Before Paul came to our church in Wichita, KS, all our pastors had been much older, were addressed as "Dr So and So" because they were all highly educated in theology, and were all pretty much unattainable. But when I was in Jr High, we got an associate pastor named Paul. He was cool. He was young and his wife was pretty and they had 3 adorable sons. He was in charge of the youth programs at our church and all of a sudden things were happening around the church with the kids.
I mean, there had always been Sunday School and there had always been a youth group, but now there was Paul and he could play the guitar and so we sang. He taught us tons of songs and we sang outta the fish book, which was a little brown book that had EVERY song in it and sometimes we would sing for almost an hour: "One Tin Soldier," "Puff the Magic Dragon," "Song of the Temerest Union (boom chicka chicka boom chicka chicka boom chicka chicka boom!" and so many more. We knew the page numbers and we'd shout out the song titles and Paul would start in playing and we'd all sing along and his wife knew all the harmonies and things were beautiful.
Paul told us he had struggled: with drugs, with alcohol. He used to be in a rock and roll band, but then Jesus called him into service and he attended seminary and now here he was with us. And it was okay if we weren't perfect because you know what? Neither was Paul and he always let us know about it. And then he knew all the stuff about theology and could help us find the answers and he was so accessible and he showed us where to find the answers in the bible and how to find inspiration in the Epistles and the bible that I couldn't stand to read became my closest friend and companion. I ate, drank, and internalized the Word because I finally understood it as the Living Word.
On a mission trip to Colorado one summer he taught us a song by Amy Grant that she wrote when she was like 12 years old or something:
When the weight of all the world/is resting heavy on my head/and the thoughtful words of help and hope/have all been nicely said/ but I'm still hurting and wondering if I'll ever be the one I think I am/I think I am
Then you gently re-remind me/that you made me from the first/and the more I try to be the best/ the more I get the worse/ and I realize the good in me is always there because of who you are/ who you are
And all I ever have to be is what you made me/ any more or less would be a step out of your plan/ as you daily re-create me help me always keep in mind/ that I only have to do what I can find
And all I ever have to be/ all I ever have to be/ all I ever have to be
is what You made me
And I sang that song through some of the darkest times in my life. I sang it to remind me that I didn't have to be perfect and I didn't have to try to live up to what other people thought I was: I only had to be what God had made me. And I'm still singing that song and trying to figure out what God made me and makes me and I'm learning and growing.
Paul knew me so well. At one special camp fire ceremony at the end of our mission trip to New Mexico where we were living on an Indian Reservation, Paul led a beautiful foot washing and communion service. He went around to each youth and washed their feet, calling them by name and looking them into the eye and loving them. When he got to me he said, "Paula, you are like a bubble -- light and airy and magical -- so fun to watch float around. And when you look closely you can see all the colors that swirl together and make up who you are. But I also know how fragile you are: just like a bubble. And you don't want other people to see that part of you and if you aren't careful you will pop. So don't be afraid to let other people know you're hurting." He knew me almost better than I knew myself because at times I wouldn't even allow myself to feel the hurt of depression or to acknowledge that I wasn't what other people saw. But Paul showed me right there that he knew me and still loved me and that it was possible to be real.
Those words carried me through college and into married life. I have become much more open about my hurts and fragility and I'm much more comfortable with the fact that I'm not perfect.
Because of Paul I entered into Lay Ministry about 10 years ago. I started a youth group at the church my husband and I were attending and I always aspired to treat "my kids" like Paul had treated me. I let the youth know that I was far from perfect and that I had no room to condemn them for bad decisions and wrong turns. I opened my life to them so they could see it was all going to turn out okay.
About 5 years ago I called Paul, who had moved to Colorado to start a new church there. He had a new wife and a new life. I told him how he had inspired me and that I was working with youth and that I still sang the songs he taught me and I thanked him for showing me Jesus' love and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit. I let him know I was considering ministry full time and he warned me that it was a hard road to choose and challenged me to consider I might be right where I'm needed. He wasn't actively preaching at the time I spoke to him because he was doing work with some inner city youth and trying to start some kind of new church. He reminded me that his door was always open and invited us to come stay any time.
But time passing can be a hard thing. Even though I carry so much of Paul's unique ministry with me every day; even though every time I try to illuminate the scriptures to kids I think of Paul and his excitement over the Word; even though there are so many of his "kids" out there pushing on because he was there for us, I guess it wasn't enough for Paul. Sometimes the demons that chase us overtake us. I've been there: so exhausted from ministering to others that I can barely get out of bed in the mornings. So tired from knowing how many people are looking up to me that I can't even see myself. But I start singing the Amy Grant song and I think of Jesus' love for me as shown to me by Paul and I push on. And God always manages to send me inspiration and food for the road.
Last week Paul and his new wife were found dead in their bed from a drug overdose. They were buried on Monday. Last I heard was that it was a suspected double suicide.
I'm struggling today. I'm struggling and hurting in places I didn't even know I could still hurt. As much physical pain as I have been in lately, it is nothing compared to the emotional disaster that I am right now. It isn't shaking my faith: my faith is rock solid. But it scares me so much because we are all too human. We are all so close to failure and to giving up that sometimes all we need is a little push to one side and it's all over. The demons that chase us are close on our heels and we know it.
This fall was the first time in 10 years that I wasn't preparing a curriculum for youth ministry. I quit during the summer because I was feeling so incredibly useless and imperfect. I struggled so much with depression last year I figured I had no place working with Youth. They needed someone stronger, someone who had a hold of themselves and didn't sometimes feel like just giving up.
But I forgot that is what made Paul so appealing to us. He always let us know that life wasn't perfect and neither was he, but God loved him and Jesus died for him and so he kept going.
I'm not sure what to do with this. I vascillate between utter disbelief and overwhelming pain. But things are changing for me. I'm slowly and suddenly realizing that no matter how worthless I feel about myself, there is someone out there who is pushing on because I took the time to care. Knowing how Paul's death is affecting me and the thousands of others whose lives he touched makes me want to keep going, to "keep passing the open windows."
And I'll keep on singing:
all I ever have to be
is what You made me.
10:07:49 AM 
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