In ministry, everything does not always go the way we would like. Sometimes things break down and go so wrong, and we can’t fix them. I recently was on a trip that bombed, and I don’t handle failure well. After a mistake such as this, I’ll often get stuck in a funk for several days. So the process of recovering from what has been my biggest failure since beginning youth ministry has taught me a lot.

On the day our youth group was scheduled to leave for our winter conference, I woke up with my throat on fire and my forehead hot to the touch. The flu had taken hold. My wife, Jessica, had it, too. Against our better judgment, we brushed it off as colds, chugged some cough syrup, and got ready. We had 15 kids we had to get to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. We couldn’t get sick. If Jessica and I didn’t go, there would be no one to drive the vans, and we would have to cancel the trip. So, we dragged ourselves out of the house, loaded 15 teenagers and two parents, and set out for the weekend.

There are times when I think my GPS hates me. Sometimes it works really well; but other times, especially when I am driving the church bus, it wants to take me down the worst roads possible. This year, the GPS took us the long way to Pigeon Forge, and it was during that rollercoaster ride that the plague among us began to reveal itself. Jessica and I weren’t the only two who were sick. During that ride, some of the kids started showing flu-like symptoms. When we finally arrived at our destination, everyone seemed fine, though. I figured we were just tired from the rough ride. In reality, none of these kids were going to tell me if they were sick. It was their winter conference, and they had been looking forward to it for months.

The conference center was packed when we arrived. During this time, my fever spiked and my head got fuzzy. I remember thinking, “I’m not going to make it through this.” That first session lasted until 1 a.m. After I got everyone out of the building, I lagged behind, coughing and throwing up in the parking lot. A few of the kids looked back at their sick-as-a-dog youth pastor; of course I gave them a thumbs up and said, “I’m good. I’m good. Go on to the bus.”

It’s funny how often we do this. We lag behind because we aren’t well, but for the sake of our students and church, we say, “I’m good,” when we’re really not OK. In proceeding with this trip, Jessica and I chose to put the ministry ahead of our own well-being, which sounds really noble and Christ-honoring; but sometimes, we have to acknowledge our own limits. Going on this trip was not the right choice for us. As sick as we were, we were in no shape to

Silence

As I have looked back on this trip, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Shusaku Endo’s book Silence. Shusaku Endo was a Japanese Christian writer, and Silence follows the story of two priests who go to feudal Japan during the 1700s—a place and time when Christians were being hunted down and persecuted. The priests in the story question God’s silence in the face of this seemingly unstoppable violence. They wonder why God isn’t doing something. Their questions never are answered, and they soon realize there is no chance of their story ending happily. Yet they choose to be God’s voice in Japan and represent Him anyway.

I remember taking a moment after we got out of the conference that night to compose myself before setting out for the hotel. That weekend was a no-win for me, but I was going to get myself through the conference in a way that was God-honoring. Despite my sickness, I would continue to show God’s love in the way I led the group.

The next morning, I had no voice and my wife’s fever was critically high—we almost took her to the hospital. I got up early and met with the two leaders who still were standing, one of whom was getting sick. The first thing I said with my crippled voice was, “I know this sucks.” I went on to remind them that we had to do our best for the students on this trip and make sure that even if we suffered, we made this trip good for them. They agreed, and both told me to take it easy that day.

I struggled through the day, choosing to play hard, though I felt as if I were losing. I spent the day doing my best to make sure the kids had fun and were able to have chances to grow in their relationships with God. It was draining, and I knew there would be a price to pay for running on empty for so long.

For the things over which I had control, I powered my way through; but that night, things were out of my hands. After a long day of activities and the conference, we came back to the hotel. The day had gone pretty well, but around midnight I woke to a call from my wife telling me there was a problem. A woman staying at the hotel had caught her boyfriend cheating on her in a room down the hall. There was a massive amount of yelling and profanity in the hallway, coupled with the loudest slap I’d ever heard in my life. Then one guy said, “Oh, she hit you. Call the police.” When the police arrived, I got up and called each of the leaders in the other rooms to make sure they were OK, then I went into the boys’ room to make sure all was well there. I heard one of the younger boys talking in the bathroom. The door was cracked, and he was on the phone saying, “Mom, I’m scared. There’s police at our hotel.”

I was positive I was about to get the chewing out of my life when he handed me that phone to talk to his mother. I explained to her what was happening and that everyone was in their rooms and safe. I took a deep breath as I waited for her response. She said that it was all OK and that she trusted me. She said she understood that sometimes things are taken out of our control. I was beginning to come to the same conclusion.

Kobayashi Maru

That whole weekend, I felt like Captain Kirk when he was forced to take the Kobayashi Maru, a test that starship captains must take before they are given a ship. The simulator puts the prospective captain through an impossible situation, but there is no way to pass the Kobayashi Maru. No matter what you do, you will take heavy losses and lose. It is designed to teach captains about no-win situations and how to deal with failure. Our winter conference was my Kobayashi

Recovering from failure is never easy, but coming back from a Kobayashi Maru experience where you were doomed to fail from the start is exponentially more difficult. Unless we take the time to recover, these types of experiences can lead to burnout. I was on the edge of burning out; unless I spent some time in recovery, I was

Following the conference, I repeated Philippians 3:13 until I was blue in the face, but I couldn’t seem to follow Paul’s advice of “forgetting the past and looking forward to that which lies ahead.” I was stuck in that failed weekend for more than a month. As I mentally worked my way through the trip, I slowly started to let it go. The process taught me how to work through failure.

Thinking back on the weekend, I found comfort in the conversation I had with the boy’s mother who called during the hotel fiasco. She was right when she said things sometimes are taken completely out of our control. It brought be peace to know that it was not my fault that my test was designed to be unpassable. Captain Kirk was wrong—there are no-win situations. Sometimes things go haywire, and no matter what we do we still fail. We will fail despite doing everything we can—and that’s

How we lose shows more about ourselves than how we win. Though my defeat was costly on an emotional and physical level, I feel that I failed with grace. When I looked back on the weekend, I realized I was kind, though at times I felt angry; kept it together externally when I was breaking down internally; and managed to keep God first for the students. As I was recovering, I was refreshed by remembering this small victory. Pushing through had been worth it. Instead of focusing on the losses, I looked at the wins. I may have lost the weekend, but I passed the character test. One student realized God was calling him to missions. Amid the bad there was good, and God was still at

I know there will be another massive failure in the future. It is inevitable. Regardless of what I do, something will go so wrong that it will fly out of my control; but the next time it happens, I know how to react. After all, that is the purpose of the Kobayashi Maru. The lesson the test teaches is not one of battlefield strategy or leadership. Instead, it teaches the student about him or herself. My Kobayashi Maru taught me that it is the manner in which we fail that defines us.