To every shepherd considering laying down their staff, every teacher thinking of closing their Bible for good, every leader whose wounds whisper “quit”—this is for you.
Granny Barker, they called her. I met her when I became pastor of a small church in Seymour, Indiana. She was already there when I arrived, had been there for decades—a fixture as permanent as a steeple.
For eight hours they had stood on that rooftop, singing praises to a God who hears, who sees, who knows. They had not grown weary of waiting. They had simply filled the waiting with wonder.
YOU’VE BEEN CELEBRATING THE WRONG MIRACLE.
That’s what God told me after years of sharing what I thought was a powerful testimony about answered prayer.
You know the kind – the heartwarming story where a daughter approaches the altar concerned for her unsaved father in Florida.
The ice gleamed under the fluorescent lights of the arena. Breaths hung visible in the cold air. Fifty-five games into the season—fifty wins, three ties, and just two losses. One more game to decide it all. Championship on the line.
The Fire That Never Dies: Finding God’s Authentic Flame in a World of Imitations
The mountain air carried a chill that evening in Cumberland, Kentucky.
The air was thick with anticipation as the young couple stood before me, hands intertwined, eyes glistening with the promise of tomorrow. I had performed dozens of wedding ceremonies before, but this one felt different.
You know that moment when you realize even your tears have given up? When the shower water mingles with what’s left of your weeping, and you can’t tell which is which anymore? Yeah, that kind of broken.