My struggles have been deep as of late. I am thankful they have not turned too dark but have been genuine and often sad. I have learned over this last year that one can hold two emotions simultaneously, so you can be sad yet have joy, and it is ok.

In his providence, God led us to leave Marion, Illinois, and move to Washington, Illinois. In his providence, he allowed me to pastor a church only to later take it away. In his providence, he brought some incredible men into my life only to take them away. I do not have to understand; I only know he gives and he takes away. The question is will I bless his name?

I don’t know why I have struggled so hard in these last few weeks focussing on all I have lost. Friends who are gone, a ministry left in shambles, feelings of being abandoned, wondering if I really have any friends (locally anyway), longing for something more in my relationships with others than what I have, the hurt is real. Still, the Lord gives, and he takes away.

I remember the day I met George. He walked in and sat in the back of the church on the right-hand side. He could not really hide; we were a small church, and he was a large man. My mind drifts back to that day, often to our conversation, to me asking if he had a family. I still remember him saying, “I listened to some of your sermons online, and I had to come to verify if this place was real.” I told him that I hoped he found what he was looking for, and he did. I do not know that I have ever grown so close to someone so fast. I would talk with him multiple times throughout the week, have his family into my home and share things I had not shared with others. I could sit down and have a deep theological conversation or sit down and talk about nothing at all; it did not matter. George was that kind of friend. I remember the joy in my heart and being so thankful that God would bring someone to me that was such an encouragement. But the Lord gives, and he takes away.

I will never forget that day. I can remember every detail of the day; sometimes, I can still smell that day and still feel the coldness of that morning. I remember the run I had that morning. I remember having some coffee with the guys; I remember being outside and the tree falling into the neighbor’s yard. The one memory I have never been able to shake is when George said, “hey Sean, where is your bathroom?” I think back to that moment over and over again. Often with tears in my eyes, and even though I know I would not have stopped what was about to happen, I wonder what if I would have at least said something. What if I had asked if he was ok? What if I had not waited so long to check on him? Did he know what was happening when he walked into that bathroom and collapsed? Was it fast? Did he know I love him? What were the thoughts in his mind? You see, I will never forget that day. It is etched in my mind. Me telling him I was coming in, and no response. Us breaking the door down and administering CPR. I can still hear the count in my head; I still remember the breaths that I gave; it was like it happened yesterday. Yet I come to this conclusion the Lord gives, and he takes away. I often ask God why he would take away a friend like George, and I have no answer. Will I bless the name of the Lord?

Bill Sexton walked into our church on a Wednesday in a suit. I was in shorts and a t-shirt. I introduced myself as the pastor. I remember his first words to me, “Do you preach on the sovereignty of God in this church” I remember thinking that is an odd question. My response? “Is it in the Bible,” to which he responded, “yes,” to which I replied, “then I preach on it?” He said he and his wife would be back on Sunday, but I did not believe it. Sure enough, there they were that Sunday. Then the Sunday after that, then the Sunday after that, and they just kept on coming.
To Bill, age did not mean anything. It did not matter that he was far older than I; he still would ask me how to handle something, and he still asked me what I thought. He was an intelligent man, constantly studying and reading. Bill never missed a chance to encourage me. Time and time again, he would encourage me sometimes on Sunday; after the message sometimes, he would call me midweek just to encourage me. Bill would tell me on the phone he loved me, and I had no problem saying it back. Often he would say it was his job to be an encouragement to me. I can remember Bill saying that he wanted to be like Aaron or Hurr, who held up the hands of Moses. He felt it was his job to hold up my hands even if I could not hold them up any longer. Every pastor needs a man like Bill. A man who will walk through the fire for you, a man who will stand and fight the battles everyone else is afraid of fighting. However, the Lord gives, and he takes away.

Bill got sick and ended up in the hospital; he went from the hospital to a nursing home, where I was finally able t see him. He was not good, but he still encouraged me. he went from the nursing home back to the hospital. I tried every trick i Could think of to see him and could not get in due to covid restrictions. When Bill got covid, it was all downhill from there. They finally let me in to see him with his son, and they finally let his wife in to see him as well. I remember when I first walked in, he said to me, “I’m sorry.”

I could not think of anything this man would need to apologize for, but Bill always felt he could have done more. If you know him you, this is true. I will never forget the day they said if he were to go on a ventilator, he had about a 5 percent chance of coming off. I explained this to him and asked what he wanted to do. He decided to go on his own terms and in the strength of the Lord. I remember whispering in his ear that it was ok to go home. As the end drew close, I went to his bedside and held his hand. I held his hand a lot in those last days, and I was standing there holding his hand; he drew his last breath and stepped into glory. This man that told me he wanted to hold my arms up when I could not lay there as I held his hand. God gave me the privilege to know him, and the privilege to be there with him when he drew his final breath. His battle on earth was done. The Lord gives, and he takes away will I bless the name of the Lord?

I recent weeks, these thoughts have often entered my mind. I have moments of extreme loneliness where I can be surrounded by people and still feel alone. I am a highly social person, and I have often asked the Lord why he would give these men only to take them away. I have cried many times, praying for someone to come into my life like either of these men. Sometimes just wishing I had someone to hang out with or a guy to invite over with his family for a cookout sometime, just anything. Then I discovered I am unwilling to take a risk, that I am so afraid of losing that I will even make excuses for other people as to why I won’t ask them over or to do something.

You see, being a pastor, sometimes I think people feel like they kind of have to invite you over or ask you to do stuff with them, but what happens when you are no longer a pastor? What happens when you are just a regular guy, and no one really seems to notice you? No one seems to care, and no one is really vying to spend time with you. The invitations stop, you begin to wonder if you have the plague or something you do not even here from your own denomination; no one checks up on you even when they know what you are going through. These are things I have rarely, if ever, been faced with. Perhaps I feel alone because I am alone; perhaps I feel like I don’t belong because, at this moment, I don’t belong. Maybe that day will come when I do. Perhaps the Lord will one day grant me, someone, to step into my life once again. For now, In His providence, the Lord gives and takes away. May I fight to say blessed be the name of the Lord?