In January, we all showed up to Bible College expecting to take a class on church planting. What we did not expect was to become part of one. Originally, the course was supposed to be taught by Pastor Chris, an experienced church planter who had served for many years in Africa. But before the semester began, circumstances changed. Pastor Chris stepped away to care for his parents: a calling and ministry in itself, and one that carried its own quiet honor. Instead, the class would be taught by Pastor Mat. He was young, honest, and refreshingly transparent. There was only one problem: He had never planted a church before. On…

They come to me tired. Not casually tired, but worn… feet blistered from wandering, hearts scraped raw from places they never should have stayed as long as they did. And I receive them the same way every time. No toll. No test. No questions that would make them feel exposed. Just presence. Just steadiness. Just a path that doesn’t move beneath their feet. They step onto me uncertain at first, but it doesn’t take long. They feel it. The strength. The safety. The way I hold their weight without complaint. So they stay for a while. They sit on my beams and speak, really speak… about the things they don’t…