Two years ago I wrote a song; it was a ballad about a woman named Lady Lou. When I was young boy, Lady Lou chose to show me kindness. She fed me when I was hungry, clothed me when I was naked, taught me when I was clueless. She held me and pampered me and told me she loved me.

But when I got older, she turned on me. Her warm smile disappeared and the light in her eyes grew dim as she pushed me away time and time again. She stabbed me in the back, she rejected me for petty differences, and she withheld the love and the comfort that she had lavished on me as a child.

Lady Lou, Lady Lou, all I want to do
Is Just sit and be held by you

Lady Lou, Lady Lou, no matter what I do
You turn away, you walk away from me

So I try and I fail, 'cause I don't know, I can't tell
What you want, my dear Lady Lou

But I'm starting to know, 'cause it's starting to show
You're not the dear I thought you to be

Lady Lou was the most hurtful person in my life because it's brutally painful to have someone you love turn against you.

Lady Lou was my metaphor for the church.

Through my employment on three different church staffs I saw how ugly the church can be. I witnessed the political maneuvering and the backbiting. I observed people who were more willing to shout charges of heresy than to sit down with their perceived enemies to discuss their differences. I saw pastors turn on staff, congregants turn on one another, and cliques fighting other cliques over the most ridiculously shallow things you can imagine.

I saw others targeted and I was targeted myself. And throughout all of this, I began to grow more calloused toward the church. The church that I revered, loved, and had committed to serve for the rest of my life seemed as if it were trying to push me away. "Unwanted." That's how I felt. There are deep scars from all of this conflict.

For the last two years I have struggled through all of these issues. At times I've thought about it too much, to the point that it was unhealthy. And then God began to pierce through my calloused heart and heal me from the inside out.

I'll write more about that journey in Part 2.

A few months ago something really bothered me when I watched Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan (wow, that's a mouthful).

Now, I know what you're thinking: surely it was the naked men wrestling or the fact that a perfectly good antique store was obliterated. Though the naked fight was certainly difficult to watch, it wasn't the most disturbing part of the film...