Transparency

We talk about a lot of things on this blog.

Ministry.  Parenthood.  Video games.  Bad haircuts.  Love.  In all of it, I have one goal, which is transparency.  If I’m going to run a blog about my daily life, where I share my opinions, tell stories, and expose my life to people, transparency is a necessity.  I struggle for it, and with it, each time I write something here.

I ask myself questions like, “How much is too much?”, and “Did I overshare?”.  The problem with transparency, to me, is that it is addictive.  When I come here and talk about something I’m dealing with, or tell a story about my family, the negative emotions associated with those things drift away.  Coming here helps me to process what i’m feeling and what is really going on beneath the surface of an issue.

A few months ago, one of the guys in my life that I really consider to be a mentor brought up this blog, and one of the first things he pointed out was the level of transparency that I’d been writing with.  Originally, I hadn’t noticed, and I’m being honest when I say that.  I was just writing whatever came into my head and out of my fingers as I typed.  But, as I tried to figure out what this blog would and wouldn’t be, telling stories about my own faults, failures, triumphs, and strengths just came naturally.  I was proud, then, that someone had noticed my transparency even when I hadn’t, because that meant that I was willing to share my life with people.

It’s risky to be transparent in our culture, especially in ministry, where a wrong step can see you crucified for something you’re still in process of figuring out.  That’s a risk I’m willing to take though, due to the fact that transparent people connect with their intended audience more.  Since I work daily with people, I want them to know that I’m approachable, that I’m friendly, and that I have faults too, just like them.  I never want to give off the impression that just because I’m called to ministry means I’m on top of some tall ivory tower and cannot be approached.

So, until something changes, I’ll continue to write about all my problems, my fears, my joys, my wins, my losses, and everything in between.  Because that’s what I want people to know about me: the whole story, nothing edited or censored.  Because, after all, don’t we all long for that?

For someone to really know us, as we truly are?

A Divine Appointment

divine appointment

I had a divine appointment today.

You may not know what those are, or you may say that I’m a bit old fashioned for using that terminology, but that’s ok. A divine appointment is when you find yourself in a situation that you step back from later and realize that God was all over it. You couldn’t have made it happen on your own. They are rare, and a privilege.

My divine appointment was with Rick today.

I was standing around with some adults after recreation was over at children’s camp, and we started to talk about where we had taken our youth to camp. I mentioned we had been to Canada a couple of years ago and that’s when I met Rick. Rick was an older man with rose colored lenses in his glasses and a quiet disposition. He looked tired, but also kind, and soon we found ourselves talking about Canada and all it’s quirks.

That was when everything changed.

Rick looks at me, and he says, “Please keep me in your prayers. I have terminal cancer that started in my lungs, has moved to my kidneys, and is now eating away at my bones.”

Shocked, I just nodded. This guy has terminal cancer, and he’s at camp?! Hold up. If I was dealing with that kind of disease, I think the last place I’d want to be is at camp.

Rick went on to explain that he’d just learned about how serious it was this past Monday, while his daughters were with their track groups. He hadn’t told them yet, and he didn’t want them to know so they could enjoy their week. He showed me a picture of them, and I recognized one, a girl who had been zooming around campus all week long in a motorized wheelchair.

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t say anything. I suddenly felt very small. So, I did the only thing I knew to do: I prayed for Rick. I grabbed his hands, and we prayed right there in the middle of all these kids and adults milling around us. I’d love to tell you it was a beautiful prayer, and that he immediately was healed. But, I’m pretty sure it was the most jumbly, fumbly prayer that I’ve ever prayed. When I said “Amen,” I looked up, and he was smiling at me behind those rose tinted glasses.

How could he be smiling? How could he be spending what precious little time he has left hanging out at a kids camp? How could he be so happy?

My only guess is that Rick knows that soon he will be having a divine appointment, the last appointment that he will ever have, and it will be good.

So very good.

I’m praying for you, Rick. May the days you have left bring you as much joy and peace as I felt with you today.