It’s taken me a couple of days to process and try to make sense of the situation unfolding in Afghanistan. I hope you’ll give me the space to “think out loud” for a few moments.

I could write about politics and unload on this Administration. Not so much that we’re getting out of Afghanistan, but how we went about it. It’s a travesty on multiple levels, but I try to avoid divisive politics on social media. Few minds are ever changed. Vote your conscience.

I could write about national strategy as it relates to Afghanistan. I’ve studied national strategy and warfighting at one of our nation’s most prestigious schools. Tens of thousands of debates have occurred, and papers have been written, on our interests in Afghanistan. Do we stay and keep fighting for a third decade? Do we get out completely? Do we leave a smaller contingency force behind to gather intelligence and put out fires? How do we balance humanitarian interests and nation-building with the loss of American lives? Queue the endless debates. 

I could write about one of the fundamental principles of leadership: owning a mistake, learning from it, and committing to do better. Blaming others doesn’t instill confidence. I wish there was more personal accountability and less political posturing in government. I can’t fix that. I can only own my own mistakes.

Instead, I want to share with you how this hit me personally. My youngest son, sensing all may not be well between my ears, checked on me late last night. I told him it had been a surprisingly difficult day emotionally. I’m dealing with anger, frustration, and sadness. I can only imagine what those who lost friends and loved ones in Afghanistan, or served multiple tours there, are dealing with. I can only imagine the suffering on the ground there—our Allies being rounded up, young girls being plucked from their homes, etc. 

Through all those emotions, one question is stuck in my head: Was it worth it? 

I volunteered to spend 6 months at Bagram Air Base in 2007—6 months away from my wife and two young sons—because I wanted to do my part. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to help support the Airmen who were directly killing terrorists. I wanted to make a difference in the lives of the Afghanistan people.

Watching the videos of The Taliban in the presidential palace and walking around Bagram Air Base was shocking. Seeing terrified Afghans scrambling and dropping from an airplane broke my heart. It felt like we were back to square one. It felt like the loss of life and billions of dollars spent over the past two decades were a complete waste. It felt like I would have been better off spending those six months being a present, supportive husband and a dad to my sons.

Those feelings make me highly cynical and jaded. I start thinking… “Because it didn’t last, it shouldn’t have been started. Because it didn’t turn out as we had hoped, it was a wasted effort. The poor, long-term returns prove it was a misguided investment.”

But do they?

This isn’t the first thing in my life that hasn’t, over the long haul, turned out as planned.

As a teacher, youth minister, and mentor, I’ve invested countless hours in some young people who “didn’t turn out as planned,” although God’s not through with them yet. Wasted effort?

As a missionary several years ago, I worked tirelessly alongside others to help plant a church in a third-world country, only to see it fold a few years later. Wasted effort?

As a disaster relief worker, I’ve “mucked” and hung dry wall in many flooded homes, only to see those same homes and communities flooded again in subsequent years. Wasted effort?

As an Airman, I deployed to Afghanistan to help good people and stop bad ones. Yesterday, the bad people won (at least until God settles all accounts). Wasted effort?

As a Christian, I’ve prayed for sick people, including my mom, to get well. God had other plans. Wasted effort?

That kind of thinking will leave one jaded and cynical. You stop trying—stop trying to do good in the world—because your efforts may not work or may not last. Given the lack of a guaranteed, long-term return, we don’t invest.

So, rather than debate politics and national strategy this afternoon, I just want to encourage you to keep doing good.

Invest in teaching and mentoring young people—some lives will be changed.

Share your faith, go on mission trips, plant churches—some will take root and last.

Help disaster victims. If the need arises, help them again.

Deploy to trouble spots or support those who do. Show kindness in the moments God has granted you, be that in a war zone, a school cafeteria, or your home.

Keep praying, even when some prayers seem to go unanswered. The Father knows best. And before bashing our leaders with perhaps well-deserved criticism, take a moment to bow and pray for them.

Like many Americans, I’m profoundly disappointed in what is transpiring in Afghanistan, but I’m not going to become jaded and cynical. 

The truth is, sometimes I let my family and friends down. Sometimes, many times, God has every right to look down on me as a flawed human—a poor long-term investment. 

But God hasn’t given up on me.

And I’m not giving up on this messed up world.

“To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though not being myself under the law) that I might win those under the law… To the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some.”  – 1 Corinthians 9:20, 22

While volunteering at Palmetto Bible Camp in South Carolina, my burly friend Joel and I put our spouses in charge of planning our day off. Big mistake. Instead of the obvious options of fishing, going for barbecue, or relaxing in our RVs, Janet and Karen suggested we attend an equestrian competition at the nearby Tryon International Equestrian Center. 

 “They want to go watch dressage,” Joel lamented, running his thumb and index finger over his white, bushy mustache. 

“What’s dressage?” I asked. 

“It’s the French word for dull and boring.”

“Oh, quit,” Karen interjected, as she herded us toward the car. “It’s horse reigning. You’ll have fun.”

Aside from our preference to eat pigs rather than watch horses and riders execute a series of predetermined moves, why were Joel and I so reluctant?

1. We didn’t know anybody. We had no children, grandchildren, spouses, or friends among the competitors. We hadn’t placed any bets. We had no dog, or rather horse, in the fight.
2. We didn’t understand the jargon, competition elements, time limits, deductions, brackets, arenas, and prizes. None of it made any sense. Just outside the arena, vendors were selling jewelry and windows. That didn’t make any sense either. Joel and I followed the lead of our fellow spectators and applauded but didn’t know what the horse or rider had done to earn it. We didn’t get it.
3. Since we didn’t get it, we didn’t fit in. This wasn’t our culture. These weren’t our people. We were surrounded by horse people doing horsey things. We were RV guys who would have felt more at home at an RV show (or eating barbecue). We didn’t belong here.
4. With few exceptions, the spectators weren’t all that into it. A few hooped and hollered but most sat passively and offered only cursory applause at the end of each performance. This was no Saturday afternoon college football game. Since the other spectators weren’t all that into it, why should we be?
5. I’ve had bad experiences with horses. My wife loves horseback riding and I’ve reluctantly joined her on many rides around the country. After sizing me up and inquiring as to my comfort level, the cowboys always pair me with the oldest and slowest horse in the barn. Then they chastise me throughout the ride for not keeping up. 

One painful beach gallop—an anniversary gift to my wife—resulted in tears in my eyes and a week-long limp. On another ride, I watched a church friend crack her head open after being thrown from her horse. I rushed over and applied pressure to her wound with my t-shirt. It was traumatic not only for her and her children but for our other church friends who saw me shirtless. Yes, I’ve got horse baggage.

Still, Joel and I were there, getting our dressage on, surrounded by a few hundred people in an arena designed for a few thousand. Our experience and attitude regarding equestrian competitions reminds me of the way a lot of people view going to church.

1. “I don’t know anybody. It’s an auditorium full of strangers.”
2. “I don’t know what’s going on. There’s a lot of unfamiliar jargon and peculiar practices. What’s with the bread and juice ritual? What are elders and deacons? Where does the money go? How does this class or sermon relate to my real-life problems? I’m so confused.”
3. “I don’t belong. They have established friend groups and I’m an outsider. These are church people doing churchy things.”
4. “I’ve had bad experiences. I remember the way the church treated my parents during their divorce. Also, no one visited me when I was in the hospital, or the year I was shut-in due to the virus. I’ve got a closet full of church baggage.”
5. “The church members weren’t all that into it. No one made comments or asked questions in Bible class. The singing was ho-hum—not much energy. Everyone sat far apart from each other, even pre-Covid. Not much Spirit in this place.”

The result? Fewer people attend worship services these days. Like the Equestrian Center, many faith groups struggle to fill their building. What can be done? How can we reverse the trend? 

Invite people. Bring them to a decision point. When is the last time you invited someone to church?

When visitors show up, introduce them to others. Connect them with potential friend groups. Take them to the appropriate Bible classes. I left the Equestrian Center with no new friends—no connections. I didn’t get the backstage tour—didn’t meet any riders. It was not enough to just watch them do what they do. We can’t afford for that to happen in our worship services.

Explain terms. Answer questions. Don’t assume people know what’s going on. At the Equestrian Center, one volunteer answered our questions and made sure we had a program. The program explained the scoring, categories, and other relevant material. I read about “change of foot”—a scoring element—and started looking for it. My experience improved once I understood what was going on. 

Make people feel like they belong. Get them involved in a ministry. At the Equestrian Center, imagine how our experience would have been different if they had asked Janet to help transport the horses, Karen to hand out programs, or Joel and me to help repair a barn door. We would have felt needed—a part of the action. There would have been instant buy-in to what was going on. 

Worship in Spirit. Along with your Bible, bring your passion to worship. Sing out. Participate. Make comments in class. Sit together like family. Say “Amen.” I’m not suggesting a rock concert scene, but worship doesn’t need to be a boring funeral service either. 

Finally, consider things that may turn people away, such as archaic terminology or cliques. If you want Joel and me to frequent your equestrian events, or visitors to frequent your worship services, you don’t need throw out the rules—the doctrine. But you must see those events from our perspective. The note from the margin reads: Like Paul, we must consider the perspectives and the culture of the people we’re trying to reach.

Whether Joel and I attend another equestrian event doesn’t matter. Church attendance, however, is paramount. Hebrews 10:25 tells us to, “not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing.” Let’s do all we can to make visitors feel welcome and more likely to return. I may not understand dressage, but I know church services are where we worship God, learn His will, and draw closer to one another.