Because their stories are not their own. Because no individual’s story is only about that individual. The protagonist is always surrounded. There are always antagonists, companions, and supporting characters. 

To tell my story is to also tell part of someone else’s story. And, of course, as the saying goes, there are always two sides to every story. In the case of a pastor telling their story, there can be dozens of other sides to a single story. 

Pastors’ stories also belong to their congregation, to the volunteer leaders, to the staff that they work with. This is both beautiful and paralyzing.

Into the fabric of your life is part of learning to live spiritually.

You have a life. A normal life that is built with at least some of the same bricks that form the structure of everyone else’s normal life: a family, a home, a job, coworkers, friends, grocery stores, gas stations, garbage cans, doctor appointments, books to read, a lawn to mow, and maybe a dog to walk. All these ordinary bits and pieces add up to create something unique and unrepeatable: your life.

The Christian Scriptures it turns out (and this may be true of other sacred texts as well) have a knack of getting themselves caught up in the mix. If you read them often enough, you will one day find that a particular verse or phrase or word gets stuck in your head like a hook from a pop song.

Was the request one of the disciples made to Jesus. (See Luke 11). A bit of a surprising request, given that these disciples had been praying their whole lives. Since long before they began following this Rabbi.

They were no strangers to prayer. 

They were, as best we can tell, good Jewish boys. They began each day with the Shema. They prayed multiple times throughout day. They observed the Sabbath, rich with centuries of passed-down prayers. Up to this point in the story they had already done much praying with their Rabbi, Jesus. 

Because you and I are not static.

Because life is not static.

Because time is not static.

Because the seasons are not static.

Because relationships are not static.

Because society is not static.

Because culture is not static.

Because history is not static.

Because creation is not static.

Because the Creator is not static.

Ought to be the most spiritual person in a local congregation—and also the most down-to-earth. The most heavenly and also the most earthy.

The spiritual and physical aspects of reality are not distinct and opposed. They are both, together, the fully connected and whole reality of the universe. 

The temptation for the local pastor is to swing to one extreme or the other. The pressure comes both from within and without. Some pastors are more wired for being overly spiritual; others are wired for being overly earthy. Some congregations press their pastors to be more like gurus; others press their pastors to be more like CEOS. 

Are different things. Cognates of the heart, but more like cousins in action. 

We wait for hopes. We work towards dreams. 

We inhale hopes. We exhale dreams. 

Hopes depend on something outside of ourselves, given to us like precious gifts. Dreams bubble up from the secret places of our souls and spill out into the world. 

Because wandering is a waste of time and energy and resources. 

Everyone is on a pathway to somewhere, and without someone who has traveled a similar path before, the going is slower and harder and more fraught with danger. 

Your journey is utterly unique. No one has traveled your exact path before. No one has ever lived your life. No one has ever lived in your time, in your geography, among your people, engaged in your activities, with your skills and experience, chasing after your dreams. No one has ever experienced this once-in-all-of-time opportunity.

No one. Ever. 

Is a really good sign that you need to just have that conversation. Stop thinking; start talking.

The number of times you have rehearsed a conversation in your mind is an indicator for how high the stakes are for either having or not having the real conversation. The length of time you have been avoiding the conversation is the same length of time that slow-but-steady damage has been done by the silence.
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All-seeing God, You have searched me, though I am often afraid to look within myself.

All-knowing God, You know me intimately, though I often do not know myself.

You know when I sit and when I rise, though I often cannot tell which way is up or down.

You perceive my thoughts from afar, though I often cannot keep my thoughts straight.

You discern my going out and my lying down, though I am often unsure of where I am coming from or where I am going.

You are familiar with all my ways, though I am often unclear on what I am doing or why.

Before a word is on my tongue, You know what I am going to say, though I often speak without thinking.

Is necessary for any real personal growth, maturity, or progress. 

It can get quite comfortable on this road. Between these lines. Trusting these guardrails. But anyone who has driven long distances—or even short distances on a familiar highway—can tell you that such security can lull you into a trance. You snap too a few minutes later surprised at where you are now. No visual memory of having come so far. No recollection of the sights you passed.