How Crashing My Car Into the Church Changed My Faith Forever
A Story of Wounds, Healing, and Leaving Ministry Behind
I own a 15-year-old Toyota that just won’t die, in spite of my neglect. Since I am not in the habit of buying a new car until the old one has broken beyond all repair, the old Toyota sits forlornly in our backyard as our spare vehicle for occasions when our three kids need to go in four different directions at the same time.
However, my wife refuses, point-blank to drive it because down the right-hand side of the vehicle is an enormous great gash that might cause one to assume that the driver of this vehicle is prone to accidents. The bumper hangs a little lower on one side than the other, but the gaff tape is holding firm at this stage. My makeshift repair job does not satisfy my wife’s fear of judgment at the hands of the other school moms.
Therefore, whenever we require two vehicles at once, I am consigned to the old wreck in the backyard while my wife zooms off in the air-conditioned comfort of our more modern SUV.
The car crash
The story of how the old Toyota came to be in such poor condition harkens back to a time when I was employed as a pastor in a local church. It was a Saturday morning when, rather than spending my time enjoying…
