on your return to grace. You are worth it!

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Time To Be Transparent

Somewhere between age sixteen and seventeen, I walked away from God, the church, and the life that comes with it. Not all at once, but one step, one choice at a time. I became a lot of things I’m not proud of. Did some things I’m even less proud of. Eventually, with almost nothing, I moved over 300 miles from my home (a room in my friend's basement) to start life over. The next Sunday, I walked into a Church, lifted my hands, and re-claimed the faith I’d tried to pretend didn’t exist.

What if I succeed?

Today, I’m a Children’s Pastor. We had 60 students in Sunday School last Sunday, With 39 in the class I have the opportunity to teach with my wife.

[1] Hebrews 11:24-25

24 By faith Moses, when he was come to years, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter;

25 Choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season;

No matter the cost. Choose a life living for Christ

Fighting for Words

Why is it so hard to write today? The words refuse to form at my fingertips. My mind circles with distractions while each and every noise in this house makes my skin crawl with frustration. I finally have time to write, but I’ve been chipping away at the same paragraph for over two hours.

I don’t understand.

Yes, I’m tired. Even still, I’ve had two cups of coffee, large cups, so potent they could wake the dead hair follicles of my balding head, but no. My brain refuses to wake.

The gift within me to write, the desire to bring a message of hope and forgiveness refuses to be released. It’s locked up behind a door that’s been fused to the chamber walls. Time has not boded well for the chamber door. The hinges have rusted together, the wood has swollen with age putting extreme pressure between the joints and edges between the door and its frame. Push and push the door won’t give way. The story is trapped. Why?

Time will tell. Press on, I must. The fight is real. The struggle, although it may seem insurmountable at the moment, too shall pass. So today, I fight for the words. I fight for the pages, I fight on until blow by blow, I reign victorious.

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Note: This is just part of my process. When I get stuck, and feel like I've lost all hope of putting words on the page I do a little free writing. I just start typing. No edits, no stopping, just free thought. Eventually something decent comes out. Today, I needed to do a little free writing. The above is edited.

Battle Scars

Battle scars, spiritual battle scars... These remnants are reminders of trials, obsticals, and stresses that you've had to endure and overcome through the years. We all have them. For some, it's the loss of a loved one fought with confusion and frustration that left you crying or even screaming at God. For others is a fleshly desire to do your own thing when God has bigger plans for you. For most, the battle wages in the everyday stresses of life that pile on and on until surrounding us like an impenetrable force that seems to keep us trapped in fear or isolation. We stifle our hopes and dreams conceding to the painful fact that it will never happen for us.

Then we pray. Our knees hit the desolate ground, our voice rages louder and the God of heaven takes notice. We fight in prayer to press forward while God fights to clear the path. His sword cuts down the enemy, while his gentle hand provides us peace. Soon it's joy unspeakable that takes control and we know the battle isn't ours to wage or ours to win, the victory belongs to Him. As our enemy is laid to waste a still small voice beckons to us rise and see the triumph.

This Thanksgiving I'm thankful for each and every battle scar, but especially the ones left in the hands, feet and side of my Savior who I know fights for me.

1Pe 4:12-13 KJV 12 Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you: 13 But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ's sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy.