It is hard to write. Hard to communicate while being limited by the shallowness of words. Some experiences are so deep and so wide, that words simply aren’t enough; some moments so layered with significance and meaning that pages of writing could not do them justice.
Every day I am challenged, and every day I am moved; recognising how incomplete my understanding is. In these last months, God has defied my human expectations, asking me to trust Him above my own wisdom. I suppose this is the foolishness of the Gospel – no matter how extensive our education and understanding, it is still nothing compared to the rock on which we ought to be founded.
Part of my struggle is that I cannot measure the results of my ministry in numbers. Not the hours each day that I spend in prison, in preparation, in availing my time to build up the community. Not in the number of people that I minister to every week, or even the souls I see being saved. How do you measure the reconciliation of a family? How do you measure the impact of an encouraging word offered to a starving heart? How do you measure the tears of a man finally free from the shackles of shame?