The Day My Little Boy Saved My Ministry

While studying Psalm 30 last week for a funeral, the Lord reminded me of the day my little boy saved my ministry.

It was early in my ministry.  I was in my first pastorate.  And as a recent seminary graduate I thought I had all the answers.

The pastor before me split the little church wide open.  The people that remained called me to pick up the pieces, and help them heal.

It did not take long for me to realize I was in over my head.  The people were hurting and I was not helping.  Instead of being the healer I was soon labeled the troublemaker.

Make note: hurting people hurt people.

I had come to the end of my rope.  I was seriously thinking about resigning.  The battle was too much.  It was impossible.  I am not a quitter, but I wanted to quit.  I wanted out.

Vonda asked what I would do.  “Paint houses or cut grass,” I retorted.  It really didn’t matter what I did for a living.  All I wanted to do was get out of that church and probably get out of the ministry.

Vonda and I did what we had done several times before, we turned to God and we turned to His Word.  Vonda had a promise she wanted me to read.  It was a promise the Lord gave in her quiet time that morning.  She asked me to read it aloud.

I opened my Bible to Psalm 30:5 and read:

Weeping may tarry for a night, but with joy comes with the morning.

I read and I wept.  I read and I wept.  I read and I wept.  We then prayed and wept.

Taylor was 2 or 3 at the time, and little did I know how much he was soaking up.  Vonda cuddled him in her lap as we prayed.  He heard God’s word.  He witnessed my tears.  He paid close attention.

Off to bed we went.  I laid there most of the night wondering what we would do.  I arose early the next morning, well before sunrise.  I opened my Bible.  I was searching for answers.

Just before sunrise I heard my little fellow slide out of his bed and come shuffling down the hallway in his footy pajamas.  This was a habit of Taylor’s.  He would often wake up early so he could sit in my lap as I read my Bible.  I cherish those moments.  Many mornings he would sit in my lap rubbing his sleepy head while I rocked him in my recliner and read my Bible.

This morning, instead of coming immediately to my lap, Taylor shuffled over to the floor-to-ceiling window.  There he flung open the curtain and looked back at me with his mouth wide open and his eyes burning bright and announced, “Daddy, joy is here!”

Those are words that have always remained with me: Daddy, joy is here!

Amen.  Joy, indeed, was there.

My little boy got it.  It was morning.  It was time for joy.  God made the promise and He kept it.  The sun was rising and my little boy was literally expecting joy to appear.  And joy did appear that morning.

And that was the day my little boy saved my ministry.

I did not quit.  I did not give up.  And thankfully I did not get out of the ministry.  I stayed on another year.  I waited on God.  I prayed.  And some days I waited until morning.  Yet each day God provided.

There have been many other sleepless nights since then.  There have also been many other tear-filled moments.  And I am sure there will be many more to come.  But thanks be to God weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.