2013 was the Year of the Ugly Cry. Ugly crying into my pillow. Ugly crying on the couch. Ugly crying behind the steering wheel parked outside the nail spa. Ugly crying here. Ugly crying there. Ugly crying everywhere.
To be honest, I was prepared for the hard of church planting. I don’t say that to brag, I just mean, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I expected what some of us Jericho-marching Pentecostals call “opposition.” I expected having to pray like nobody’s business and write newsletters to raise support so that the family can eat. I expected having people in my tiny public housing apartment to “share the vision” of a diverse inter-generational church in inner city Boston. I expected to hear “no” from potential planting partners.
What I did not expect was to feel so lonely. All the time. And so, I ugly cried.