It would have been my dad’s 91st birthday last week and it caused me to reflect on my Dad’s profession of faith in Jesus Christ, as well as my stepmom Judy’s, two years ago. Their turning to the Lord were the results of thirty years of praying. Plus, there was a bonus: my dad’s hospital roommate also confessed Jesus as Lord. Not only that, I was able to baptize all three of them.

At the time my concern was that they would not be discipled, that is, taught about the things of God nor read the Bible, nor go to a church, nor experience Christian fellowship. That all proved true. They both died last year and as far as I could tell, there was no discernible growth. In fact, my father was downright hostile to the Gospel the last time I saw him, a year after he “became” a Christian.

Good Dirt

GOD DIDN’T SAVE US TO JUST GO TO CHURCH, sit in a pew, listen, and leave.

Many professing Christians don’t even do that.

He expects us to be good dirt, producing something.

Some don’t understand God’s Word so they don’t obey, ever, and go back to their vomit.

Others get excited about Jesus, worship, and fellowship, but don’t read the Bible to apply knowledge, so when stuff hits the fan, they fall away.

Limping to Heaven


Can’t help it. Arthritis.

But most likely, it’s from years of wrestling with God.

“Grown up pastors walk with a limp,” writes Jerod Wilson.

“They’ve had their feet knocked out from under them at some point and discovered that God is still good all the time.

“Grown up pastors know that the gospel is the only power to save, and that it is of first importance, so in their maturity they’ve grown weary of putting on airs or putting on shows or putting on millstones.”

I’m still growing up.