April 8th at around 8pm on I-24 between Clarksville and Nashville on my way back home to Franklin, I had my "yada" moment. The Hebrew word "yada" is a verb which means "to be made known" and is quite different than "nakar" which means "to recognize". The verb "yada" infers a higher order than "nakar". My yada moment was so intense, I don't remember any details of how I got home that night. The car was apparently on autopilot. April 8th was the following Sunday after my pastor, mentor and instrument of my reconciliation to God, passed away suddenly in his sleep at the age of 58. I have not been this broken and distraught over the passing of someone I know since my grandma passed. Losing Pastor Dave hurt. It hurt really, really bad. I was TICKED at God for having taken him away from us. I was selfish. I listened (and still do for a different reason) to Dave's old Podcasts such as his "Renegades Guide to God", Friday Morning Bible Study, replays of church services past and others constantly that week. I didn't want to accept he was gone from us and was now with God. For over twenty years I have been running from a calling I felt as a teenager. I have filled my life, every waking moment with work or hobbies to drown out the voice in my head. The doctrine I heard in church growing up didn't match how the calling felt so I tried to just disregard it.
Let's backtrack for a moment for some historical background....
My great-grandfather was an evangelist. A staunch one. "Turn or burn...die and fry". My grandfather was a Bob Jones Theological and Dallas Theological graduate as well has having had a self-made career as a biblical researcher and journalist along with my grandmother publishing a monthly "book" called "Lamps Unto His Feet" sent to subscribers from around the world and based in Warsaw, Indiana near Grace Theological Seminary. My father rebelled from his upbringing, was put in a boarding school at the age of 15 and then disappeared into the Marine Corps in 1958 and southern California. He rode motorcycles and was gravitating towards association with the Hell's Angels until one day God answered his pleas in a suicidal moment and his life was changed forever. Throughout my childhood, I watched my dad change. He also became a bible scholar, not at a seminary, but by studying scripture for hours upon hours, everyday for years upon years. Always thirsty for more. He was objective about the Scripture and would have to "take himself out to the barn" on more than several occasions because he had accepted the fact that he didn't write the book nor did he have the right to pick and choose his own convenient spin on it. To get into a theological discussion with him now requires either good preparation of your defense in the argument or stupidity. One or the other. His principles, morals and ethics are unmatched to anyone I know. Flawed? Of course, we all are. He gave application of scripture to me throughout my childhood. He is my best friend.
On the flip side, the doctrine I heard in church was "wacked" to say the least. I had both Baptist and non-denominational / charismatic experience growing up. Both of which still demanded reformation, compliance and a sense of dispensationalism. You always either didn't pray enough, tithe enough, attend enough bible studies....and God was just waiting for a good moment to send a lightning bolt down to fry you like an ant under a magnifying glass. At times there was explosive church growth and great things happened. Then there was implosive self-destruction. There was bureaucracy, agendas and stagnation. I saw people who were wounded, get spiritually "shot" by their own. I was one of them when I, who is to blame mostly, destroyed my first marriage. Most all of the social network I had which was rooted in church either walked away, flat out denied me or just turned their back and pretended I didn't exist. The pastor didn't want me back and rumors to other churches were sent out to not welcome me. This just fueled that fire that whatever "calling" I had felt must have been chronic heartburn. Drinking every night at the bar medicated the pain.
I grew up with a high mechanical aptitude and extreme interest in how things work. I took my dad's electric drill apart and put it back together at the age of 10 just because I wanted to know how the gearing worked. At the age of 15, I built a robotic device out of an old Cub Cadet lawnmower, a pair of electric motors out of an old wringer washing machine and a manipulator arm made out of 2x4's and a bicycle brake caliper. You could drive it and steer it from a remote box on an extension cord. I naturally gravitated to that and have spent my career designing, fabricating and engineering mechanical devices.
Now, I've taken opportunities over the years to write about things and have gotten accolades here and there about them. I've always been better at writing my thoughts than speaking them. Years ago, I wrote a political essay to the editor of my local newspaper explaining the background of the Afghan war at the time when Osama Bin Laden was a hot topic. We (our own CIA) created that monster by turning our backs on him when Russia collapsed and had no further use of him. My high school history teacher, Mr. Stone, tracked me down and called me out of the blue to tell me how impressed he was of the article. It made me feel pretty good. In my professional life, I've been told that I have a way with words in my correspondences. My wife, Stacey has told me this for many years as has my dad and friends. In high school, doing a speech or writing an essay was a breeze for me. I liked it. My friends thought I had a mental condition. When I write, time just clicks away and hours pass before I even realize it. I get in a zone that I cannot get into any other way. If there is ADD, I've got it. Always have. I cannot sit for an hour and a half to watch a movie unless I've paid the outrageous money they want for a theater ticket at which point my wallet holds me in the seat like a toddler stuck with velcro. Otherwise, I must always be doing something. I can't watch TV. I must be doing multiple things or else I feel like I will explode. That is, until I start writing. Time slows down, I get calm, I get focused. It's like the scene in the "The Matrix" when the bullets go into slow motion and you can see the vapor trails and able to dodge it despite it traveling at sonic speeds. For instance....it's now 3:00am.
Then, one Saturday night over six years ago, my step-daughter wanted me to take her and a friend to Bellevue Community Church here in Nashville. I had no real desire to go other than because they wanted to. Within five minutes of his speaking, the thousands of people in this mega-church disappeared and Dave seemed to be speaking directly to me as if I were the only person in the room. I went home to tell my wife, Stacey, about it. To say she was not impressed was an understatement. She was raised Catholic, hadn't been to church in many years and wasn't about to go back. Now, her husband had started talking about this Dave guy at BCC, attending this church, a "calling" and going to seminary or bible college. The look on her face was the same look you see on a deer with your headlights just before impact. She just knew she had just married a guy who was about to become a bible-thumping, street corner screaming bigot spewing fire and brimstone and she was going to be expected to wear skirts, no makeup and never cut her hair again. This did not make for happy days at the Gardner household at the time. But, eventually she too got the "Dave" bug which was simply the Gospel message of Jesus Christ loving us where and as we are, not as we should be and not leaving us where he found us. It wasn't about being moral. It wasn't reformation and dying to self in order to prove your loyalty. It was about radical transformation of the heart through a real experience with the Creator and Savior of the world. Then and only then, the alteration of your lifestyle is permanent and truly glorifies God because you did so because of love not control and force as the church institution would like to keep it.
Well, since that day, I had been following David Foster's every move. We were at the Maxwell House for the first "gathering" after Dave had left BCC five years ago and then finally to our current home at the Thoroughbred 20 theater in Cool Springs. I related to Dave and understood his application of the Gospel like no one I had ever heard before. Up until I let work try to drown the voice again, I had been on the audio/video setup team getting to the theater every Sunday morning before 6:30am to begin the process of setting up everything. We are literally church "roadies". In an hour and a half we go from an empty theater to going live with full audio, soundboard, theater projector interface, live webstreaming, lights, banners and even Starbucks coffee and Krispy Kreme donuts. My spiritual life has been getting better.
Then I got a phone call from Stacey on Monday morning, April 2nd in absolute hysterics trying so hard to get the words out of her mouth that Dave was gone. She too had had the same connection with Dave's message and reconciliation. I was in speechless shock and left early from work. Trying to drive down I-65 and match crowd speed through Nashville with tears streaming is not a wise thing to do. When I got home, I threw wrenches in my shop, made "eloquent" speech and flat out told God how ticked off I was about all of it. As if my particular opinion really was in play. After all, this is the creator of the universe we are talking about here. He can pretty much do whatever He so pleases. But I still thought He could have at least asked me first. You know what I mean?
Back to April 8th.........
So, as I was driving, all the pieces of the puzzle started to come together like the slowly building crescendo of a great classical music composition or the plot comes together in a movie like "Inception". I FINALLY found the purpose in the pain and my calling. Although I have a high degree of ability mechanically, it drains me. The politics of corporate America can suck the life out of a creative person. Thankfully, I'm in research and development and it feeds my creative need. I have a custom motorcycle shop and media blasting shop service classic and hot rod cars to keep the creative juices flowing. However, it's not the "calling" I was called to do twenty plus years ago. I have a hunger for the Gospel Dave interpreted so well. I have a hunger to not see men and women go through the pain of divorce I went through. I have a hunger for kids not to endure the divorce of their parents as mine have. I have a hunger to show people that you can be married to your best friend and not the "Honeymooner's" or "Archie Bunker" version of marriage we may have grown up in. I have a hunger to spread a message that you don't have to "clean up your act" before you go to a church. I have a hunger to be the beggar telling other beggars where to find bread. I want to see men be "MAN UP" men. I want to write. When I write, I want to speak. When I speak, I get passionate. I get fired up. I have a voice. I have a "MOOOO". THAT'S IT! My "YADA" moment. For twenty friggin' (yes I said "friggin"...deal with it) years I have been running away as fast as I can from a calling to counsel, teach, preach and write about the Gospel. This means graduate and post-graduate education. End of story. How am I gonna do it? I dunno.What exactly am I gonna do? I dunno. Where? I dunno. What I do know is that I must. I know the pain. I can relate. I've gotten wiser. I've turned my limping into dancing. Through it all, God is still good. It's gotta be done or somebody else will do it. As Pastor Dave said, "might as well be me".
When are you going to slow down long enough, get off the hamster wheel and get quiet enough to listen to your calling?
If you haven't experienced The Gathering Nashville and our great pastor, friend and mentor David Foster, check out the memorial video below. If it resonates with you, check out all the archives and fill up your spiritual water bucket. Jesus didn't ask anyone of anything more than to just follow Him. Thank you Pastor David Foster for answering your calling forty years ago. By doing so, me and thousands of others with similar stories are forever changed and will someday join you again in the glorious presence of Jesus. Instead of being mad over God taking him too soon, I thank God for the seven years I had.
Check out the video here:
http://rememberingpastordave.com/pastor-david-fosters-farewell-video/
In One Peace,
Eric
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