Reconstructing My Heart

I honestly don't know what's happening to me these days. But something is going on.

I reached out and talked to the man who was my adversary after my fall, Phillip Townsend. We made up after I humbled myself. I've written letters to my former in-laws and apologized to them. After my fall, they were all very angry with me, some to the point of threatening violence. I humbled myself to them and let them know I sinned against them.

Today, I wrote a letter to the church that ordained me. I let them know that I let them down. It was a very difficult letter to write. I told them that if they wanted to rescind my ordination, it was well within their rights. No church has ever meant so much to me as that church. It's my home church. I love all of them. Angelica called many of them the day she found out I had cheated on her. I haven't spoken to any of them since. But I wrote to them and told the deacon body that I loved them all and respected any decision they made, because any decision would be a result of the sin I committed.

I'm not bragging about my humility. I don't like being humbled. I don't like the process. I hate it. It's horrible.

Friends, I don't know what's going on with me.

For many months, I was fueled by anger at the way I was treated after my fall. It drove me and kept me going. But now, I feel nothing but humility. I want my forgiven sin to glorify Christ.

I remember talking to many fallen pastors over the past few months. It seems that in the month after a fall, it is a crucial time. There are only one of two paths to choose. One can choose to self-destruct and hate oneself. This is an easy path to choose. The rationale is that everyone in the church that you just sinned against hates you, your former wife and family hate you, so you might as well hate yourself. How do you hate yourself? You take drugs, drink, or engage in some other vice and destroy yourself.

I won't lie. I've engaged in some mild forms of self-destruction. Haven't we all to some degree?

The other path is tough. It requires perseverance and focus. It takes self-examination, humility, and patience. It makes you look at your disgusting heart, recognize that you are indeed a Pharisee, renounce your own self-righteousness and find yourself alone with God. When you get there, alone with God, you must face Him, alone, naked, and full of your sin.

And when you look at Him, He says, "I love you, child. And I gave all for you. I do not condemn you, because of my Son."

That journey takes a long time. But it is worth it. It is painful, requires self-humiliation, the renunciation of self, and the realization that you're not the end all, be all of life.

But at the end of that journey - which I'm not even close to completing - is the One who gave Himself for us. And He is worth every heavy laden, heart-breaking, soul-searching step.

I Hate Humility, But I Love Transformation

So much has happened in the past week. Just when I think my story is over, something else happens. I just can't believe this is happening to me. But, it is.

I blogged about dreams last time. I haven't had a good dream in over a year. I had one last night. I'll get to that some other time.

Cynthia and I have been looking for a church ever since we had a terrible experience at the last one - not Angel Falls.

We have been visiting the church of my friend Brad - Hope Hills Baptist. He's a sovereigntist like me. He spends his time three ways - knocking on doors in the community trying to save souls, witnessing in downtown Richmond, and spending time with his beautiful family.

You know how I know Brad is serious about the kingdom? Richmond is a far cry from Angel Falls. As a pastor, I wouldn't have dreamed about going there and witnessing. He uses the Way of the Master witnessing technique like I did. He's not going to get anyone there to join his church. You know why he goes there? Because he loves sinners. He wants people to see Christ. He's not pushy. He's not overbearing. He just loves Christ. He loves people. You may disagree with Brad and think he's out of line and should leave people alone. Fine. But he's got a heart for people. He doesn't judge. If they don't listen, he leaves them alone. He just loves.

He has a passion that 99% of pastors don't have. I didn't have it. He preaches with a fire that men like Spurgeon and Whitfield had. Lord, is that even a fair comparison? No. I hate it when people do that. If someone could make a list of pastors throughout the ages of passion, some guy from North Dakota who pastored a church who no one ever heard of would top the list, not Charles Spurgeon. It's not right of me to compare Brad to Spurgeon or Whitfield. If he knew I was making up a pseudonym for him and doing it, he would be embarrassed. He would say, "I'm just a preacher trying to glorify Christ." But I'll tell you. In this ragged county dearth of preaching, he's like Spurgeon. And those of you who are hurting for good preaching, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Is he seminary educated? Nope. And it's probably to his advantage. He just loves people.

He told me last week that he had a wife and husband in his office at midnight. The husband was drunk off his butt. He was a gulf war veteran and was screaming at his wife. She was crying. He told me, "I felt like I was in over my head." But he stayed in there and presented the gospel. The couple left. The man came back three days later and was begging to be saved.

Friends, in the past year, I've lost touch with Christ. I have hated church, I've hated religion, and I sure as hell hated to see anything associated with the Southern Baptist Convention. But seeing Brad and his passion has reminded me what it's all about. It's about Christ. It's not about me. It's not about parking lots or buildings or the weekly offering. And I'm downright ashamed of the pastor I used to be. In fact, I want to strip myself of that.

Cynthia and I met with him and told him we wanted to join the church. We told him we didn't see any other way for us to join but to tell the church what we had done. He agreed. It's going to be embarrassing this Sunday when he tells them. Cynthia and I had a heart to heart about that last night.

I told her, "Sweetie, in Nathaniel Hawhorne's classic, 'The Scarlet Letter,' Hester Prynne is commanded to wear her 'A' on her chest. But the first time she shows up in public, she has embroidered it herself. It's not a plain 'A'. It's adorned with gold and it's absolutely beautiful. The people are stunned and are awed with her workmanship. She's taken ownership of her sin. On Sunday, that's what we need to do. We've been forgiven. In that congregation, there will be people there who are/have been/who will be committing adultery. We need to take ownership of what we've done. We aren't proud of it, but God has set us free from it by the grace of Christ. And we can be an example to someone and maybe, just maybe someone can be helped by our story."

There's more, dear reader . . .

I told you in the last blog that I called Phillip Townsend. He was the deacon who called the shots after I committed adultery. When he found out what I did, he told me he "ought to beat the sh-t out" of me. We had a rocky past. I blamed him for a lot of my current problems.

Today, friends, I went to him with all humility and grace. I laid myself at his feet. I apologized to him and told him I was terribly sorry for all the pain I had caused him and the church.

As a sidenote, I have talked to many fallen pastors across the county in the past year. 95% of them tell me that for the most part, reconciliation with the church that was sinned against is IMPOSSIBLE. You know what? I'm a hard headed jerk. Today, I proved that percentage wrong.

Humility goes a long, long way.

The only issue I left with is this - Phillip told me he forgave me a long time ago. Friends, if you forgive a person, you need to TELL THEM. If you don't tell them, forgiveness is not complete. But I understand the process. He also told me he had no intention of contacting me. He said he was going to wait for me to initiate contact. I said, "I get it. I'm a jerk. I would've just responded like a jerk, right?" He had a point. There's a time for reconciliation and a right time to talk to people.

I left Phillip's home with a good feeling. Does he feel the same as he did when I was pastor? No. Do I think he's flawed and should have handled it different? Yeah. But you know what? I love him. And one day in glory, we're gonna have to live next to each other. And today, for an hour and a half, we understood each other. And as a man, I looked him in the eye and I took the initiative to call him and make him meet me.

There's no reason Christians shouldn't be getting along in this world. Phillip told me there's about 30% of that church that will never forgive me. That's sad. Because if they're really saved, they won't like seeing me in heaven.

And when I'm there, I'm gonna rub it in.

I called Brad to tell him that I met with Phillip. He started to cry. I said, "What is it?" He said, "When I met with you and Cynthia last week, I wrote in my prayer journal that I was going to begin praying for you to reconcile with the people at Angel Falls. I just didn't think that prayer would begin to be answered so quickly." My faith is beginning to be restored.

By the way, I had a great dream last night. First good dream I've had in a while. A very long while. I love airplanes. I was at an airfield with my girls and Cynthia. There was an airshow. And we were free. And we were watching the planes go by. And we were happy.

Forgiveness is good. Do you have someone you need to talk to? Humility is so freeing. Is it hard? Sure. But it will free you from a lifetime of anger, hatred, and bitterness. Do it before you waste anymore time.

My Weird Dreams And A Hope For Reconciliation

Dreams. They're weird for me. Always have been. I don't have normal ones. Maybe you do. If you do, you're lucky.

I've got several theories about how they work and I'll get to them in a minute. Theory means that I don't have a clue why or what dreams are.

I have several recurring dreams that have nothing to do with this blog post - or do they? I dream about midgets on occasion. Or little people. Apologies if I'm using the wrong terminology. Typically, they come bearing advice or I'm having a casual conversation with them.

I dream about driving off the road a lot. I'm usually at a busy intersection and for some reason, I just let go of the wheel and the car goes off into a tree or a ditch. I either wake up, or survive the wreck and steer back onto the road.

The worst dream I ever had was when I was five. I'll never forget it. I watched from my room as Santa (who was coincidentally a midget) walked into my parents room and poisoned them with a green gas he sprayed from a garden sprayer. He did it while looking at me and smiling. Yeah, it was not good.

Lately, I've been dreaming that I'm in the right place at the right time to stop a crime. Like an accidental superhero. That's about as positive as my dreams ever get. If I'm really, really lucky, I won't dream at all.

However, ever since I committed adultery at Angel Falls which led to broken relationships with my ex-wife's family and the whole church, I've been having awful dreams. I have them just about every night. In each dream there's a church member or a member of Angelica's family. I typically dream of church members, almost always Phillip Townsend. When I first started having the dreams, I'd be arguing with them or they'd yell at me. At times, they'd stand there and stare distainfully at me.

As time has gone by, the dreams have gotten "happier", if you will. For instance, recently, I dreamed I was standing outside a grocery store renting movies from a Redbox. Up walked one of the deacons and his wife. They started talking to me with kindness. Behind them were another deacon and his wife and several other couples from church. Each couple was nice, but somewhere, deep in my heart I knew two things: One, they were shocked at running into me and didn't really like me. Two, I was ashamed of myself still and wanted to run away. So it wasn't a happy dream at all.

I've actually run into one of the deacons in my dream recently. I went out of my way to talk to him. We made small talk and it was okay. I had my girls with me. He was uncomfortable, but I felt a little better about being seen in public.

The dreams are getting old. What's my theory? I think that when we sleep, our unconscious mind works through things that our conscious mind pushes away. Sometimes, it presents them as a weird picture. Sometimes it's frightening. But our minds don't rest. I think that our minds are wanting to work free of the stress that we place on ourselves and they try to unwind at night. Is there a portion of it where God is at work? Sure, God is sovereign over all things.

So, late last week I got sick of it. That, and I got humbled after talking to the man who will probably be our new pastor. I'll blog about that later.

I made a phone call to one of Angelica's brothers. I apologized to him for what I did to her and the drama it caused to their family. I told him I knew that he had to explain it to his young children and humbled myself to him. He received it graciously. I knew I could call him because he's just like that. The other members of her family probably wouldn't answer the phone, so I wrote letters, including her parents. I told her what I was doing before I did it.

Today, I made a phone call. It was a hard phone call to make. Phillip Townsend. If you've read this blog at all, you know it was hard. I hurt Angel Falls with my sin and he didn't handle the situation well either. However, if I hadn't sinned, he wouldn't have been in that position. We have some talking to do.

I talked to his wife for a few minutes and she was kind to me. He was out and she said he'd call back. So, I'm sitting here waiting for him to call back so we can meet. All I want is to show humility to him and put this behind us. Surely, two Christian men can do that for the sake of Christ.

And then maybe these dreams will go away.

The Difficulties Of Writing

I've always loved writing. Ever since I wrote an extremely short story in first grade called "George Washington and the Purple Polka Dotted Measles," I learned that writing was in my blood. My mother wrote a lot and was published. She wasn't nationally known by any means, but she did it for the enjoyment and to help others.

She encouraged my writing and as long as I can remember I've had pen to paper at some point in my life doing some project, whether it be fiction, non-fiction, theological, or just plain silly. We write about what we know, it seems. In seminary, I was forced to write a lot about what I didn't know, but I think I faked it pretty well.

I love reading Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and Douglas Preston. I have no idea where they come up with their ideas. I'd suggest King's "On Writing," strongly, even if you have no ambition to write.

In that book, he discusses his addiction problems early in his career and how he doesn't even remember writing several books.

It's hard to write sometimes. Many authors struggle with addiction, depression, anxiety and the like. I don't always think it's because they're suffering from writer's block, either. I think when we write we are baring our soul for everyone to see. Even if fiction is being written, some part of us is being dredged up and being dealt with by our conscious mind.

I've been blogging about my fall since March, I think. And there have been times I just had to take a break from it. Rethinking the whole thing and dealing with the issues around it hurt sometimes. There have been times when I relive moments of pain and hurt that were done to me. But for the most part, I realize how much I hurt others and I just have to stop for a while.

I wrote recently that I've been pounding out a book. I'm writing now about the death of my mother. It's been two years since she died. I thought I'd get through it without much difficulty. I was wrong. Thinking about the moments and the day she died bring back strong memories, smells, sights and things I had tucked away in a dark corner of my mind.

When you write about something like that, it effects your soul, your mood, your mind and how you treat other people. But then again, writing is also very good therapy, I think. If we're honest when we write, we can show ourselves where we lack and how we can get better. We can help others in their struggles. If we can be truly transparent, others might see themselves in some part of the story and be truly helped.

That's why Mom wrote and it helped people. She also suffered from deep depression. At the same time, writing helped her depression. Go figure.

Now, back to writing. And the dark confines of my soul. Say a prayer if you get a chance.