Learning to Run

(This letter was written just as God was bringing me to my knees.  I believe the resultant outpouring of prayer greatly contributed to my deliverance.)

Hello.

Do you know what is most difficult about writing prayer letters? Realism.

Because its easy to write and tell about the things that have happened in our lives. I can tell you about those that were saved and baptized since last letter, and the several that joined the church. I can write about the excellent spirit in the services, and how God is moving in and through His people here in Cold Lake. Paragraphs could be written about the hours spent discipling, counseling and the victories being won here as a result. Perhaps you would like to hear of the new family that drives 90 minutes for church? Or the sudden numerical growth among those under 25? Or that sometimes it seems like we may need to plan for a bigger building?

I can tell of the many great messages preached here, and how real spiritual growth keeps happening. Perhaps the amazing discussion on dealing with the new marijuana legislation or cloning technologies might be of interest? Would talking about steady stream of visitors encourage you as it does me? Perhaps I should write of those who have made such obvious strides in their Christian walk, but it might be easier to tell of the sorrows, and the defeats of the month. I could make you cry with me over that soul who left for foolish reasons, and that dear saint who breaks my heart every week. Perhaps you would want to sit with me on the porch of the church and weep for a minute or two over a message that was hindered or delivered in the wrong spirit? Or those many promising visitors who never returned?

I can write about our growing family, and how each of our seven children delight and bless Nina and myself. Their sincere spiritual hunger is a delight to my soul. I would write about their amazing efforts to renovate our home and the incredible encouragement they are to me and the church.

But realism is tough. Because not many want their missionaries to be real.

But if you want me to be real? Then I had better tell you that I can barely put one foot in front of the other. Battle fatigue is a real thing in the ministry and I think I need a furlough – but the church needs me right now. I had also better say that I think God is changing my heart for the better – but the process is slow and incredibly painful and sometimes I would rather quit permanently than learn that next new lesson. I’ve learned more about Bible truth in the last year than the rest of my life combined – but it meant letting go of my dreams. It’s tough to write about without crying, and I have had months to get over it. Do you want real? Because real is this pastor being shattered repeatedly as God remakes me on the potter’s wheel.

Do you still want me to be real? Then let me tell you of fighting to keep my family together when the strain of life is tearing us apart. Let me tell you of weeping children and praying parents and spiritual opposition on a scale I have rarely sensed before. Let me tell you of my sorrow as the church echoes my personal struggles and beg you to pray for them and me.

But do you still want real? Then listen as I tell about stealing little hearts for God with stories, friendship and candy after services. Listen to the stories of the ones on the brink of disaster who turned around through prayer. See the sparkle in my eyes and the smile on my face when Sunday morning hits and I. GET. TO. PREACH. AGAIN! Look for a moment through my eyes at a full auditorium and hear the joyful sounds of praise as the redeemed saints sing from their heart, and then feel the tears of joy on my cheek as someone precious to me gets right with God at the altar.

So, I’m sorry that I’m so infrequent with my communications to you. Its difficult to write what I cannot express to my closest friends. But I’m done with the polish and the glitz. Real ministry and real Christian living have produced a brokenness I can barely describe.

So come visit if you’d like to. Pick up a phone and call me. Send my wife an encouraging email.

Or just pray that we’d stay real.