Twenty-five...

On this day, twenty-five years ago, Sue Cartwright made an incredible promise. She said, before God and witnesses, that she would go with me wherever I went, and stay with me through good times and bad times. I have to believe she's lived up to her end of the bargain! I have taken my New Jersey girl all over the nation - North Dakota, Alaska, Oregon, and Kentucky. Mind you, none of the places we lived in these states were, or are, particularly glamorous. The homes she has lived in (with or without plumbing!), the things she has learned to do (cut moose, gut salmon, split wood), the jobs she has held (hotel clerk, hospital admin, teacher's aid, clinic staff, daycare worker), the difficulties she has endured (putting up with a global, neurotic, emotionally challenged husband/pastor) have made me realize just how strong she really is. She has, and continues to amaze me with her character, her passion, and her sense of timing. She says the most profound things at just the right moment. Sometimes, it is in her silence that I hear her most clearly. Is she perfect? No. She would be the first to tell you that wasn't true. She knows her weaknesses and faults better than anyone, and struggles with them daily. She isn't perfect, just perfect for me.

For twenty-five years I have never had to worry about her commitment to me or our family, because she is first and foremost committed to her Lord. I am a truly blessed man. God has given me more than just a wife. He has given me a friend, a partner, a lover, a confidant, and a precious treasure that is beyond ability to measure. What more could I ask the Lord for? Well, I guess, for twenty-five more!

Hey you. It's me. Thank you for being everything God knew I would need! I love you.

Hope in Rural Ministry

I know, it's been a long gap between posts. Sorry. We've were pretty busy in May with Mother's Day, and baptisms - I got to baptize my youngest son, Josiah - and Memorial Day concerts, and bar-b-ques, and getting ready for our vacation to Myrtle Beach.... it was nutz. But, the vacation came and went way too fast. We spent a week at a condo in North Myrtle Beach and really enjoyed the beauty, power, and vastness of the sea. Kind of puts things in perspective, doesn't it? The ocean, yeah, that is big. Me, well, I'm kind of small. But God is bigger than the ocean, and He is big enough to take care of me. One thing that struck me was a little girl that was being held by her daddy as he walked from the sand into the water. The father wanted to put the little girl down in the water and she fought like crazy to stay in her daddy's arms. She didn't mind being in the waves as long her daddy was carrying her, but she didn't want to be in the waves alone. I thought about how God has promised to carry us through all the "waves" of life. He won't put us down and leave us to face the fury alone. Thanks, Lord, for Your love.

But, to the point -and title- of this post. Sue, Josiah, and I were out working in our garden this afternoon, staking up the tomatos and beans. I pulled about a dozen radishes and brought them into the house to wash them. I realized that in my hands were more than just radishes. They were hope. You see, that piece of land where my garden is had not been productive in years. The last time it was used as a garden was at least five years ago. That ground had not brought forth anything but weeds for a long time. But, it was turned over, and good seeds were planted, and those seeds were watered, and now there was produce. Rural ministers - like me - need to remember the promise of God in Galatians 6:9, "And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up." In church ministry, it seems like there are always "weeds to pull," and sometimes it is overwhelming, and it seems like you'll never get'em all. But God doesn't say He won't do anything untill ALL the weeds are pulled. He just says, "Keep planting good seeds, and keep watering and working, and there will be produce. That is my promise." So, those aren't just a bunch 0f radishes. To me, they are a bunch of hope.