The moments are turning into days after the closure of Restore One. I’ve grappled with much since it’s closure: faith, calling, vocation, and the leading of God. Daily I’ve pulled the three into question (God, Jesus, and the Spirit). I’ve informed each of them my anger and disappointment. Holding them accountable to the outcome and allowing space to listen for the voice of reason and wisdom has been my only sanity. At times there is silence, and in other times, there are words. Words that affirm my sorrow, pairing my experience with the betrayal that Jesus faced by his closest friend, Judas, the man who started the end of his earthly ministry. The Spirit has helped me pull into the recollection the bewilderment the disciples suffered when their friend, leader, and teacher was brutally killed. I’ve imagined the days they hid in fear, shaking in belief.
Like the disciples, saying yes to starting a ministry was not supposed to end in loss and betrayal, a section of the gospel we often bypass. But it did happen, in the wake of death, the ones faithful to the call of Jesus, held their breath, trembling, waiting and hoping to wake up from this horrifying nightmare. I wonder what conversations the disciples had following Jesus’ death, did they still believe or did they call everything they were taught into question? How did Mary hold up, watching her son’s murder? What was the pattern of her grief, even after comprehending Jesus’ ascension? I’m curious how the loss of Jesus shaped the disciple’s hearts and authentic moment of their pain as they carried his ministry forward. I know they must have missed him, discussed his mannerisms often and on certain days questioned God for their puzzling journey.
This loss of a ministry is not a person, of that I am aware of but losing Restore One has felt like the loss of purpose and at times a person. Causing me to question everything I’ve aspired to; it’s stripped me down to my bare bones of my character and empowered me to look in the mirror.
In a way, success was my most magnificent facade.
For many of us, this is the truth, especially if we are empty inside, insecure of our inner man, women or other. No matter the cloak of achievement, we never outgrow the wanting of healing, and the security of love found in both God and man. For years I’ve been the lipping leader, the one upfront but disconnected with my inner self. Now the facade of being a ministry leader is withdrawn, and I can no longer stand behind a ministry or a cause. I’m broken down to nothing more than myself, a woman who is kind, curious, and courageous.
I’m interested in what failure has taught you?
For now, it’s taught me: Success is fluid, not lucrative. Richness is found in mindful, small moments like holding your baby in waking hours of the day or laugher with your spouse. Sorrow is just as beautiful as joy. The titles or lack thereof behind my name does not define my vocation. Restoration happens, so does death, but above all your integrity matters.
In Western culture, we evoke advancement, embodying failure is counter-cultural; in fact, it’s revolutionary. Can you consider entering into the death and betrayal of Jesus while holding space for your grief and uncertainty?
There is profound beauty found in ambiguity, may you embrace the gray moments that find you.