Gregg's Other Life

Would our fragile church survive if it learned the worship leader's tragic secret?

You don't look well," the waitress said while pouring my fourth cup of coffee.

"I feel sick," I admitted, and immediately rushed for the men's room and lost my breakfast. For weeks I had been riding tidal waves of anxiety. But now I was drowning, going under for what I hoped wasn't the last time.

As I knelt before the porcelain altar, I desperately cried out to God once more: "Help me, I'm in over my head. I don't know what to do."

I was three days away from the launch of a new church in the Seattle suburb of Bellevue, Washington.

As a high school senior in Bellevue 15 years earlier, I sensed a call to ministry. The community of Bellevue puzzled me. People lived comfortable and affluent lifestyles, but seemed unfilled. My classmates had everything, but something seemed missing.

Several students became friends, including Kay, my typing partner. I prayed for her often, "God, help me help her find you." Yet, she didn't seem to need God; she had it all.

After graduation I left Bellevue, but Bellevue ...

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