I write to understand. Sometimes I write to help me organize my thoughts around books that I am reading. Sometimes I write to try and make sense of the world around me. Many times I write as a means of understanding my life and myself. It may or may not have any value to any one but me, but I write and share none the less. This is one of those types of writings.

About four years ago, I was in the middle of a major personal struggle. I still strongly sensed a call to ministry some 13 or so years after first understanding it. It had been 4 years since leaving the bi-vocational pastorate position at New Hope. Much had changed during that time, but that sense of calling never released its grip on me. I found myself hoping for the quick-fix; the surprise situation or door that would open that would satisfy this calling.

But it didn’t come.

Instead this tremendous tension grew. The tension grew because I continued to make choices that led me away from the calling. It wasn’t like I was running away or hiding from God. I prayed frequently that God would open the doors for me that would lead me to my future.

Reflecting upon that now I realize that I should have been praying for God to close doors. I needed those doors closed because, like I said, I continued to make choices that led me away from the calling. These were the choices that most people make when given the opportunity. The promotions at work, the new (to us) cars, having a child, etc.; The American dream type of choices.

The promotions at work and the baby at home was what made me realize that school was too much to handle and so I withdrew from my masters program with the intention to return when thing settled down.

Except I never made any decisions that caused things to settle down.

I knew finishing my education was a must. Even if it wasn’t a requirement for some churches and my undergrad degree was more education than many pastors have, my three years at New Hope revealed to me my strengths and weaknesses. I understood that I needed to be as prepared as I could be for a return to ministry.

What I didn’t know was that God had his own plans of preparing me. I thought the hardest part of filling the call was surely my undergrad years; Working 45-60 hours a week at the warehouse while being a full time student, one or two nights a week with no sleep, having to use my time off to meet for group projects or work on papers so I never had any time to rest or get ahead. No time for social stuff or personal time. That had to be the leap of faith, right? It couldn’t possibly get harder than that?

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Some of my earliest memories of my dad are of him telling me and my sister that we were going to move. I remember writing about it in my yellow spiral notebook that I used as a writing journal in Mrs. Radcliffe’s first grade class. I think we were going to move to Michigan at that point. Over the years the location changed; Missouri, southern Indiana, Kentucky. The state didn’t matter much. We ended up moving all of 25 miles when we eventually moved.

The state didn’t matter because the dream was not bound to a job or city. My dad wanted land with woods to build his dream log home. My dad was the hardest working guy I’ve ever known. He was a good guy. He deserved to have his dream come true. He didn’t talk much about it, but when he did, he did with such passion that it became your dream too. I remember clearly at one point before he signed the contract to purchase the 15 partially wooded acres in Custer Park he asked my mom, my sister, and me if we wanted to do the log house or for the same money, buy a house boat and explore the country. I don’t know how serious he was, but he did have a brochure from a boat dealership. As awesome as that sounded to a ten year old, I chose the log house. And so did my mom and sister. It had become our dream too.

And after roughly 4 years in the house my father died suddenly. It didn’t seem right. It wasn’t fair for so many reasons. The greatest injustice was that my dad had planned and worked hard to make that home a reality. I had witnessed how difficult that process was at times. And at the time of his death he was not finished. He had so many plans and projects. They never became reality.

So when years later my mom said she was ready to sell the house and wanted to know if I wanted it I had such a strange internal struggle. Financially the place is a burden. It was hardly maintenance free and had many quirks that log homes have. My wife and I looked at the expenses and determined it would be too much for us as a young couple hoping to start a family.

But at the same time, the house reminded me of the life, energy, passion, and dreams of my Dad. It was all too easy for his plans to become my plans. What an amazing place full of potential. When my mom approached us with a sale price that was at the top range of our budget, we thought we could make it work.

Before we had even moved in we found out that Jessica was pregnant. My son would have my old bedroom. He would grow up doing the things I loved to do. So many opportunities that you can only get growing up in a rural wooded location. I started dreaming my own dreams. The church I thought would be the place I would eventually pastor was a few miles away. It seemed like so much was coming together. This place was going to be our dream home. But then things started to unravel just as quickly as they lined up.

It started with the church. A major rift in the church left it in no position to support me in the future as a full-time pastor as was planned. It also left a large group of people with grief, confusion and anger. And no elected church leaders to resolve the issues. Except me. What was once a place of future and opportunity turned into a true labor of love. Don’t misunderstand me; I loved working with the people at that church and helping everyone thru a difficult time. But it was amazingly difficult work.

At the same time my job had become increasing hectic and chaotic. I was overwhelmed, exhausted, and stressed. My daily life felt like an assault on me. But home was supposed to be the safe place. No matter how crazy the world was ” out there” home was where I could be me. But after a series of job changes, unexpected expenses, increased monthly bills, a period of unemployment, and a series of expensive repairs, home was becoming a stressful and demanding place.

The tension between the need for home to be a fortress of solitude and the ever-present burden of responsibility and stress became overwhelming. Our life was out of balance. Jessica and I poured every bit of energy and effort into maintaining the house. At one point she was working 3 part time jobs while I was working 65 hours a week. And we had a toddler. She quickly identified the source of the trouble. The house was more expensive, more maintenance, and less peaceful than we could have ever imagined.

The problem was that I couldn’t come to that same realization.

On one hand I was praying for God to open new doors and bring peace, but at the same time I was refusing to let go of the thing that was holding us there. Looking back, I am amazed at how much grace Jessica afforded me. Even while she was exhausting herself attempting to keep all the plates spinning, she never pushed me beyond where I was. She understood that this was not simple decision for me and that she couldn’t force me to accept the reality. And it eventually happened.

Months of physical, mental, and spiritual exhaustion took its toll. I began taking master’s classes again and began the process towards ordination in the Church of the Nazarene. Both of these things together reminded me of a peace and purpose that comes from being obedient to God’s call. I began praying the most earnest prayer I could: what do I have to do to be faithful?

God’s simple answer, “what’s stopping you from doing what I’ve called you to do?“

While the quick answers were “not enough time, not enough money”, I could no longer ignore the reality.

I was afraid of what that would mean.

I couldn’t imagine telling my son. The housing market hadn’t been kind to the value of our home. Where would we go? So many fears. So much unknown. But the minute I finally decided that I could let go of the house, I felt a sense of relief and peace, even though I was worried about how it might affect my mom.

Things started happening relatively quickly. Without having a large mortgage to worry about long term I could honestly start looking for employment that would offer me a more balanced life and allow me to focus on completing my degree. I got called about a few positions at Olivet and was offered one where I could utilize my experiences in logistics management to support Olivet’s mission.

The house sold shortly after I started at ONU and we moved into a 3 bedroom apartment in Bourbonnais. Moving was a huge undertaking, both physically and emotionally. In one of those surreal moments I was the last one to leave the empty house on that day. I wandered around inside and took one last walk on the well warn paths in the woods. I felt like I was saying goodbye to my dad all over again. But I knew God was calling us and opening doors.

The family dogs went to my father in law’s farm. I was concerned about my son. He used to spend so much time with the dogs, on his bike, and just playing outside. That was all gone. But instead of being crushed as I feared, he was excited to live in the small apartment. His room was directly across the hall from our bedroom and he thought this was the greatest thing ever. The timing was perfect too. We moved in right before he started kindergarten. He settled in quicker than I did.

Several months went by and Jessica was offered a job at Olivet as an Assistant Resident Director. So we began preparing to move again. This time into a tiny two bedroom apartment on Olivet’s campus.

At this point I should pause to mention that I don’t like going places I’m not welcome or don’t belong. Few things bother me more. It’s why I insist on being early to unfamiliar places. I need some time to figure out where I can go and where I shouldn’t go.

So when the opportunity for Jessica to take this job came, I thought it was great. But when I went to take the first tour of the female residence which I would soon be calling home, I was met at the front door by a sign, ” no men past this point!” My new home greeted me everyday with that notice. And I’d put my key in the door and walk in, moving quickly to the apartment hoping my presence didn’t make any one uncomfortable. This was their home. Not mine.

It was while living here that we welcomed our baby girl into the world. We had all but given up on another child. 7 years and 4 days separate our two children. It appears that the terribly stressful lifestyle we had lived for years had hindered our ability to have a baby. And so our family grew while we were already living in a small space. The arrangements in the apartment felt very temporary. The baby’s room was actually the kitchen pantry that was converted. There was no room to grow. I never really relaxed there.

Fast forward a few months and Jessica was given the opportunity to be a full-time Resident Director in another apartment. Moving again. Same “No Men Past This Point” sign on the door. But everything else was different. I felt comfortable here. Like I belonged. It quickly became home. The rhythm of life made sense. When I was an undergrad commuter student the Olivet community was intimidating and appeared un-accessible. That was mostly my fear of going where I didn’t belong. Now, that same community defines my life.

I so desperately clung on to my parents log house for those years because I thought that was my home and that I was safe there. Looking back now I realize that I had lost my way in regards to understanding what home is.

At the same time God was challenging me about home he was teaching me about the Gospel. They are connected. I tried to disappear into my home instead of inviting others into it with me. It was my fortress of solitude instead of being a place to welcome my neighbors. My life used to isolate me. And while my introverted nature still leads me to seek time by myself, I no longer view home as the place where the world is not welcome.

I no longer think of my home as a building in which I live. Living on a college campus has helped me realize that home is this community of people. Home is the rhythm of our life. And it daily overflows into the place where I live. An amazing thing has happened since I let go of the thing I thought I needed, in order to embrace that which God is calling me to.

Because God has defined home and community for me, it’s easier for me see the mission behind those things. And if there is a mission to be lived out in my community, I can no longer see home as a place to hide from the world.

Rather a home that is open and shared as community is yet another means of being ones who have been sent into the world to be the body of Christ made present in an extremely specific location.  Coming to an understanding of home being a place to which God has called me is challenging and comforting at the same time.

 But now, most days, I don’t even notice the “No Men Past this Point” sign on my door and say “hi” to the young ladies who live in the building or the young men dutifully waiting outside the door  as I pass by on the way to my apartment.

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