It was Sunday evening, and I'd just reached the safety of the vestry. We'd had an especially good service, with some committing their lives to Christ and others looking for counseling, ready to go forward in faith. I'd spoken to several of them, trying to help them on. But by now my mind was whirling, and every bone in my body seemed to be aching.
Just then, someone knocked on the door, and in came Alaine, one of the most helpful women in the fellowship. I asked her about a pre-baptism class she'd taken earlier in the day. "Fourteen were there," she said, beaming "That was more than we'd ever had before!" On she enthused about our blossoming fellowship, the conversions, and growth in numbers.
I listened, knowing in my head that it was true and yet feeling strangely numb. Her bright outlook merely deepened my gloom; I felt none of her joy. I was tired and empty. I stood there wondering if it was all worth it.
"Alistair, you must be thrilled with all that's happening!" That was it. Something ...1