The Healthiest Possible Version of You

Every six months, I drive to her office, strip down, and let her examine every square inch of my body. Once you've had melanoma like me, this is the protocol. No exceptions. The nurse hands you a paper gown that doesn't actually cover anything, the doctor walks in with a bright light and a magnifying glass, and you stand there while she checks places you didn't know had places. 

It's not dignified. But it might save your life.

Melanoma is sneaky. It doesn't announce itself. By the time you can see it without help, it's often too late. So once you've had it, you don't get to wait until something looks bad. You go every six months, and you let someone with training look at the parts of you that you can't see.

Including the parts you'd rather no one see.

Why Pastor Self-Care Isn't What You Think It Is

Last week, I was on another cohort retreat in Salt Lake City with a group of pastors, and one of them said something that really hit hard for more than a couple of leaders in the room:

"The best gift you can give your church and family is the healthiest possible version of yourself." —J.R. Lee

He wasn't trying to be clever. He was just saying it out loud—the thing most of us know but never name. And as soon as he said it, I started doing the math on my own life instead of just pointing fingers at those I've been coaching for the last six months.

Because here's what's true for most ministry leaders I know.

Right now, your family isn't getting that gift. They're getting the leftovers. The exhausted version. The distracted version. The one who's already given everything to a hundred other people and has nothing left when you walk through the front door at night. (I could be wrong, but I've seen it too much to believe I am.)

And perhaps your church isn't getting that gift either. They're getting the performed version. The polished one. The pastor who's "fine" when you ask, who's got it together on Sunday, who never lets anyone see what's actually going on underneath. (Again, I've seen it more than I like to admit because it sounds indicting.)

So here's the question I feel compelled to gently and lovingly ask:

If neither your family nor your church is getting the healthiest version of you—who is?

Pastor Burnout Doesn't Just Happen—Neither Does Health

What would it look like to actually give your church and your family the healthiest version of you? Not the put-together version. Not the pastor who has all the answers. Not the leader who never struggles.

The version that's actively becoming healthier—physically, emotionally, spiritually, financially, relationally—and isn't pretending to be something you're not for the approval of others—even yourself.

Here's what I'm convinced of after thirty-five years of this work: that version doesn't happen by accident. It happens the same way melanoma gets caught early. By somebody being willing to look. Regularly. Honestly. At the parts you'd rather not show anyone.

The Difference Between Pastor Guilt and Pastor Stewardship

I know what's probably happening in your head right now. You're starting to feel that familiar pastor-guilt—another thing I'm failing at, another area I should examine, another reason I'm not enough.

Stop.

That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying the opposite.

The reason I sit in my dermatologist's office every six months isn't because I'm broken. It's because I want to live. The exam isn't punishment. The exam is freedom.

When she finishes the scan and tells me everything looks good, I walk out of there lighter than I went in. When she finds something and decides to biopsy it, I walk out with information I didn't have before—and information is a gift. Either way, I leave knowing something I couldn't have known without showing up.

That's what a real spot check on your life is. It's not shame. It's stewardship.

It's saying: my church and my family deserve the healthiest version of me, I owe the people I love the healthiest version of me. And the only way that happens is if I'm willing to look honestly at what's actually going on. Not what I'm pretending is going on. Not what I'm telling people is going on. What's actually going on.

In your body. In your marriage. In your relationship with God when no one's watching. In your finances. In your friendships. In the spaces of your life you've been quietly avoiding because looking feels like too much.

What Separates Pastors Who Last from Pastors Who Don't

The pastors I've watched fall apart over the last 30 years didn't do so because they had a problem.  They fell apart because they had a problem they wouldn't look at.

The ones who are still standing—the ones whose churches and families are actually getting the healthiest version of them—those pastors learned to look. Regularly. Honestly. With courage instead of shame.

That's not a personality trait. It's a practice. And it starts with one decision: I'm going to find out what's actually true about my life right now. That's the whole shift. Not a system. Not a program. A decision to stop pretending and start checking.

P.S. By the way, my doctor didn't cut anything off me yesterday. No biopsy. No band-aid. She usually finds something to send to the lab. I walked out as intact as I walked in. Some days, the spot check just confirms you're okay. But you don't get that gift unless you show up for the exam.

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One More Thing

Right now, I'm sending a free copy of my book Ministry Cancer: Dying to Serve to any pastor who asks for one. No catch. If the book might help, you can request your copy here.

About the Author

Tim Eldred has been serving in pastoral ministry for over three decades and has had the privilege of training and mentoring thousands of pastors in over 40 countries. He is the founder of The Authentic Pastor. Most importantly, he is a husband, father, and grandfather.