Valleys & Shadows

Don't be mad if I cry
It just hurts so bad sometimes
'Cause everyday it's sinking in
And I have to say goodbye all over again
- from Save a Place by Matthew West

Here's something I've learned about this journey: It is very much like the experience of walking through the death of someone you love. The fact that others who have walked through forced termination from ministry say the same thing lets me know I'm not going crazy when I feel this way.

In the beginning, in those first, awful days, I would often wake up in the morning and, for a few blissful seconds, remember nothing of our exploding lives & shattering dreams. Then, steadily, the memories would seep back in, and I would experience the death of life as we knew it all over again.

These days, the painful times are fewer and less raw, but they still come.

Like when my sweet friend had a baby . . . and I couldn't visit her in the hospital or take her a meal.

And when another friend lost her spouse . . . and I couldn't hug her or watch her kids for the day to give her a break.

Or like the days when I'm just plain mad that I have to make new friends at a new church . . . when I have a perfectly good set of friends at the old church - the one I never wanted to have to leave in the first place.

And, like today in church, when I listened to somebody up front read Christ's prayer for unity among believers (John 17) and thought "Unity among believers? Bologna!" . . . and then felt guilty for feeling that way.

Not very pretty, is it? But then trials seldom are!

The good news is that God is still God . . . and I am not.

God is still good.

Still faithful.

Still crazy-loves me.

Still working everything out for my greatest good by bringing him greatest glory.

The following is an excerpt from an article that I found on a website called Pastors in Pain. It is one of the (few) resources I have discovered that seeks to help deeply hurting pastors and their families after something like what my family has experienced. I appreciated this article because it puts our experience in to words. And, because it lets me know that we are not the only ones who have gone through such a painful experience. You can read the full article here.

Waiting for Monday with Hope!

Five Stages of Injury to Recovery
by John Schmidt

. . . Where do the wounded ministry couples go? What happens to them? Who cares for them? We might assume that wounded spiritual leaders recover easily, trusting God and finding victory, and move to another church to pick up where they left off. But the truth is, for the majority, life rarely goes back to normal. They are wounded people who often struggle to recover in isolation. Seldom are there helping hands ready to pull them out of their sorrow and pain. They are often forgotten, left in a dark pit of discouragement.

Let’s remove the cover of that horrible hole, and glimpse what goes on when a minister is forced out of a church. The process begins much earlier than the day of resignation or termination. As I’ve heard story after story, and looked for a pattern, I’ve seen…

Five Stages in the Process of Injury and Recovery:

The Turmoil
During this time, spiritual enemies seem to gain a foothold in the church. There are subtle changes in attitude toward the minister. Once he was held in esteem, but now there are conflicts and discontentment expressed toward certain aspect of his work or life. The spiritual battle increases in intensity almost daily. Pressure on the pastor and confrontations with certain people grow worse, with no satisfactory resolution. Even fasting and prayer often fail to turn things around. The particular events that cause the turmoil vary from church to church, and pastor to pastor, but this stage is a common one in most stories I’ve heard.

The Trauma
Eventually, the opposition that’s been partially hidden comes to a head. Open conflict breaks out, or secret meetings take place. Either way, it leads to the resignation or termination of the minister. As a result, there is deep emotional damage. The pastor, spouse and family experience an overwhelming sense of rejection and disbelief. The extent of the injury varies, depending on how ugly things become before the pastor is forced out. It may range from a minor scratch on the heart to complete soul crucifixion. Sleeplessness and depression are common, and often bring a minister and spouse to the point of despair.

The Aftershock
This phase is much like the smaller tremors that follow a major earthquake. It is characterized by great fear and concerns about practical matters. As time goes on, the minds of the minister and spouse are pummeled by earthshaking questions—many more questions than answers: What just happened? How could this happen to us? How are we going to support ourselves? Where are we going to live? Who can we trust?

They feel alone, facing problems they never anticipated. It’s at this time that the pastor and spouse need to find help; but, they’ve focused on giving their lives to help others, and it’s difficult to shift that focus to their own needs. Even if they want assistance, little help is available. The crisis eventually affects every aspect of their lives: their spiritual and emotional state, their financial condition, and their physical health.

They experience something similar to the grief cycle people go through when a loved one dies. They go from denial to acceptance of their situation. They walk through a minefield of painful and challenging emotions and experiences. This Aftershock chapter in their lives may last up to two years.

It is important for injured ministry couples to seek help, no matter how difficult that may be. An assessment of the damage, both emotional and physical, is crucial. Sleeplessness and depression often result in other problems if immediate action is not taken. The pain and complications don’t go away on their own.

The Hidden Battle
The damage that began months or years earlier in the Turmoil quietly spreads into the everyday life of wounded shepherds. This phase is unseen by all but the most discerning. Major problems—such as where to move, how to earn a living, etc.—may appear to be behind them; but the resulting pain has burrowed underground to continue its destruction.

Spiritual enemies seek to extinguish the flame of faith and desire for ministry by using two powerful weapons: isolation and condemnation. The minister and spouse feel alone, perhaps no longer intimately involved in the lives of other believers, or comfortable around “successful clergy couples.” They’re tempted to mentally replay their failures. “Maybe if we were more holy or more loving we wouldn’t have lost our ministry.” They struggle with guilt feelings. Self-doubt and frustration plague them. They desperately grasp at solutions that seem to offer hope, but to no avail.

This stage can involve a kind of temporary blindness. A minister and spouse may lose sight of God’s faithfulness and grace, of their gifts and calling, or of any likelihood of a positive future. If they do have dreams of future ministry, they often can’t find the motivation or power to accomplish them. Soon after new pursuits begin, dreams evaporate. They feel paralyzed by an invisible force, held in , hemmed in by feelings of loneliness and betrayal. They can’t get beyond the memories of injustice. And they’re plagued with the nagging question, “Will God ever use us again?”

Some languish in this stage for a long time. One minister told me he was stuck there for over twenty years. Misguided individuals may exacerbate the situation by saying, “Oh, so-and-so left the ministry.” But real shepherds can never leave the ministry. God’s gifts and call are without repentance.

Paul spoke of a Divine compulsion to minister when he said, “necessity is laid hold on me….” (Cf. 1 Cor.9:16) He’d been “grabbed by God” and God wouldn’t let him go. So it is with the wounded minister. He may not serve in a formal church, but his calling compels him to serve. Injured pastors don’t need pity; they need respect, healing and deliverance. . .

The Reconstruction Phase
Wounded shepherds need to begin to minister again, even if they never again do so in a formal church setting. Healing for injured ministry couples requires affirmation. No matter what led to a termination, they need encouragers who will come alongside them and recognize that a gracious God is working to restore them. They need loyal friends who will affirm them as “full-fledged ministers” even if they serve outside of a traditional ministry mold. Though a person’s “professional ministry career” may have been bulldozed, God can reconstruct a future ministry out of the rubble.

I sometimes compare the rejection of a pastor, and what follows, to a Joseph’s Pit Experience. It is filled with danger and pain, caused by the rejection of brothers and sisters (compare how Joseph suffered the rejection of his brothers, who put him in a pit, and then sold him into slavery). But, in God’s providence, that rejection can lead to a new place of service (remember how the LORD allowed the evil plot to get Joseph to Egypt where he would be raised up to do an important work, preserving Egypt and his own family during the coming years of famine). When God allowed Joseph to be mistreated, and then delivered him, it was not to do “traditional work.” God had a special place for him that no one could have anticipated.

Ironically, many who are judged by traditional churchgoers as having “left the ministry” are actually doing more for God’s kingdom than ever before. Our definitions and perspectives of ministry are too narrow. Sometimes, God allows a pastor to be pushed out of the formal church in order to reassign him in a “secular job” where he can share the gospel with needy souls who’ll never step through the doors of our best sanctuaries.

The Lord’s people need to learn to respect and honor the call of God on a person’s life, whether that means being the pastor of a large church or being a “street shepherd.”

What can you do?
Perhaps you’re wondering, “How can I help to heal hurting shepherds?” Awareness of the problem is the first step toward a solution. You should know that the problem is not a small one. Statistics indicate that shepherds are being struck down in ever increasing numbers. And it isn’t only ministers and spouses who suffer. Whatever injures them often scatters the Lord’s sheep as well. People leave the church with every damaged shepherd’s departure.

Our world can’t afford to lose true messengers of God. Someone must seek them out, honor them with actions and words, and help them get moving in ministry again. Their gifts are needed more than ever. We can’t afford to waste spiritual resources. Wounded ministers are a vast reserve of leadership for God’s kingdom.

Has God burdened your heart for injured ministers and spouses? Pray that he will lead you to another person or two who share that concern. Then, commit yourselves to find an injured minister or ministry couple and begin to express compassion and support. Strategize how you might be able to network with others in the body of Christ to give practical help to wounded shepherds. They may need assistance finding work, or a place to live. They’ll certainly need a listening ear, and encouraging words; but be careful not to spout a lot of advice. Weep with those who weep. Care for the caregivers who’ve been hurt. Hurting pastors and spouses need respect and affirmation. They need someone who’ll love them and their families back to spiritual health.

Sobbing on Sunday

Today was one of the hard Sundays. The ones when something - usually something fairly insignificant - stabs at a wound. The ones when I spend the entire day holding back the tears.

In Sunday School, the discussion focused on retrospection - looking back at this past year. Others around us shared things about their year, but my husband & I said . . . nothing. What could we say? The chasm of pain is still so deep that I think we're a bit afraid to say anything at all. How do you just say one, emotionally sanitized thing about a year that has ripped you apart, heart & soul? I feel a bit like the girl in the song. Afraid that if I cry that first tear -- or say the first sentence - the tears will not stop raining down and everyone around me will be alienated by the ugliness of my wounds. Swept away by the flow of my tears. So I sat and listened to others share from their year's experience and held all the pain of my own year inside.

Then the worship service started. And, I was doing fairly well keeping emotions under control. . . until we sang "What a Friend we Have in Jesus". The phrase

do thy friends despise, forsake thee?

take it to the Lord in prayer

in his arms he'll take and shield thee

thou wilt find a solace there

That was the final twist of the knife. My mind flooded with memories of the friends - people we have loved and served with and ministered to for years - who betrayed us. The ones who now, apparently, despise us. The tears began coming faster than I could blink them away and I stood through the next two songs brushing them from my face and trying desperately not to sob out loud.

Their rejection hurts so badly. The thing is, I really don't understand their rejection. It all seemed to happen so quickly. One day we were loved, appreciated, delighting in our opportunity to minister and serve these beloved people, and the next day we had become the enemy. The ones to attack. The ones who couldn't do anything right. The ones who were verbally kicked black and blue -- and then harshly judged as sinful because we were hurting. It's all so unbelievable to me that I still find myself shaking my head in disbelief over it.

I have mourned - I still mourn - the end of these relationships the way I would mourn the physical death of someone I love.

I have often sat - as I sat this evening in the privacy of our living room - with hands stretched out toward their invisible faces. Tears raining down & shoulders shaking with the weight of grief. Asking 'why? why couldn't you love us?'

On Sundays, it seems, there are many whys and few answers.

Dear God, may Monday dawn truly follow Sunday's darkness!

Peace

In a few weeks, my family and I will pass over the day that marks 2 years since our journey through forced termination & it's aftermath began. What an amazingly difficult 2 years it has been!
In those 2 years, I have cried more tears than I ever imagined I could.

I have hurt so deeply I could feel my soul caving in on itself.

I have moved through my days in the numb fog of disbelief and pain. There are entire stretches of time - days and weeks - that I can't remember clearly when I look back on them now.

I have spent days curled into an emotional foetal position, straining to hear the faint murmur of my Father's heart . . . "I know the plans I have for you . . . plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope."

*

And, ever so slowly, I have begun to heal.

*

Oh, the pain is still there. I still have days of deep, profound sadness at all we have lost - home, a church body we considered family, confidence, innocence. Yet, more and more frequently, I also have peace.

I've had a hard time saying I'm at peace with all that has happened. It seems like saying that will somehow mean I'm saying that everything that has happened was not so bad. And I don't ever want to say that! It was bad - in fact, it was awful! But the peace is there. Silently stealing in, blanketing my wounded, bleeding heart with a healing quiet and calm. I have a hard time describing it, but it's there.

Recently I read this post on the blog of a woman I've never met. Someone whose own journey of deep pain has been down the path of infertility. She described the peace that she now feels and I thought 'yes! that's what it's like'. Here are her words:

I reflected back over our journey and I realized the kind of peace I meant. It’s not the pansy, pie-in-the-sky, life-is-perfect peace. No, this is the kind of peace that comes after war. It’s the hard-won, show-you-my-scars, didn’t-think-I’d-live-to-tell-about-it, peace. It’s not gentle—it’s wild, fierce, and I’m not giving it up, not ever, because I paid too high a price to get it.

When I realized that, I cried.There’s something beautiful about naming and knowing the place where you are in life. I could feel myself sigh inside and say, “Yes, that’s it.” This peace is mine and I can stay there as long as I’d like. I can eat the food, put my feet on the furniture, and invite my friends over.

It was once the land I fought for and pursued. Now it's the place where my heart lives.
It's good to be home.

If you're on your own journey of deep pain, be encouraged!

There is peace and healing to be found!

The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.

Psalm 34:18

What's so Great About Monday?

The title for this blog was inspired by the book Crying on Sunday by Elaine Herrin Onley. In her book, Mrs. Onley describes the series of events that led to her husband's forced resignation from the church where he was pastor. One of the saddest paragraphs in the book describes their trip to church on the rainy Sunday when he resigned.

I wish I had the book here now -- I'd type out the quote for you. It's so sad. It makes me cry because I've made that trip. I've sat in a too-silent car as my husband drove us toward the Sunday morning service when he would resign as pastor. I've sat in my seat and held the tears back as I watched him resign from the only job he's ever truly loved. My journey has included many, many tearful Sundays. For the first year after the resignation, I cried every single Sunday. Even now, almost two years later, I still have Sundays that I cry.

For me, while Sunday is synonymous with pain, Monday somehow symbolizes hope. Hope that someday the hurt will be just a memory. Hope that someday the hole in my heart will not ache so badly. Hope that God has wonderful, beautiful plans for our lives and that he is working out those plans, even though right now it doesn't seem like it.

So, I'm waiting for Monday. Thanks for waiting with me!

Bad Dreams

I had a bad dream last night.

Seems I have one every month or two.

My bad dreams aren't about skeletons or ghost pirates like the ones my children have. In my bad dreams, I relive the storm that broke our hearts and forced us away from the body of believers we love so deeply. It's funny:: although the key players are the same in my dreams, the events that force my husband to resign are always different from the actual events. The emotions, though. Oh my! The emotions are always the same.

The sting of rejection;

the numb shock of betrayal;

and the sadness.

Deep, soul-saturating sadness.

On the nights that I have these dreams, I always wake up in the morning feeling exhausted physically and emotionally.

It's hard to start the day crying.

It's hard to keep waiting for Monday.

Welcome to Waiting for Monday. I'm so glad you stopped by!

Let me introduce myself. I am a 30-something woman. I am a wife and a mother. I am, first and foremost, a daughter of God. I am on a journey - a life journey toward His heart. My journey has taken some very painful turns - turns I never expected!

Waiting for Monday is my place to explore my family's journey through what is commonly known as a "forced termination" from the church where my husband was serving as pastor.

Like the story of your own life, my story cannot be told in just a sentence or two. But if you stick around long enough, it will come together, like the pieces of a complicated, often confusing puzzle.
I have started this blog as a way to share my story. I know that there are many, many others who are experiencing what my family and I are going through. I hope that, by sharing our journey, they might be encouraged in their own. I feel that, if I can help just one or two other hurting people, my pain will all, somehow, seem a little less pointless.

I have decided to share my story anonymously. This will let me share the details of my story without pointing fingers at specific individuals.

If you connect with my story, I would love for you to leave me a note and tell me so.

If I can share your journey by praying for you, please let me know. I would covet your prayers for me and my family!

Please call me