Rising

When life takes a sudden unexpected turn that totally rips away every joy, excitement, and anticipation of what you thought your future would be, there are two ways you can respond. You can respond by throwing in the towel and accepting for yourself there is no overcoming the blow that has hit you. Or you can respond by doing all you can to rise above the weight of burden that has heavily pinned you down.

For almost 2 years I have done my best to choose the latter. Each day I wake up with a determination to rise above the fray. There has been moments when I wanted to quit everything in life. Moments when I wanted to disappear and not have to deal with what I believed was an unfair hand dealt to me. Moments I dreamed of turning back the hands of time to retake my normalcy. However I did not allow those moments suppress my mental, emotional, and spiritual resolve to rise.

I thank God for keeping me, keeping my family, and keeping the resolve in me to rise. When I look back on where we were August 2015 and where we are now in June 2017, God has truly blessed us in spite of. Though the path still has steps ahead, we’ve come a long way from where we began. I believe God is providing a bigger view of light for me to see at the end of the tunnel. There is a powerful glorious proof at this tunnel’s end. Proof that when you stay faithful to everything and every person you made a promise to be faithful to even in the worst of times, God will do an amazing work in your life showing that He has been and will be faithful unto you.

God has been faithful in blessing me to become the next pastor of the incredible Bethel Colbert Missionary Baptist Church in Leighton, AL. God has been faithful in blessing me to write my first book In Sickness and In Health: A Story of Love, Strength, and Faith that is sure to inspire everyone who picks it up as I tell my journey of struggle and endurance. Lastly, God has been faithful in blessing US to bring another beautiful life into this world in just a few weeks. As I embark on a new pastorate and a new book, we will also be welcoming a new child.

I ask that you continue to pray for us and with us. My hope and prayer is that with this season of newness, also comes with it a season of turnaround. A season of full recovery. A season of full restoration. A season where I am no longer rising, but I am risen.

(In Sickness and In Health: A Story of Love, Strength, and Faith will be available for purchase Father’s Day weekend. You are sure to be encouraged and inspired by it.)

"A First Year Birthday Letter To My Son"

On this day last year my world took a giant leap in the life cycle of maturation. After a decade of working with kids through youth ministry and summer camps, I was now about to have my own. I was about to transition from part-time jobs pouring much energy into developing the spiritual growth and personal character of countless number of kids I deeply loved and cared for, into a full-time job to develop, love, and care for my own child. You. I hit a milestone I’d always anticipated eventually coming one day in my adult years when the time was right. However although the time was right, the circumstances that existed within that time was far from right. Circumstances I nor anybody else foresaw coming, neither did we have any control over.

The moment your mom and I found out we were pregnant, I was eager to enjoy and encounter all of the highlights that comes along with the pregnancy journey. I looked forward to driving your mom to routine doctor appointments, doing a gender reveal, taking family maternity pictures, shopping for baby items, being forced to sit in on baby showers thrown for your mom by her friends, reading parenting books to prepare myself for you, making midnight runs to Walmart to get Ice cream for a hungry irritated wife eating for two, deciding on a decorative layout for your room, sitting down with your mom doing the best we could to plan out the next 18 years, and as the time got closer enjoying the last weeks of a household of 2 before it became a household of 3. Ultimately the most exciting part of the journey I looked forward to was the finale. From the instance upon learning of our pregnancy, I envisioned and couldn’t wait for being in the delivery room with your mom holding her hand and encouraging her through some silly version of Salt-N-Pepa’s “Push It.” I envisioned sharing the special moment of meeting you, our first child, after all the intense labor was over.

Unfortunately I did not get to experience any of these phases of the pregnancy journey which can easily be taken for granted. Just 2 months into our pregnancy, they had all been stripped from us before we would ever have the chance to revel in any them. What was supposed to be a next 7 months of elation and expectancy, took a drastic turn into a next 4 months of pure craziness and chaos.

Instead of making decisions about cribs, clothes, and a car seat, I ended up having to make decisions about continuance, chemo, and a C-section. Instead of having a celebratory special moment of holding you as a full-term healthy baby after delivery, it was a confusing scary moment of seeing doctors pull you out and immediately place your 2lb 4oz body into an incubator. Being born early at 28 weeks, you’d already endured so much way before your eyes made acquaintance with this place we call earth.

Looking back a year later after initially not knowing how healthy you would be at birth and you undergoing a 101 day NICU stay, there is no doubt that you are truly a miracle my son. In the most unusual of situations before birth, during birth, and this past year after birth, you’ve overcome odds that some would deem as unconquerable. Every day I look at you I know that I’m looking at the work of God. I’m able to upkeep a stable impenetrable spirituality because I’m reminded of God’s divine ability to do the most unexplainable extraordinary things in the lives of people because I’ve benefited from it firsthand through you.

Even before my fatherhood officially began, it was hit with difficult challenges that will never be forgotten. However, it’s because I was able to make it through those challenges that the things that have come my way this year in taking care of you and your mom are more durable to grind through. This peculiar introduction to fatherhood has taught me valuable lessons in all the various aspects of my life. With you I’ve been given a great responsibility that I desire to meet the expectations of. I desire to meet them not because I have to, but because I want to. Once a man enters into fatherhood, their responsibility of their child shouldn’t be a choice but rather a craving. It’s not that I have to take care of you, but it’s that I want to take care of you. It’s not that I have to go beyond the call of duty in hopes to be a great father, but it’s that I want to go beyond the call of duty in hopes to be a great father.

I’m thankful for my miracle that is you Miles Wesley Thompson. Even though I had to miss out on the highlights of the pregnancy journey, I’m grateful for the opportunity of having already experienced so many highlights of the fatherhood journey so far in this first year. Miles when you grow old enough to read and understand this, I want you to know that you are truly something special. After everything we’ve gone through as a family, God has an incredible calling upon your life that I can’t wait to see and be a part of. In the meantime, I look forward to making more highlights with you in year 2.

Always remember this because in your short time being here you have already lived it. Roman 8:37, “In all these things we are more than conquerors through Christ who loved us.” Just as Christ will always be there for you and love you, so will I.

Love,

Daddy

"Nothing To Celebrate...But I'm Thankful"- SHORT WORD OF ADVICE ON MARRIAGE

It is our 3^rd wedding anniversary. 3 years ago today I said ‘I Do’ to the woman I pursued with mission my sophomore year of college until her consistent declines at requests to be my girlfriend eventually became a confident yes. After that, for the next 5 years we molded an incredible relationship and friendship that ultimately flourished into the sacred important moment of us standing at the altar promising our unconditional love to each other for the rest of our lives. We promised fidelity only to each other and no one else. We promised to hold tight together arm in arm no matter the risk of financial burdens being cast down upon us like a heavy wave. We promised to stand the course and care for one another whenever sickness had its way with our anatomical make up. And in the previous 2 years in celebrating May 18^th, we reminded ourselves that those promises held just as much meaning in the present as they did on the day we made them.

But as May 18^th rolls around this year, the landscape of our lives and our marriage have endured a drastic uninviting alteration. If I can be honest, today I have nothing to celebrate. Unlike the 1st year, there’s no weekend hideaway in a luxurious downtown Atlanta hotel to celebrate. Unlike the 2^nd year, there’s no lying out on the warm sandy shores of Palm Bay beach enjoying the sound of the Atlantic to celebrate. This 3^rd year there’s nothing. No trip. No getaway. No special date. No lovely dinner. Today there’s nothing but a long existing farfetched unrealistic desire to turn back the hands of time to August of last year and somehow prevent the horrible illness that happened to my wife.

You all have followed our story and are aware that Tanndra has been home since January after her 4-month stay in ICU due to her brain disorder Anti-NMDA Receptor Encephalitis which was caused by our pregnancy. However not too many people know of the struggle the recovery process has been these last five months. What happened has left her emotionally damaged just as much as it has physically, and because so we’re missing out on yet another occasion that means so much to us.

Last year I was forced to spend my birthday, her birthday, Thanksgiving and Christmas in the hospital as she suffered from mental psychosis caused from the disorder, as well as watching her receive breathing support from a ventilator as she laid unconscious. And now even though she’s no longer in the hospital, I’m forced to spend our anniversary simply wishing I had my wife back. The person Tanndra was before being admitted into the hospital August 25, 2015 is not the same person who came home after being discharged.

While in the hospital I was so ready and anxious for her to come home, I fooled myself into thinking that her being home equated to things quickly picking up where we left off and life being normal again. Never have I ever been more mistaken. This recovery process has been one of tedious length. I miss my wife. She’s here, but she’s not here. This sickness has taken away her joy of life. It has taken away her capacity to see a brighter side to things. It has taken away her ability to concentrate and critically think as she’s accustomed to. It has left her skin full of scars and subdued her bodily figure to nearly 100 pounds which hurts both of us to the core. It has repressed the emotional connections she’s had with people, including me.

Because of all this, in the past 9 months I have not been able to laugh with her, go on a date with her, raise our son together in the way we’d always imagined being able to do, or share in the emotional and physical ways of love people can so often take for granted.

As I thought about this special day that I’m not able to celebrate, I asked myself what has made me endure for so long? What has caused me to not give up on her or give up on us after 9 months? What has caused me to not force validity to an excuse to do away with the promises made 3 years ago?

It’s simple. It’s because I love this girl with all of my heart .I’m determined to get her back and get us back no matter how dim the chances feel sometimes. You never know how much you really love someone until that love is tested by disastrous forces you have no control over. But what I do have control over is to fight for her health, fight for her emotional stability, fight for her cognitive healing, and fight for us to be who, where, and how we used to be.

I’ve learned so much of what my marriage vows really meant. If I could offer a quick word of advice to those who are married or thinking about getting married, make sure you know what you’re in your relationship for. Because if you’re in it for the dates or for the status or for the likes you get on Facebook pictures with one another or for the financial security the other brings or for the physical pleasures, then you will have nothing to sustain you when the unexpected happens. If the central foundation and principal fundamental of your relationship isn’t pure categorical resounding love for one another even in the absence of the things I just mentioned, then do yourselves a favor and discover your way to it asap before it’s too late.

Today I have nothing to celebrate, however I do have something to be thankful for. A celebration gives cause to pause to recognize that which is an event…but thankfulness gives cause to pause to recognize that which is endless. And what I’m thankful for is the endless love God has blessed me with to have for such an incredible wife. Today it’s tough for me to celebrate our wedding date, but what I will do and continue to do is be thankful for my wife, my marriage, and my love for her. And it’s the substance of that love that gives me strength and determination to fight on each day until I get my Tanndra back.

Today...I Said Goodbye

Many of you have followed my journey for the past 7 months. It’s been one of sadness, anger, frustration, questioning, and many times loneliness. It’s been one of countless sleepless nights, terrifying moments, and pondering if my heart could take anymore. It’s been a journey that caused me to shed tears for the first time in 17 years. It’s been one that tested my mental patience, took toll on my physical endurance, and absorbed my spiritual strength.

Between my wife’s 4-month hospitalization from August to December, and my son’s 3-month hospitalization from December to March, I have been to and from the hospital every day for the past 203 days. 203 consecutive days in and days out being on quite the emotional rollercoaster. Since August 25, 2015 I’ve eaten more meals from hospital trays than from my own kitchen. I’ve slept on the unpleasantness of hospital pull-out couches more than the comfort of my own mattress. But today when I left the hospital, I left knowing I did not have to come back in 24 hours. I left without having to hear the words, “See you tomorrow” from the lovely ladies at the nursing desk. I left without having to get a report from an ICU or NICU nurse. Today…I left saying goodbye.

Goodbye to a place that induced feelings of fear not knowing what the end result would be, but also a place that increased my faith to another level I never knew existed. I said goodbye to a place that left me weak and burdened some days, but a place that also left me hopeful on other days. I said goodbye to a place that made me shake my hands in grievance at God calling Him unfair at times, but also a place that made me shake my head in amazement at God calling Him a miracle worker at other times.

I must be honest. There were times when I thought I would leave this place alone. Times when I thought this would be the place I lost the love of my life, and the son I longed for but never would be able to meet. Times when I thought the empty spot on the other side of my bed would be permanent. Times when I thought the only memories of my son I’d have would be ultrasound pictures.

But today I praise God to the highest that this did not end up being a place of loss, but rather a place of gain. I thank God that this did not end up being a place of untimely remorse, but rather a place of ultimate rejoicing. It did not end up a place of death, but rather a place of continued and new life. Today I did not leave out for the last time…alone. Today I left out for the last time…with my wife in one hand, and my son in the other hand.

I’ve heard about miracles, preached about miracles, and in the lives of others have witnessed miracles. But today for the first time in my 27 years of living I’ve held not 1, but 2 miracles hand in hand. For the first time I’ve watched from start to finish the process of miracles. They’re not pretty at the beginning, but at their conclusion those who experience and witness them are left with the blessed assurance that Jesus is certainly their own.

God has shown me so much over this lengthy gruesome journey. I’ve learned that when the faith, trust, and belief we proclaim to have in God is really tested, it’s that same faith, trust, and belief that are the only things we have to depend on to get us through. When I step back and attempt to take an outsider’s look into everything that happened, how I’m still standing today shocks me more than anybody else. All I know is one thing…through it all I’m still here. My wife is still here. My son is here. And most of all God is here, and has always been here even in the midst of so much suffering.

Today I said goodbye to my misery, and hello to my miracles. And guess what…I have a feeling that the miracles haven’t stopped here. There’s more to come. We’ve gone through too much for this to be it. This will be our year of restoration. This will be our year of overflow.

 

 

 

10 Years And An Unconventional First Pastorate

               Although ministry is unlike any other vocation in that our call to work comes from the seat of Holy consecrated omnipotence instead of a seat in a high corner office, at the same time it IS like any other vocation in that one must put in the appropriate dedication and effort to get the call. As I embark on exactly 10 years of ministry later this month, the call from that ultimate sacred seat is what I’ve been diligently working toward and waiting for specifically as it pertains to the ministry of pastorate.

                That opportunity finally presented itself last May. I’d applied to a wonderful church with wonderful people whom invited me to preach various times, present a Bible study, and go through an interview with the pastoral search committee. In the midst of the process, heartbreak and misfortune struck my personal life with the sudden severe illness of my pregnant wife battling a rare brain disorder. Early on in the process before being hospitalized, she was with me the first few times I preached and was excited for me having the chance to pastor this church. Knowing of the situation as their search narrowed, the church gave me amazing support and grace. I continued in the process although my heart and mind remained solely in an ICU room at Emory University Hospital.

                It eventually came down between me and one other candidate. I was asked to come one last time for a final interview with the entire congregation. When the floor opened the first question asked was one that felt like it took an eternity to think about, but the answer came soundly off my lips with transparency and confidence. “How would everything going on with your wife affect your decision if we offered you the position?”

I knew how I answered this question could play a major factor in which direction they went in their choice. There was no doubt that my wife’s health condition was one that would take a lengthy recovery process which in turn would have much say so in my decision if they offered me the position. So many thoughts and inquiries rushed through my head:

“I really like this church. It feels like it’s a good fit. Her state of condition would definitely affect me accepting or not accepting if offered. But wait…this is the closest I’ve been to the moment I’ve meticulously toiled so hard for in ministry the past 10 years. I’ve sacrificed so much for this moment. I’ve been faithful and dedicated to my call for this moment. I’ve taken the task of ministry and the life behind ministry serious for this moment. I spent 3 years of demanding study in seminary to obtain my Master of Divinity degree for this moment. Maybe I can bend the truth a little bit and say our situation wouldn’t affect my decision? Maybe I can work my way around the question without really answering it?”

After what felt like a protracted thought process, I gave the only answer I knew was right and true to give. “I honestly don’t know.” Four simple words. It was pretty much left at that and the interview continued on for the next hour. A week later I was informed they chose the other candidate. I must admit I was disappointed as anyone would be looking forward to a chance at a great opportunity. However I’m grateful for being thought of so much to even be in consideration. I certainly don’t take it for granted. To reiterate once again, this is a great church with great people whom I know will do incredible ministry with their new pastor.

                It bothered me for the next few days thinking that my answer of honesty may have been the determining factor in the decision, but I would answer the same way if asked a hundred times again. This experience being by the side of my sick wife nearly 5 months has taught me a great deal about myself as a person, a young husband, and a young minister. It has challenged me to take a deep look into what ministry is truly supposed to be. I deliberated with God over and over about the timing of all this. Just when I was at the cusp of reaching that which I’d worked so solid for and been so loyal toward, ill-fated calamity penetrated my life as an unpredicted meteor does the earth. When the stress of seminary, rigor of righteous living, price of patience, and determination despite denials was all about to be worth it, what looked so close in proximity floated back into the distance.

                In our deliberation God rebutted my case with quite the counter argument. God said to me all was not lost. He told me to take that challenging deep look. The calling and aspiration God gave me to become a pastor had already come to fruition. He had given me my pastorate right before my eyes, just in a different way than I’d imagined it to be. This time of my life was not meant for me to be the pastor of 200 people, but rather the pastor of 2 people. My wife and newborn son who are both recovering from intense health obstacles.

Right now these are the 2 who needs my shepherd covering, not the 200. These are the 2 who needs me to commune with at their table, not the 200. These are the 2 who needs my pastoral counseling, altar call prayers, and words of comfort, not the 200. Right now these are the 2 who needs my gift of preaching, strength of leadership, priestly presence, Divine-guided decisions, and vision plan for the future, not the 200. These are the 2 who needs to look up at me and see/feel an overwhelming sense of optimism when they are melting in hopelessness from life’s situations, not the 200.

Finally after 10 years of devoted ministry, God has called me to a pastorate. It is definitely a very peculiar and unforeseen pastorate. But despite that, it is one I will go beyond measure for. One I will defeat anything that tries to destroy it for. One I will give my life for. I will serve in this pastorate knowing that the 200 will eventually come. Jesus told us that if we be faithful over the few things, He will set us over much.

I want to encourage my fellow young ministers who are awaiting a call to the pastorate to take that challenging deep look into not only what ministry is supposed to be, but most importantly where ministry is supposed to be. You may be surprised and find that God has already given you your pastorate. It may not be the type you envisioned yourself having, but the need for your service is essential to the few or many awaiting your acceptance. Will you take it?

"In Between A Rock and A Hard Place"

When I walked through the hospital entrance tonight I was stopped by one of the security officers. Since it was after 9 I had to check-in. I showed her my special care nursery parent badge so I wouldn’t have to go through what can be a delayed decorum on security’s part to check my ID, type in my info, and write a visitor’s pass for me. As I flashed the badge she nodded with approval for me to continue to my destination, but only to stop me again. “The Neonatal ICU is this way sir,” she pleasantly said to re-direct my route. “I’m here to see two people,” I kindly responded. “My wife is in the Neuro ICU. I’m headed there first then on to the Neonatal ICU to see my son,” I said while walking away in frustration. I wasn’t frustrated with the officer. I know she was only doing her job to keep the hospital safe. I was frustrated with the words that’d just left my mouth. It was in my response to her that raw reality advancedly hit me in the face. The security desk is in the center of the hospital. Making a left takes you to the Neonatal ICU, and making a right takes you to the Neuro ICU. I was standing in the midst of what divided the distance between my wife and my son. I was standing in the epicenter of two extremes. I was standing at the midpoint of what separated my family. I was standing in between a son whose condition is steadily improving in one ICU, and a wife whose condition just took an unexpected drastic decline in another ICU. I was standing in between a rock and a hard place. 

This phrase we often hear, “in between a rock and a hard place,” has many definitions and interpretations. One being, “having only two very unpleasant choices.” That definition soundly sums up how I feel. Making the decision of who do I see first as I walk through the entrance is usually one I usually don’t even give thought to, but on this eve’s night of Christmas Eve it was one I struggled with. Although to the common mind it’s a simple physical decision of pivoting my foot right or left, it’s a tough emotional decision because when it comes down to it I don’t want to be here in the first place. Why am I in such a position to even have to choose? 

I take pride in being a man and doing what a man has to do no matter what, to take care of his family. I’ve done that as a husband in 2 and a half years of marriage…until now. And I haven’t been able to do it in my 2 weeks as a father. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t. And there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. I have no control over the situation. Seeing my wife suffer for 4 straight months in what’s been physical pain, emotional despair, and mental incapacity…and there’s nothing I can do about it. Seeing my son who I can only love on and care for in a limited manner and who I can sense is longing for the tenderness of a mother’s touch, but she’s incapable of giving it to him…and there’s nothing I can do about it. We’re a family of three now. I’m the provider and protector of the household. It’s my job to keep everyone safe, secured, and sheltered, but they’re not right now…and there’s nothing I can do about it. The only thing I can do is make the decision of who will I visit in the ICU first. 

That’s my life right now. I haven’t been able to clearly explain it in conversation with people when asked how I am doing. Venting through the pressing of these keys seems to be the best way I can be completely honest, and this is just the surface of what’s truly deep inside. The old Negro spiritual says, “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen.” I can relate. Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen and am seeing. The trouble I’ve felt and am feeling. The trouble I’ve suppressed and am suppressing. The trouble I’ve endured and am enduring. Nobody knowing isn’t to anyone’s fault. It’s due to my life’s circumstance just being one so rare, peculiar, and unreal. 

I feel as if I’m a living example what it is to be “stuck in between a rock and hard place.” I know I won’t be stuck forever, but Lord knows I’ve been stuck for too long. Definitely not the Christmas Eve and upcoming Christmas Day I envisioned having over 4 months ago. But as the darkness of the night eventually has to be overtaken by the sunlight of day, so does trouble has to be eventually overtaken by victory. No matter how down and out I feel, I refuse to end anything I say or write in a defeated tone. Even within my deflated heart and soul, I will continue to rise, stand, and make the tough decision to turn right or left at the hospital’s entrance, hanging by a thread of hopeful strength that I pray still exists by time this is all over.  

My Plans and God's Laughs

Whether it was Heathcliff Huxtable guiding Theo, Denise, Rudy and the crew, Uncle Phil embracing Will, Carlton, Hillary, and Ashley or Carl Winslow encouraging Eddie, Laura and Judy, watching these men on my favorite TV shows when I was younger always made me excited at the chance of becoming a father. I anticipated my family of 4 or 5, living life as I envisioned and planned for us to. But as the old Yiddish proverb says, “Man plans, God laughs.”

God has certainly done much laughing in my life these past few months. Seeing my wife for the past 100 straight nights in a hospital bed were not my plans. Not being able to experience the simple joys of taking pregnancy pictures or participating in childbirth classes were not my plans. Having to spend 15 out the 28 weeks of this pregnancy battling a rare brain disorder that destroyed our comfortable equilibrium were not my plans. To have expectations of a normal healthy birth February 27^th be shattered by the bombshell of an involuntary alternative with risks December 3^rd were not my plans. Sitting in a room surrounded by a team of doctors fresh off a final evaluation leading them to break the unwanted unfortunate news to me that my first time having a child with my wife will be my last time having a child with my wife because removing the very anatomy that makes it possible for her to give life is the only way she can recover from this horrid disorder…were not my plans.

As I wait in this hospital room reflecting on everything that’s transpired these couple of months an hour before my life hits another milestone, I can’t help but think about one of the comments I’ve received most from people. “Wesley, I don’t see how you’re handling all of this so well. It's amazing.” My casual response has been, “I don’t see how I’m handling it so well either.” All night I thought about this mystery, determined (perhaps because nerves did not allow to sleep) to figure out a true answer. And what I’ve realized after all this time is that despite countless moments of frustration, sadness, loneliness, disappointment, and stress…overall my soul and spirit has been resting in the bosom of a divine peace and tranquility so great that even though this situation is before me, it has not held me.

Has it poked me? Yes. Has it touched me? Yes. Has it prodded me? Yes. But it has not held me. If it held me, depression would’ve caused my demise by now. If it held me, lost hope would’ve left me with a languished heart by now. If it held me, tears I’ve cried would’ve led to a tipping point so overwhelming it may have been impossible to come back from. The reason it has not held me is because I’ve been held by something else. God’s grace. And God’s grace is so robust that when held by it, there’s no room for you to be held by anything else.

Even though I may not be able to have a house full of children as I wanted like Heathcliff, Uncle Cliff, or Carl to support, lecture and raise, I’m yet beyond thankful for the one gift God has given me through a son I’m getting ready to meet soon. “Man plans, God laughs.” Just because God laughs at our plans doesn’t mean God abandons our plans. He only alters them. I’ll take God’s alteration over abandonment any day.

I’m looking forward to what the future holds. Prayerfully a future of complete recovery for my wife. A future of total health for my son. A future of greatness and favor for our family. A future where God continues to laugh when I plan, but within His laughing still comes blessings…even if it’s in a different form.