Sons of God's Generals: Unlocking the Power of Godly Inheritance (14 page)

Quickly it became clear that things would never be the same. When not in Toronto, Dad was fielding calls and requests to visit other churches and speak at even more conferences. Unsure how long he would be sought after, my dad took every engagement offered. Seemingly overnight he went from being home (in some form or fashion) every night to traveling 220-plus days a year.

My brothers (two and four at the time) grew up in this feverish period, and as such, think of it as normal. My sister and I (eight and thirteen)—shocked by the sudden change—felt the loss more, particularly me, who, as a soon-to-be-adolescent, needed his dad. Our family got into a routine after a while—Mom would manage the household (as best she could) while Dad was away for weeks at a time; Dad would take us to Chuck-E-Cheese, Discovery Zone, and movies on his return. Rinse and repeat.

After a few months, we settled into a rhythm and tried to make do. When it became obvious this “new normal” was going to be around for the foreseeable future, I began to travel with my dad, especially during the summer months. I got to see much of the world during this time and was exposed to many amazing teachings, signs, and wonders. Regrettably, these few episodic trips couldn’t fill the void growing in my heart for a deeper relationship with my dad. As that void approached critical mass, I filled it with substitutes, as hurting people often do. With the inadequacy of these substitutes apparent, I put God there. Or, I tried. It wasn’t really God, more of a placeholder for where a real relationship with God would go, if I had one.

Somewhere along the way, I attributed the absence of my natural father to my spiritual one. Though I was mad at neither, I stopped trying to communicate with either. And like muscles never used, my ability to relate atrophied. When I talk to others who have experienced perceived abandonment (because I was never
really
abandoned), they are angry, bitter. Most of my friends who had doctors or lawyers for parents were mad at their absence or at the emotional toll on the family caused by the constant working. Many continue to be angry, refusing to have any relationship with their parents. To me, though—one who had witnessed the amazing, life-changing things my dad was doing—it felt unbelievably selfish to be mad. I believed the great harvest of souls my dad was reaping was more important than my present suffering. I remembered my dad’s stories of the great missionaries, like Adoniram Judson, who buried many wives and children in the soil of Burma for the gospel. My dad was—literally—changing people’s lives. How could I be angry at his absence, induced by spiritual obedience, or at a gracious God who was powerfully at work rescuing, redeeming, and restoring His people? Instead, I did what humans are so well designed to do—adapt. I became accustomed to his absence and eventually my dad became a stranger to me. An amazingly magnanimous and gracious stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

In retrospect, I think anger is a healthier alternative. Anger signals a present vested interest in a relationship. An angry person’s emotions recoil at the thought of separation and passionately want things to be different. And, while I would
wish
for things to be different, I had accepted that they couldn’t and moved on with my life. My path portended the end of an interest. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but extended absence can make it grow cold and distant. My body, mind, and emotions eventually rewired themselves to make me think I didn’t need this type of interaction. After a decade of travel, I felt I didn’t
need
to have a relationship with my dad, couldn’t have one if I wanted. Only many years later, encouraged by the Holy Spirit to make intentional choices toward restoration, would my desire for relationship be reignited.

To be fair, my dad’s traveling is not entirely to blame for my awkwardness. When I was very young my parents received a prophetic word that led them to believe I would end up in ministry. My dad was never shy to shout this presumably foregone conclusion from the rooftop. It felt like every conversation I had with my parents was about this eventuality. It was like my dad was the Mayor of Whoville and I was JoJo. Of course this isn’t an accurate depiction, but the hormones of adolescence are powerful psychogenic drugs and it felt like every discussion was about my eventual succession to the throne of international ministry, which I had no desire to ascend. The awkwardness created by my dad’s absence, my perception of his goals for me, and my inability—or lack of desire—to meet those expectations led to my distancing myself from my family. I moved out at seventeen, went away to college, and—like the prodigal son before me—had no plans to return. Ever.

But.

Thankfully.

God is good. All the time. He sought me out, like the shepherd who left the ninety-nine. He ran
to
me, He revealed His sufficiency, His grace, His mercy, and displayed His commitment to my well-being. He prompted me to meditate on the story of Abraham and Isaac, the awkwardness of the walk back down the mountain after such a traumatic event, the resulting dysfunction in the family (arguably rooted in Isaac’s experience), and despite all of it, His purposes and promises, which are always good, were accomplished. Jesus still came, made a way for us to enter boldly before the King, and blessed us with the Holy Spirit.

I eventually moved back to the same city as my parents and began serving their ministry in a variety of administrative and support functions. Throughout the next decade, God taught me a lot about reconciliation. He blessed me with a wife, three beautiful children, and restored to me an amazing family (once lost and hidden by my pain) with whom to walk this journey out. So, in looking back over the last decade, what can I share that might help expedite your journey?

1. Get Perspective

It’s easy to feel detached and isolated in the midst of a spiritual and emotional storm. The first step toward freedom is to recognize our tendency to become self-absorbed. Ask the Holy Spirit to realign your focus to see your troubles through His eyes. For me, the Lord reminded me of a saying my dad was fond of saying: “Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.” I found it instructive because I was clearly disregarding many of the wonderful lessons I had learned through my time with my dad. By asking the Holy Spirit to reveal the good times, calluses began to fall off my heart. I saw clearly the things I had forgotten, the things blinded by pain and indifference. I realized how profoundly grateful and honored I should be. My dad, despite his absence, had modeled a lifestyle of many amazing attributes. In fact, parents would be hard-pressed to find better models to pattern themselves after. A couple big ones that made a tremendous impact include authenticity, openness, generosity, and humility.

I always felt like I had my dad’s ear, as if anything I would say would be considered seriously. No matter the importance of the conference call or the meeting, my parents welcomed me to the table to listen and share my opinions. Even before I became a teenager and knew everything. I credit this for my confidence in the Lord and steadfast faith in His ability to accomplish His desires. I’ve always believed that if I were to ask God for something—anything—He would answer. My parents’ open door policy cultivated in me a quiet confidence that assured me of my value, position, and importance.

Another benefit (at least I view it as one) of my parents’ openness and transparency was that I saw firsthand the sometimes seedy underbelly of church life and ministry. At first it was deflating, like when a child first realizes his dad
isn’t
Superman. People I had known my whole life through church or ministry were secretly hurting, struggling with their own past wounds and demons. And this wasn’t just recent converts or newly elected elders, but “big names” in the charismatic movement who had huge megachurches and large, successful ministries. After many years of exposure to this reality, I became even more amazed at God’s grace and faithfulness. While other pastor’s kids around me grew cynical with their exposure to this, I couldn’t help but fall even more in love with the grace of God. To be sure, it’s tragic when a believer stumbles, or when a secret lifestyle is exposed, but I tend to believe we—the church—make it a much bigger deal than God, the Father.

Lest I be misinterpreted, the above should not be construed as an attempt to sweep sin under the rug or mitigate its devastating effects. This is only a realization that 1) God is God—He uses the tools available to Him, even when those tools have rust, scrapes, and dents that might appear to disqualify them for service; and 2) God is the God of second chances, and third chances, and fourth chances, and fifth…well, you get the idea. Sanctification, for me, is a spectrum along which many, even those in ministry, are left of center. To be sure, this is nothing to celebrate, and we should all strive to live a holier life, holding our leaders to biblical standards. None of these truths, however, prevent me from boasting in the Lord’s goodness and graciousness for using broken vessels.

Another aspect of my upbringing that the Holy Spirit illuminated was my dad’s humility. As a teenager, I didn’t realize the rarity of this trait. I naively assumed most would recognize their weakness apart from God. Surprisingly, many do not. My dad’s insistence on activating everyone for the work of the ministry, hoping to “equip his way out of a job” still ministers to my spirit. Recent research indicates that those who gain power via fame, a promotion, or the like become less hospitable and friendly to those underneath them. My dad eschewed any attempt to elevate his name. He was much happier, and more comfortable, with seeing Jesus’ name held in high esteem. By regarding himself a lowly servant, he remained compassionate and empathetic to the many people he ministered to nightly. But I digress. I could go on for chapters (and someday maybe I will) but I’m skirting dangerously close to going “off topic.”

The above was what the Holy Spirit used to provide perspective to my problem. Seek out what He would say to yours. There is always something good and redeemable to be found in the midst of even immense pain;
don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater
. Ask the Holy Spirit to illuminate these areas in your life.

2. Choose Wisely

Along with being the iconic phrase from the end of
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
, the above is a reminder that we are not slaves to our past hurts, fears, or emotions. God is big on choice. He hopes we choose Him, but allows us the ability to not. We have within us the power to align ourselves with the blueprint of heaven or disregard His dreams and aspirations for our lives and live how we please. He is unashamed of providing us with this opportunity; He placed the tree of the knowledge of good and evil in the
center
of the garden, and made it bloom with beautiful fruit! As best I can tell, there was no barbed wire fence, or moat, or animal feces strewn about the tree to dissuade Adam or Eve, only His lone admonishment. Though the Lord knew the unbelievable turmoil He and the earth would experience, He freely—with open hands—allowed His creations to find their way in the world.

Choice is a big deal. And in life, we always have a choice. A choice to be negative, cynical, or depressed. A choice to continue ruminating on all the bad things that have happened. Or a choice to be joyous, even in the midst of our sorrow. Darkness begets more darkness, but even the smallest point of light can begin to light a path to freedom. Diligently train your mind, will, and emotions to be full of joy, eagerly anticipate the full manifestation of God’s glory. Be of good cheer! Jesus has overcome the world and in doing so has made a way for your total healing and restoration.

Don’t mistake my encouragement to choose joy as a suggestion to sweep your pain under the rug and put on a good Christian front. Hardly. Fully embrace your pain, talk about it, scream about it, cry about it, whatever the Holy Spirit leads you to do, do it. Remember that Jesus was asleep, in peace, on a boat that was being buffeted in a storm because the reality He lived in had no storms. With help, pass through your pain and step into this reality. Henri Nouwen said it best when he wrote, on the topic of overcoming pain, “You have to begin to trust that your experience of emptiness is not the final experience, that beyond it is a place where you are being held in love.”

3. Step Out of the Boat

I know people who have had relationships supernaturally restored by the power of the Holy Spirit. Decades of hurt, neglect, and trauma were wiped away in an instant, forever forgotten by both parties. I pray this happens with you. For others, however, the road is a bit longer. I mentioned earlier that my relationship muscles atrophied from many years of disuse. After creating in me a spirit of gratitude toward my family by giving me His perspective, and after I had been encouraged by the Holy Spirit to choose life, joy, and relationship, the only thing left was to implement His plan. That proved the most scary, most difficult. I wasn’t sure how, or when, or where. It was clear though that I had to act before God was going to move. So, slowly, in fits and starts I began initiating contact with my dad, breaking off years of rust in the process. I felt my heart warm and expand in the process. The awkwardness gave way to familiarity. I was intentional about cultivating a relationship and building a stronger bond with my family. My wife and I recently turned down many lucrative job offers that would take us far away from our families because we felt the Lord was calling us create generational inheritances for our kids. I only saw my grandparents once a year, and I think there is something powerful about children growing up exposed regularly to their ancestors. Again, this is what the Holy Spirit has directed my family to do. Your mileage may vary and no judgment for those who elect to live differently. But whatever you do, take risks, press for the limits of your faith. I had always thought I would move to a big city and make lots of money. I had the opportunity to do both. Ultimately God beckoned me to come stand on the water with Him and trust that He would provide.