When I was a kid, I remember my first hospital visit! It was a trip to the ER. I must have been around 6 or 7 years old  when it happened. I was running through the house, chasing after my older and then bigger brother. He must have done  something because all I remember is that fiery feeling of anger and frustration that was pulsing through my little veins.  But boy, could I run. That came to a quick halt when my brother hid behind our early 80’s beige couch.

At this moment, I decided to make a leopard’s victory leap to capture and devour my prey. But boy, did I fail. I just  happened to land in the corner of the couch, pushing through the comfy cushions directly onto the wooden frame lying  underneath. I cut my knee wide open, and I was rushed by my mother to the hospital to get it all stitched up.

But boy, did that hurt. I don’t know if you’ve ever had an open wound that needed immediate  attention, in need of some mending and stitches, let alone some lidocaine to ease the pain as the  sutures were secured, but as a kid, that was a memory I won’t forget. I still wear the scars.

Fast forward 7 to 8 years, I remember my first disappointment with a leader as an overly skinny, tall,  awkward middle-school teenager. A leader I had looked up to, a man of God, a person I esteemed to  be like one day. Boy, did it sting! I remember talking to my youth pastor about it, as I had learned that this leader had  fallen morally as a husband, leader, and minister of the Gospel of Yeshua. For some reason, that deeply impacted me and  wounded my leadership soul. Boy, did that hurt. I recall that moment affecting me so profoundly as a young man  that it brought tears to my eyes, that feeling of anger and frustration pulsing through my adolescent veins. I still wear  those scars.

Read the full article here: March ’23 Issue 19