Knowing when to go

The bedroom community of Irving near Dallas felt like a pair of broken-in jeans and a sweatshirt. No place on earth could have been more comfortable. The congregation at Irving Bible Church spoke Texan. I understood their culture and could meet their needs before they knew they had them. Many of them were students, even a few faculty at Dallas Seminary, so we had no theological differences. Moreover, I had lots of friends in the area. As the church began to grow, Cynthia and I sank our roots deeper. After just a few months, I thought, I could do this for the rest of my life.

Four years later, I absent-mindedly opened the mail. Among the other letters, I noticed an envelope from the First Evangelical Free Church of Fullerton, California. Intrigued, I sliced open the letter and began reading. They had been without a pastor for almost two years and wanted me to visit their church and preach one Sunday—an invitation to consider serving there as pastor. In this case, ...

Subscriber access only You have reached the end of this Article Preview
To continue reading, join now for free and get complete access.

If you like this, you'll also like: