I wish this was an April fool’s joke, but alas it is not. After months of:

• Preparation
• Soul searching
• Wrangling with God
• Baring my soul to complete strangers
• Flying halfway around the country to be assessed as a church planter
• Writing thousands of words explaining my theology, life, and marriage
• Developing a vision for Eternity

After all that, I have been told I cannot be a pastor. And I can’t tell you how distraught I am. I didn’t want to share it on the blog, but I felt like I had to. Here’s how it went down:

Tuesday night, my wife and I were discussing some relocation plans and housing thoughts, when from the living room my four year old son joined in the conversation. I shared with my wife excited and nauseous I was about the thought of being a lead pastor. That’s when it all went downhill because I was informed by my little guy with these words:

Dad, you CAN’T be a pastor!

I was crushed. Hurt. Confused. I didn’t know how to respond. The only words I could manage were to ask him “Why?” His cruel answer said in the most condescending of tones:

Because you don’t live at Pastor Lane’s house!

The world is a cruel place my friends. I searched Scripture through and through on the qualifications of an elder, and I had no idea that residing with Lane Harrison was one of them. Apparently it was inserted around the time of the Reformation. Life can take some pretty mean twists.