“I don’t care what’s going on in your personal life. When you get to these doors, you check your baggage at the door.”
Those words were spoken to me in ministry. Added to the unspoken expectations so many pastors live under — always be strong, never be weak, never struggle, never fail — they became the script I tried to live by. For nearly 30 years, I carried that weight. I tried to live up to all of the expectations, but behind the mask, I was quietly unraveling.
When my stepfather and brother died within a year of each other, the grief pushed me into a season of depression. A friend gently encouraged me to see a counselor, but I brushed it off and turned it into a joke. Deep down, I was too proud — and too ashamed of what it might say about me if I admitted I needed help. Pastors are supposed to be the ones who hold everything together — not the ones who need help themselves.
But carrying that weight in silence doesn’t make you stronger. It isolates you; it wears you down; and eventually, it steals your hope. I reached the end of my strength and finally found myself in a counselor’s office. That moment became a turning point. It was as if a light came on. For the first time, I began to see my own story clearly, to understand how attachment — the ways we connect (or fail to connect) with God and others — had shaped my life. Counseling gave me language, perspective, and healing I didn’t know I needed.
Out of that journey, Gospel Attachment was born. This blog is about bringing those hidden struggles into the light, challenging the stigma around mental health in the Church, and exploring how the gospel speaks to our deepest longings for safety, belonging, and love. The good news isn’t just about eternity; it’s about God restoring us here and now — healing shame, reshaping relationships, and grounding us in His steadfast love.
My prayer is that what you find here gives you encouragement, language for your own journey, and permission to bring your whole self — baggage and all — into the presence of Christ. Because the truth is this: God never asked us to leave our baggage at the door. He meets us in the middle of it, and His love is big enough to hold us there.
My Journey in a Sentence
“For years, I thought strength required me to hide behind a mask. It didn’t.”
“God never asks us to check our baggage at the door — He meets us in the middle of it.”
“The gospel is not just for eternity, it’s for the places we secretly struggle today.”
