I went back and read the birthday essay I wrote last year and was struck by just how optimistic my outlook on the year ahead seemed to be. It was the epitome of looking at the glass half full despite my typical proclivity to the contrary. I chose to focus on what was good in my life. It was an especially difficult choice because at that time I was in the middle of some painful and uncertain circumstances. But even in the midst of those events I can remember thinking to myself, “Well, at least things can’t get any worse.” Of that I was wrong.

I will remember the year between my twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth birthdays as the most difficult and most formative year of my life up to that point. It was a year when I came face to face with my demons, my idols, and my savior, none of whom seemed to want to leave me alone. Throughout 2011 I found myself becoming increasingly distraught with disillusionment, losing any sense of direction and understanding of my life that I’d had prior. I experienced God’s discipline and his faithfulness; I found him to be true to his word in ways I’d previously only read about. He fought for me even when all I could do was wait and hope he would come through.

I wish I could say this all caught me by surprise, but the irony is I knew it was coming in one form or another. I’ve written numerous times about wanting to live a life that would make a great story, recognizing that great stories always have a character motivated to attain some sort of goal and willing to overcome any and all conflict in order to achieve it. I have desires both big and small that I’ve been moving toward for the last several years. I knew that as my goals became greater the obstacles in the way would likewise intensify. But I often thought of myself as bulletproof and the resources at my disposal as both abundant and strong. I thought I could outwit, outplan, or overpower anything in the way. I knew my weaknesses, or so I thought, and could find ways to compensate for them.

What I’ve been shown the past fifteen months is that I’m actually quite fragile. I’ve watched as my body seemed to betray me in inexplicable and ever more creative ways. Between two chronic infirmaties, one old and one new, I spent more days in doctor’s offices in 2011 than any year before it. It wasn’t only physical pain that afflicted me. I allowed my heart to be devestated over an unrealized relationship by failing to guard it at all. Even worse, I refused to take the blame for that dereliction. In the months that followed I compounded the problem when, out of a sense of humiliation and bitterness, I became very ugly toward this woman and others as well. Murphy’s Law seemed to haunt me as my home was twice burgled. My job as a property manager led to several 20-hour days over the summer. To top it all off I lost ministry donors, bringing my funding lower than it had ever been.

A straw could have broken this camel’s back, but God chose instead to use a two-by-four.

I know now what it is to have to choose to believe the Word of God is true even when it doesn’t feel like it is, when circumstances don’t seem to indicate that he’s still there. He used passages like Psalm 119:65-72 to assure me that this season had a purpose. After so many years of living out of my own strength at a breakneck pace with no margin for error I finally experienced burnout, to the extent that I needed to run away from the world for a week to try to reattain equilibrium. This year God dropped the hammer on me. He wanted my full and undivided attention, and he got it.

Last year I wrote about how excited I was to live my story in community. I wanted to share in the adventure of my life with other people. I could not have conceived of just how vital the closest people in my life would soon become. I experienced what Proverbs 17:17 and Proverbs 18:24 espouse. “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity. [...] A man of many companions may come to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.”

It was the people willing to extend friendship to me even when I had little to offer in return who kept me sane, who helped nudge me toward hope and perspective. I had incredible roommates—Zack, Tyler, and Peter (plus Bryan, who for better or worse often seemed like a roommate). I had the men of Old Man Breakfast, particularly the two regulars Austin and Shaun. I had my friends from the Wildwood Young Professionals who week-in week-out prayed for me. And perhaps most unexpectedly I had Kathy who, at the risk of her own heart, put up with my whining for months, long before we started dating. I know my parents were in my corner the whole way too, even though it was from afar and often behind the scenes. I am truly blessed to have such great friends and family in my life.

I may be wrong, but it has seemed like God brought that challenging season to a close with the arrival of 2012. My health has improved, though not everything has quite returned to normal. My heart has healed, so much so that I’ve been willing to risk it again. Regarding the pace of my life and how I use my time God has given me very specific direction from Luke 13:6-9. I admit I’ve applied it outside of its original context, but the idea remains consistent.

And he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came seeking fruit on it and found none. And he said to the vinedresser, ‘Look, for three years now I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and I find none. Cut it down. Why should it use up the ground?’ And he answered him, ‘Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and put on manure. Then if it should bear fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”

You see, in the midst of all this turmoil I’ve flirted with the idea of throwing in the towel, of uprooting (no pun intended) from my present life and completely starting over somewhere else, doing something else, finding new people to live life with. But Jesus the vinedresser has presuaded me not to. But he hasn’t said to stay the course and hope for the best; changes need to be made. In the parable we see the owner exhorted to allow the vinedresser to dig around the tree and lay down fertilizer. Special attention to the cause is required. We’ll make an effort to yield the growth you’re hoping for.

So, to that end I’m making changes. My ministry with college students will soon look very different than it has the last five years. I’ll soon leave my property management job (though in fairness I had planned to do that anyway). In the near future I’ll be pulling away from leadership roles in my church for a season. I’m focusing more attention to my health, both physical and spiritual. I’ve begun to pursue goals I’ve had for my writing that out of ambivalence I’ve allowed to be shelved (one of which is a new tech blog). And as you might imagine, the change I’m most expectant of is having more time to give to the woman I’m dating.

The parable of the fig tree doesn’t conclude with how these fresh efforts turn out. That’s a little scary. It could be that the fig tree still produced nothing, or it could be that it exploded with fruit. Maybe uprooting the tree is the right idea, but maybe not. Knowing ahead of time the outcome of the undertaking isn’t the point. The original meaning was to offer the Jews another chance to enter into what God was doing through the ministry of Jesus. I’m giving my present course another chance as well while making specifc changes to aid in laying hold of the desires of my heart. I’m not sure what will come of that decision. It’s another faith adventure, another chance to trust God. That’s life the only way I want to live it. I still want to live a great story, now more than ever. It would be a shame to have gone through so much only to give up now.

This post is part of an ongoing series of birthday essays. Each year since I began blogging I have written a reflective personal essay on April 3.

Turning 28 was originally published on Andrew Ledwith's blog.
© 2004-2011 Andrew Ledwith. All rights reserved.

My girlfriend and I are Facebook official as of this morning. Preparing for an absurd number of notifications and awkward well-wishes.

— Andrew Ledwith (@jaledwith) March 29, 2012

Here’s something truly wild about today, at least from where I stand. One year ago to the day my heart experienced some of the worst girl-related hurt it had ever felt.¹ At the time I didn’t know how I’d ever get over that.

Oh, if only that me could see me now.

What a Difference a Year Makes was originally published on Andrew Ledwith's blog.
© 2004-2011 Andrew Ledwith. All rights reserved.

Kyle Hettema at Torreya State Park.

Feats of Daring: Kyle Hettema was originally published on Andrew Ledwith's blog.
© 2004-2011 Andrew Ledwith. All rights reserved.

My roommate Zack just celebrated his 26th birthday yesterday. My friend Tyler and I put together a surprise birthday party for him. Zack is a total health nut and would never eat an actual cake. So in an effort to honor him on his birthday we put a bunch of broccoli in a baking pan, then stuck 26 candles in it. He couldn’t stop laughing.

Photo by Bryan Zhang.

Zack’s Broccoli Birthday Cake was originally published on Andrew Ledwith's blog.
© 2004-2011 Andrew Ledwith. All rights reserved.

On the night of Novemeber 12 I received the following two pictures from my old roommate Tyler.

Apparently someone thought it would be fun to take batting practice using their mailbox. I meant to share these photos right when I got home from Kentucky but it slipped my mind.

When I came home the tenants—Sara, Whitney, and Joy—told me they didn’t really need a replacement, that even though the thing looked terrible it still worked. But last week they asked for a replacement. So that’s how I spent my Saturday morning.

Not too shabby looking in my humble opinion. Thus ends my latest monotonous adventure as a property manager.

You’ve Got Mailbox was originally published on Andrew Ledwith's blog.
© 2004-2011 Andrew Ledwith. All rights reserved.

I went on an eight-day personal retreat in Kentucky earlier this month. Half the fun of the trip was that I was there all by myself, but I’d still like to give you a quick tour of the great cabin I stayed in.

My Kentucky Cabin was originally published on Andrew Ledwith's blog.
© 2004-2011 Andrew Ledwith. All rights reserved.

Oh to have better words, higher thoughts, purer motives, stronger restraint, fiercer courage, enduring peace, tireless hope & requited love.

— Andrew Ledwith (@jaledwith) August 12, 2011

The future is full of possibilities and opportunities. The question becomes, how will I get where I’d like to go? How do you live a life on purpose? Is that even possible? What will I have to sacrifice? What am I willing to endure?

Who will come with me?

Wanting More was originally published on Andrew Ledwith's blog.
© 2004-2011 Andrew Ledwith. All rights reserved.

But here on my blog I always find a way to turn someone else’s big news into something about me. It’s just the way I roll.

Hear me out; I’m not just being narcissistic. Over the past three and a half years I’ve watched four of my then-roommates — Kyle, JD, Joe and Aaron — get engaged while I lived with them. As you might imagine, this has become a bit of a running joke amongst my friends. New roommates are warned that it’s simply a consequence of living with me, that they don’t stand a chance. I distinctly remember Aaron scoffing at the notion when he moved in. Ha! Pwned. (And he’s not complaining.)

Variations of this joke have turned up in some interesting places.

While these four friends seemingly can attest to my incidental, unintentional powers of projected persuasion, this narrative seems to be changing. As close as I am to Rob and Shaun I never lived with either of them. In fact, I once turned down an opportunity to live with both of them as their third roommate. Clearly they didn’t need my help whatsoever.

Furthermore, the astute observer will notice that my two current roommates — one whom I’ve lived with for 15 months, the other for 1 year — are each still single. Now, one of them is single because he’s terrible (his words… and mine) and the other suffers from multiple personality disorder. Still, despite these obstacles I’ve failed to live up to expectations.

Perhaps my time has come and gone. I’m okay with it.

Your Powers are Weak, Old Man was originally published on Andrew Ledwith's blog.
© 2004-2011 Andrew Ledwith. All rights reserved.

But I’m also someone who craves the genuine approval of others. Disapproval, dismissal, and token praise have been like death to me in the past. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve been difficult to get to know all through my life. I don’t want to let you know the real me because that might mean you’d reject me.

As with most conferences there were evaluation forms to be filled out at the end of our time together. I was sitting at the registration desk waiting for the final session to begin when my eye spotted the two stacks of completed evaluations. I couldn’t help myself. I had to know what people thought of my presentation.

The evaluations were not anonymous. I knew exactly who rated me positively and who gave me average marks. Most of my attendees gave me 3s or 3.5s on a scale from 1 to 5. Three other participants marked me at 4 and 5, but the majority of my listeners thought I was average or just slightly better than that. Two of my coworkers and a man who didn’t even attend gave me 5s. I give my coworkers the benefit of the doubt, that they each gave me a 5 because they genuinely thought I deserved it. But my typical gut reaction to situations like this would be to assume someone I work with would feel obligated to give me a good mark.

But here’s the funny thing. After going through all the evaluations I felt nothing. My real reaction was, “Meh.” I’m telling you, this is the sort of thing that used to drive me right into the ground. Average might be good enough for some, but it’s never been good enough for me. But this time it was different. I just didn’t care. Not in a prideful way, as if I think I’m better than them or something. And not because I care less about the quality of what I produce. I simply found today, quite to my surprise, that my security and identity didn’t depend upon others’ approval of me or my work.

In April when I taught the FSU Navigators about finding an identity in Christ I told them that I still struggled with the concept on a day-to-day basis, in a way in which I could really lay hold of its truth in my heart, and that I probably would face that struggle for the rest of my life. But I think I may have sold God short in those statements. It’s still true to say that I deal with these issues all the time, but it’s also true that the Holy Spirit has been at work in my life, sanctifying me through the Word, prayer, and the input of my spiritual peers, mentors, and disciples. I don’t underscore that enough.

I am not the same man I used to be. A lot of days I forget that. I am glad for days like today when God reminds me of what He’s been doing all along.

And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. ~ 1 Thessalonians 1:6

When You Realize Things Have Changed was originally published on Andrew Ledwith's blog.
© 2004-2011 Andrew Ledwith. All rights reserved.

I had to make two trips to get everything upstairs. First I brought up the suit I planned to wear to the wedding which I had hanging up in the back seat. Once it was in the room I went back down for my suitcase and messenger bag. As I walked back up I noticed that someone had hung some of their laundry over the outdoor railing. Strange. I proceeded to my room where I crashed to sleep.

The next morning when I went downstairs for breakfast I saw that those clothes were still hung up outside. I began to wonder if their owner had forgotten about them or maybe even purposefully abandoned them for some reason. My mind works like that, inventing narratives for the minutiae I encounter day to day. Upon coming back from breakfast I saw that the clothes in question were now folded awkwardly in a heap next to the door of one of the motel rooms. Had the owner claimed them? Or was housekeeping getting ready to put them in the lost and found? My over-active imagination enjoyed this twist.

After spending the morning and early afternoon at a local coffee shop and pizza place I went back to my room to get changed for the wedding. I have this irrational fear about being late to weddings. I hate the idea of walking in as everyone is expecting the bride to walk in. So I always try to make it to the ceremony at least thirty minutes early. Neurotic, I know.

After I put on my shirt and tie I go to grab my suit pants. Except they’re not there. Um, what? Right about now my above mentioned irrational fear began kicking into overdrive.

No, this isn’t happening. No, I mean it can’t be happening because I double-checked to see that they were on the hanger before I left home. I use these wooden hangers and the pants always seem to slip off, so I knew to check before—

Wait! The clothes on the railing! Could they actually be mine? I stumble around my room looking for the shorts I’d had on. At this point I must have looked ridiculous, what with my white Oxford shirt, yellow tie, and khaki shorts. Like the uniform of a private elementary school student, only worn by a grown man. I dash outside and see that the clothes are still right there down the hall. I run to pick them up and, sure enough, they’re my suit pants.

So that means that in the time it took me to lose my suit pants, walk four doors down to my room, hang my jacket, and leave my room to go back to get my bags someone had picked up my pants and hung them on the railing. Surely I would have seen them and thought more of it had they still been in the walkway, so it must have happened that way. What are the odds?

Considering they’d been on an outdoor motel railing and hallway floor for roughly fifteen hours they actually didn’t look (or smell) bad at all. There was one really bad crease in the left pant leg, but otherwise they seemed okay. My room didn’t have an iron, and I was running short on time anyway. I had some other pants packed in my suitcase for the rest of my trip but I knew they’d be just as wrinkled. So, without shame, I wore my nearly-abandoned suit pants to the wedding. Don’t judge me. If anyone noticed anything odd about them they didn’t say anything. And believe me, neither did I.

Needless to say I’ll be paying a visit to my local dry cleaners upon returning to Tallahassee.

The Tale of the Lonely Laundry was originally published on Andrew Ledwith's blog.
© 2004-2011 Andrew Ledwith. All rights reserved.