I Died of Exposure and Still Refused Fear

In 2015, I felt the winds of change blow into my life in a big way. I had been traveling the Southeast for the last four or five years doing a weird mix of evangelism and conservation messages in schools and churches under the banner of “Catching Creation.” I was burnt out, jaded, and financially broke. It turns out that “living on faith” sometimes leaves you wanting.

I’ve always been disgusted with how the “faithful” can take advantage of your idealism and servant’s heart to save a few bucks. Shady pastors told me to “have faith” as they waddled out to their brand-new cars to beat the Sunday rush at the Golden Corral. Thankfully, despite making little to no money during that season, I knew what I was doing was important. That kept me going.

I was offered “opportunities” and “exposure” more times than I could count. Each time, I dutifully performed my calling, knowing God would provide. Exposure is a fun way organizations could get you to work for free. “There will be lots of eyes on your program, brother,” they’d say. Those eyes were as cheap as their peers and only afforded me more freebies to give away.

Ironically, those pro bono opportunities never paid my bills, and I often had to scramble to find creative ways to make a living. That made me thankful for the handful of good churches and people who valued my time and ministry. Mostly, I’m thankful my wife had a good job. She kept us alive during that season. It’s also funny because, despite not bringing in much income, I have never worked as hard or as many hours a week as I did while trying to do “ministry.” Still, I felt like a complete failure.

In many ways, when I look back on that season, I think of the game many millennials played in elementary school called The Oregon Trail. I guess you could say that during that season, I died of “exposure.” I guess that’s better than dysentery. We always had what we needed, but just barely.

Easter of 2015 was the last time I did a Catching Creation for a church. I knew that season had ended, and God closed that door. I was content with my decision, but I was scared to death that I’d just fail again.

In April of that year, two weeks after my last church program, I started working as a temporary employee for the federal government. A friend from church told me they were hiring temps to work the backlog of drill pay claims at the Department of Veterans Affairs. Since my friend was pretty high up in management and I was a veteran with a college degree, he was able to get me a job with the agency.

I’d never worked in an office before. I abhorred the entire idea of working in a cubicle. I hated the idea of my wife carrying our financial load even more. I figured this temporary gig would at least be good money and give me time to figure out my next steps.

I watched as my peers were fired and lived under the constant threat of early dismissal as Congress wanted to end the role of temporary employees at the VA. A week before I was set to be fired, when they decided to end the temp program, I was offered a permanent position.

My entire career at the Department of Veterans Affairs has been lived with the looming threat of being fired. I took the job initially as a new form of ministry. I wanted to help veterans because they’re my people, and I firmly believe in being the change you hope to see in things. On paper, the job looked like I’d be helping people, but in practice, it often feels like an assembly line of non-rating claims that never ends.

Still, despite not physically helping people the way I thought I would, I figure this work also needs to get done, and who better than me to knock it out? So I put my head down, did a job I didn’t love, and tried to outwork my peers over and over. At my core, I love being in the service of others.

The rumblings in the news about federal employees being fired remind me of that shift I felt in the wind a decade ago. Times were uncertain; I had no benefits and barely any money. Yet I somehow stumbled into a job that addressed both issues. Perhaps it was providence. Maybe this was my calling, or maybe it’s just another link in a long chain of weird experiences I’ve strung together that will someday make sense.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned with the firings around me. I’ve been told my position is “mission critical,” but I know nothing is certain. All I can do is continue to work hard and hope for the best. If, for some reason, my tenure here ends prematurely, dang, I wonder what will be next. No matter what, I refuse to live in fear.

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Stan Lake is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker currently living in Bethania, North Carolina with his wife Jess and their house full of animals. He split his time growing up between chasing wildlife and screaming on stages in hardcore bands you’ve never heard of. He has been published by Dead Reckoning Collective, The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, and many others. He filmed and directed a documentary called “Hammer Down” about his 2005 deployment in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom in with Alpha Battery 5-113^th of the NC Army National Guard. You can find his books, collected works, and social media accounts at www.stanlakecreates.com

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.