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A Poured-Out Pastor: A Lament


God, I'd like to have every confidence to believe that you called me to ministry.

But sometimes I don't.

Sometimes I question it all.

Sometimes I feel like Paul.

I pray over and over and over again:

Remove this thorn from my flesh.

Remove this broken place.

Remove that hurt.

Sometimes I feel, as a man of God, like I'm your shield;

a shield for you, to protect you.


Do you really need my protection God?


Am I a whipping boy,

a whipping post,

a gutter catching all the crap and valiantly sticking the word "minister" on it?


I just want to serve you and this is what I get in return?

Hurt?

Pain?

Criticism?

Rants?

Sleepless nights?

Stressful days?

Anxiety attacks?

Therapy sessions?


Is being called a Christian worth it?


I know I'm called to love your church, but sometimes it feels

like I love it more than you,

like I have to care for it more than you,

like a big game of hurt.


Where are you in all this God?

Are you hiding?

Have you run from these problems?

Are you going to say something?

Will you make me go this alone?


Stick up for me.

Fight for me.

Don't stay out all night while I sit up and worry.

Do something, Lord.

Something.

Anything.


From your son, who's broken and poured out about as much as I think I can be.

-Michael.

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