The Ministry of Naming

““It’s no coincidence that Jesus taught almost entirely by telling stories, simple stories dealing with the stuff of life familiar to the Jesus of his day. Stories are able to help us to become more whole, to become Named. And Naming is one of the impulses behind all art; to give a name to the cosmos wee see despite all the chaos.””
— Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections of Faith and Art

Jesus says the most important commandments are to love God with everything and love your neighbor as yourself. He’s asked who is my neighbor? He responds with a story. A story that Names your neighbor as whoever is in need right in front of you. A story that Names love as more than a good feeling and a pat on the back.

In a Ministry of Naming, stories are so valuable.

A speaker tells a story and Names what it feels like when anxious thoughts take over and cause them to spiral, and someone in the audience recognizes their own experience in the story. Wait, that’s anxiety? And they consider for the first time asking for help.

Someone tells a story of leaving an abusive relationship and Names the manipulation, insecurity, and pain, and someone else now has the words to see their own situation more clearly.

A mentor tells a story of reconciliation, explaining how they eventually laid down their pride and mended a relationship, and maybe a hearer is ready to Name their own pride as the roadblock in the way of forgiveness.

A parent tells a story of hitting rock bottom and describes the process of God healing and restoring their life and relationships. They name hope. They name the difficulties and fears that keep us stuck.

You tell a story about that bizarre feeling of watching everyone go back to normal after you lost someone you love, and someone else feels less alone in their grief.

I’m going to talk more about this in my free webinar on April 18. Sign up now!

Free Webinar: Ministering to Mental Health

For pastors and community leaders looking to create a culture of openness and support around mental health. Whether you're new to discussing mental health or looking for fresh ideas to support your community, this webinar will provide valuable insights and resources to help you make a positive impact.

What better time to talk mental health with pastors than when they’re all burned out after Easter.

Sign up here

Writing Hours Livestream

I wanted to make something that could hold me accountable to my writing and help me focus.

I’ve used the “Pomodoro Technique” where you set timers, going back and forth between working for 15 minutes and taking 5 minute breaks. After doing that 4 times you take a longer break.

It really does help me focus and keep me from checking my phone all the time.

It’s also been super helpful to use it with a friend over FaceTime. One one of us sets a timer. No talking, just working, using the breaks to catch up. That’s been a lot of fun.

I thought it would be cool to do it with everyone.

It’s a Focus Livestream. Every Tuesday on my Youtube channel. Anybody else who needs help setting aside time to write, read, chores, homework can do the Pomodoro Technique with me! We’ll all focus for 15 minutes and chat in the breaks. Keep it open on your laptop, phone, or TV and we can all get stuff done together!

January Live Events in Texas (FREE!)

I’m performing my new comedy storytelling show in Texas later this month. It’s called Strong Feelings About Being Alive. I tell stories about Mister Rogers, depression, and what it’s like to bomb during a school assembly.

Here’s some more info about the shows…

January 19th in Houston, TX

Since this is my first time performing the show in front of an audience, this is a chance for me to workshop the material. After the show, everyone will have a chance to submit any feedback/reactions. I want to make this show the best and I need your help!

Go to Eventbrite to reserve your spot for free (space is limited)

Share the event on Facebook to spread the word

January 26th in San Antonio, TX

I’m bringing the show to San Antonio for two nights!

Go to Eventbrite to reserve your spot for free (space is limited)

Share the event on Facebook to spread the word

January 27th in San Antonio, TX

Last chance to catch the new show this month!

Go to Eventbrite to reserve your spot for free (space is limited)

Share the event on Facebook to spread the word

My Favorite Memory of My Youth Pastor Yelling

My sophomore year of high school.

At an arts festival.

Well, arts competition.

A Christian arts competition.

For youth.

End of the weekend.

Time for too many people to crowd into an auditorium for awards.

My youth group is seated all together. We’ve all competed in different categories. Some as groups and some alone. I was there for a solo drama.

Announce a category, list the top three, call first place on stage.

My church competed every year but rarely left with awards.

One year we did leave with a new rule about how we weren’t allowed to complain about the one church who inevitably won everything because they always do and it’s not fair and I bet the judges—

My youth pastor made the rule. We needed it. If you had a dollar for every negative comment we had about that church, you could fund a missions trip. We were numb to our own resentment and needed to be snapped out of it. He was adamant about breaking the thought loop. It was like he put up a road sign at the entrance of our favorite trail of thought: Turn back. This way leads to death. He was trying to save us.

Paul says in 1 Thessalonians 2:8: So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were ready to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you had become very dear to us.”

One way we can offer “our own selves” is by allowing ourselves to become a character in someone else’s story. The only reason I have a story to tell about that award ceremony is because of my youth pastor. I was ready for it fly unremarkably, but he stepped in.

Back in high school, I really didn’t like myself. Now I only kinda don’t like myself sometimes. That’s growth, people.

Back then I didn’t know it was a problem not to like myself. I thought I was being objective. I knew I was annoying, and the best place for me was out of sight and out of mind. That’s one of the reasons I liked performing on stage: for a brief moment people were fine paying attention to me doing all things I got in trouble for at school. Walking off stage meant returning to my disappearing act. I wanted to make myself as small and out of the way as possible. I got pretty good at it. To this day, I’ll still have people stand next to me and exclaim “you’re much taller than I realized.” Thanks. Years of practice.

The ceremony went on. Category after category. Small vocal ensemble. Percussion solo. Short sermon. Puppet sign language. Large vocal solo. Loudest Prayer. (Okay, some of those are fake).

First place in Small Ensemble Space Rebellion

They got to my category, Drama Solo (Han’s cousin).

I wasn’t nervous. I knew I wasn’t going to win. Just because I liked performing didn’t mean I was good at it. I wasn’t. That ONE CHURCH was probably going to—

Ok, somehow I was in the top 3.

Caught me off guard.

I tried to ignore anyone else from my church pretending to be excited for me. I knew better. In a second, we’d be clapping for someone else before moving on to more important categories everyone in the youth actually cared about.

Then they called my name. Like, my first and last.

I had won.

AND THEN I FINALLY FELT GOOD ABOUT MYSELF BECAUSE I BEAT OTHER PEOPLE AND PROVED I WAS ACTUALLY WORTH SOMETHING.

THE END.

ROLL CREDITS. BE INSPIRED. WIN YOUR WAY OUT OF DEPRESSION.

Not really.

Winning couldn’t change anything. I can easily talk myself out of caring. Awards go to the wrong people all the time. Alfred Hitchcock never won an Oscar. Mistakes are made. Don’t get too excited. It doesn’t change anything.

That’s exactly what I would have been thinking on my walk to the stage if something hadn’t completely derailed my normal train of thought.

When they called my name, before I could think any of my normal thoughts about myself, I heard my youth pastor.

My youth pastor was, and still is, a very passionate man. About everything. Jesus, sports, the right way to eat the free ice cream cone at Jason’s Deli.

But this moment nearly broke my brain.

They said my name and immediately a celebration shot out of him like fireworks. It knocked me back.

He didn’t have time to think or plan his reaction. It wasn’t like You know what would be good for Taylor? If I pretended to be excited for him and acted like this actually mattered. Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth cheered.

It was all I could think about the whole walk up. There was no room left in my mind to discredit the judges or have any ill will toward the one church. My brain was fully engaged with something I couldn’t process. I had seen my youth pastor excited before, but for me? Why?

But the more the instant replay looped and the more the shout echoed in my ears, the more the message seeped into me.

Someone I look up to believes I’m worth celebrating even when I don’t believe it myself?

What a gift.

Isn’t that the message of the gospel? But my youth pastor wasn’t interested in just giving the message. He gave his own self. His cheer. He gave this moment, which might seem so small in my telling, but little moments can become giant memories. Those memories become stories. Those stories are how I understand myself and the world. And there have been times when I needed to Holy Spirit to tell me those stories again.

Someone is excited about you existing.

And the coolest part? If my old youth pastor reads this, he won’t remember the moment nearly as well as I do. Of course not. It was nothing special. Just him being him.

Him just living his life is what changed mine.

Again I say, what a gift.

Follow Taylor on Substack

My name is Taylor Johnson and I’m writing to you from the internet. It’s been years since I last showed up in your inbox. Now I am back writing my newsletter. But with a few lil changes.

A FEW LIL CHANGES

  • I’m focusing on storytelling. How do we tell the stories of our lives? How do stories shape our imagination? What stories do we have to share? How do we hear hope in other people’s stories?

  • MORE THAN WEEKLY (AT FIRST). I’m launching this writing project on November 1st with 30 days inspired by 1 Thessalonians. Something small everyday: stories, prayers, questions, resources, and recommendations. Between 200-800 words a post. Back to once a week in December.

  • I changed my website url from taylorjohnsononline to followtaylor.com, and my email address changed with it. If you’ve been trying to reach me because you wanted to gift me a large sum of money, please try the new email address. If you’ve been trying to reach me because I owe you a large sum of money, keep trying the old one.

  • I’m using Substack now because it’s easier and makes more financial sense than the newsletter service I used 3 years ago. You’ll still receive updates in your inbox, but now there’s an easy to access archive in case you missed a post.

  • I’ve started stretching everyday and for the first time in my life I can touch my toes. I know that’s not related, but I’m proud of myself and wanted to share.

How I Learned to Fill a Journal

I have so many half filled spiral ring notebooks from high school and college. Buying a new one was always more exciting than finishing the one I had. Moleskins made the joy of buying and the shame of abandoning even stronger (they’re so expensive!). I couldn’t do it.

But then I started reading Austin Kleon’s blog. And then Kleon pointed to Lynda Barry. Both wrote about journaling and keeping notebooks in a way that made it less intimidating. I was jealous of their attitude.

Here’s what I try to do now because of them…

Use one notebook to catch EVERYTHING. Let it all commingle. A to do list next to a prayer next to doodles next to a “I’m depressed enough to try writing a poem” poem (an example of which will NOT be included in the post). Cast a wide net and add something every day. But most of all, have fun. Play around. Let loose. Who cares.

And make sure you go back and revisit old journals later. You’ll be surprised at all you caught. Stand back and see the big picture. Connect the dots. Check for themes.  Let that inspire what comes next in your current notebook.

Read again all the words you once thought important enough to write down. They might still mean something.

It’s a lot easier for me to get stressed and frustrated when I don’t start the morning journaling. I’ve also had to start journaling with my phone on the other side of the room. I kept catching myself picking it up whenever I started writing about something that made me uncomfortable.

I need to take away that distraction. If what I’m journaling about is making me uncomfortable, it’s probably a sign I’m heading in the right direction. That’s the exact thing I should be working out in writing.

Another book that’s really helped me with this is Opening Up by Writing It Down: How Expressive Writing Improves Health and Eases Emotional Pain.

My main takeaway: Have a difficult memory or situation you’re struggling with? Set a timer for 20 minutes and write nonstop the whole time. Just get in the zone and get it out. When the timer is up, close the journal. Give yourself a moment to breathe. Do it again tomorrow. See how you feel after 3 or 4 days of this.

Everything I put in my notebooks: journaling, prayers, plans, rants, stories, jokes, lists, quotes, questions, sermons, memories, and a drawing of Homer Simpson from memory.

Austin Kleon on keeping a notebook

When does a diary pay off?

A journal is a magic space to hang out

The page is a place (based on Lynda Barry quotes!)

Journaling exercise from Lynda Barry

Sometimes when I’m having trouble writing a story, I’ll play this video. Lynda Barry recorded this memory writing exercise for her college class (which you can read all about in the awesome book Syllabus).

Get Back On that Horse and Try to Fail

I’m afraid of how rusty I am.

I want to start writing again but I’m dreading getting back into it. I’m sure I’m too rusty. Writing? Again? Every day?! I tell myself Forget it, the rust is too much! So I do. I forget.

Until I remember. I really want to start writing again.

The cycle starts over. Forget, remember, forget, remember. Meanwhile nothing gets written and I feel stuck.

I used to write every day. Now that sounds like a huge accomplishment, but back then it was just routine. Same with running. Before training for a marathon, I felt like I deserved a parade any time I ran longer than a mile without stopping or crying or falling in a ditch. The more I did it, the easier it got. Toward the end of training I could see a 4 mile run on the schedule and be grateful that it was an easy day. AN EASY DAY?! Now look at me! If I tried to run 4 miles today, all my bones would crack like cornflakes.

Why is getting back into the swing of things harder than starting to swing the first time? Getting back on the horse feels like it takes more effort than the initial hop in the saddle. Why? It’s the same horse! I know this horse. We’ve met. We used to be great together. Why isn’t this easier?!

I’m dreading the effort it’s going to take to get things back to how they used to be. I’m not looking forward to how many times this used to be easier will fly across my thoughts. I’ll lecture myself, If you hadn’t given up you would be so much further along than you are now.

That’s the problem: if I’m actually going to start over, I have to forgive myself for quitting in the first place. If I can’t do that, I’m going to see every obstacle as some sort of punishment. This is what you get, idiot! If someone else talked to me that way all the time, I wouldn’t want to be around them much, would I? But because I’m my own bully, I’m stuck with this jerk sidekick in the back of my thoughts all the live long day.

Is that why I’m doom scrolling through Instagram? Am I avoiding myself? If I keep scrolling, I stay distracted. And if I’m distracted, I’m not saying mean things to myself about all the things I should be doing. My day becomes about how to keep my bully happy instead of actually doing the things I need to.

And the rust grows stronger. I’m stuck.

I wanted to find this really encouraging Willem Dafoe quote about getting over creative blocks. I can’t find it. Googling “Willem Dafoe” advice” gets you some interesting results, though.

Here are 4 headlines back to back from the first page of results:

 

How to act like Willem Dafoe

Why Willem Dafoe can’t slow down

Abandon Yourself: Willem Dafoe explains how he acts

Willem Dafoe: “I’ve thought of murder many times.”

If you put those all together you can see that the best actors rush, lose control, and think about murder. That’s not the advice I was looking for.

OH WAIT! I found it.

Abandon Perfection, Try to Fail!

Striving for perfection and worrying about failure will get you all locked up. “You’ve got to find ways to let you not worry and be free.”

It’s counterintuitive but that’s the point.

I want to write. I want it to be good. I’m worried about it being bad. That worry can choke my imagination and keep me from taking risks. And those risks are probably what will actually lead to good writing. I’ve got to get out of my own way!

It’s like Viktor Frank’s paradoxical intention from Man’s Search for Meaning.

Let’s say you’re anxious about a big job interview. You’re so afraid of how you’re going to come across that your nerves are shot. If you dig your heels in (mental, metaphorical heels) and walk into that interview saying to yourself DON’T BE AWKWARD! DON’T BE AWKWARD! Chances are, it’s going to have the opposite effect. The more you think about trying not to be awkward, the more awkward you’re going to be. The solution is to give yourself a paradoxical intention: imagine the thing you’re dreading is exactly what you want to happen. Walk into that interview telling yourself I’m going to show off just how awkward I can be. I’m going to be the most awkward job interview this company has ever seen. You’re freeing yourself when you do that. You’re giving yourself permission not to overanalyze every little thing you do for fear that it’s coming across as awkward. And the more you’re out of your head and in the moment, the less awkward you’ll actually be!

The more you try to be in control, the more you’ll fall apart. Give yourself some freedom.

It’s just like falling asleep or trying to impress someone: the more actively you’re trying to make it happen, the more it’s going to slip through your fingers. I can’t lay in bed screaming into my pillow “I NEED TO FALL ASLEEP RIGHT NOW!” And the worst social interactions I’ve had started with me thinking “I really need this person to like me.”

Is there a way to relate this to Jesus’ words in Luke 9?

 

And he said to all, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself?

 

The more we try to grasp, take, and control, the more we lose.

Let go.

BUT WHAT IF IT’S NOT PERFECT?!

The more that fear is in control, the more my life will be out of control.

Which, you know, is easier said than done.

Garland Owensby (1968-2023) Tribute

I got to be a part of the memorial service for my friend and mentor, Garland Owensby. This is pretty much what I said.


Originally I was going to talk about Owensby's career as a male model, but I think l'Il go in a different direction.

That was one of Owensby's go to jokes whenever he'd get up to preach. I heard that joke a lot. I heard all his jokes a lot over the years of traveling with him. The jokes about growing up getting called Garlic, the song parodies, the Elmo impression. My favorite jokes were the ones he would text me, usually after class or during chapel, the ones he thought of in the moment but knew he couldn't tell everyone else. That's when I knew he considered me more than just a student.

I know I should have been just another student. I wasn't even his student. My first semester I had Tiffani Owensby for a math class, and whenever I would start making too many jokes she'd always say "you need to meet my husband."

Even though I wasn't in any of his classes, he'd let me use up his office hours just so we could talk stand-up comedy. In college, he let me open for him on the road. After I graduated, we still performed together and hung out any time I was in town. When I lived in my van, I knew I always had a place to do laundry and get a home cooked meal when I was near Waxahachie.

He taught me everything. He taught me that being silly and goofy does not disqualify you from sharing the gospel. He taught me how to listen as an act of care. He taught me his philosophy of ministry. I remember one time hearing this poor little chubby little sweaty little red faced jr high boy desperately trying to have conversation with Owensby. It was at a camp, during rec games, and you could tell this kid thought it was the huge deal deal he was getting to talk to the camp speaker.

And this is kid was LYING about EVERYTHING. Nothing he was saying was true and it was immediately obvious. To the point where he was like "One time in ROTC we were all lined up doing jumping jacks and my instructor pulled the pin on a grenade and threw it at us. Everyone else ran away to save themselves because they thought it was real. I was the only one to jump on top of it, saving everyone and proving I was the bravest."

When the kid wasn't looking I leaned over to Owensby.

"That's a scene in the first Captain America movie.”

"I know," he said and went back to listening to him.

This poor kid wanted nothing more than for the camp speaker to talk to him and he thought he wasn't interesting enough on his own to warrant Garland's attention. He felt like he had to pretend to be someone he's not in order to earn Owensby's love. But Garland's whole philosophy of ministry was about proving that mindset wrong.

He didn't call it out, didn't humiliate him. He just gave the kid his full attention until he relaxed into the truth. It was so small and subtle, but the greatest act of kindness for that kid.

He had a whole bunch of sermons he could bring anytime he was asked to speak, but there was one that was the most important to him. It was like an identity message, the sermon that contained the nugget of hope and truth that motivated the way he did everything in ministry. Psalm 139, specifically verse 14: "I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well."

Fearfully and wonderfully made. That was at the heart of Garland. Treat everyone with the respect, dignity, and love that you would give to anyone that God himself would point to and say "this one here, this one is fearfully and wonderfully made.

It was like he was telling every student he interacted with: You don't need to be Captain America for me to care about you.

He cared. He cared about the outcasts, weirdos, and those pushed to the margins.

He cared about the underdogs, including women in ministry. He would often say that women in ministry has been, in the past, one of the best kept secrets of the Assemblies of God. "We'll credential them but we won't make them pastors." So he designed a shirt to sell around campus that said "A Woman's Place in the Pulpit."

He cared about victims. Every time there was a new scandal with some masters commission, school of leadership, or chi alpha, we would end up sitting together, reading victims' stories, and treating them with the same respect and seriousness that we would want our own stories to be treated with.

And his care made a lasting impact. At the memorial service I met one of Garland's former students from when he was a youth pastor. He had tears in his eyes when he told me that this youth pastor he met when he was 17 is the reason he's in ministry today.

It's also been cool to see former students who today probably don't want anything to do with the church, and yet when they heard the news they still had stories they wanted to share about Owensby's lovingkindness. His care was genuine.

He wanted us to know we are fearfully and wonderfully made, even when it doesn't feel true, doesn't make sense, even when the rest of the world might make us feel worthless, your value comes from our God and Father who says "you are not a mistake."

Another sermon I heard from him a lot was about the importance of bearing each others burdens. He ended with the same story every time. It was about walking into the first class he had to teach after hearing the news that his mom had passed away. He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to teach. He didn't feel like being the one with all the answers, having to pretend like he had it all together, while his heart was still breaking. At the start of every class, the professor is supposed to ask for prayer requests and lead everyone else in prayer. Instead, he let them in on what was going on, revealing the burden he was carrying.

"Can we pray for you?" The whole class got up, surrounded Owensby, put their hands on him, and prayed. I think they stayed like that for a while, not rushing past that moment of care.

I heard him tell this story at least a dozen times and not once could he get to the end of without crying. He got emotional every time.

I think it was one of the most meaningful moments during his time as a professor. The students he cared about cared for him.

It didn't matter if he was having a terrible day and couldn't be "on" all the time, it didn't matter if he didn't feel like he deserved it, those students saw Garland as fearfully and wonderfully made, emotions and all, and they jumped at the opportunity to bear his burden with him.

When my dad died, Garland was the first person I texted.

The day of my dad's funeral I was shocked when Garland walk in. He drove four hours there and four hours home just to hug me.

I cannot tell the story of my life without him. If you asked me why I do what I do, how I got where I am, why I care about the things I care about, or talk the way I talk about Christianity, he is pivotal in all those things. To tell those stories without him would be the most dishonest telling. He changed my life.

I miss my friend. And at the same time it has been beautiful to have so many kind and thoughtful friends reach out to check if I was ok, friends who want to help bear this burden, friends I met through SAGU, friends who I know…I know they learned how to do what they're doing from Owensby. Because I recognize him in their care.