There's something pastors rarely say from the pulpit.<\/p>\n
Today I'm sharing my darkest moment.<\/p>\n
It started with a hand.<\/p>\n
Openchurch in Herning had launched, and everything was wonderful. But my hand would suddenly go numb, and my doctor recommended an operation. I was reluctant, but he reassured me: your life will be better afterward. So I trusted him and took the leap.<\/p>\n
What was supposed to be a routine procedure became a turning point. A nerve was damaged. What remained was a hand that burned day and night, as if it were lying in boiling water. No anesthetic could ease it.<\/p>\n
In the middle of the pain, the responsibility was heavy. Father of three lovely girls. Pastor of a wonderful and growing church. Teacher at a Bible school an hour to an hour and a half away. And pastor training with Saddleback Church in thirteen locations across Europe. Two days every six months \u2026 times thirteen :-)<\/p>\n
I couldn't say no. \"It's for the Lord,\" I told myself. Again and again.<\/p>\n
As if God wanted me to run myself into the ground.<\/p>\n
In 2009, in the middle of the rush of running a youth conference in Denmark, an unexpected moment of reflection came.<\/p>\n
Steve Gambill was our guest speaker that weekend. He came from Bradford in England. He looked me in the eyes and asked gently, in his warm American accent:<\/p>\n
Thomas, are you enjoying being in ministry?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
On the outside I answered with an optimistic \"yes!\"<\/p>\n
On the inside, a small voice whispered a completely different truth.<\/p>\n
The pain and the responsibility had eclipsed the joy and the purpose. And in that darkness a thought began to grow: the thought of putting an end to it all. It beckoned like a solution, an escape from the relentless pain.<\/p>\n
It was a cold winter day. The snow lay like a blanket over the world. I stood on the edge and considered the dark solution. I had even decided how, where and when.<\/p>\n
But 200 meters from the place I stopped the car and pulled over, as if an invisible hand were holding me back.<\/p>\n
There I sat. Far too long. I managed to send a text message and called in sick to the Bible school. And I stayed sitting there.<\/p>\n
While I sat there, God stepped in. Not with a miracle. With people.<\/p>\n
My father-in-law called, at exactly the right moment. That call became the lifeline I desperately needed.<\/p>\n
And when I afterward dared to say it out loud, to Christina, my wife, and to my fellow pastors at Openchurch, the real turning point happened: admitting the depth of my despair and reaching out for help. They stood by my side and helped me through the darkness.<\/p>\n
Gradually I was built up again. The focus shifted from my achievements to God's love and grace.<\/p>\n
And one day it became clear to me:<\/p>\n
God did not love me because of what I accomplished.<\/p>\n
He loved me for who I was.<\/p>\n
His child.<\/p>\n
It took time. But the lies that had held me captive crumbled.<\/p>\n
Today I think with gratitude of Steve's question. It was not an attack. It was a life ring.<\/p>\n
I'm telling this because I know that some of you reading it know that edge.<\/p>\n
Not necessarily the same one. But the pressure that doesn't lift. The smile you hold up, even though everything inside is screaming. The sense that everyone else has it together.<\/p>\n
It's not a lack of faith to feel that way.<\/p>\n
It's being human.<\/p>\n
God doesn't meet us with: \"Pull yourself together.\"<\/p>\n
He meets us the way he met Elijah under the broom bush, with care, food and presence. Before he said a single word about what was to happen next.<\/p>\n
What are you carrying that no one else knows?<\/p>\n
And who is the one person you could say it to?<\/p>\n
You are not alone. And it's okay not to be okay.<\/p>\n
Please share this if you know someone who needs it. Mental health is a condition of life, not a weakness. And if you yourself need someone to talk to right now, you can call Livslinien at 70 201 201.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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