08/29/2026
I deeply appreciate the prayers, encouragement, and support I received after my last post. I need them.
At times it feels as though the unholy trinity of the world, the flesh, and the devil has been joined by more than a few close friends and family members determined to wear me down—or even destroy me. I have family members who essentially pretend I am dead, refusing even to acknowledge my existence.
I have always had a sense of calling upon my life.
For many years, I imagined that calling would look very different. I thought I would pastor a church in some town or city—preaching every Sunday, caring for a congregation, marrying couples, baptizing babies, comforting the grieving, and burying the dead. I imagined a relatively peaceful and well-loved ministry like those of many pastors I admired growing up.
I think about how loved so many pastors I have known have been. I think especially of my own mother and how deeply she was loved in her ministry to the brokenhearted.
They certainly had their tribulations. But for the most part, the ministries to which they were called were understood, respected, and welcomed.
That has not been my path.
The calling God has placed upon my life has proven to be profoundly unpopular—not merely with the world, but often within the Church itself.
It is the calling to labor for the complete abolition of legalized abortion in Connecticut—to speak for preborn children who have no political power, no public voice, and no ability to plead their own cause.
Humanly speaking, it can seem like a ministry doomed to failure. But there is one enormous reason I cannot believe it ultimately will fail: God hates the shedding of innocent blood. Therefore I trust that, in His providence and in His time, this evil will come to an end.
I often think about God’s words to Ezekiel. The watchman was commanded to warn whether people listened or refused to listen. His responsibility was not to guarantee the outcome. His responsibility was to be faithful—to go, to speak, and not to remain silent.
That principle haunts me.
I sometimes dream of Christians, both past and present, gathered in enormous meetings—crowds praising respected speakers and ministries, beautiful worship, thousands of people attending—and yet not one word calling for repentance over the legal killing of preborn children.
And in those dreams, it is as though God turns to me and says: You speak.
Speak for the ones nobody sees.
Speak for the ones nobody hears.
Speak for those who cannot stand before the Church, the legislature, or the courts and demand justice for themselves.
As Proverbs says:
“Open your mouth for the mute, for the rights of all who are destitute. Open your mouth, judge righteously, defend the rights of the poor and needy.”
— Proverbs 31:8–9
There are days when I wish my calling were easier. I wish it were popular. I wish everybody loved it—and loved me for doing it.
But it isn’t.
This is the calling I believe God has given me. My responsibility is not to make it popular. My responsibility is to be faithful.
And about all I can add are the immortal words of Walter Cronkite:
“And that’s the way it is.”
