Ch. 2, Pt. 3: The Full Force of Failure

Have you read Pt. 1 and Pt. 2?

The UNKNOWN is painfully bright,
like staring into the sun!
It may produce excitement and adrenaline at the onset,
but its intensity cannot be sustained.
To continue to face its sharp brilliance
is to become weary
depleted
consumed.
Eventually, there is a need for safety
and settling.
Eventually, its radiance can’t be metabolized.
And we burn.

. . .

Going into year 3 with Overflow (church plant), the unknown was burning us out. Funds were dwindling. Energy was dwindling. Faith was dwindling. We needed a soft place to land.

We were not yet ready to let go of our vision (seeing everything through the lens of the “outsider”), but we did propose giving up our name, branding, office, and ministerial autonomy to submit under the banner of another new church in the area — thinking that would release some of the pressure. We could still do “our thing” during the week and the other church could do theirs, then we’d meet together on Sundays as a 2-in-1 church (with the thought that ours would be “sent out” again at a later date). It seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement.

But, after about a year of this, we found that we (leaders of Overflow) were coasting on fumes and agreed it was time for “project Overflow” to be permanently dissolved/absorbed.

Seen from the outside, this 2-in-1 church partnership gave us a soft place to land, time to process what was next, and a way to transition as pastors without it being a “big deal.”

The Full Force of Failure

But at the moment we “closed up shop,” I felt the full force of FAILURE. Dazed and confused, like the rug had been pulled out from under me, I did not know how to grieve the death of this dream.

• I thought God had “called” us to this! Wasn’t he supposed to “equip the called”?

• I thought our steps of “obedience” into the UNKNOWN would translate into God being strong in our weakness, and doing the miraculous! I thought, at the very last moment possible, he would step in and “wow” us. So, where was he?

• How could he watch us beat our heads against the wall time and again, and not give us some help or direction? We were working, praying, doing everything we knew to do — FOR HIM! We bet everything on this thing. How could he let us fail?

• And what in the world were we supposed to do NOW? We didn’t have a Plan B.

The Internal Fallout

Externally, our unanswered prayers and unrealized expectations looked manageable. But, internally, I was brokenhearted, feeling abandoned by God, like a failure — questioning it all.

I had been so confident in the foundational pillars of my belief structure and worldview — so confident in my discernment of God’s voice. But I could no longer trust myself to recognize or separate out which were my thoughts, desires, feelings, and which — if any — were God’s. My expectations about “God’s plan” and “God’s calling on my life” had imploded one too many times. I realized that something (or a lot of things), I had been believing along the way were simply NOT TRUE.

I thought about the parable of the wise and foolish builders: “The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock” — while the one built on sand got washed away.

I thought I’d been building my life on “rock-solid” beliefs, but apparently, some of them were sandier than I realized…

And this realization felt like wading into the darkness and being swallowed by the UNKNOWN. My disappointment and disillusionment took me into the BARREN WILDERNESS.

Hearing loss was one thing — I could accept it and move on. But this was faith-crisis on another level. A deeper level. This was challenging my very identity…and it felt like a stab in the back.

I found myself gasping for air.

Identity Crisis

As a child, my parents had given me concrete beliefs and black and white answers. As a teenager, I had a cause (my relationship with God) to channel my passion and obsessive energies into. I was, perhaps, more mature, confident, and secure in myself than I would have been otherwise — without such a sure and solid worldview. But, Faith and Ministry had become such an integral part of my personal identity and foundational to my family identity, that when everything fell apart after Overflow, I did not know: who I was or if I still belonged in my family. 

I felt like I was now on the outside looking in.

.     .     .

“I don’t actually think prayer works,” I dropped on my dad like a grenade.

I don’t know if his expression betrayed his fear…I didn’t look up. 

I regretted saying it immediately. This was the exact conversation I DIDN’T want to have. How did we get here? Something had set me off. Something had triggered the tripwire of my defenses. Something had sent me careening into bluntness like a runaway train — other people’s feelings be damned. Something had said, “this is not a safe place for you” and I reacted.  

He pushed back a little, but he was gentle. I imagine his racing thoughts went something like: “What?! MY daughter, not believe in prayer? Since when?” 

While I kept talking…

…lecturing, really. 

What was wrong with me? Why could I not be more...warm? Why was I always on the brink of a volcanic eruption these days? 

I had even given myself a pep talk before going over to my parent’s house: about playing it cool, saying as little as possible, not reacting, letting Gabe do the talking, not opening cans of worms, and leaving early. Now, THIS…

More to the Story…

Once we were officially off the hook of church-planting responsibilities, years of poorly managed or unperceived stress began to bubble to the surface for Gabe and me. We abruptly stopped hosting “weekly friends dinners” (or any kind of hosting) — to give ourselves a social, emotional, and spiritual BREAK. 

We sought shelter in the one space within our control — our home — and made it off-limits to everyone else (#boundaries)!

But more stress, loss, and grief kept piling on as…

We received the shocking news that our friend and fellow Overflow-er, Sarah, passed away in her sleep, at the age of 34. One of our family members battled a severe episode with mental illness and extended hospitalization. Both Overflow staff couples (close friends who had joined us from college) took new jobs and moved away. Gabe worked 10 hour days in a stressful call-center environment. Our pastoral responsibilities (with the church we had merged with) became increasingly forced and fraught. Gabe started getting panic attacks (that felt like heart attacks), which spiraled into debilitating anxiety and paranoia. And I was in the throes of existential crisis.

We saw none of these things as being connected at the time. We didn’t see how the unmetabolized stressors were taking a mental, spiritual, or physical toll on us. We didn’t have the language to name trauma, triggers, or stages of grief. We just thought, “wow, this is a lot.”

Rather than reach out for help, our self-protective reaction was to withdraw from people (including our closest family and friends) into full isolation mode!

Breakdown of Trust

ANYTHING faith-related triggered so much pain and anger in me — like an open spiritual sore. It was all so fresh and raw, I could not keep my emotions in check.

I was still “leading worship” on Sundays, but I had…

stopped reading my Bible,
stopped praying,
stopped opening my heart to people.

It all hurt too much.

And, because my parents represented Faith in such a big way to me, their presence brought up a whole bunch of complicated emotions as well. (Not to mention that my dad — as District Superintendent — was technically our boss). I knew I was overreacting to things and lashing out unfairly, but I couldn’t get a handle on it. I was IN CRISIS. I withdrew further, in an effort to not blow up my family.

This was not their fault — nor did I consciously blame them at any point. But, I suspect an unconscious part of my psyche carried a bit of resentment about the worldview I was raised with, that had ultimately let me down.

It was hard to feel I could trust their judgment in the same way.

Moments that Split Souls

I was stuck on the question: “what ELSE am I wrong about?”

I couldn’t trust my old assumptions anymore.

I couldn’t trust anyone or anything.

I had to start over from scratch and figure things out…

I entertained the idea of moving far away — starting over — because I didn’t know how to exist in the “old church world” or in my old relationships as a different person: this desert wanderer. 

It seemed like it’d be easier to run away.

It felt like something had broken inside of me, at the soul level. Like I was permanently altered. Unrecognizable. Far removed from the “old me.”

Little did I know how far away from my “old self” this crisis would end up taking me…and how much better off I would be for it.

.     .     .

The journey toward new sight can be equal parts beautiful and all out hell. But it comes to all of us the same — slowly, in moments separating old from new, before from after. Moments that split time or split our very souls, and we suddenly see life as we have never seen it before.”

—Lisa Gungor, The Most Beautiful Thing I’ve Seen