Seasons of Recovery
By Sarah Webb
I was once led to compare the work of ministry to hiking a mountain. The work of ministry requires much of the same skill set as a challenging hike. Optimism, endurance, expectation, wonder, and the discernment to rest before your body decides for you.
Between the joyful start to the trail and the “this was worth it” moment at the end of the hike, there stands a mountain.
Have you ever started a hike and immediately felt like this wasn’t the right choice? Maybe it was a rainy day, you forgot your water bottle, or this quite simply was too big of a mountain to tackle in this season of life.
This is how I describe a season of my life.
Very early in ministry, I found myself praying “God, help me through or release me”. I returned to texts about pastoral burnout and revisited the articles I read in college. When I originally read these resources, I remember thinking - who would ever feel this way? I’ll never experience this. But I did, too soon. I felt uneasy as I admitted the loss of joy and excitement that my community expected of me.
How is it that I could love the work of ministry, yet feel like it’s taking more from me than it's giving to others? Why isn’t this working?
God created every mountain, but He doesn’t need us to climb them all.
If you find yourself asking questions or praying a prayer like mine, allow yourself to question the “why” behind this tension. Take time to ask these questions - am I feeling tension because of my preference, or because of my conviction? Am I disappointed at the reality of what I had once expected to look different, or am I seeing the truth of this season and feeling a deep sense of grief for what I am experiencing? Am I in a season of discomfort, or am I perpetually wounded?
If you’re answering these questions and feeling frustrated with your response, this is your time to dig deeper. As you evaluate these questions, there is a temptation to feel shame. Don’t believe the lies of our culture that our worth is in what we do, and that leaving is giving up. I felt like a failure when I left my first ministry job. I had to come to terms with a version of myself that I didn’t recognize, and a pastor I didn’t want to be. I didn’t fit the mold. I grieved my becoming that looked different than what I had hoped. The temptation is to believe that if we can’t make it work in our current context, then we are not “called”. It is our first instinct to believe the place or role is the “problem”, yet many times it is our “fit” that creates the hardship. A wise friend once told me, “Maybe you’re just a palm tree in Wisconsin”. Holding this tension gives language to the tension of loving a church, but recognizing the context isn’t an ideal fit. It allows for both honor and grief.
So, what do you do? Recognize your reaction to your answers and allow this to be what energizes your movement forward. Sometimes we forget how to move. We forget we can move. Sometimes the straight path isn’t the right path.
When I decided to stop climbing this mountain, my soul was starving. I needed deep rest and nourishment. If you are reading this, you may need this support too.
Over the past year I’ve committed to honoring the nudges of the Holy Spirit to stop, pray, and worship. I’ve participated in spiritual direction and spent time with Christian leaders whom I trust. I’ve simplified my spiritual disciplines. I’ve committed to working through my experience with mental health professionals. I’ve kept a tally on my wall of how many times I’ve left church in tears because it doesn’t feel the same anymore, because someday I’ll look at this piece of paper and cherish every tear that brought me closer to God and refined my calling. You should do this too.
Every moment of submission to God, His Word, and the effort it takes to heal is our greatest form of fighting for the work we love. It is by showing up and allowing God to move that we are restored, refined, and equipped for what is to come.
Someday I’ll get to climb a new mountain, and I’ll be stronger. And you will too.
