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He stood there, hands spread out on each side of his bible, his fingertips feeling every groove and indention worn into the old cherry wood by the many who had come before him. He finished the closing prayer, wondering if his message had touched anyone. If anyone had felt that stirring that you feel when the Holy Spirit is drawing you to give your heart and soul to God. Looking over the congregation, he saw many faces, his wife included, all smiling back at him as in unison they concurred, “Amen”!
It was his first service as their official pastor and every nerve in his body was being sorely tested this fine morning. Paul knew he had brought the word just as the Spirit had led him to do. He was filling some mighty big shoes. Pastor Hardington had been the pastor of the little New Congregational Methodist church for nearly two decades. The church had grown from a tiny congregation of under 20 to a strong 200 in the time the now retired pastor had taken the pulpit.
It had been Paul’s dream to preach the gospel for almost as long as he could remember. He had run his ship aground, so to speak, many many times in the past. But now he was on a set course that would not be strayed from. It had been a long, sometimes unsure road he had traveled. Just when he thought that maybe he had made a mistake, things started moving rapidly toward the place he always knew he was called. Many had come before him. They were all great, mighty men of God and each had done a great service to the congregation of the church. And now, it was his turn. The time had come that God had placed him right where he was to be. It was a place of honor to serve…at the pulpit.
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