A Good Honest Shuffle

At the outset of this writing project, I determined to write my story live, with the notion of sharing it for the benefit of others who might one day walk down a similar path. I’ve committed to leaving my entries as intact as possible along the way, avoiding the temptation to smooth out the rough edges or omit the parts that I wouldn’t necessarily choose to include today. There is one part of my story, however, that I have decided is best left unshared.  (Note: This post is part of an ongoing series called  The View From Here . Please follow  this link  and start reading at the oldest post,  Fear and Trembling .) In late August of 2018, I experienced a significant falling out with a long-time friend and member of our Staff team. What happened on the night Melissa and I met together with him and his wife at their home was incredibly personal—even more so than much of what I’ve shared to date—and while everything I’ve written in this blog has quite obviously been ...

August 9, 2018. A few weeks ago, a member of our congregation offered to sit down with me with his “therapist hat” on. I knew I would take him up on it at some point, but I wanted to wait until the moment was right. In the old game show, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? you’re given a limited number of opportunities to receive outside help called lifelines, after which you’re on your own. You have to be strategic, because if you “phone a friend” too soon, you’ll have no one left to call for help when you get to the more challenging questions. In a way, I was holding off reaching out for as long as I could, but on the other side of the disaster in the Upper Room, I knew I was in trouble. (Note: This post is part of an ongoing series called  The View From Here . Please follow  this link  and start reading at the oldest post,  Fear and Trembling .) There was plenty of silence when I got home that Sunday afternoon and, judging by the silence that my family offered in retu...

Today is July 24, 2018. This past Sunday morning, during the discussion portion of our service, I extended an invitation for anyone who was looking for a space to talk through our recent conversations about same-sex attraction to join me in the Upper Room. We didn’t make a big deal about it, but put a simple note in the program acknowledging that our conversations around this theme have presented us with some challenging ideas and have led to a mixture of emotions.  We decided to do this because a member of our Staff team had heard from a couple of people who were expressing confusion about where our church was headed and who were hoping to get more clarity. The last thing we wanted to do was continue to let this issue dominate the life of our community, but it was clear there were still pockets of people who had some outstanding questions. The suggestion in our Staff meeting was that if we didn’t provide an opportunity for ongoing dialogue, there was a risk that we would lose...

I’m having trouble falling asleep tonight, but I only have myself to blame for checking my work email on a Friday night. Another family has circulated an email to say that they are leaving. This wasn’t a surprise to me, given some exchanges I’ve had with them over the past few months, but the thing that is frustrating me right now is that they didn’t even respond to the last email I sent their way. Part of what I wrote as I signed off included the following expression of hope: I realize, based on your comments, that the space we are inviting our community into might not be a place where the two of you are willing or able to go. But as you're prayerfully weighing this decision, what I would ask (and perhaps we can pick this up when we connect in person next month) is whether this one issue must override everything else good and wonderful that has defined your relationship with Elevation over the years. (Note: This post is part of an ongoing series called  The View From Here . Please...

July 15, 2018. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve sat down to write. My brother and his family are visiting from South America and I have hit ‘pause’ on just about everything over the past couple of weeks so we can spend as much time as possible with them during the short time they’re here. The last time they travelled to Ontario as a family was three and a half years ago, and that was in the winter, so this time around, we’re doing every summer activity we can think of, giving my niece and nephews as many new experiences as we can. We took them to a beach on one of Ontario’s Great Lakes, took the ferry to Toronto Island before catching a Blue Jays game, and crammed the whole family into a big old house just outside of Niagara Falls for some sightseeing. And that was just the first three days! (Note: This post is part of an ongoing series called  The View From Here . Please follow  this link  and start reading at the oldest post,  Fear and Trembling .) On the day...

Today is Canada Day, 2018. As diverse as our nation is, there is one thing that pretty much all Canadians have in common: we’re proud of our country. Every July 1, the University of Waterloo hosts a giant celebration that has drawn crowds of up to 60,000 people on the sprawling grounds of Columbia Lake. I’ve attended nearly every year for as long as I can remember, and that moment at the end of the night—the one when the fireworks show ends and those tens of thousands of people overflowing with something like a love for everyone around them all get up and walk away from the grounds at the same time under the dark summer sky—is hands down one of my favourite moments of the year.  (Note: This post is part of an ongoing series called  The View From Here . Please follow  this link  and start reading at the oldest post,  Fear and Trembling .) The fact that Canada Day fell on a Sunday this year meant that the number of people in church was about half of what we’d norm...

Speaking on anything less than a good night’s sleep is not ideal; my mind isn’t quite as sharp and my words don’t flow together quite the way they should. So when I stepped onto the platform after the scripture reading this morning, I knew I wasn’t at full capacity and that it was going to be a struggle—and this on a morning when I really couldn’t afford any slippage. People who don’t normally attend church sometimes ask if I get nervous when I speak on Sunday mornings and I always tell them, “No,” which is the truth when you’ve been doing this every week for nearly twenty years. But on a morning like this, I felt like I was doing it for the first time. (Note: This post is part of an ongoing series called  The View From Here . Please follow  this link  and start reading at the oldest post,  Fear and Trembling .) The energy was high and my heart was pumping just a little faster than usual. The church was as full as it has ever been, which was unusual to see at a time ...