I’ve been in the American (charismatic) church since I was five years old. Some of my earliest memories involve waking up really early to ride in the setup truck with my dad. I would then watch in amazement as he and five other guys setup the entire church with just the contents inside the truck. Other early memories include helping my mom cut out flannel graphs for her Sunday morning preschool class and sneaking into the volunteer room to get donuts and orange juice.
I lived a wild life.
For me, my faith has been a part of my life for as early as I can remember. From praying at dinner tables, to laying hands on the sick, to believing God was going to provide for us as a family — my parents taught me the value of believing in something bigger than myself. Though, it wasn’t until I hit my late teenage years that I realized my faith had transformed into a self-serving way for me to get what I wanted out of life.
I had been living as if God was my own personal divine butler — like Geoffrey from Fresh Prince — without the attitude and penguin suit.
After losing one of my best friends in a car accident, I woke up. I felt God telling me that decisions change destinies. I knew my life wasn’t just meant to be about me and what I could get out of it. I knew I was meant to play a small part in the grand story of His Church. A part that would require sacrifice and placing others before myself, like all parts in His Church require. So for the past ten years, I’ve been living in faith — believing that God will use my life and words and actions to make much of His name.
I try my best to live by what I call stupid faith. It’s not stupid because it’s without contemplation or intelligence, it’s not stupid because it’s ill-advised or unlearned, it’s stupid because I try to live a life of faith beyond reason. I’m a big proponent of using the power of reason and logic in life. But sometimes — many times even — we encounter things in life that reason can’t take care of, things that logic can’t provide a way out of. This is why I’ve found that I can’t allow my faith to be held down by such things.
When my mom had breast cancer, I needed a stupid faith that said she would be healed.
When I didn’t know how my new wife and I could survive on a pastors salary, I needed a stupid faith that said God would provide.
When I stand in front of hundreds of people and preach, even though I feel unqualified and underprepared, I need a stupid faith that says God will use my words.
When I wake up in the morning and the news says we are all doomed, I need a stupid faith that says God’s plans cannot be overcome.
At the end of the day, I need a stupid faith that says there’s more to life than just living. And maybe you do too.
Soli Deo Gloria
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