I am back in the game after the weekend in Denver.
In the interest of moving the story line along, I am going to skip the section about integrating a painful situation back into your timeline. This truncated vacation was hardly a trauma big enough to fracture my timeline, plus you can get that info later when Megan’s book comes out.
Moving on, we get to what is really the core of the matter.
Burlington, Ontario seems to have an anointing for revelation. Some of the team members had unusual visitations during the night watches both nights we were there, with high amount of new insights from God. It was really cool.
One of the team said that God revealed that I had a curse on my time which cycled every fifteen and a half years. That means that this year, when I am 62 years old, I am at the fourth iteration of the cycle. Their sense was that the Algonquin trip was going to have a huge role to play in breaking the old curse and releasing something huge for me.
It was with that superlative expectation that I left, with hope on top of joy.
Then things didn’t quite soar and I came home, circling around that. I was hugely discouraging, feeling as though I had botched something critical and significantly re-empowered the curse. My first step was to break it down and see if I could figure out the pattern.
15.5 was when I came to the States for my senior year of high school. I was pretty good at building bird traps, navigating the sand bars at low tide, running the pump when the water tank was low, and quoting Scripture. I didn’t know a doggone thing about the Beatles, yellow submarines, Puff the Magic Dragon, football, baseball, basketball, dating, necking, petting, weed, Mustangs, glass packs or laying scratch. Oh, and I wasn’t very good at English, geometry, drafting, lunch time or PE. I also had no clue how those girls produced bee hive hairdos. Or why they would want to.
At 31 I was the 8th senior pastor in nine years at a particular church. That was the year we had the church split. Once again, I brought a lot to the table, but it was as irrelevant as bringing snow shoes to a church potluck in Florida.
At 46 and a half, I was involved with a parachurch ministry, and again what I had was devalued and there was unholy war between me and the leader because I would not give what he wanted because I felt he needed something else.
And now I am 62.
There are several layers here, but I realized that the peaks were accompanied by a huge number of other situations where my best was worthless because I had the wrong resource in the wrong place.
I started to circle around that, trying to figure out what happened. Then I realized I really needed to feel it before I understood it. So I spent about three days reliving a seemingly endless stream of experiences where my best was not only not good enough, my best was spectacularly irrelevant in every way, shape or form.
It turns out that THIS was a monstrous emotional waste dump that needed massive bandwidth to process. So I grimly scrolled through every imaginable sector of my life finding the same old song and dance in every imaginable key of music.
It was staggering.
Copyright August 2016 by Arthur Burk
From the Hub