The Rod and Staff

Writings from a shepherd of Christ's flock

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My Health Avalanche: One Year Later

August 1, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Yesterday marked the one-year anniversary of my health avalanche. The day seemed typical at first. I took my usual prayer walk and felt great. But a few minutes into my shower everything came crashing down. I could feel the energy drain out of me and severe fatigue set in. The words “Call in sick” popped into my brain like a pre-programmed emergency message. Within an hour we were at the ER.

This avalanche had been rumbling for years. In the fall of 2013, I felt depression for the first time. Until then I enjoyed a sunny, optimistic disposition as my default. To feel nothing, even dark thoughts, was an entirely new experience that I could have lived without. Over time Rachael and I found natural remedies that could keep the anxiety, overwhelm, and depression at bay. We made dietary and environmental changes. But at best we were managing symptoms, never getting to the root cause. [ . . . ]  [read more]

Grief, One Year In

May 25, 2019 / / 4 Comments

On May 25, 2018, Rachael burst into the bedroom a little after 6:30 AM sobbing, “Chris…your dad…he died!”

I didn’t cry in that moment. I stared at the ceiling in a daze. Time stood still. The shock cauterized my emotions and fogged my mind. Here a load-bearing wall in the Davis house had unexpectedly, impossibly collapsed and all I could do was watch blankly. [ . . . ]  [read more]

A Place to Call Home

April 29, 2019 / / 0 Comments

First published on April 19, 2015. Three months later I would take my first trip back to Logan, WV in 12 years. A local funeral director informed me that J.T. passed away two weeks before I arrived.

My outing with J.T. first tipped me off that I am a nomad. Over the clatter of his replica Model A the spry, elderly man pointed out the creek that delineated the holler his family inhabited for generations. On this land his great-grandfather, Devil Anse Hatfield, organized his Logan Wildcats for guerrilla attacks on the Union Army. On this same land J.T. raised his family. Whenever he took them to Myrtle Beach, where the other coal miners vacationed, he grew nervous and uneasy the farther away he traveled and relieved when he returned. His sense of place entwined with his sense of identity. He was not fully himself when removed from the hollow of those West Virginia mountains. [ . . . ]  [read more]

With Vision Partly Blurred

March 26, 2019 / / 0 Comments

I didn’t know what to expect from a visit to my father’s grave, but I knew I had to make the trip. It had been nearly 10 months since I stood by that plot at the graveside service. Afterwards Samuel, then 3, packed down the mound of brown, moist dirt, engaging this shocking loss more freely and tactually than anyone else. Our conversation was profound:

“What did we just see happen, Sam?”
“Grandpa is dead.”
“And where is he now?”
“He’s into God.”
“And where is his body?”
“His body is down there.” [ . . . ]  [read more]

Sorrow Undone: A story in progress

March 11, 2019 / / 0 Comments

I originally wrote this in September 2012.

Michael was one of my groomsmen, and his wife Emily one of Rachael’s bridesmaids. These were not honorary positions but acknowledgements of deep friendship. During our early college years, Michael and I prayed much together. He joined me on weekend trips home to Atlanta and fast became an honorary Davis. We did ministry together, and we ministered to each other. As Michael shared more of his painful family history–along with the contorted view of God those experiences handed him–our times of tears and anger and unanswered questions and scripture and just doing something were the early indicators that God was making me a pastor. [ . . . ]  [read more]

Photo credit: Christine Matthews

Why the Tall Grass Matters

February 26, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Originally posted on September 28, 2012. Since then I have been more responsible in my lawn care, though the challenge to live reflectively in a world of information overload persists.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is IMG_1903-1.jpg
One of our many tick death pools

This has been the summer of the arachnids for our family. First it was the ticks. I am not talking about the handful of ticks that tried feasting on our dogs. I am talking about an invasion of ticks into our house. Since they are nearly uncrushable we would drop them into the toilet. But by the time we were killing more than 100 per day–I kid you not–we tired of the bathroom trips and set up localized death pools in the form of old yogurt or sour cream containers half-filled with water. [ . . . ]  [read more]

Stewarding Outrage

February 16, 2019 / / 0 Comments

I will be the first to admit that I was outraged.

Virginia’s governor, in response to a bill relaxing the constraints on late-term abortions, spoke about a birth in these terms: “The infant would be delivered. The infant would be kept comfortable. The infant would be resuscitated if that’s what the mother and the family desired. And then a discussion would ensue between the physicians and the mother.” On the surface it sounded as if the governor supported all-out infanticide.  [ . . . ]  [read more]

Lament, Power, and the Future of the SBC

February 16, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Originally published at SBC Voices on June 23, 2018

Less than a month ago, my dad dropped dead of a heart attack. This was shocking, unexpected, and disorienting for our family. As much as we wanted to pretend it didn’t happen or distract ourselves with other things, we have been helped through the process by talking about it, expressing our emotional responses, and letting each family member grieve in his or her own way. We knew we were going in the right direction when my 3-year-old said, “I miss Grandpa. I feel sad. Grandpa was a pilot. Grandpa died. He’s dead now.” [ . . . ]  [read more]

Leaders, Talk About Power to Protect the Vulnerable

February 13, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Originally published at The Gospel Coalition on April 27, 2018.

I can still see the young woman in her late 20s, crouched in the fetal position as she began to tell her story of abuse. Only months into my first pastorate and unaware of such stories, my wife and I were dropped into the deep end of the pool as we listened to our new friend. In barely audible whispers she recounted how her abuser instinctually sensed her vulnerability following a traumatic experience. Then came the gifts, the attention, the flattery, and the confusing physical contact.  [ . . . ]  [read more]

Until What Affects Them Affects You

January 4, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Originally posted on August 24th, 2017 by my friend Jennifer Phillips and later by our local paper, this was my response to the white supremacist rallies in Charlottesville, VA and President Trump’s comments about them.

I wasn’t alive in 1962 for the Cuban missile crisis. The only part of the Cold War I lived through was too consumed with Knight Rider and G.I. Joe’s for me to absorb any of the concerns over Soviet Union nukes. But I think it’s fair to say that the Cold War created an ambient terror in America. A low-grade, incessant concern hung in the air that something radically life-altering could happen at any time. [ . . . ]  [read more]

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