I preached an expository sermon today. My friend Aaron Stine prayed over me before I stepped up. Nobody filmed it, but maybe that’s better. It wasn’t for the internet. It was for the room. And in that room, something happened—one of the best sermons I’ve ever given, or maybe just one where the Spirit decided to show up heavy. People wept. The kind of weeping that isn’t sadness, but surrender.
I thank Pastor Aaron now for his prayers. What a Blessing!
I slipped a couple of donuts into a napkin, thinking the kids might swing by so we could visit Grandma Carolyn’s grave together. But rain had other plans. So I drove alone, stopped at McDonald’s, ordered a quarter pounder with cheese—plain—and a large Diet Dr Pepper. No ceremony, no fanfare. Just food for the road to Mom’s grave.
I stood there in the rain that wasn’t really rain—just a thin mist pretending to be something heavier. I looked down at her picture in the stone, and I broke. Not a soft weeping. Not a dignified sniffle. I cried like a little boy.
Afterward, I took Mia out on the leash. We walked through the drizzle. Not enough to soak you—just enough to make the dust cling. He sends rain on the just and the unjust. Whether I’m just? I guess God will decide that. Abraham believed God, and it was accounted to him as righteousness. I believe, too.
Now I’m home. The cat’s in my lap, pawing for attention. I keep pushing him away, my Bible still unopened. Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God. Does that mean three times a day like meals? Honestly—that sounds like heaven. The apostles gave themselves to the Word and prayer, and it made them powerhouses. I’m not chasing power. I’m chasing obedience.
When my assignment’s over, I want to go home. Not to a grave, not to a stone with a photograph—but to her. To see her face, and have her take my hand and lead me to the King of kings, Lord of lords. And there, to see Jesus face-to-face.
That day is coming.
And it will be a great day.
Oh, what a great day that will be.