My parents were staying in Houston, the home of Exxon, where Mom had worked. They worried more about us than we did. I’d patiently explain, “Mom, Dad, God will provide. He has led us this far, and he won’t desert us now.”
“I just don’t know, Robby,” Mom or Dad would say. “How can you be sure? Why don’t you guys move to Houston to be by us?”
“Mom,” I assured her, “we’ll be fine.”
There was an old-fashioned tent revival in Union, South Carolina, a working-class town. Dr. Wilton preached it, and Rob and I attended. On the first night, Dr. Wilton leaned over to his son and said, “Rob, you’re up, brother.” Rob got up to speak to the crowd, and he talked a bit about Katrina. He said, “The truth is, I didn’t lose as much as others—but my friend here lost it all,” and he pointed to me. “We’re committed to trusting the Lord.”
The next day, Kandi and Annabeth came along with us, and this time I got the “you’re up, brother” assignment. I stood and told my life story, how I was saved from drugs and alcohol, and what we’d been through with the hurricane. I said, “I have lost everything I own twice, but Kandi and I know God will provide. We’re completely trusting in him.”
After I spoke, one of the local pastors stood up and said, “I’d like to say a word about the offering tonight. I didn’t tell them this, so they know nothing about it, but everything you give tonight will go to the Gallatys and Wiltons as they put their lives back together. God is going to take care of them, but one of the ways he’s going to do that is right now, through your generosity.”
Kandi and I looked at each other, stunned. We fought tears. After the services that night, Dr. Wilton arrived home with a cardboard box filled with money. When he turned over the box, a mound of money filled the living room. With tears streaming down our faces, we counted seven thousand dollars. It seemed like a million to us. It was a joy to talk to my parents again and say, “Remember when I told you God would provide?”
In addition to the love offering that night, money also came in from the wonderful people of Spartanburg. Those three months built our faith on the assurance that, no matter what happens in life, God is greater, and he will use it for his purposes. We lived in a trailer during that autumn feeling like millionaires. We’d never felt so confident of God’s care for us.
“Kandi,” I said one evening, “I have something to talk about with you.”
“What now?”
“I think God is calling me to pastoral ministry. In a local church. Don’t faint.”
“Oh, I won’t,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I came to that conclusion when I met you. I was just wondering if you would ever figure it out.”
“What? How could you have known that?”
“I know you, Robby. I know who you are, and that tells me how God is likely to use you. And I’ve watched you fall in love with serving a church.”
This was one of those times when I wished God had let me in on what was going on, at least before he told my wife. Then again, she has a gift for discernment, and I don’t know what I’d do without her by my side to keep me from making mistake after mistake.
I told her, “Let’s pray about this. I know how I feel about what God wants me to do, but I really want to be sure I’m right. I need to make sure I’m not operating on emotion, but hearing what he’s really saying to me.”
“I agree,” she smiled. “We’ll keep praying.”
“So I’m not going to put my résumé out or anything like that, or go out seeking a position. I’m going to wait on the Lord, continue praying, and if he opens that door, and a church extends a call, then I’ll follow what he wants me to do from there.”
There’s an incredible freedom in trusting the providence of God. How much anxiety do we carry on our shoulders everywhere we go, because we think everything in life depends upon us? We talk a good game when it comes to faith, but when it comes to dependence, most of us have room to grow.
Jesus tells us the hairs on our head are numbered; God has this. Once we actually believe that and live in accordance with it, life is totally different. All that space in our heads, once devoted to full-time worrying, is freed up for so many things. We can live creatively and enjoy the ride, and we’re able to hear from God so much more clearly.
That’s not the same as living carelessly without thinking and planning. When I was a brand-new Christian, I thought I didn’t need to put together sermon plans for a ski retreat. I would walk out and trust the Holy Spirit to give me the words. It was like giving him the wheel, but going to sleep in the backseat.
That’s not how it works, of course. Life is a cooperative venture between God and you. That’s the beauty of being his servant—he guides, but he gives us a mind and the gifts to be obedient and participate in the process.
Toward the end of 2005—the year of the great flood—I was finally beginning to learn how to do that. My identity as a child of God was finally crystallizing. I had a conviction forming within me that God wanted me to be a local church pastor. I’d bonded with that idea through my experiences in Spartanburg. Just the same, I continued to wait on the
