A Hand on Your Shoulder
Gospel-Centered Mentoring
We had just moved to a large Asian city, our second in three years, and we were frazzled. It was our second time setting up house; our second time going through culture shock; our second time saying goodbye to cherished friends and favorite places.
I thought I would grill up some chicken to remind us of home; it had been a few years since I’d had my own gas grill. All started out well. The chicken was coloring nicely. The fragrance was divine.
When the meat was cooked, there was too much grease fire for my liking, and I had been warned that small propane canisters in our host country were sometimes faulty. So, I turned off the grill and began to unscrew the tank. I heard a horrible hiss as gas started spraying out of the canister and was ignited by the flames in the grill pan. We now had what is called “a conflagration,” from the Latin “con” which means “you idiot,” and “flagration,” which means “run away!” (note: I was not a great Latin student).
But in that moment, I couldn’t think straight. Too many things were coming together at once. And my only thought was, “Save the chicken!” So, I lunged in, tongs first, to snatch burning drumsticks from the fiery furnace! My neighbor was screaming at me in a language I was supposed to be learning, but panicky Matt barely understands English much less Chinese. Christine and the kids were running for blankets to quench the flames. And I was saving the chicken.
Until the explosion.
Thankfully, I had turned away at the last minute (or God’s angel turned me away), and I only ended up with a lot of singed hair and a nice sunburn.
Honestly, I think that the grill and canister were aflame for about 45 seconds, and I spent most of that time trying to rescue my doomed bbq. It’s as if that blazing poultry represented my season of life at that moment, and I thought, “Save the chicken, save the world” (to deliberately misquote Season 1 of Heroes). If I could get this dumpster fire under control, maybe I could do the same with my life. It sounds ludicrous, but reflecting on it, I think I’m dead on.
That’s one of those times when I could have used a firm hand on my shoulder and a “hey, let it go, bro. At $3.99 per pound, it’s not worth a stint in the burn ward; there is zero correlation between these smoking drumsticks and your life.”
I’m not a robot; sometimes my emotions hijack my judgment. Sometimes I get overwhelmed by life’s troubles and details, and it’s difficult to think straight. I start making bad decisions. I get trapped in a funk, and I can’t get loose. I let the Accuser whip me into a cowering mess of shame. But God has given me mentors and peer coaches who put a hand on my shoulder and tell me what I need to hear when I need to hear it: “Hey, let it go, bro.” “What lie are you telling yourself?” “Where do you see God’s grace in this situation?” Or, “When I was struggling, didn’t you tell me x? Remember that now.”
I write this not because I’m eager for you to know that I’m sometimes a nutcase, but because I want you to recognize the value of brothers and sisters who walk through life with you and speak honestly into your situations. Thankfully, life is not always a chaotic inferno, but for the times when it is and for the slow grind in between, I encourage you to find a mentor or peer coach if you don’t already have one. And if you do have one, meet with her regularly; don’t make excuses; don’t let weeks pass before reconnecting. And let her know that you need and appreciate her voice and prayers.