I’ve worn many hats.
I was once a budding meteorologist. I was once a budding broadcast-journalist, racking up hundreds of hours of airtime. I worked in numerous newspapers as an editor, columnist and contributor. And that was all before I turned 27! I was busy, and deep into the local media landscape of Dallas-Fort Worth. Being heard, seen and read was my identity.
Identity is a funny thing, you know? We spend much of our lives trying to develop a satisfactory (or superhero) identity only to have circumstances re-write that identity over and over again. But I’m getting way ahead of myself.
In 2004 I left the media behind, full-time, after I finished a master’s degree at Dallas Seminary and started working as a pastor. A few years later I was hired as a communications/media/arts minister, and, finally, became a certain-to-be church planter in the United Kingdom.
“Certain,” like “identity,” is also a fickle word. Maybe even dangerous. After all, nothing is certain but death, taxes and unforeseen events, right?
What happened on the morning of October 20th, 2012 was one of those events. The story is long and winding and better told in a leisurely article and not an introductory ramble. Bottom line: I woke up in a flat in Edinburgh, Scotland and found myself disabled by a dormant disease that posed little threat to my life’s ambitions before that fateful morning. Once diagnosed with a inner-ear condition called “Meniere’s Disease (MnD),” I battled off-and-on episodes of that illness for 11 years. Each episode featured hearing loss and sensitivity, balance loss and ringing in my ears. But the episodes always ended — sometimes within 24 hours, sometimes three days. On October 20th, another episode started — and never ended. Things got worse and worse each subsequent year and I ended up fully disabled with no cure. Boom.
“Certain” is most definitely a dangerous word.
My inner-ear issues coincided with a rapidly-deteriorating spine. I lost significant movement in my legs and arms due to bulging discs. I started to hurt everywhere my spine connected. I went to chiropractors and they helped a little but they couldn’t fix structural issues. I was deep in the well of despair and brokenness. In pain, unable to balance, haunted by noise in my ears, and stumbling like a drunk man, I needed help — and hope.
I couldn’t work, so I lost my identity. Isn’t it funny how significantly our society ties work to identity? Especially for a man — a single man. With a master’s degree. Usually the first question after, “What’s your name?” is “What do you do?” I could tell people my name. That’s easy. What do I do? Well, I USED to…
Because of brokenness I needed to find out who I was NOW, and let go of who I was THEN. Well-meaning people would say, “Here’s who you are in Christ,” or “Your spiritual identity should be this…” But that simply wasn’t enough for me. Who am I on THIS side of life? What do I DO between now and, well, death?
My journey to discover my identity from the depths of brokenness has been a fun, frustrating, painful and humorous one ever since that fateful day in 2012. I bought a pop-up camper and served as a campground host one summer for the U.S. Forest Service in New Mexico. I hosted a travel show on YouTube, back before things on YouTube were must-see-TV (I was many views short of even being relevant). I wrote an Advent (Christmas) devotional (Advent for Restless Hearts (2018), found on Amazon Kindle and in paperback.). In 2015 I bought a bigger, beat-up, RV trailer and set out for New Mexico to find a little piece of land to call my own and spend my suffering days working on it.
Don’t we all want to have something tangible that we call our own?
I found my something right outside of the vacation destination of Ruidoso, New Mexico. Half an acre. Cheap. Raw. A diamond in the rough at 7,800 feet elevation. A rehab clinic in nearby Alamogordo helped me regain some of my balance. Life was looking up. When the mountain weather started to turn icy, I made a gamble. Through the wonders of an internet social connection, I met Shannon. There was one problem: she lived in Louisiana.
So I loaded up my truck and moved to Beverley… uh, to South Louisiana. Not near her but nearer TO her. We met, destiny happened, we kissed under the falling rain outside a restaurant… oh, wait. That’s a romance movie I once saw and mocked. Never mind. Nevertheless, we knew we were right for each other. So we got married, and my RV and I moved to north Louisiana, then to northwest Arkansas, where we both had connections.
Shannon is a licensed counselor and the rock that my broken life was needing. Not only does she provide me free therapy, but she allows me to regularly return the favor. Even when it isn’t warranted… (marriage, right?). She is really good and has a great reputation in our fast-growing region. And she’s cute. (No, she didn’t just break into my blog and write that.)
Back in Texas I started a ministry for other broken and restless people like myself. When I started Restless Heart Ministries, I was a little less broken but just as restless. I wanted more out of life and grew frustrated and disheartened whenever things in me or around me went wrong. I long to see a lot more heaven on earth and a lot less of the bad stuff of earth in my view of heaven. I met so many others as I navigated life that felt the same way. So I started a ministry for them. Whenever I found answers (or helpful things) I shared them.
With Shannon’s fresh eyes and loving direction, we together hope to see Restless Heart Ministries become a hospitality and counseling organization. You can check out the ministry vision on the Restless Heart website. We hope to buy land and open up a small retreat center, with cabins, a lodge, gardens, trails, and places to reflect, pray and think. Sadly, my health has deteriorated quickly in the past seven years, making our need for help with the ministry dream even more urgent. The dream is willing but the body is wanting.
One thing Shannon and I love to do is travel and explore new (and favorite) places. We bought a “modern” RV in 2017 and put, like, 40,000 miles on it as we criss-crossed the Southern Plains, from New Mexico to Louisiana and closer to home in Oklahoma, Missouri and Arkansas. We spent an average of 40 days (and 40 nights, lol) camping in our RV each year. All along the way we collect patches, stickers and national park stamps, putting them on a “memento” board, one for each year. I think we’re up to… nine boards? Last summer we took our RV game to the next level and bought a used motorhome. We plan to spend more time on the road — yet slowing down our travel pace — while Shannon works and I enjoy life the best I can as I suffer.
At home in the Ozarks, we have a large garden and try our best to give away excess produce. And in 2018 I picked up woodworking as a hobby, mainly building furniture for our home. That hobby has become physically harder for me these days but I hope to get back in the woodshop soon.
So, as you have read, my path in life was never certain. At least from my perspective. It is funny, however, that 21-year-old John had a whole different idea of how his life would unfold. I remember one day walking from our college broadcast studio to another building for a class and outlining my next 10 years. I smiled back then as I dreamed and schemed my way to an amazing promised land, where I was anchoring the ABC, NBC or CBS evening news. I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without people recognizing me and wanting an autograph. How am I going to manage such popularity? I wondered. I’m certain I’ll find a way, I mused.
“Certain” is a… well, you know the drill by now.
I think I’ve written enough.
Grace and peace to you,
— John
BTW… this blog will be occasional musings on life as my health permits. I have lost a lot of my hand-eye coordination and motor skills as a result of complications from my various illnesses. Typing is tedious. So I might throw a few more videos in the mix. Shannon and I are starting a RV travel channel on YouTube, if you’re interested in checking it out. Search for “John & Shannon’s Great Adventure.”
J.C. Newton 