I was a pastor when my world fell apart. Lying in an ICU hospital bed, looking up at the ceiling, numb from the waist down, it seemed pretty clear to me that I only had a couple of choices: get out of the hospital and figure out how to heal, or leave the hospital, and make damn well sure I died the next time.
Thankfully, I chose to live, which meant everything had to change.
Over the past seven years, since the darkest day of my life, I’ve deconstructed and reconstructed my faith and deconstructed it some more. I nearly walked away from Christianity altogether for a while, but the same Voice that called to me in the hospital room, saying, “I’m not finished with you yet,” continued to whisper hope, safety, and belonging through my dark night of the soul.
So I held on. Scared. Uncertain. Wobbly. I had faith, but it was full of holes.
I'm honored to share the rest of this story on Josh Casey's, "Dust Makers" blog. Just click here to read the rest of this story.