It’s Not What They Told Me

From the time I was in 6th grade it’s all I wanted to do. Most boys at that age wanted to save the world by being police officers or fire fighters or even join the military. Not me. I didn’t see myself fitting those roles. For me all I ever wanted to do was what I do right now. But all too often it’s not what I was told it would be.

Many joke about it being nice to only work one day a week. Others sit back curiously wondering what it is that I really do. Still others really just don’t care as long as Sunday goes ok and I’m there when their emergency hits. But all too often it’s not what I was told it would be.

No one told me the weight I would have to carry. No one told me the microscope people would put me under. No one told me that real, caring, life-giving friendships would be hard to find, if not downright impossible at times. No one told me how much it would hurt some days, only how rewarding others would be.

You see I knew that I would be there when the phone rang. I knew that I would be there when you were at your worst. I knew that I’d see some dark and somewhat terrifying things. But all too often it’s not what I was told it would be.

I’ll never forget the feeling of holding her hand while she struggled for her final breaths. Pushing down tears of my own because I cared for her more than I could let on. Swallowing hard so I could speak coherently to provide some form of comfort to you as you now say good bye, all the while saying goodbye quietly myself. This isn’t how I was told it would be.

I’ll never forget cleaning up after him when he thought there was no other way out. Seeing someone I cared about end it all that way and try to preserve his dignity by quietly carrying the demons that secretly broke him. This isn’t how I was told it would be.

I’ll never forget sitting there as you broke into so many pieces. I wanted to help put it together but I was powerless. All I could do was sit, pray, and be a shoulder you could cry on. This isn’t how I was told it would be.

I’ll never forget when in a moment of rage you threw the tissue box at me across my desk. You were angry with something or someone but I was the easiest target because I was there. Or the time I was belittled and cursed at for doing my job because you assumed my intent – all this by those who care and without apology nonetheless. This isn’t how I was told it would be.

I could list countless moments that caught me off guard. Relationships that broke fast enough to give anyone whiplash. I could gripe and moan and complain but that’s not who I am.

Some of you will think this is a cry for help, but it’s not that at all. Others will think he’s just being a baby stop complaining, but that’s not it either. The greater point is this. We’re people. It’s really that simple.

I talk to a lot of pastors in my role these days and there’s so much hurt that could be avoided. Offenses given but no apology offered. Those moments provide lasting hurt. Many of us have scars that we see daily but will never reveal to anyone. We’re people. It’s really that simple.

Your pastor isn’t superman. He’s not invincible. He breaks. He hurts. He remembers every single one of those moments. Each of those scars he’ll carry to his grave. He’s not doing it for accolades or praise. He’s doing it because he cares. He cares for you. And sometimes caring means he has to say and do some things you don’t like. But we’re people. It’s really that simple.

It often isn’t what I was told it would be. But I don’t do it for me. And to be honest I don’t do it for you either. The real reason we carry these scars and walk with these weights is because we were called to this work. No other reason would be strong enough to keep us anchored this long.

You can question the outcomes or even the steps we take. You can dislike the way it makes you feel. But just remember we’re people, it’s really that easy.