you have restored my soul

I have sat down several times to express my gratitude to ministers we know and have never been able to do so eloquently. But it’s been almost a year. It’s time. So forgive me if I stumble here, but it is silly of me to keep quiet about what a handful of ministers have done for our family.

Mike Maddry. Josef Klam. Jim Jackson. Luke Allen. Lori Anderson. Parker Stuckey. Richard Colquitt. Wick Stuckey. Each of their spouses.

These people have committed their lives to loving people others in the name of Jesus. They have literally been a light in a dark world, when it has been thankless and draining to do so. Ministers are often paid less and work more than other professions. They are emotionally drained and not compensated for it. And sure, they’ll be rewarded in Heaven, but when you’re exhausted and the bills are piling up and another person close to you has died or has cancer, seriously, do the jewels in Heaven sound that glamorous? (I mean, I’m kidding, sort of.) They  sacrifice so much.

Many, many, many – okay, let’s say countless times – I cried tears that wouldn’t stop or lay confused in my parents living room, I wondered, I questioned, as I thanked God for these people: what if none of them had gone into ministry? What if none of these friends answered the call to serve in the way that they do?

What if Mike Maddry had never convinced my dad to be a Young Life leader? That added so much depth and purpose and joy to his life. Dad said he had never lived his faith so freely or boldly or genuinely as when he was having a weekly bible study with high school dudes. (And doing silly skits on Monday nights and wearing funny outfits.)

Josef Klam, his softball buddy and chapelwood youth minister. The night my dad died, he came directly over to find me and Gentry at the Carrigans, and prayed with us, still in a suit from a wedding reception where he had been. Wick Stuckey was there too, and they both guided us through that treacherous week with their eyes fixed on the unseen. Without them I am sure Dad’s memorial service would have been far less focused or joyful. They heard we were hurting, and they didn't wait to be invited over - they just ran to us, and tried to help us through our pain. They showed up. Over and over. 

Luke Allen. Man, what wisdom in a young guy. My dad loved him, and his wife; he admired Luke, and his hilarity, and was proud of the way he gave it all to spread the gospel. From the moment we found out about Dad’s plane crash, Luke was there for whatever. He put his life on hold to make sure we’d live through this chaos. He and Sarah were everything we needed – they were sad, but they smiled and told funny stories of Dad to make us laugh, and they reminded us of John 10:10 and the promise of Heaven.

From the moment I saw Richard Colquitt pacing in the window of the Carrigan’s house, I knew down deep that he and Susan were there to tell me about my dad. I ran into the house, and Richard and Susan had the burden of telling me: he wasn’t coming back. It wasn’t critical condition or ICU- it was goodbye, at least from Earth, forever. Gone. I remember a peace about Susan that was almost…holy. Everything was wrong, and everything was okay. We had deep relationships with these people, we knew them well, and they knew the Gospel, better than us.

All these ministers were there to guide us. We hadn’t gotten to know them in the “just in case” way. I hadn’t admired Richard Colquitt and Mike Maddry on the off chance I’d go through tradegy someday. My dad didn’t quote Jim Jackson and follow his teachings on the off chance he’d leave us behind at age 53. That’s not how faith or friendships work. I didn’t grow up loving Young Life because it made the giant sad things seem hard, no- I went because I got to know God at Young Life, through other people, and those people made the everyday and the mundane seem like a great adventure.  It made faith real. I know my mom and dad didn't push us to be active in a church because it's helpful to know a few great ministers if you ever are planning a funeral. Drew & I certainly are not joining a church together on the off chance one of us will plan the other's funeral soon. No, not at all. But I wonder, often, where we would be in the face of sudden, immense loss, without our church and Young Life families and our amazing community in west Houston. 

My first moment of true peace, down to my toes, after Dad’s heart stopped, was at Memorial Forest Club at Young Life on Monday night. My brother and his fiance were leaders, and they wanted to be there. Luke invited us to come. So we did. He played guitar and led us in worship, just like when my dad had been a volunteer leader there. He had stood right where I was standing and sung praise to our great and mighty God. He had grieved the loss of his good friend Jay in this building, and talked to his high school kids about it. And now we did the same, for him. Jennifer, Kelsey, Stephanie, Renza, my mom, Nancy Simpson, Sarah Allen, Gentry, Amy, Parker, and Ryan Simpson – we sang 10,000 reasons for my heart to find. My heart was broken, but I knew my dad was in Heaven, doing something very similar. If it weren’t for Luke Allen, I would have been drowning. But I was rejoicing. How do you thank someone for that, or even put it in words? 

I wonder, without these people who poured our foundation, who led us to put our trust in Jesus, where I’d be today? How would my mom get out of bed and continue to live so bravely? How would Gentry face my dad’s colleagues and clients with such courage? Without these ministers' selfless love, we would have killed each other in our grief by now. (And if you know us well, you know I'm not exaggerating...)

Last September, the night Dad died, Sabrina Stuckey sat next to me on a step in the Carrigans living room. She had on her Aggie game gear, it was late at night, she had left her three children in the care of others. She didn’t take the time to shower or change clothes or even eat, but was just, there, with her husband Parker, in case we needed them. She sat next to me and I don’t remember if she said anything wise (probably) but I remember her there, as I waited for my mom to get there from Marble Falls.  I remember her shoulder literally being next to mine. It was people like her, faithful and steady, that kept me from ever feeling alone. And I know that’s true for my brother, too. I know Parker's words about my dad's life at his memorial service helped remind people - live for something. 

Lori Anderson, my 6^th grade confirmation youth pastor at Chapelwood, someone who’s seen me at my nerdiest, knew my dad way back, because he was a small group leader. (I was such a homebody I likely would not have gone to Sunday School and made friends without him.) She called me in April, to tell me something kind of strange- she’d seen my dad in a dream. And she could have easily ignored this dream, and never told me, but she gave me words I’ll remember always. In her sweet, familiar Lori voice on the phone, she told me, “Your dad looked the same. He seemed just like I always picture him, just like he really looked with the same smile. I don’t know how you’ve been lately, but maybe God wanted someone to tell you- your dad is okay. He is happy.” I think of that often, and picture my dad smiling in Heaven, and I don’t know the details of how it all works, but that’s okay, too.

How immensely grateful am I that men and women become ministers, and that their spouses support them, and how they give up so much to be our Earthly angels?

I truly wonder, what would I believe, how would I be okay, without these people. And certainly, dozens, probably hundreds if I made a list, of loving, giving souls have pulled together and gotten us thus far, helped us remember dad and honor dad and grieve and celebrate and try to pretend life is normal. And they are not ministers, full time, but they are certainly being Jesus to us. If you’re not a minister, don’t leave this think I do not appreciate you. I simply, stand in awe, of people who make ministry their number one focus. They deserve praise, though they will not take it. 

If you look up minister in the dictionary, you’ll find synonyms: to care for, to tend to, to nurse. Our earthly ministers have brought heavenly healing, for which I’ll never even come close to thanking them properly. 

Philemon 1:4

I thank my God always when I remember you in my prayers, because I hear of your love and of the faith that you have toward the Lord Jesus and for all the saints…” 

Psalm 23:3 "he restores my soul."