Over the years, I’ve had several people ask me about my calling, specifically my calling into ministry. People are fascinated for a variety of reasons, and I’m always happy to share my story. My most recent opportunity came just yesterday when a young person who’s sensing and following their own call to ministry wanted to hear more of the details of my call. I gave them the abridged version, for sake of time and efficiency. I can’t and won’t promise the same thing here.

Do you mind if I tell you a short story? It’ll help connect the dots as we dig into the idea of calling.

My youngest son’s birthday was last week. He works at a hospital, and I thought it would be nice to have lunch with him on his birthday on his lunchbreak. This hospital’s parking lot is always crowded, so I had to park far from the main building and starting the long walk toward the hospital. 

As I walked, I heard a very faint, barely audible voice “Help me!”. It was barely above the decibel level of a light breeze. I turned my head side to side to see if I could see anything that matched what I imagined I heard but saw nothing. So, I kept walking. Ten to twenty feet later, I hear something again: “Can someone help me?” This time, it seems a bit louder and more urgent. This time, loud enough to stop me in my tracks. I again looked around, this time more intently trying to find the source of the distress call. Nothing. No one. I kept walking.

Another several seconds and paces pass. A third time, “Can someone help over here, please! We need help!” Okay, that’s it. Lunch would have to wait. I had to find out where that cry for help was coming from. I looked across the parking lot and saw a woman waving her arms in the air at me. I ran over and as I got closer, saw another set of feet—these belonging to a person on the ground between the parked cars. I said, “I’ll go get help” and I ran toward the Emergency Room entrance of the hospital. As I approached, I saw a doctor who had likely just ended his shift and was walking out. I told him there was a medical emergency in the parking lot and we both went into the Emergency Room to get more help. (Shout out to this weary doctor who undoubtedly just wanted to go home.) Within moments a team of nurses were following me as I pointed out where the person in need was located. As I turned and headed back toward the hospital, I saw another group of 2-3 nurses, with a hospital bed rolling in the direction of the person on the ground. So, I turned back toward the need and directed them as well. Confident that the help had found the helpless, I took a deep breath and continued on my way to lunch. 

You know what? I need to share another story to connect another dot. I’ll make it quick.

My teenage years were pretty normal. I did school, played in the band, dabbled in theater (with the varsity letter to prove it), and lived to hang out with my friends. Then I started dating a girl. She was a great girl, but that relationship drove me to make disastrous decisions that systematically destroyed every other relationship in my life. For the sake of time, that’s as detailed as I’ll get right now. Suffice it to say, I had made a complete mess of my life. Toward the end of that period, I went to a Christian music festival called “Creation” in Altoona, PA. It was June 1990. I sat in a sea of twelve-thousand people and listened to a message by Tony Campolo. But far as I was concerned, I was the only person in that open field. God spoke so clearly to me about where I had been, Who He was/is, and His love for me. I had wrecked my life and every relationship in it, and with every right to reject me, Jesus embraced me with grace, mercy, love, and forgiveness. If you’ve been in a similar place, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t been there, I only hope you will, perhaps without the pain that I brought upon myself. Standing in the middle of the ashes my life had become, Jesus was there with me, ready to heal, ready to help, ready to restore me completely. My eyes are welling up now thinking about it. Thirty-three or so years later, I’m still overwhelmed by His love for a “wretch like me”. As I stood up in the middle of that field in Altoona, PA I spoke a very simple prayer, one that I still repeat to this day. It was a prayer of full surrender. I meant it then, and I mean it today. 

When I think about my own calling, and I share my story with others, or try and advise those who are wrestling with their own sense of calling, I tell them the decision I made in that field in Pennsylvania on that warm June night. My calling wasn’t really a calling, at least not as you might imagine it would be. It was kind of an non-calling. All I knew was that I was broken, Jesus was healing, and there was only one response that made any sense. You’ll find this in Paul’s words to the Church in Rome in the first century. Read Romans 12:1 sometime. In light of what Jesus had done, the surrender of my life to Him was the only logical decision. I didn’t have a sky-splitting revelation of a grand future as a pastor, missionary, or evangelist. I didn’t really have a vision at all. I only knew what He did and offered my life to Him as a result. That was my calling. 

So how does someone recognize and reconcile the sense of calling they have? I wish I had a nice, neat formula, but then again I’m glad I don’t. I don’t believe it’s as neat and tidy as plugging variables into an equation and having it produce the answer for you. But let me see if I can give some handles to grab in this issue of calling. Here are some questions I’d offer to someone seeking to define their calling:

1. What has Jesus done for you and what is your response to Him? Be specific.
2. What has God put in your hands in terms of skills, passions, talents, and resources?
3. Where has God placed within you a hunger for helping humanity find the Healer?
4. What makes you angry? What do you see in our world that makes you say, “That isn’t right, and something’s got to be done about it”?
5. Are you willing to release the world’s opinion of you, and the world’s definition of success in order to be obedient to God’s directing voice in your life? 

These questions are by no means exhaustive, but I pray they are a starting point to help you define and embrace God’s calling on your life. And let me be clear: I reject the idea that calling equals full-time ministry or vocational ministry. I believe God calls people to be plumbers, retail workers, CEOs, lawyers, teachers, bakers, baristas, mechanics, contractors, nurses, and yes…even pastors. 

Back to that hospital parking lot. My calling is to listen closely for the cries for help in today’s generation. My calling is to point the helpless to the Help and to introduce the Help to the helpless. Flawed cracked pot that I am, I know who the Help, Healing, and Hope for humanity is. And I live to connect the helpless with the Help. That’s my calling. 

Quite an ambitious title, wouldn’t you say? Would anyone dare suggest that the exhaustion 75% of people (according to research) feel can be affected and even transformed into anything resembling exhilaration? This is what I’d like to address.

There’s a dramatically high percentage of people who have reported feelings of exhaustion and “burn out” in regards to their work life. Because we are humans and not machines, that sense of exhaustion doesn’t turn off at a certain time, like when we leave the workplace. It bleeds into and poisons all other areas of our lives.

For many of us, our headspace is what most establishes the healthfulness or disease we find in our workplace. This will be the ball of yarn we’ll bat around and unravel as we discuss this idea of exhaustion to exhilaration. And please don’t think that I think I have all the answers. But as I look around at those in my life and as I look at the cultural landscape and as I move around my community and overhear conversations, see worn faces, and experience the milieu, there’s something amiss.

If there’s going to be a move from one to the other, it’s going to be because a few things are firmly in place. Put simply, without these things in place there’ll always be a wobble to (or collapse of) the table we’re seeking to set for ourselves.

First, I want to invite you along with me into an exercise that might seem far too whimsical to be practical. But let’s just see where it goes. What I’m going to do and invite you to do along with me is to create a vision of your ideal existence (confessing that where you are isn’t it). That vision will do several things for you, but most importantly it will create the backdrop as well as the driving imagery you can make future decisions against. I’d wager that the reason we’re in the condition we’re in is largely because we don’t do the work of creating a vision to hold daily choices up to in order to see if they match up with where we actually want to go.

Here’s my ideal existence: I’m living in a place surrounded by nature. I have a body of water nearby, preferably a river or ocean, but I’d even be okay with a wide stream. I have a front porch and a back deck, each with sink-in comfy seating. I have a place to create. The creative process is what gives me such joy. The words I’m typing right now are part of that joy. I simply love to create; blog posts, woodworking, building, whittling, graphic design, drawing, writing my next message I’ll communicate to a group of people (large or small), and anything where something wasn’t there before and now it is. In my ideal existence, I get to connect with and influence/disciple young lives. I get to have a meaningful voice, not for my own ego but to share with them what’s real and true for the purpose of helping them step into and live the life that is the best fit for them. This might be in the local church setting, on a university campus as a professor or a chaplain, or it might be in some other complexion of being able to interact with the younger generation. When visioning happens within us, we are empowered to cut free from lesser versions that end up being depleting and exhausting.

It’s at this point that you need to resist the temptation to argue with your vision. Don’t bemoan the fact that it’s unrealistic or too far-fetched. After all, it’s your vision. Of course it feels that way. You’re just experiencing the tension between what is and what could/will be. I’ve done this a lot over the years and its never helpful…

I listen to a fair amount of podcasts that have to do with leadership, goals, planning, influence, forward motion, etc. And each time I do, I struggle to not internally dispense with a long list of grumpy reasons why they can and I can’t. I think things like “Well, of course they can say that. They’re on the New York Times best seller list.” or “That’s easy for you to say; you don’t have the demands, the schedule, or the stresses I have to carry.” I’ll even confess to you with a tinge of shame that I’ve even thought, “I can’t stand the way this guy enunciates. He’s always so chipper and positive. If we switched places, my life would knock that chipper right out of his mouth. Must be nice to humble-brag about your ‘green room conversations’ with so-and-so movers, shakers, and thought leaders. The only way I’ll ever see the inside of a green room is if I found some green paint on the ‘Oops, we mixed the wrong color’ sale section at Home Depot and painted my lousy room baby-crap green.”

We become exhausted when we don’t have any stake in the ground of our ideal existence. Even a few inches of ground can make a difference. If my boss is a complete hard-nosed, overly demanding psychopath seemingly determined to drive us and our joy into the ground BUT we have carved out a niche where there’s a glimpse of that vision that we can enjoy, then we can endure until we gain a few inches more.

The move from exhaustion to exhilaration is found in the often-times tiny movements from our current reality to our ideal reality. What might feel like a thousand mile journey is impacted by even the slightest progress, isn’t it? And where that progress is present, so is hope. And hope is an undeniable fuel in the journey.

So after you’ve created your ideal existence vision, choose any part of it that you can act on. Let’s say that part of your ideal existence involves driving a Karmann Ghia. Awesome. (Great choice, by the way.) Open up a separate account with your online bank and label it “Ghia”. Every paycheck, add $5, $10, $50 to that account. Celebrate the wins. Put an alert on your Ebay app so that when a Ghia becomes available, you know it. Become an expert on the specs of Karmann Ghias. Let that knowledge drive (pun intended) you to keep that vision of wind whipping through your Ghia-blown hair alive and well as you move inch-by-inch toward that key dangling from your keyring. You see, it isn’t just the attaining of the vision, but the achievements toward attaining the vision that are so empowering.

When I was learning to drive, I learned a rather valuable lesson for life as well as staying alive behind the wheel. When you turn your head while driving, you probably–without noticing it–turn your shoulders (even slightly) as well. This inadvertently turns the wheel ever so slightly. Without you realizing it, turning your head causes the wheel to turn. The lesson: You’ll go where you’re looking.

So I’ve got to ask: Where have you been looking? I’d bet that more than likely you’re right where your sight has led you. But vision is different than seeing. Bring that vision into the forefront and daily make decisions that propel that vision. Let’s call these “vision decisions”. One day during a round of golf with my dad, we decided together that we’d change our definition of a good shot as “closer to the hole”. That’s it. I could top the ball, slice it, hook it, shank it, or anything else you could do when trying to hit a golf ball. As long as it moved closer to the hole, that was a good shot. Maybe you need to redefine for yourself what a good shot is, and celebrate them. One vision decision per day. Super doable.

Next, bring in outside help. I’ve said it before and it bears repeating: Deciding to do something and telling no one about it is as good as not deciding to do anything. So who’s it gonna be? I have a person on my life that I meet with every other Wednesday. We keep track of direction, decisions, and vision and I tell him where I’m at with the vision I hold. It has quickly become one of my favorite meetings. I look forward to it every time, even when I haven’t moved forward much because I know it’s going to help me recalibrate and reset. So, who’s your outside help?

I recently read “Liturgy of the Ordinary” by Tish Harrison Warren. It’s such a great book. In it, Tish walks us through what would we would think is another mundane day and shows us where and how to see and experience the presence of God, even in the moments that are seemingly unremarkable. She pulls back the veil that oftentimes clouds our vision and stops us from seeing things in a far better light than just “that was another Monday”. In the closing chapter, Warren talks about sleep and its impact has on our entire existence. I wonder how you’re doing in that department? Most adult humans in America are not doing great when it comes to rest. The attitude seems to be that there’s not enough time and too much to do. But the issue of rest is so pivotal not just for your body, but for your mind, heart, and spirit as well. Think honestly about how you can get more of the rest you need. Do you even know how many hours your body needs? (I’ve learned my optimal amount is 7 hours exactly.) Make a decision about earlier bed times, midday mindfulness and mental rest exercises, naps, or a better approach to structuring your daily/weekly workload so it’s not so overloaded. If you’d like to see the tool I’m currently using to structure my week, email me and I’ll send you a copy. Figure out how to gain an extra hour of sleep tonight. Next week, add another half hour. In a week’s time, you’ve gain a whole extra hour of sleep. Go for another one if necessary. See what happens.

The most powerful step you can take is your next step. And I don’t mean to downplay it, but it doesn’t matter much what it is–just that you simply take it. So, decide. Are you going to make that call? Set that appointment? Invest in that tool to help you move toward that goal? Structure the day differently? Seek the advice of that person in the field who’s out there doing what looks a lot like your vision? Just decide.

We’ll move from exhaustion to exhilaration when we keep the vision God has placed in our hearts at the forefront of our minds, and make daily decisions that align with that vision, moving us in the direction of where we truly want to go. We’ll move from exhaustion to exhilaration when we release the excuses, the “yeah, but’s”, and the pride that so often keeps us from the forward motion we desire. We’ll move from exhaustion to exhilaration when we lift up our head and begin to see the opportunities instead of the obstacles. We’ll move from exhaustion to exhilaration when we take even the smallest step from where we are to where we’re going.

As always, I’d love to hear from you on anything you’ve read here. What steps are taking? What obstacles are you facing? I’d love the chance to encourage you and share with you on an even more personal level what I’ve been through, experienced, and how I wrestle to overcome those things. Email me at jvarner@southsidechurchva.org or text me at (804) 304-4669.

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.

It’s the start of my second week of sabbatical. Yesterday was Sunday and instead of attending a church service in-person, my wife and I opted for staying at home and watching a worship service/message online. The speaker was actually an acquaintance from Nyack College, where we graduated from nearly 30 years ago. He had a great presence and delivery– hang on. Let me stop here. I just had a thought I want to share. If this thought is unique to me, I’ll own that. I’ve never talked with other pastors/communicators about it. So yeah, besides my wife, you’re the first I’ve talked to about this.

I’ll preface this rabbit trail by saying I’m not an exemplary communicator. I love (and I mean REALLY LOVE) any opportunity I get to stand in front of a crowd and share God’s truth from my heart. I relish any chance I get and its one of my favorite parts of living a pastor’s life. I totally understand that I’m no authority or expert on public speaking. However, I find that as a communicator I often will listen to other communicators with a different angle; enjoying what’s being said (usually) but also thinking about how I would have approached the subject or just how I would have said that thing they’re saying. It’s not a grading, it’s not a critiquing or a judgement. Please don’t imagine me Simon Cowellling it from my seat. It’s just a mental thing that happens when I listen to anyone speak in front of a crowd. It might be more common than I think and maybe other communicators do the same. I’ve never asked. If you routinely speak in front of people and you experience this, let me know. I’d be interested to know if I’m a lone freak or not. But I digress.

Anyway, as this particular message got underway, I could tell right away that we were in for a pedal-to-the-metal kind of message. His passion was clear right from the start. The tempo of his words were coming at us hard and fast. His rhythm and cadence seemed to barely leave room for a breath between sentences. The content was interesting, helpful, and so strong. It really was a great message. I just couldn’t get over how elevated his voice seemed to be and stay throughout most of the message. I counted just two (there may have been more) times when he seemed to shift his tone or slow down at all. When he was done, I felt like I had just drank from the proverbial fire hose, but somehow in a way that was digestible, inspiring, and practical. So, if I had a scorecard there’d be high marks.

Now, let me make another confession to you. It very often happens that when I’m listening to a preacher or speaker (or even when I’m reading), thoughts get triggered that have little or nothing to do with what that person is saying. It starts by something they say that makes me think of something that’s a type of first cousin to what they’re saying. At that point, my mind is off and dwelling on that other thing. You know what I’m talking about?

A man just entered the coffee shop I’m in, sat down, and pulled a newspaper from under his arm. I don’t recall the last time I saw anyone reading a newspaper. I love the tactility of paper. For me, a task list I can mark off with a pen on paper is far better than its vastly more convenient, faster, digital counterpart–the task list on my phone. I wonder how much of my digital life I can sacrifice on this altar of sabbatical? I wonder what benefits await me if I do? I wonder if I should switch off this laptop and finish these thoughts in the journal that’s tucked away in my backpack?

And just like that, the first cousin thought brings a new angle and depth to the original thought. The idea of making sure we’re taking deep enough breaths so that we can control our heart rate, the cadence of our lives, and the thoughts we think. I’m a bit of a night owl so last night I sat up and watched a documentary on Netflix called “The Deepest Breath”, and it was about free diving, one of the most dangerous extreme sports that humans have concocted to participate in. It’s so fascinating.

As I listened to that message yesterday, God planted a thought in my mind. As I thought to myself about the tempo and cadence of the pastor’s words, I had to reflect on my own decisions and the way I have been conducting my ministry life. I began to imagine a sheet of paper with narrow margins, single-spaced, filled with run-on sentences, no photos, and very little “white space”. Marketers, advertisers, and graphic designers understand the importance of white space. It’s the space that often goes unnoticed until it’s not there. White space gives the eyes a chance to breathe. A design with little white space is usually not appealing to look at. It’s the placement of text, photos, and the nothingness of white space that makes up the most effective imagery in the advertising world. Simply put, what isn’t there is just as (perhaps more) important as what is.

My takeaway from the message I listened to yesterday wasn’t merely the high quality content of what the pastor was delivering, but also the first cousin message that margins matter. Breathing matters. Open spaces matter. We love to fancy ourselves as victims of our circumstances because that alleviates us from responsibility. But regardless of the tempo of your life, you have choices you can make about the white space. Make them.

I started sabbatical last week sharing some goals. In the interest of accountability, let me tell you that in the past 7 days, I lost two pounds, and put them right back on. So the total sum of my weight loss toward my goal of 12 pounds in 6 weeks is zero. Gotta do better there. I’ve scheduled two getaways with my wife (two was my goal), but I still need to book the hotel room and airbnb. I’m writing weekly (2 for 2 so far) so that I can record what I’m learning and can hopefully serve something to you that’s worth reading. I mentioned paddle boarding last time. I plan to finish this blog post, climb into my car, and head directly to a little quiet launch spot on the James River. Shout out to my friend Heather who has loaned me her paddle board, life jacket, and paddle. I also mentioned going to Tangier Island with a friend. That’s scheduled for tomorrow. I mentioned going to Busch Gardens with another friend. That’s happening Thursday. I hope you see I’m taking seriously what I’m planning to do and following through on it. Feel free to reach out with admonition and encouragement in terms of the goals I’m sharing here. My number is (804) 304-4669.

My wife and I went through a book called “Undistracted” by Bob Goff. In the back of his books he gives his cell phone number. Seriously. You can call up New York Times Bestselling Author Bob Goff. It’s crazy. When I heard that, I thought what an insane move. And I love it. By the way, I’d recommend that you read Bob Goff’s books. And yes, I have called Bob Goff.

I also told you I’m trying to read 3 non-school books in 6 weeks. I’m working through “Liturgy of the Ordinary” by Tish Harrison Warren. I have this habit of reading several books at a time so it takes me forever (on top of my snail’s pace of reading anyway) to get through a book. So I’m setting all others aside to finish this one. After that one, I’ll finish “When Everything Is On Fire” by Brian Zahnd. After that, I’m not sure which of the books from my stack I’ll read next. What would you suggest?

Margins. Cadence. Breathing. White space. This can’t just be a sabbatical thing. This must be a Jerry thing. This must be a you thing. This must be an us thing. A human thing. A health thing. A sanity thing. Dare I say: A holy thing.