They say the Lord doesn’t call the qualified; He qualifies the called. But I’ve often wondered if He could’ve at least handed me a manual before handing me a mantle.
As a pastor, I’ve stood behind pulpits.
As a husband, I’ve stood beside my bride.
As a father and grandfather, I’ve stood before my family.
And in every season, I’ve also found myself standing alone before God—wrestling not with my calling, but with the crushing weight of it.
The journey has been full of privilege—what an honor to shepherd souls. But with it came pain—not always because of enemies, but often because of expectations. And yet, through it all, God has reminded me that this life is about purpose—not performance.
To capture the balance of it all, allow me to offer you a parable that grew out of my own experience:
The Parable of the Stubborn Soil
There was once a gardener—wise and weathered. The land he inherited was sacred, handed down by generations who had trusted the voice of God. Each morning, he walked the fields with purpose, rain or shine, believing what he planted would one day feed a village.
But the soil was not always friendly. Some parts were stony—full of opinions. Some parts were thorny—choking with distractions. Some parts were dry—cracked from ungrateful footsteps.
And yet the gardener plowed on.
One day, a young man approached him and asked,
“Why do you keep sowing in such stubborn soil?”
The gardener smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow, and answered, “Because the seed doesn’t fear the soil. It was designed to break through.”
That’s the pun in the parable: “The seed doesn’t fear the soil.”
I’ve lived long enough to know that I am the seed. Planted in pastoral soil. Pressed down by expectation. Watered by tears.
Yet—still growing.
Being a husband is sacred soil—soft some days, hardened others.
Being a father is learning to plant wisdom in hearts that may not understand it until harvest.
Being a grandfather is watching the seeds you once sowed become trees of their own.
And pastoring? – It’s the privilege of plowing with a Bible in one hand and a broken heart in the other. Some days, people see the fruit but never the fight. They see the harvest but never the hurt. They taste the bread but don’t know the crushing of the grain.
But God does.
So I keep sowing.
Not because the soil is always ready, but because the seed is always holy.
And that, my friend, is the privilege, the purpose, and yes—the pain.
So to every pastor, parent, or person carrying more than they show—
Don’t give up on the soil. God didn’t give up on you.