Okay. Here goes. I’m going to try and reflect on some of the thoughts, conversations, observations, and experiences I’ve had over the past six weeks while I’ve been on a sabbatical from my ministry post at Southside Church in Chesterfield, VA. If you’ve been traveling along with me, you’ve already read four posts I’ve written during this sabbatical. If you haven’t read those, just scroll back to find them.

First I want to just put something on the table in the interest of transparency. If at any time while reading you perceive that I am saying anything that is anywhere near something that seems like ungratefulness, please know that I am fully aware of the lavish luxury of being afforded six weeks of paid time off. I am so very thankful to serve at a church that believes in giving its pastors rest. My previous sabbatical was eight years before, and if you know anything of the story of Southside Student Ministries and all that has happened in those eight years…well…you likely know that I more than welcomed this break with open arms. I’m just so grateful for it and I believed I’ve used the time in a way that’s been beneficial.

I’ll pull from different sources while laying out what I’ll share here. I’m a notorious forgetter, so if I don’t write something down or capture it in some way, I’m susceptible to losing it forever to the black hole that resides in the corner of my cranium. I’ve done my best to journal, to record, to reflect, and to hold on to the important takeaways and the precious things I’ve learned over these six weeks.

I’ll start off by saying that I’m in a season of waiting. Since long before sabbatical began, I’ve been waiting on the Lord to speak clearly as He writes my story. For those who don’t know, I am a full-time pastor to students and young adults. I received my call at the age of sixteen and I’ve been a pastor for over 28 years now. I love my calling and I thank God every day for it. You may also know that as a pastor, I do not enjoy tolerating non-momentum. I don’t like not moving. I don’t like a lack of forward motion. I don’t like marking time. I don’t like the sensation of non-progress. Yet I have sensed all of the above in my own life and leadership. While watching other ministries explode and catapult with all the external measures of fruit, success, and excited growth I have waited on the Lord to lead, to speak, to bless. I learned long ago not to compare. When we compare, we compete–even subconsciously–and we will always end up in one of two unhealthy places: we’ll think we’re better or (more likely) we’ll think we’re not as good as the person or thing we’re comparing ourselves to. Still, I have been wondering when the explosion, the growth, the momentum, the ground-shaking wave is coming to the doorstep of Southside Student Ministry.

So I’ve been listening. I’ve been waiting. I’ve been obedient. I’ve been asking, seeking, and knocking. I’ve done my very best to hear and follow God’s voice. But I also know there’s no formula for fruit in terms of ministry strategy. One of the things I have against much of how it seems most ministry leaders seem to operate is the application of some structure or trend or formula in hopes of that doing the trick. Webinars, resources, conventions, and truckloads of material has been written and produced as one leader seeks to sell other leaders on the thing they did that unlocked the growth.

I don’t buy that. I see no such approach to ministry in the gospels or the early Church. Here’s my ministry strategy:

1. Stay relentlessly close to Jesus in conversation, worship, submission, and bold obedience.
2. Continually seek His voice and His direction for our very unique ministry, and follow it.
3. Clearly communicate those desires and that vision to those I serve/lead.
4. Love every person with the love Jesus has shown and given to me.
5. Trust God for the outcome.

I suppose I could write a short novel under each of those listed above in order to unpack each, but this is the nutshell version. While I could pontificate endlessly about all this, I won’t. Suffice it to say that I entered my sabbatical in a season of waiting and as far as I can tell, I’m ending sabbatical in that same season.

I did some traveling during my time away. You may not have noticed, but I did not write a blog post last week. I intended to write weekly during my six weeks, but last week was just too sweetly full of family stuff that I didn’t want to pause, pull away, and write stuff down. I realize that by doing so I may have lost some of those memories, but just like being present at a concert instead of trying to record every moment on your phone, I decided instead to just live. Just be. Just enjoy.

My wife, youngest son and I traveled to St. Mary’s, Ohio where my oldest son lives. He’s been there on his own for about two months now, having been hired by a brilliant family of companies who needed the very best graphic designer. He’s got himself an apartment and a thriving design career. To say I’m proud of him just wouldn’t cut it, but I am.

While there, we visited a church on Sunday morning. I commiserate with my son who’s struggled to get himself to visit a local church there. Walking into a church as a new person is difficult enough when you’re a couple or a family, but walking in solo with no clue what’ll happen has got to be a really difficult challenge. So we wanted to take the chance to help him break the ice and go together to a worship service.

As we parked the car in the lot and walked in, we noticed that other people were carrying camping chairs. “Certainly we’re not supposed to bring our own chair into this church service”, we said to each other. Turns out, certainly we were. We walked in to see that every person who had gathered came with their own chair en tow. Gulp. Now what? Do we stand in the back? Sit on the floor? Convince one of the regulars to sell us their chair? Do we just leave? These were the questions that flooded our minds, just behind eyeballs that were bulging out of our heads at what we were witnessing.

I don’t shy away from a challenge, so I marched myself right into the middle of the sanctuary, where I spotted four lone metal folding chairs. Four chairs. Four of us. Perfect. I inquired if these chairs were taken by anyone and a nice lady nearby told me they were available; literally the only four chairs in the room that were not camping chairs and not being sat on. I waved the rest of the family over and we took our seats. The people were friendly, the service was casual, and the regular pastor was absent. The songs were familiar, the crowd was diverse, and the message (by someone other than the pastor) was, as the kids say, “mid”. While it wasn’t a “love connection” between my son and this particular church, we were glad to be able to cross that one off the list so my son could keep looking for the spiritual community to call home. (By the way, this church was in the middle of a renovation which explained the no-chairs situation. If you didn’t know, you didn’t know.)

After a delicious lunch, we went to the Neil Armstrong Air & Space Museum. Neil Armstrong was born in Wapakoneta, Ohio and this facility stands as a tribute to him to tell the story of his life. While meandering through looking at exhibits, a staff (or really really knowledgeable person who just loves to talk) came by and told us about the Gemini 8 incident. Did you know what happened on the Gemini 8 mission? Neither did I. (Photo: Neil Armstrong’s space suit, worn on that mission, as well as the actual Gemini 8 capsule where he and David Scott sat.) I’ve found a three or so minute video that explains what happened up there. I was dumbfounded.

I don’t post many pictures of myself on my blog, but I gotta hand it to my hilarious wife who suggested I pose next to the Armstrong statue that sits outside his museum.

We left St. Mary’s, Ohio the next morning when my son headed off to work. We drove a couple hours east to Granville, Ohio where my youngest daughter works nearly every morning at a lovely little bakery called “Station”. If you’re in the area, I highly recommend you stop in and order the Station breakfast sandwich. A converted train station, this little coffee spot is a half hour from her soon-to-be alma mater, Mount Vernon Nazarene University. Today as I write this, she starts classes for her senior year. Parents, don’t blink. Seriously. Don’t. Blink.

We enjoyed a great visit with her and her boyfriend over the next couple of days. We chatted, laughed, ate yummy things, and just really enjoyed each other’s company. She’s a sweetie and if you know her, you know.

Upon returning to VA, I needed to complete a five-hour silent retreat for an assignment for class. In case you don’t know, I’m currently taking classes for two masters degrees. So I planned accordingly, packed my little backpack with my Bible, a pen, a journal, and some water, plotted my course for this time with Jesus, and headed out. Here, I’ll seek to distill what I took away from that experience.

The thing I want most in life is closeness to Jesus. Everything else I want will mean nothing without closeness to Jesus. So I thought about closeness and what it even means. I wrote this in my journal that I took with me: “I may have inadvertently lost track of the real meaning of closeness and substituted external things that I can measure more easily.” Upon realizing this, I repented of it.

Then I wrote down what I consider the markers/indicators of closeness:

• Peace (Phil. 4:4-7 promises us peace when we trust Jesus with all the details of our lives.)
• Familiarity (John 10:27 tells us that when we are close to Jesus, His voice is familiar.)
• Silence (Psalm 62:1 tells us that in silence we find our salvation.)
• Vulnerability (Psalm 139:23 invites God to see us through and through. We welcome it.)

I submit to you that you ought to assess whether you are experiencing these things in your life right now. If any of them are missing, ask yourself about your closeness to Jesus and how you can foster a closeness to Him right now. Nothing. I mean NOTHING will matter in life unless you are near to Him.

Much more happened in those five hours between Jesus and I, but I’ll keep that to myself for now.

That was Thursday. On Friday my girlfriend and I went on a trip to Big Island, VA. We rented an AirBNB in this little mountain town where your cell phone signal says “SOS Only”. We rested, relaxed, hot tubbed, drove around, ate, antiqued, talked a lot, and laughed a whole lot.

As a celebration of our 50 years on earth, we climbed a mountain. This one was called “Sharp Top” and is part of the “Peaks of Otter”. Look it up. Here’s me on one of the summits. It was steep uphill all the way. But when you’re turning fifty, you got to just look at challenges like that and throat-punch them. So we did.

Lastly, I’ll try and share some other random thoughts I’ve had and things I’ve learned while on sabbatical.

My thankitude should be for both the grand and the granular. And yes, thankitude is a word I made up. It’s better than gratitude and thankfulness. It’s an attitude that is determined to thank God for everything, no matter what. One of the sweet activities my wife and I enjoyed (totally spontaneously) while hiking that mountain was to ping pong back and forth, taking turns sharing something we are thanking God for. I loved it so much I decided on that trail that I want more thankitude in my life.

I’m astounded at the wellspring of goodness with which God has overflowed my life. As I think about this sabbatical and all that it held for me, I imagine myself seated comfortably near a well that God has given me. From that well, I receive His presence, His peace, His power, His companionship, and all that He desires. From it, I am refreshed continually. I may walk a ways in some direction either seeking something or serving someone, but I can always return to that deep well and draw from it all that He graciously provides. Even as I say that, I’m reminded of Jesus’ words to the woman at the well. He promised her that if she accepted the “living water” (John 4), then that water would “become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (4:14) Lord, thank you for the deep well you bring me to. And even more than that, thank you for the well you’re creating within me, so that others can be refreshed as I love them in Your name.

Whoa. Look at the time. I think that’s a great place to stop. I want to thank God for this sabbatical. I want to thank my church, Southside Church, for the chance to retreat, rest, recalibrate, and reflect. I want to thank God for my wife, the fountain of joy and support that she is to me. We routinely argue over who’s dying first. It’s gotta be me because I refuse to do life without her. I thank God for all of our four kids. The very thought of them fills my heart with joy and pride. God is so clearly working in their lives, writing incredible stories of love, bravery, obedience, and grace.

And I want to thank you for reading. I love that you do.

Welp. Life is full of firsts, innit?

There we were, my wife and I, sitting enjoying what had been a lovely dinner at our local steakhouse the other night. We had laughed, chatted, had a couple poignant moments around deeper life situations, and were now being presented with the bill for the meal. The innocent-looking server stood inches away from us when she dropped this question: “Was there are military or AARP y’all wanted to use?”

In stunned anguish, I looked over at my wife like I imagine I would look at her if I ever found myself in quicksand; pained, denying the reality, helpless, shocked, and yet now fully aware of the situation we were in. Or perhaps the look I imagine I’d have after just being shot in the gut. Did she just say “AARP” in our presence? Yes. Yes she did. And the damage was done.

I don’t mean to accomplish much with this blog, but if I can use my now-AARP place in life to share what I’ve learned then great. Here are a few things I’ve learned about life. This isn’t exhaustive, but it was at times exhaustING to learn. I offer it to you for what it’s worth. Fair warning: that might not be much.

1. The more I learn about anything the less I know about everything.

That goes double, no triple, no quadruple, no infinitely true when we’re talking about God. I know Him. I know things about His immutable character. I know who He is. I know what He wants. I know how loved I am by Him. But honestly, beyond that it’s much ado about mystery. I don’t even know what I mean by that, but if you know anything about God and you’re a humble(d) person, you know what I mean.

I love to learn things. I’ve been a teacher for 16 years now. I love the process of learning. I love to try and instill that love into my students. I tell every class I teach the same thing: my goal here isn’t to stuff you with answers, its to stuff you with wonder. Educationally speaking, I value questions far, FAR more than I value answers.

Here’s the thing about wonder: many of us Christians don’t seem to have much of it anymore. We often normalize the spiritual realities we walk in and in doing so reduce them to rote routine. There’s a reason for that and here’s my take on it. Distance grows when intimacy fades. My prayers grow colder the further apart they get from each other. The more conversation I’m having with God, the warmer that intimacy is. When we let the moss grow between our authentic interactions with the Almighty, the natural outcome is loss of intimacy. You know this. You live it daily. You’re closest to the ones you’re intentionally talking with most.

But there’s another layer of this knowing and not knowing thing. The closer I get to Jesus, the more in love I fall with Him, the more enamored I am with what HE desires for my life, the more head scratching happens. But not in a fretful way. No. In a wondrous, exhilarating way like the clicking of the massive chain that’s pulling this roller coaster up the first hill. What if you set your alarm tomorrow and the next day and for the next week to be the sound of that chain clicking? What if each day started with the heart-pounding acknowledgment that the God we’re in love with is best known by what we don’t know about Him?

2. There are 2 paths, then 2 more.

The gospel writer Matthew recorded Jesus’ words when he said, “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. ¹⁴ But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.” (Matthew 7:13-14)

Have you heard these words before? I won’t assume anything about you, and especially not your views on Jesus or the validity of his words. But let’s agree that IF Jesus is more than just a historical figure on par with Genghis Khan or Abraham Lincoln, and if the things that so many people (in scripture as well as outside scripture) recorded actually happened, then we’ve got to wrestle with the things Jesus said. And if what He’s saying is true…dude…we have to, HAVE TO do something about it. You can’t give Jesus the label of “more than a man” and yet dismiss the very clear teaching that there are two paths every human walks on. To do so would be not only disrespectful but disastrous. I can tell when I’m fully engaged and passionate about what I’m saying; my keystrokes get stronger and as I’m typing this, my fingers are just about pounding through this keyboard to the lovely coffee shop table it’s on. Please PLEASE readers, get this. Stop here. Assess what path you’re on right now.

I’m not a huge Zeppelin fan, but I agree with at least one line from what is perhaps they’re most well-known song, “Stairway to Heaven” when they penned… “Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run there’s still time to change the road you’re on…” So if you find yourself honestly convicted that you’re on the wide path that nearly every person on the planet is on, there’s still time to change the road you’re on. Stop here. Turn your face to Jesus the undisputed Savior of the world. He came with one mission: “To seek and save the lost.” (Luke 19:10) And friend, you might know and confess what path you’re on but if it’s the wide path then you are lost. I know that’s a very uncomfortable and even offensive thing for me to say. I know that perhaps you just stumbled onto this blog post. Maybe you were Googling a different Jerry and found me, or maybe a friend who loves you shared this with you, or maybe you might even entertain the idea that the God who loves you has orchestrated that you might hear these words at this point in your story: You are loved, you are forgiven by the death and resurrection of Jesus, you are being offered full grace for free; simply for the taking. Confess your heart to Jesus and receive the forgiveness that only He is qualified to offer all of humanity. And don’t give me “Yeah, but…” as in “Yeah, but Jerry you don’t know me. You don’t know my beliefs. You don’t know my story; the hurt I’ve endured or caused. You don’t know how far I’ve run. You don’t know what I stand to lose.” And you’re right about that. I don’t know. But I do know this: I was blind and now I can see. I was lost and now I’ve been found.

Okay, I’ve let my fingers cool off after that frenzied typing session. Now let me turn my attention to those who at some point beyond 2 minutes ago had already placed their faith in Christ. You know who you are. I’m not calling you Christians unless we’re talking about the diffused, ill-defined, nondescript, milk toast, weak kneed church-goers that many people consider “Christians”. No, I’ve released my use of the term “Christian” in our day and age because to the average person in our culture Christians are better known for what they’re against than what (or who) they’re for. Christians have been made synonymous with political parties and candidates. They’re known for their piety, their irrelevance, their and their hypocrisy. So I want to talk to those who have or have ever connected with the term “Christian”. I’ve found that as a Christian, there are two paths of Christianity we seem to walk on. One is legitimate and one is fabricated. The legitimate path can be summed up again by the words of Jesus, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” (Matthew 16:24) Jesus said much much more about the life of following Him, but that verse sums it up really well.

Yet we Christians have concocted another, safer, easier, more manageable path we try and walk on and still call it faithful followership. It’s a path devoid of the passionate conversation I spoke of earlier. It’s a path that carries out religious activity until something better, more interesting, lazier, or more convenient is available. It’s a path that downplays spiritual community and idolizes personal preferences. It’s a path marked with checkboxes we check off and thereby convince ourselves we’re doing “Christianity” right. It’s not merely shallow, it’s hollow. Those on this path are those that Jesus referred to as “white washed tombs”. (Matthew 23:27)

So follower of Jesus, how do you know you’re not in fact on the counterfeit, illegitimate path of appearing to follow Jesus? To assess, ask these questions: Am I in close contact with Jesus? Am I listened for His voice? Am I sensitive to His leading? Am I aware of the opportunities to wash the feet of the least of these and am I willing to? Do I desire what He desires? Do I offer my life to Him to do with as He pleases? Beyond all that (because I don’t believe we can reduce it to a set of questions or a formulaic faith), does God’s own Holy Spirit testify to you that you are His? “The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.” (Romans 8:16) Do you have an unshakable peace in your heart and mind that you belong to God? I want this for you more than anything else.

3. Pastors are prone to operate in threes.

Okay, okay. This one’s weird. But have you ever noticed that most sermons have 3 main points? And how often do they start with the same letter? What is it with pastors and alliteration, anyway? Weirdos, all of them. You can freely file this under “Jerry’s loco” and I’ll gladly accept that. During this sabbatical season I’m in, I’ve thought more about how I minister to students and young adults. One thing that I want to change is, in simplest terms, ONE thing. I want my life, my interactions, and yes even my sermons to focus on one thing. One truth. One point. One takeaway. Pray for me about that. I’m prone to seek to cram my sermons with content and practicality. So I’m downshifting to one thing. Just ONE.

But I’m not even talking about sermons. I can’t bear the thought of distilling my life’s work to 30-40 minute chunks of me blabbering on, regardless of what I’m talking about. Don’t get confused here. I know (I think I do, anyway) that God has given me a passion to communicate biblical truth to God’s people. I believe I’m called to pastoral ministry and the particular act of “preaching” is one that I find compelling, important, and something I have learned I’m gifted at. And believe me I say that with full humility. I use the analogy of a neck tie, back when I was in the church setting where I’d wear a tie every Sunday. When someone compliments my tie I would say “thank you” but honestly what did I do but tie it around my neck? I had nothing to do with its creation. I’m just the doofus who’s neck its around. I view my preaching much like I view my neck tie. God has been pleased to hang it around my neck and if there’s anything good that comes from it as I seek to handle it/tie it faithfully, then bless Him not me. Look at Him, not me. Praise Him, not me. “Fr, fr” as the kids say.

As I have on the past couple of blog posts, I want to thank you if you’ve made it this for. You’re the real MVP. In terms of sabbatical accountability, I’ve been doing lots of walking and staying active but the pounds I’ve wanted to lose are fighting to stay put. I’m trying to finish the book I’m on. School work reading definitely takes my reading energy (I’ve finished one class and started the next one) so that’s slow going. I’ve been able to stay consistent in blogging weekly, as you can see. Overall, I’m gauging my level of antsiness to get back to “normal” life. To put it bluntly, I’m pretty uninterested to return to doing things as I did.

If this blog post has triggered any questions, I’d love it if you’d ask them. You can leave a comment for me to address, you can email me, or you can text me at (804) 304-4669. If there’s anything I can do for you, just say so. And as always, feel free to share this blog post with a friend. Thanks for reading.

This is my fourth week of sabbatical and as with the first three weeks, I’ve certainly got some things to reflect on. Oddly enough, they’re largely swirling around the broad topic of memories. You have those, don’t you? Think of a fond memory right now. Think of someone you’ve known and perhaps is no longer with you. Think of a precious childhood memory that evokes a smile. Think of a place you’ve been and how that place made you feel. If you’re anything like me, for every few moments of memories I’ve retained I’m certain there are weeks and months worth of moments that are simply…gone. Unremembered likely because they were admittedly unremarkable. This is life as I know it. I recall the memorable and not so much the mundane.

I spent all of last week in Florida with my wife and youngest son as we visited my mother-in-law. It was a visit that we knew would not be a toes-in-the-sand type of Florida vacation but rather a time of helping her tidy up and declutter her home. Most of each day was spent sorting through things and lots of papers and items and photos in an effort to determine what should be kept and what should be let go. As the week went on, I began to grow in my commiseration and compassion for the whole situation. You see, in the past decade or so my mother-in-law has had to say goodbye to her own mother (old age), her oldest daughter (cancer), and her beloved husband (Alzheimers). So when we look at her home and see stuff that’s easily discarded, she sees a houseful of memory triggers that allow her to recall the ones she loves.

This morning I’m on Goldsboro, NC visiting my parents. I just spent the morning with them, roaming around the town I was born in and where I spent the first five years of my life. We drove past the two different houses we lived in between 1973 and 1979 when we moved to Cape May, NJ. One of the houses was just as I remember it and the other was in complete disrepair and hardly recognizable to me. It was at that house that I had a serious accident that nearly left me paralyzed. We drove past elementary schools I attended, past the park I used to play at, and past my grandparents old house (pictured here). Besides the missing enormous magnolia tree I used to climb, it was just as I remembered it.

A couple of months ago I began to commit to monthly personal prayer retreats. I take the morning hours on a Monday and find a place to walk/hike, get quiet, pray, and listen to God. The first retreat I took was along the James River, starting at a place called Texas Beach. As I meandered along the hiking/biking trail through the woods and along the river on one side and the city of Richmond on the other, I listened carefully to what God might be saying to me. Two words continued to be impressed on my heart: “Eyes forward.” I didn’t know (and still don’t) why I would’ve conjured that up on my own so I simply trusted that God was giving me a very clear and simple instruction: To keep my eyes (and my heart, my outlook, my perspective) facing forward.

I’ll make a confession to you. This likely won’t surprise you but as a pastor of students who’s been in ministry for 29 years, I have lots of life in the rearview mirror. I’ve interacted with countless middle and high school students over the years; some in the shallow end (they’re choosing) and some in the very, very deep end of ministry. While I’m grateful for all those years behind me, I can have a tendency to compare what is with what was. Like someone with a houseful of memories, I can become fixated on what was and bemoan the fact that what is doesn’t seem to compare. If I do this long enough (within seconds, really), it becomes a self-criticizing frenzy of, “you’re not doing it right”, and “you used to be good at this”, and “you should probably hang it up and do something else”, and “it’ll never been like it was.” Do memories ever turn on you like that? Do you ever think back and subconsciously think what’s behind you is better than what’s ahead of you? It’s an unfair assessment, really. Besides, you know the past but have no clue about the future. The past is full of periods but the future is nothing but question marks. The past is easily critiqued, graded and sorted but the future is filled with wonder, possibility, and boundless opportunities. What right do we have choosing one over the other or saying the known past is preferable over the unknown future?

I’d submit to you that to cling to the past is not only unhealthy but unbiblical. As I read the scriptures, it seems to me that the only reason we are to interact with the past at all is to remember the goodness of God for the purpose of fueling our faith in the future God has promised. We are NOT to live in the past at the expense of the goodness of God in the present. When we do, we short-circuit the work of God in the here and now in exchange for a dusty box of what used to be but no longer is. It’s not that memories are the enemy; not at all. Honoring what was is a great discipline. But then be sure to move in faith with your “eyes forward”, focused closely on what God is doing now, and what He might be doing next.

Here are some questions I’m asking that you can ask too:

1. Which memories have I given too much attention to? So much that I have neglected the possibilities of the present?
2. What are the here and now desires of my heart as it pertains to my love relationship with God and the plans He may have for me in the present?
3. Where have I placed my hope and confidence? Where can I see God’s hand moving in my life? Am I perhaps blinded to it because of some desire to focus on what was rather than what is and could be?
4. Am I willing to pray: God, I want to thank you for all that is behind me but please protect me from the thought that you only dwell there and not ahead of me. Open my eyes to see the beauty of your Presence in this moment right where I am. By Your Spirit, lead me wherever you desire for me to go. I know you’re doing a new thing in my life. I embrace that new thing now and ask that you’ll show me more of You as I keep my eyes forward. Amen.

If you’re willing, I’d love to hear your answers to any or all of these questions. You can email me privately at jvarner@southsidechurchva.org. I’d love to know your thoughts on how you interact with memories and any role they play in how you view the present and future. As always, thank you for reading.

I vividly recall hearing those words repeated each week from that mysterious, strong voice as he set in motion yet another episode of dreams coming true and lessons being learned along the way:

“My dear guests, I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!”

With Tattoo, his trusty herald (announcing “De plane! De plane!”) and consigliere standing dutifully at his side, Mr. Roarke would raise a tropical-looking drink and toast the new set of visitors who had come; each with their backstory of heartbreak, dreams unfulfilled, and yes, even fantasy.

For those of you who’ve waited patiently for my third installment of my sabbatical update, I want to say thank you, and raise the proverbial tropical-looking drink in your direction. It’s been a wild week (nearly two by now) and let me assure you that much has happened that I’d love to recount; for my own memory’s sake and hopefully for your entertainment.

On Monday of last week–hang on, let me back up–The week prior to last week, I was in Tampa Florida for a huge gathering of 12,000 high schoolers. It’s an every 4 year gathering called the “Nazarene Youth Conference” (NYC for short). During our trip, I had a chance to go paddle boarding which was on my summer bucket list, as I had never been before. Loved it. So when we arrived at home in Virginia, I wanted to go again. But alas, I don’t own a paddle board or all the accoutrements that go along with it. But I have a friend named Heather who does. She was more than willing for me to borrow her paddle board set up. So on Monday of last week, I set out for a solo trip on the James River, much to the dismay of my wife, parents, and sisters who felt it entirely too dangerous to do something I’d only done once for 10 minutes, and do it on an unpredictable body of water such as the James, and do it a day after a heavy deluge of rain, likely raising the river to an even deadlier threat level. Assuring my wife that my ignorance would not end in death, I headed out and found a great spot to launch from. As you can see, the river was nearly glass, I was completely alone, and despite only inflating the paddle board to half the pressure it should have been (I only found that out later), I had a great time paddling around nature. No harm, no foul. I’m excited for my next time out.

Let’s move on to Tuesday of that same week. I have a dear friend who over the years has repeatedly invited me to join him on a boat ride to Tangier Island. You’re not sure where Tangier Island is? Don’t feel bad. Most humans don’t know. Heck, not even Google knows where it is. But you know who does know? My friend David. So last Tuesday I drove out to his place and we climbed into the closest thing to the Batmobile I’ve ever ridden in; the kind of car with the jet engine in the back. Pedal to the metal, he whisked us away (at times far above the posted speed limit, just for the thrill) to where his boat was docked. And away to Tangier we floated. (Zoom in on that horizon and you’ll see the speck that is Tangier. Population: 400. Restaurants: 1. We sat down at a table in Lorraine’s restaurant and I ordered the flounder sandwich. And a better, more delicious flounder sandwich I cannot recall eating. We sat, talked life, families, business, a bit of philosophy, and shared lots of laughter. After lunch we walked the length of the island as he told me about its history and current condition.

Let’s talk about fear and trust for a moment. As a young boy, I would often go fishing with my dad and a friend who had a fishing boat. Before we left for the marina, my dad would pop a Dramamine in his mouth and then give one to me in order to prevent motion sickness. I trusted him that I needed it. So I grew up believing that if I didn’t want to puke my guts out when on a boat I should always remember to take my Dramamine. Until one day several years ago I was about to board a plane when I realized that I was out of Dramamine. My mind raced, “Oh no. Now what? I’m about to projectile vomit all over every person around me, I’m absolutely sure of it. I don’t have my Dramamine to stop me, so that’s the only conceivable outcome, right?” No. Not right. Not at all, as it turns out. It was then that I learned that I don’t need Dramamine for planes, for boats, for anything. Well, almost anything. More on that in a moment. What is it you’ve planted in the soil of fear? What lie or misinformation are you wrongfully putting stock in? For me, it was that the pill I was being fed would protect me. But we’re all susceptible to getting so used to a wrong thought that it feels like a right thought. Take inventory: what have you long assumed that you should stop believing, or at least test it to see if it’s valid? I bet there’s something there to discover. Try it and see. Because as it turns out, I never needed those countless pills I took.

Sabbatical is supposed to be, among other things, a pause (the literal definition of shabbat, the root concept). During that pause it’s intended to engage in things that are refreshing, relaxing, re-centering, and rejuvenating. You get the idea. And I can say unequivocally that the thrills of Monday (paddle boarding) and Tuesday (Tangier Island, the boat ride, and the Batmobile) were all of those things and more. But my week wasn’t even half over yet.

On Thursday at 8 am another friend of mine named Mark picked me up from my house with his Busch Gardens season pass which afforded him an extra admission ticket. And guess who has two thumbs and was the recipient of that extra ticket? This guy. So we headed off to Williamsburg, VA and the Busch Gardens amusement park. We spent the day riding all their amazing rollercoasters and because Mark is a serious aficionado of rollercoasters, we would ride each one twice before moving on to the next one.

If you’d like to see what I saw, here’s a video I found on YouTube that shows the POV from all of Busch Gardens rollercoasters. These are not in the carefully selected order Mark had prescribed for us that day, but you get the idea.

Okay, so back to that “More on that in a minute”. Remember my whole schpeel about not needing Dramamine? Well, I’m sticking to that but I can say that after the second (last) ride of the day on Alpengeist, my innards began to talk to me. They said, “Listen, Jerry. This has been a great day. We’ve had a lot of fun, really. But maybe it’s time to start thinking about pumping the brakes a little bit here. That last corkscrew pretty much screwed up your stomach which is still sideways down here. So, waddayasay? You wanna maybe call it quits for now? Because…how do I put this mildly…umm…the creek is rising.” And with that, I came to an agreement with my insides. We had ridden them all (twice) and were satisfied to call it a day.

The next day, Friday, would be an interesting day. It was the day I would take our sheepadoodle Winston to the dog sitter. We’ve always used a kennel and I’ve always hated, and I do mean HATED to leave him there. No matter how nice the people are, straining to get each of my limbs out of the cage he’s in and walk away from him is just heartbreaking. So we were glad to find the “Rover” app and hired someone who would take him into her home and care for him as her own. Freedom to sit on the couch, a backyard to run around in, and a new friend named “Bauer”, her golden retriever.

We dropped Winston off because we left Saturday to drive 13 hours to Florida where Merritt’s mom lives. If you’ve never heard of Tangier, I’d bet my bottom dollar that you’d definitely never heard of Wauchula, Florida. But this is where we’ve been hidden away this week. It’s been a nice visit and we’ll hit the road later today to head back toward home.

While here I was awakened one early morning with what I sensed was God’s voice telling me to “take a walk”. He may have meant that metaphorically, but he should’ve known I’m a very literal kind of guy so early that morning, before the sun got up I laced up my walking shoes and walked the small town. Walking in the mostly-dark of a mostly-unfamiliar town isn’t something I’m used to doing. My mind thought about where I should walk; should it be the more busy streets that are better lit so that when I’m abducted there might be some light for witnesses to catch the license plate number? Hmm. On the other hand, if I walk the busier streets with better lighting, aren’t I more likely to be exposed to more of the nefarious type who would abduct a grown man? These were the questions that stewed in my mostly-awake mind as I walked the town.

Toward the end of what would be this pre-dawn walk, I became frustrated that the God who had allegedly woken me for this walk hadn’t seemed to say anything while I was walking. C’mon, God. Say something. Give me some kind of magnanimous sign of that your will is. Let’s do this. I’m ready.

Crickets. Not literally because they too were asleep. But you get what I mean.

What came to mind in that moment of frustration was Jacob. Remember Jacob from Genesis 32? Jacob had sent his family ahead while he stayed behind. That night, Jacob and God wrestled. All night. Finally, Jacob’s wrestling partner was like, “Okay, let me go. Let’s call it a draw.” but Jacob said to him, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” (Genesis 32:26)

And that got me thinking. My spirit is most at rest when I am most entangled with God. The Hebrew word (used/found only in this passage) for “wrestle” is “ābaq” and it literally means “to grapple, get dusty”. When my spirit is willing to get dusty and dirty in worship and connection, in serving and seeking to serve, in questioning and discerning, in the daily ins-and-outs of walking this road with Jesus—then and only then am I most alive, most living, and most aware of God’s presence.

My spirit is most at rest when I’m wrestling with God. But I don’t wrestle angrily. I’m not wrestling to win. I’m wrestling to engage. I’m wrestling to show I’m willing to wrestle. To get dusty. This faith walk with God gets boring when we stop wrestling. When was the last time your heart wrestled with God? I fear that sometimes I await His neon signs of direction in my life without engaging a fierce interaction between His Spirit and mine. As if I’m saying, “Okay, God. Give it to me while I sit here and do nothing.” Nope. God doesn’t operate that way with me. Do you resonate with that? I’d love to hear about your wrestle with God, and how rest works into that.

I’m passing out gold stars for anyone who’s read this entire post. As I’ve written I’ve thought, “this one’s not gonna get read by many. It’s too long.” So if you’re reading this let me leave you with this blessing:

May you know, see, and love the God who invites you to wrestle Him. May you right now enter the ring with full faith that the wrestle is where your heart finds its rest. Amen.