Furthering my education has been something lying heavy on my mind. To be honest, I'm still a little spiffed about C.C.U. screwing up my transcripts; nonetheless, the time is ripe to try again, and I'm hoping to start my Master's at the end of the summer. So long as C.C.U. comes through (and I will be having a nice conversation with them when I go to send my transcripts next week), everything should be Good-2-Go (as the hip kids are prone to say). By the time I'm done with the degree, I'll be certified to teach Eighth Grade Social Studies. That isn't to say that I've closed off my mind to ministry. I still want to do ministry, but having talked to lots of ministers over the last several months, there's been a concurrent theme: "Have a backup degree." They don't say it because there's a lack of trust in God; they say it because the reality is that churches are autonomous organizations, they like to kick people to the curb for no good reason, and the level of burn-out is extreme. Tony, the last Youth Minister at my home church, resigned to become a public school teacher, and though a good number of people condemned him for "stepping out of God's plan," his life, his family, and his marriage has never been better.
I told Ashley, "I still want to do ministry. I just feel so unworthy of it." This past year has seen a gauntlet of disappointments and defeats: the ending of things with Mandy, the countless church interviews that led nowhere, the constant rejection in lieu of more "experienced" or "suitable" candidates (you would think, by the way some of these churches act, that St. Paul demanded youth ministers be able to play guitar). In the midst of these disappointments and defeats, I've struggled through a whole slew of emotional and spiritual issues. I've interpreted this string of unfortunate events as nothing less than God purposefully stepping in and hurting me. It's a fucked up way to think, with roots in the legalistic culture in which I grew up, but it's a mindset that's constantly nipping at my neurons (there's a catch-phrase to hold onto!).
I know my sins, the secrets I've told no one.
How can God forgive those things?
How can God not abort any good plans for me?
I am so unworthy of anything from His hand.
I am so unworthy of anything from His hand.
The story of the Prodigal Son is an encouragement. The Prodigal, having wandered from his Father's house, looks around the pig-pen that's become his lair, and he moans, "Look at what I've become! This was stupid. Now I've really screwed up. I will go back to my father in repentance, and maybe in his mercy he'll let me be a slave." But then he finds grace: he's embraced as the son he is, returned to his rightful place, and celebrations ignite the household. There's no condemnation, only the celebration of restoration. I yearn for restoration, to be who I am called to me. I'm diligently working at not being held back by my shame and regret; I have to trust that God will use all that has happened for His glory. There's been a lot of negative fall-out from everything with Mandy, and I struggle spiritually in my faith. But that doesn't mean God has no place for me. Coffee With Jesus hits it on the head:
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