A woman was in a bedroom, waiting for a customer. It was clear she was a prostitute. Based on the landscape outside, her clothing, and the decorations in the room, this was the Old West. Her bedroom door opened. A man came into the room, hiding his face. The scene switched to the next morning. The two in bed. The customers typically paid for only one hour, but his man was willing to pay everything; go bankrupt to spend the entire night with her. “Come home with me,” he pleaded. A heavy, angry knock on the door. “Come on! Get out ‘a there! You got your time with her!” Obviously, the bar tenant - also the pimp in the joint - wanted the man out, so the woman could get back to getting more customers. “Please...come back home.” The man was her husband. While he held her, her face, frozen, was too timid to look him in the eye.
I had this dream a couple weeks ago. Something like this just seems too fantastic to mean anything. I would chock it up to eating something before going to sleep - which in the last couple months has become a new habit. But in the last year of 2020, much reflection has gone on. And in the subsequent months, I have found that I am a 30-year-old woman who has realized that I have lost my passion, been stripped of confidence for my profession and wonders where God really is in her life.
Sure, I’m a Christian. A good one, too. Wink, wink. Involved in ministry can be an amazing cover for a mediocre faith. In truth, at home, I easily get distracted with my thoughts and eyes. I get discouraged by trying circumstances. I profess the glory of God all the while wishing for my own. I thought I was good. But in the year of 2020, I have found that I am not who I thought. And fear of past failures threaten any hope for a promised future. Simultaneously seeking my own, despite serving others.
I am in a transition. I have poured out so much in my community, but I am finding that my passion has deteriorated. God is showing that my time here will be entering its winter. I have forgotten something. I will bend over backward to serve, and yet, I have failed to love the One for whom I profess salvation’s glory. Ministry has become just another thing to be involved.
I thought about titling this post as “My Pimp, Ministry.”
Sounds like sacrilege. When I coined the phrase to a friend, it definitely rubbed him the wrong way. But what is more blasphemous is professing that people should desire for Jesus when you fail to do so in your own life. I have realized that I am guilty of such a sin. I am Gomer. My pimp is ministry. I will do anything for him. Help serve him. Encourage him. Build him up. I will run to his aid, while denying the promise found at home. His cries beckon me to return. Because every conversation I have in the dark, convinces me that I am bringing light to someone in need. I am satisfied and justified in standing on the premise that I am where I’m supposed to be.
Nevertheless, there is a Groom who is waiting for me at home. I find my pleasure in the many faces I see, but struggle to communicate and have a relationship with the One who paid with His life for me to become His own. The immediate reward has served me greatly, and I have forgotten my First Love. I know He wants me to come home. I know He wants me to linger and live from a relationship with Him. But I am guilty of just seeking knowledge and wisdom, and never encountering His grace.
I can do a lot of God-things in life. But if I forget God Himself, ministry is for nought. It has become my pimp. It has become my idol. My friend asked that maybe work could be my pimp. (I feel pressed because balancing teaching and doing youth ministry is hard.) I wonder if he thinks that I should stop working full time and focus on ministry. However, my perspective on ministry has been changing. Especially during COVID year of 2020. There seems to be this unwritten rule that to be a strong, mature Christian, one must be in ministry. Ministry has been classified as the different programs that meet different groups of people in different ways. Worship, youth, hospitality, prayer team, small groups; the list can go on and on.
But what if ministry is more of meeting with one person and walking through life with them, encouraging them toward Christ? I have had more of an impact with encouraging friends this summer than I have in three years of youth ministry. And though immediate fruit cannot be the measure for which we determine if and where we should serve, I admit that much of what I have done in ministry was a selfish desire to know that I could make a difference. I really want teens to have a relationship with Jesus, but frankly, I failed to let God do the work. At some point, I pushed for more works and proof that they really wanted Jesus in their lives. Lastly, and most impacting, I yearned for the affirmation of others, and forgot the love of Jesus.
There is still something in me that still believes that I must prove myself. There is still something in me that wants proof that I am good enough. As long as I am chasing for every opportunity to serve people, secretly hoping they will see my purpose well-done, I will fail to know how much I am already loved.
I am in a transition. I am questioning if I want to stay in ministry. This has nothing to do with what fruit I have seen (or haven’t seen); this has nothing to do with any disagreements I have had in the past with those I’ve done ministry with. Solely, I want to remember and rest in the love that my Groom has for me. In eternity, there will no longer be any need of ministry. The only ministry that will remain is that of worship. And that ministry is to God, alone.
It’s time for Gomer to go home, and rest in her Husband’s embrace...for good.

