My man C.S. Lewis wrote, “the great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s ‘own,’ or ‘real’ life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life — the life God is sending one day by day.” I have found Lewis’ words incredibly meaningful over the last several weeks of my sabbatical, which have been filled with what I’ve affectionately come to call, holy disruptions.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned during this time away, it’s this: the Lord uses seasons of rest to expose the soul through the surprise of providence.

ANTICIPATION
By God’s grace, I’ve served in pastoral ministry for the last twelve years. It’s been one of the great joys of my life. During that time, the Lord has carried our church through everything from replanting, the COVID-19 pandemic, and countless other ordinary hardships.

One of the greater challenges has been shepherding our congregation alone. While I realize many churches and traditions wouldn’t necessarily find that strange — a solo shepherd — I am convinced that Christ intends His church to be led by a plurality of elders (Titus 1; 1 Peter 5). Because of that conviction, I delayed taking a sabbatical for years. However, that’s not to say I never received time off, but it was always rhythmic, brief, and with the intention of returning quickly. Long ago, I decided I would only step away for an extended sabbatical once the Lord provided additional elders to help shepherd our church.

Year after year, that prayer remained at the forefront of my mind as leaders were developed, deacons affirmed, and men entered our pastoral residency, sincerely discerning a call to ministry, only to learn the Lord was leading them elsewhere. On one hand, it seems like our residency was accomplishing exactly what it was designed to do — helping men discern whether they were truly called. On the other hand, each departure carried another measure of disappointment.

Then, the Lord, in His providence, answered our prayer earlier this year as our church affirmed our newest elder. It was such a great celebration for our congregation and, if I’m honest, an enormous relief for me! For the first time in a long time, I no longer felt as though I was carrying the weight of pastoral ministry alone.

One of our first conversations was about creating space for me to step away — to rest, recalibrate, and then re-enter ministry healthily. It was such a gift to me from our church and gratefully received. Graciously, I was given 12-weeks and being the architect that I am, I immediately began planning. The sabbatical would unfold in three phases. First, I assembled a small sabbatical care team — men who would speak into my plans, offer wisdom, prayer, and serve as representatives for our church should questions arise.

Second, I would prepare the congregation by explaining the purpose and nature of the sabbatical.

Third came the plan itself: spending most of the summer at home, traveling with Rebecca for a few weeks, a solo retreat, and meeting with a counselor while away. Part of me resonated with a pastor David Murray quotes in ReSet: “My ministry had become a shell without a heart, a matter of endless duties without joy. I was standing up every Sunday telling God’s people true things, good things. But they were no longer things that I lived on personally. It was my job.”

While I couldn’t fully identify with his burnout, I certainly sympathized with much of what he described. The timing couldn’t have seemed more perfect. Everything was on track, planned well, and ready for execution. And then the sabbatical started…and so did everything else.

A HUMBLING REALITY
I began this sabbatical with the intention of simplicity. I wanted to reorganize my office, spend more time with Rebecca, take my solo retreat and hike through the Texas Hill Country, and visit a few new breweries. Then week one arrived. Our water heater failed. Thankfully, we had money set aside for unexpected expenses. A few days later, we discovered electrical issues in the house. The emergency funds were still holding!

Week two brought something entirely different. I was called out of sabbatical due to the moral failing of a pastor-friend within our church planting network. It shook our staff and the rest of our network churches. The following days were filled with grief, prayer, and processing.

Once I stepped away, Rebecca and I thought resting would begin until she ate seafood and suddenly broke out in hives from her ankles to her neck and needed steroid treatment to reduce inflammation, itching, and irritation. Simultaneously, our son got a job in the DFW which was an answer to prayer, but it also meant he needed to move during the week of my solo-retreat.

It seemed like it was one thing after another. We weren’t discouraged exactly. Maybe disheartened. Then, on the second day of my retreat, my son’s truck broke down. Thankfully, being a great mechanic, he was able to bring it to life and join me in the Hill Country for a day in order to ensure his truck was good to go for the remainder of his trip, and most significantly, we got to spend time together before the start of his career. Once he was on the road the following morning and arrived in McKinney, TX safely, I was officially on vacation. Let the hiking begin!

The next day, my truck broke down. Two days later, the truck was repaired and Rebecca joined me in the Hill Country. “This is it,” we thought. We were excited about our time away, not to mention an adventure to Big Bend National Park only for Rebecca to receive a call and learn that her car was taken to the Subaru dealership due to transmission issues.

No worries, however. We had my truck — until it stalled again.

At that point, we made the difficult decision to come home two weeks early to get everything repaired on our vehicles with what we had saved for our trip away. It made sense — get everything fixed so we don’t have to worry about this in the future, but still, there was the discouragement of yet another expense hitting us in the face. And believe it or not, there’s more! But I’m sure you get the point.

Here’s why I share all of this. As meticulously as I had planned this sabbatical, I came to learn two things.

First, I must confess, I saw sabbatical as more of an escape instead of an invitation to rest in Christ. I didn’t want to admit this. Each interruption was a blow to my personal kingdom and plans. I wanted to get away, but not draw near. I was reminded of Travis West’s book, The Sabbath Way, where he writes that the Sabbath “is to invite disruption.” That small line hit harder this season.

Second, the Lord used disruptions to not only humble me, but minister to me. Holy disruptions became the primary vehicle the Great Shepherd shepherded my own heart.

While I was consumed with getting to the “next thing” — the next place, the next hike, the next vacation, the next moment where I would finally rest — I failed to hear the Jesus’ invitation, “Come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.”

I was chasing a place on sabbatical, but I had forgotten that the sabbath is about a Person.

ORDINARY PROVIDENCE
At first, frustration and discouragement seemed to be the defining themes of this sabbatical. Yet, with every disruption, the Lord gently reminded me that while I was fixated on what wasn’t happening, He was quietly at work in what was. For the sake of brevity, allow me three examples.

First, although Rebecca and I were disappointed that our adventures had to be postponed, we still received an entire week together away. We slept in, drank coffee together, and read and discussed the Word daily in ways that we hadn’t in months. And even with my not-so-reliable truck, it had enough juice to take us into town everyday for a date. The Lord gave me the gift of dating my wife again.

Second (and I’ll write more about this one later), I wasn’t able to be home on my son’s last day in McAllen, but I ended up getting an entire day with him in the Hill Country where after he fixed his truck, I cooked us lunch and then visited a brewery, playing UNO for hours. When morning came, I received a gift that I thought I’d never have again as a dad. I was up with him at 4:30 a.m. fixing him lunch and brewing coffee for the road. It was like packing his lunch for school when he was in elementary all over again. As I watched and blessed him as he drove away, I realized the Lord had given me the gift of one more ordinary morning with Chango.

Third, despite every disruption, I spent time in the Word every day, being with Jesus. Only a few weeks earlier, the exhaustion of ministry had quietly eroded that consistency. Yet, in the middle of water heaters, vehicle repairs, canceled plans, and unexpected expenses, the Lord drew me near. The Lord gave me the gift of Himself.

As I look back, what once felt like a collection of frustrating disruptions now seem remarkably different. They weren’t random inconveniences, but reminders of God’s ordinary providence. While I was preoccupied with my plans, He disrupted them and was inviting me to notice the gifts that He was giving.

In many ways, that’s how providence works — it’s rarely spectacular, usually pretty ordinary, and almost always easier to recognize in hindsight.

FINAL THOUGHTS
We’ve been home for a few weeks and thankfully, both of vehicles (and everything else) has been taken care of. Ironically, we’ve rested more in the last few weeks than we did at the start of all of this. I don’t think it was because the start of this sabbatical lacked moments of joy or tranquility, but because somewhere along the way, the Lord began to change my understanding of rest.

The thing is, sometimes God’s providence is revealed through extraordinary moments, but more often it’s revealed through ordinary disruptions. In either case, He is accomplishing His purposes for His glory and our good.

With all of this being said, here’s what I leave you with —

First, the sabbath is more than rest, it’s about a Person. What if, when Jesus said, that He came not to be served, but to serve (Matthew 20:28), He meant it? What if Sabbath is one of the ways Jesus continues to minister to His people — not because we’ve accomplished so much to deserve it, but because He delights in caring for weary sheep? Rest isn’t just a command, but a gift to receive. St. Benedict wrote, “the first step to humility is obedience without delay.” Do not delay in resting.

Second, in my case, the Lord chose to use disruption as a means of grace. Every broken plan exposed something in my heart, every inconvenience became an invitation to trust Him a little more, and every interruption reminded me that His kingdom was more important that my carefully curated one. Maybe He will use disruptions in your life. Maybe He won’t. He probably will. The question, however, isn’t whether your plans will be interrupted, but whether you’ll be quiet enough to consider His providential care.

Third, David Benner writes, “the single most important thing I have leanred in over thirty years of study of how love produces healing is that love is transformational only when it is received in vulnerability.” I think that’s true. This sabbatical exposed places in my heart that still preferred control over surrender, escape over communion, and carefully crafted plans over daily dependence. Again, Benner writes, “relying on the will to make things happen keeps us focused on the self.” The Lord dismantled those illusions — not to shame me, but shepherd me.

As Father Cavanaugh, in the film Rudy explained, “there is a God and I am not Him.” Neither am I. Looking back, I realize the disruptions weren’t getting in the way of my sabbatical, they were my sabbatical. The Lord wasn’t keeping me from rest, but teaching me where true rest is found.

My man, C.S. Lewis was right — “the great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s ‘own,’ or ‘real’ life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life — the life God is sending one day by day.”

Perhaps the Lord is using disruptions today to expose your soul through the surprise of providence. Don’t be too quick to wish them away — they might just be the place with Christ intends to meet you.