A pastor tells about his moral failure and an amazing journey that Pure Desire Ministry brings about in his life…a journey of restoration and healing.

I know my parents loved me. I am so grateful I had parents who wanted the best for me. But they often did not know how to nurture me in healthy ways.

My parents called themselves West Virginia hillbillies. They had migrated to Portland in 1953 when I was two. My father was an outgoing and social fellow who enjoyed being around people but hated conflict and confrontations. He did a good job of avoiding this by being a traveling salesman. He was gone three weeks out of four every month till I was seven years old.

With my father being gone so much, my mother was left to her own devices in parenting my younger sister and I. My mother learned to parent with no extended family around. Unfortunately, Mom discovered that shaming words got what she wanted - behavioral compliance. It wasn't that she called me bad names, rather she made me feel inadequate. I felt incompetent.

My first memory of shame was when I was about four years old. For some reason I wet my pants. My mom got very angry and put diapers on me. She then physically forced me outside of our apartment, which was right in front of the playground where my friends were playing. I loved my mother and she was angry with me. I liked my friends and they laughed at me.

The message was clear: something is wrong with me. I'm damaged goods.

I had a cousin, who is four years older than I am. My mother often stated, "Why can't you be like your cousin, Billy?" Bill was valedictorian of his high school class, a three sport high school all state athlete, president of his youth group, handsome, and on top of it all, a genuinely nice guy. I didn't realize that it was unfair to be compared with Billy. I thought it was just more proof of my failings.

I remember one day, when there had been conflict between my mother and I, Dad came to my room and said, "Son, your mother and sister are always butting heads, and I need you to be the compliant one."

There was my role in the family. Don’t make waves. Don't have problems. Just do what I'm told. I felt I was on my own and feared my faults being exposed. My low self esteem led to superficial relationships with both family and friends.

By this time, I had discovered my father’s stash of pornography, which led to masturbation. This was a "safe" way to medicate my problems in private. This was the beginning of my sexual addiction.

When I finished college, I got married and became a Christian. I knew that masturbation was not part of the Christian walk so I did my best to control it. My sense of self worth plummeted. I thought if I could become a pastor then I might get the validation I hungered for.

Since I couldn’t find value in my identity, I would find it through what I did. I hoped that my outside performance would overcome the shortcomings I felt inside.

But nothing I did gave me the internal fulfillment that would numb my sense of inadequacy. Though I was outwardly successful in pastoring I continued to live a façade, harboring a secret inner life. There was trouble with the marriage, and I felt as though my wife and children didn't need me.

Eventually I plunged back into masturbation, but soon that was not enough to medicate the pain. Eventually I had several encounters with women in the church. Three of those were long term affairs.

I was now a full-fledged hypocrite leading an evil secret life. I read books on addiction and healing, but could not do the one thing to bring about healing. I could not openly confess my sin. My tormenting inner voice told me that I would lose my wife, my children, my career, and my friends. My life would be over.

Thankfully, God intervened through my oldest son. He knew something was terribly wrong with the family and he didn't know what it was. He asked God to reveal it to him before he left for college. Three months later, September 20, 1993 he overheard a conversation that revealed everything.

He faithfully told his mother.

That evening when she got off work she came to the church office and angrily confronted me, telling me that she was divorcing me among other truthful and painful statements.

My shame had been exposed. I sat in the church office and cried for hours. Then, upon my wife’s demand, I went home and confessed to my children. I can still hear their tearful pleading voices, “Why did you do it, Dad? Why?”

I had no answers. My ruin was complete. The prophetic voices of shame were now fulfilled. I had lost my family, friends, and a career because of my betrayal. I imagined myself sleeping under bridges and going from rescue mission to rescue mission. My life was over.

Can you imagine at forty-three years old calling up your parents, confessing such horrid sin, and asking them if you could move back home? I saw no other choice, and it was humiliating.

But there was hope that I could not yet see. It was East Hill Church. I had first met Ted in the early eighties, and from a distance followed his work. I had heard he was starting a group for men with sexual issues. Foursquare graciously allowed me to attend East Hill.

I met with Ted, who completely blew me away. As expected he did not minimize my sin. Yet to my great surprise he did not minimize me. He sent me to counsel with Scot Oja and after a month, told me it was time to get involved with a small group. I was frightened; but not for the reason you think.

You see for the first several services at East Hill I had just three goals. Repent for my sins, hear Ted’s teaching, and avoid anyone I knew. I would purposely show up late and sit in the most inconspicuous spot I could find. But by the time each of those services ended someone was sitting within ten feet of me that I had pastored. The story was always the same.

“Pastor Harry, what are you doing here?”

I was purposefully late to my first small group fearing another encounter, and I looked to see who was present, and I did not recognize anyone except Scot. I was grateful. I came in, sat down, and observed the meeting for about fifteen minutes when someone burst into the room apologizing for being late. He stopped in mid sentence and looked at me and said, “Pastor Harry, what are you doing here?”

The message was clear even to me. No more hiding, no more secrets. I came to learn through the men of my small group that God exposed my sin and secrecy not to reject and despise me as shame had taught, but rather He exposed my sin so He could show me His outrageous love. God has restored my life “exceedingly abundantly above all that I could ask or even think.” I am living proof of God’s restoring love and I am eternally grateful.

    DESIGNED BY PLAINJOE STUDIOS © 2009 PURE DESIRE     


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