ENDURING EFFECTS

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 162

Here’s a hard-hitting question to kick off our time: If you could repeat your worst day, week, or year—the absolute lowest point of your life—would you do it?

Think of the pain you endured and the residual repercussions of that trauma. Knowing what you know now, would you hit rewind and play the tape again? Don't answer yet. We’ll circle back to that at the end. (I’m "winging" this one as I go, so I’m asking for a bit of latitude and grace.)

Decades ago, my wife and I were Amway groupies. Well, let’s be honest: I was the groupie. I spent my nights hoping and praying to be one of those "Diamonds" walking across the big stage.

You can hear the music in the back of your head, can't you? BAA-DA-DAAA! BAA-DA-DAAA! The "Rocky" theme starts pumping, the crowd goes wild, and the heroes of the night—Jason in his tux and Danielle in her evening gown—step into the limelight to the thunderous applause of thousands of dreamers.

For the longest time, that was "the dream." Then God got ahold of me and changed the trajectory of my life. With every pun and all respect intended: Thank God. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming or taking your shot in an MLM, but my path was headed elsewhere.

In those days, the leaders at the top of the pyramid always talked about the benefits of residual income. Their pitch was simple: "Bust your butt now; show the plan five nights a week, and in three years you’ll have a legacy that lasts for generations." It sounds great in theory, provided you're willing to sacrifice everything to make it happen.

I want to shift gears, but let’s keep that concept of "the residuals" in mind.

Many of you are familiar with the trauma my family endured during our time at St. Paul’s Toledo. While the memories remain, the sharp sting of the pain has vanished. God brought us through a season of deep healing, but while the storm was overhead—and even after it passed—it took significant time to clean the mess in our souls and pick up the pieces.

At the center of that mess were other people—members of the church. These were devoted Christians, but many were men and women who had endured their own traumas and didn't know how to process them. As hurting people often do, they deflected their pain and hurt others. We just happened to be in the bullseye.

Four years later, in the throes of COVID-19, I finally felt healed enough to tell my story without breaking down. I posted a video on YouTube. It’s been almost six years since then; my channel hasn't "exploded," and I’ve never gone viral, yet that one video is viewed multiple times every single week. The stories I hear back from viewers are incredibly moving.

Comfort as a Legacy: This evening, another viewer shared his story with me, and I was reminded of the words the Apostle Paul wrote to the Christians in Corinth:

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort. He comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any kind of affliction, through the comfort we ourselves receive from God... If we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings that we suffer." — 2 Corinthians 1:3–6 

Tonight, I’m thankful God brought me through a time of healing so that the comfort I received could overflow to others. I recorded that video once, but its effects? They are residual. It has reached thousands of people who needed to hear they aren't alone.

So, I’ll ask you again: Would you do it all again, pain and all?

Personally, I’d have to answer: Yes. The pain sucked. I won't lie about that. But had we not gone through it, 12,000 people might not have been comforted, and I wouldn’t be the man I am today.

Thank you, Lord, for every moment—even the "sucky" ones. Thank you for helping me endure the days of travail and for writing a story that allows others to find their own healing. May the legacy of comfort continue, from one person to the next.