It’s one thing when I get ghosted by someone on the street, or an ex, or a “seasonal” friend that I “self-prophesied” would not stick around. But when “you” ghosted me, it hit different.

I hear people use the excuse “that’s why I don’t go to church” as if the barfly they met last night would never leave them (just a joke because I’m sure they would not). However, we have standards. But the difference was I ran with you, cried with you, worshipped with you, prayed, even “tried to rap” but not well with you. We had dinners, worked services, talked for hours on the phone, and then as quick as you came in my life, you were gone.

I knew so much about you and loved you. You knew so much about me, you could speak my testimony for me on a stage lol. I get a text here and there and hear from others you are doing well. Every week I am asked by someone who assumed we were close how you are. They, like me, wrongly assumed my position with you. I thought I was positionally aligned in an important role in your life. However, you ghosted me. I hear it is because you were told to limit all conversations, stop all groups you led, think before you respond, as your new advisors have recommended this for your growth.

And as much as I cheer your endeavors to grow, I will never forget that bubbly energy of a woman that rolled through my home the day I met her. She was not only a businesswoman and, a mom, but also a fitness entrepreneur. She was a friend, an inspiration, and she was on fire. So many followed her lead and an entire team was formed due to her inspiration. She made waves, and young and old adored her every step. When you walked away, you left carnage. Because anything not done with sobriety creates devastation to hearts.

I watched you make quick cryptic decisions when things weren’t happening quick enough. Jobs, cars, healing. G-O-N-E. You didn’t give it time. I’m no different. People can say the exact same about me. We have PHD’s in others, but GED’s in ourselves. People watching. I’m never mad and will forever love your ghost. I’m praying one day, I get you back.

Same with me.-hm

I sat in the room and I was nervous. I had the feeling all week this was coming and I had a small comfort and a peace, yet I was very scared inside my heart. I was ready for the letdown. It was far from my first. I talked small talk with someone 20 years my younger. I knew I was about to be asked to step down by this young man and this was hard.

I thought back to my first year as a deputy and calling my father over and over. I was getting my 5th write-up. He kept telling me to thank them for the discipline, not quit, and keep my head up. I was overcome with sorrow. I kept failing. Maybe I could make straight A’s, but I had no common sense. I would never catch on. I was beginning to give up. My dad said to keep going. I had already discharged my weapon with over 16 rounds on a bull within my first week on a Superbowl Sunday and managed to get in a full foot pursuit with an escapee after my face was beat in. My track record was awful and I was a walking paper trail.

I was 2 1/2 hours from my family and alone. I was scared but mostly scared to fail. On my days off, I would spend it, driving the roadways to help me memorize them, listening to the police radio, studying flashcards for signals and codes, shoot at the range as I was not a “gun” person, but I was beginning to think I may just not be cut out. I had a desire but maybe my critics were all right about me.

Twenty-five years later, here I sat. I had once watched my dad lose his dream. People crushed him. He chose his kids over their opinions. I respected that. He also taught me failure could be a gift because, in the end, it is your response that matters. I’m not going to leave a half marathon when it gets hard, or there is an obstacle. I trained too hard to check out. I will keep going. The same thing my dad was teaching me when I was a new deputy. I worked too hard to check out when I was disciplined. Right or wrong, keep going.

The lesson is the response. Failure was a gift, because twenty-five years later, when I again received hurt in my life, I again didn’t quit. I thanked them for their insight. I imagined how hard it was for them to sit across from me. I love them and it is okay. As the door closed behind me, God gave me peace that other doors would indeed open. I don’t need a big stage but sometimes the audience of one.

I thank God every day for His correction. He is the one I ultimately answer to, but I respectfully honor those to whom come to me as God calls us to be humble. It is our pride that causes us to not accept discipline, chastise, or direction. I always want accountability in my life and I am thankful that people care enough about me to love me. I won’t explain the why as I’m not called to. I did go home that day and I slept and I cried. Im human. However, I got back up and kept at the calling I have for my life. Failure is never final.

I could never choose the right category for people. I would meet someone and immediately box them into a “kingdom friendship” (a lifer). However, I was inappropriately categorizing this person. They were an assignment. They were merely seasonal. You don’t share trade secrets, vent, or give insider information to an assignment, yet I did. Then I would watch appalled as the assignment would turn into an assassin, over and over. This is because I miscategorized an assignment.

Some came along as bait. I thought they were kingdom. They would hook me. I would get pulled away or caught up in a king-size fishing net. Then came distractions and I would lack the discernment to categorize them appropriately. I would fall hook, line, sinker. CATCH. FAIL. Oh, what a great fall. Another lack. If I could appropriately categorize those entering my life and not assume everyone was a love interest, I would not have had the challenges I had. I found that most of my problems were self-inflicted, brought on by myself because I lacked boundaries. My greatest weakness was what some may say was my greatest strength, but they did not know my heart. God did.

I had firefighters. I chose not to use them. Instead, I let the wrong people ravage my life with characteristics, ethics, morals, and beliefs that did not match my own. I would be led down hallways to slaughterhouses that the flame of my heart would be so heavily singed. Similar to childhood prey, the humiliation of decisions I made was continually profoundly lacking I had nowhere to turn or to tell. My uniform I wore well but could not stand the heat or the flammable substances I would subject myself to over and over. My helmet, no matter how tight, would not protect my mind from the shame, screams, or taunts that I would project upon myself for the misfortunes I would cause. I was my own tortured chamber. I set the fires, lit the flames, brought the wood, and sat back and watched my life burn to shreds. I seemingly watched myself die inside. All to chase a like, a validation from someone non-important. Why?

To some, the burn is worth the heat. We have only known heat and burn our entire lives and we don’t believe God will give us a life without fire. Instead of waiting on God to give us a life of a cloud to lead in the front and a fire to follow at night, we step in the way and sabotage before He can deliver our no. Let us have discernment and sober-minded lives. Let’s let everyone become an assignment, then, if God wants them to be more, fire it up!

Source: Jerry Flowers sermon on Firefighters

This is an example post, originally published as part of Blogging University. Enroll in one of our ten programs, and start your blog right.

You’re going to publish a post today. Don’t worry about how your blog looks. Don’t worry if you haven’t given it a name yet, or you’re feeling overwhelmed. Just click the “New Post” button, and tell us why you’re here.

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The post can be short or long, a personal intro to your life or a bloggy mission statement, a manifesto for the future or a simple outline of your the types of things you hope to publish.

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You’re not locked into any of this; one of the wonderful things about blogs is how they constantly evolve as we learn, grow, and interact with one another — but it’s good to know where and why you started, and articulating your goals may just give you a few other post ideas.

Can’t think how to get started? Just write the first thing that pops into your head. Anne Lamott, author of a book on writing we love, says that you need to give yourself permission to write a “crappy first draft”. Anne makes a great point — just start writing, and worry about editing it later.

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