“Speak, for your servant is listening . . .”
Near the end of the summer, I was finishing up student camp as the nurse and living my “Momma Rob” life with 100 plus teenagers. I called Matt early in the week and pleaded, “Please come. There are amazing things happening; all your girls are here. Please come.” So he did. He made it in time for the baptisms in the creek. It will be one of my favorite memories in a lifetime of camps. It nearly burst my heart with gratitude to the Lord. While there, Matt was asked by a couple of people: “Won’t you come home and help us?” He appreciated the affirmation but dismissed them. He was driving to the airport from Falls Creek and saw a road construction sign: “Help us rebuild Oklahoma.” He felt something weird inside him when he saw it. It was enough to report about it to me when we talked on the phone. Huh. Weird. I set it aside in my mind. Maybe it was because our kid was starting college there in a few weeks and we were just all stirred up inside. What a ridiculous time to consider a transition. Our youngest was starting her junior year in high school, and the MET had just entered an incredible season of stability and fruitfulness.
Weeks before, FBC Marlow had consulted Matt about recommending names to their pastor search committee. Matt recommended a few men. One of those men called him the following week and said that he had a vision that Matt was to be the pastor, and not him. While he was on the phone with that pastor, a friend from Marlow text Matt these words: “Would you please consider coming home and helping us?” Something was up.
We knew something was brewing but had no clarity in it. I realize an outsider might say, “It looks pretty clear to me.” But we were ENTRENCHED in life here in Houston. Neck deep in relationships that are meaningful and transforming, vision coming out all of Matt’s fingers and toes. The treadmill of life and church leadership and pastoring was moving at a level 10 out of 10. We had time to glance at those “whispers,” but only skimmed the surface in our engagement of them. All the while, I was asking God to clarify, reveal, make His plans clear. I realize this seems ironic since we appeared to be ignoring the ways He was revealing and clarifying. All I can say is that God is beyond kind to us. He was so consistent and patient in this process. We don’t deserve it but are so grateful.
While we continued to ask for clarity, imprints from our time in the Word also came. God had drawn me into teaching two Bible studies that fall. I was swimming in the book of Proverbs, learning about God’s wisdom and begging Him for it daily. I was also marinating in the prayers of the Bible. Psalm 139 gave me so much comfort and I felt the Holy Spirit highlight so many timely themes . . .that He knows everything about me, every movement I make. “You both precede and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head” (Psalm 139:5 NLT). In a season of begging God for answers, it became of season of utter desperation for Him. Less answers, less details. More Him. And at some point, that becomes more than enough.
Matt text me one day at work and asked me a cryptic question: “What month and year did we leave Marlow?” Because I am the “Rain Man” of all things dates and calendars, I text back, “02/09.” He replied, “So that’s 14 years, right?” I was slightly annoyed with his need for me to do hard math in that moment, but then he sent a screen shot from Galatians 2:1. The Holy Spirit had his neon yellow highlighter out again, and these words leapt off the page: “Then after 14 years, I went up again to Jerusalem . . .” Now, if I had read that, I would’ve probably thought nothing of it. That is what is amazing about the partner of the Holy Spirit while you are reading God’s Word. For Matt, those words reverberated in his spirit. I suddenly understood his need to verify the math.
A team member from Marlow eventually made a specific request that Matt put his resume in. They were closing the window for resumes that next week and he requested that Matt consider putting his in. The decision weighed heavy on us because our “interest” didn’t seem to warrant stirring up the emotions of the team, or our children. And by “interest,” I mean our responsibility to obey the Lord if He was in this. It seemed like a 20% assurance on our part, and yet, not submitting it seemed like closing a door not meant to be closed quite yet. We discussed it several evenings in a row, and Matt sought counsel from one of his mentors. The mentor reminded him that it is not ours to decide to stay or go. When the cloud lifted or the pillar of fire moved for the Israelites in the Old Testament, they went. Matt submitted his resume.
I need to share that this felt similar to the season when Matt felt prompted to submit his resume in for the senior pastor role at the MET. He had no seminary degree and had not been a pastor before. It seemed ridiculous. We felt enough prompting to make that first step, but as I have described it over and over, everything on the path faded to black after that step. Looking ahead, I couldn’t make out plans, or logic, or details. For a planner like me, these faith steps undo me in the best and worst of ways. This felt similar—enough assurance to take the first step, but that was all. Here we were again.
Shortly thereafter, a phone interview was scheduled with the team at Marlow. Then, they requested an in-person interview with both of us. As the calendar would have it, Matt was already scheduled to be up there to do his monthly teaching on Friday at OBU, so I booked a flight to go with him. We informed the girls that Marlow was consulting with dad, which was kind-of true. We had breakfast with the team, and then a four-hour meeting in an empty conference room on a quiet OBU campus that Saturday. The chairs were circled up with the 12 committee members and Matt and I sat side by side. We listened to questions, listened to their stories about where the church was. They were honest in the good things happening, and the things that weren’t working. Matt was honest about his journey and development at the MET, and his conviction about Jesus’s message and methods. They had read his book and were able to ask clarifying questions about the journey of the MET the last 10 years. It was fruitful and exhausting. When we left, all I remember thinking was that I wanted to cry, but I was too tired. We just felt bewildered.
That night we were driving to pick up sushi for dinner on our way home from the airport. Matt had just mentioned the name of a worship leader who was going to be at a conference he was going to be at. I had not heard her name for 20 years but had worn out her CD as a newly married, new nurse driving to OKC for the swing shift. As he went in to get the sushi, I cued up my favorite song from that album, which I had not listened to in 20 plus years:
The pathway is broken and the signs are unclear,
And I don’t know the reason why you brought me here.
But just because you love me the way that you do,
I’m gonna walk through the fire if you want me to.
‘Cause I’m not who I was when I took my first step,
And I’m clinging to the promise your not through with me yet.
And if all of these trials bring me closer to you,
Then I will go through the fire if you want me to.
It may not be the way I would’ve chosen,
When you lead me through a world that’s not my home.
But you never said it would be easy,
You only said I’d never go alone . . .
The words to that song by Jenny Owens took me back to a time of significant transition in my life . . . lonely as a young bride, new nurse, working swing shift in a world that seemed to operate for everyone else from 9-5. Everything felt uncomfortable and new. I remember leaning into the Lord in new ways-- in my prayer life, and my devotional life--because I didn’t feel like I had anywhere else to turn. I was learning how to be a wife, and an oncology nurse, surrounded by chemo and chemicals and death and variables that made me fearful and even depressed at times. The words of this song comforted me and infused me with faith during a season of instability and new. To now hear those words applied to our current situation . . . wow.
The next day, they offered Matt the job. He stammered and stuttered to state his appreciation and gratitude in his surprise by the suddenness. And, of course, asked for time to consider and pray with me. One hour later I got an urgent text from Matt’s cousin’s wife for us to call. Matt and listened for a few seconds, before his hand clapped over his mouth to hold in his sobs. He could barely breath. His cousin’s daughter had killed herself in their home while they were at church. We were sick. We held each other in the recliner and sobbed for our dear family.
The following week left us in a tsunami of grief that we tried to navigate moment by moment. Matt went up initially to be with the family; then I went. We waited for our college daughter to get home for fall break and then the three of us headed up for the funeral. Our youngest was at a school retreat. Our former pastor from our time in Marlow did the funeral. Hearing his voice behind the podium welled up fresh grief into my throat that had to be pressed down. His voice was a voice of comfort from our early days of marriage and ministry with two babies at home. The chaos of our current circumstance, grieving Isabella’s death, and then being unexpectedly thrust into the same room with Brother Joe was all a bit overwhelming. Matt’s cousin Mike and Joe were pastors ministering in the same community years ago when Mike served in a neighboring town. It was Joe and Mike’s relationship that connected us to Marlow in the first place all those years ago.
We drove home and processed with Chloe what we had been hearing from God. We hadn’t gotten too far into the depths of the story when she interrupted us and stated that it was obvious to her that Marlow was where we were supposed to be. She is good at staying in her rational brain and turning all other input off, sometimes to a fault. She was clearly not happy about it, but she was convinced. Our hearts were not there yet.
We had a tearful family meeting on the patio when we got home and brought Claire into the conversation. We explained where we were in the process, and that we were begging God for clarity.
No surprise that the Bible study schedule, pre-determined to the start of the study, had me teaching lament a week and a half after our dear cousin’s suicide. I knew it would be fine to show emotion; I just was concerned I would be unable to even speak. God held me up, as well as ministered to me in that previous week as we marinated in the Psalms of grief, anger, and disbelief. “Where are You, God? Why is Your hand not moving? Why are You tolerating this?” These are the questions we studied together. We were invited to move toward God in our emotions, instead of moving away from Him. We also acknowledged one can grieve many things, not only a life lost. One can grieve unmet expectations, as well as death of a dream or vision. Of course, the ladies were gracious to let tears stream almost continually as I taught that day, not knowing there were two pathways of grief that I was walking in, not just one.
The team had gracefully given Matt no timeline for an answer in light of our family’s loss. Two weeks went by with no communication between us and the team. It felt like an unspoken pressure at times. I kept feeling like Matt was ignoring it and wanting it all to go away. I felt so confused by his response that I started orienting at a neighboring surgery center near where I worked. There were imminent changes with my current job whether we moved or not. That is how uncertain I was.
In the midst of the yuck, the Astros were going to the playoffs and Matt’s good friend Randy wanted to come down to watch the Rangers and Astros play. They bought tickets and planned to go on that Sunday night. Matt had slipped out that morning after his part of the service. I stayed, and after the second service, one of our pastors asked to introduce me to someone. I followed him toward two Hispanic women, and a teen boy. The woman introduced herself and said that she had come from Austin to see Pastor Matt. She wanted him to know her story. She had been his translator about 15 years ago when she was young and he was on a mission trip to Ecuador. (My throat got tight . . . that was when we lived in Marlow.) She went on to say that she was translating for him as he shared the gospel over and over. She did not know the Lord at that time, nor did her family. Through that process, she became a believer, as did her sister and parents. The other Hispanic lady nodded her head in agreement to affirm her story with eagerness. I stood there stunned. I just kept looking back and forth at them. Finally, I said, “How are you HERE?” They had found Matt on social media, and they now live in Austin. She said she works for a church there and they wanted to come tell Matt their story. I was ready to fall into a puddle on the floor. I headed home and immediately told Matt. He and Randy both said, “You’re kidding.” I showed them the picture of me with the ladies. What in the world . . .
Randy flew back and Matt and I continued our weird dance of ignoring what didn’t seem like whispers anymore. I realize now we were straight “Jonah-ing” this situation. Matt continued to run on his “treadmill” of senior pastor, and I continued to orient at the new surgery center, wondering where this was going to land. That Saturday evening Matt and I were walking into the movies and Matt confessed he knew he needed to call the search team leader and at least ask for a little bit more time. I felt knots in my stomach, knowing they had been so gracious to hear nothing from us for two weeks, but I also knew my husband wasn’t ready to say a confident yes. I went in to get our movie tickets while he stepped out to touch base and ask for a few more days.
We updated the girls again, and informed them that we were begging God for clarity for Matt. I felt like I had it, but he wanted a clear word to step over that threshold. The girls were tearful and brave and committed to pray alongside of us.
That Monday morning, I was putting up my things in my locker, when I decided to open up the desk calendar devotional that had been given to me the week before. These were the words on October 23:
Perphaps you’re wrestling with some big changes right now. With every life change that brings pain, God is allowing something new to be born. It’s okay to grieve or regroup, but let’s not linger too long there. If change wasn’t a part of life, there would be no long summer evenings on the porch. We wouldn’t have the glorious splendor of fall to look forward to. There would be no winter for the earth to rest. And without the rest, spring can’t bring new life. I’ve finally realized that every season the Lord brings into my life is lovingly filtered through His precious fingertips.
-Melanie Davis Porter
I screen shot it and sent it to Matt with tears in my eyes. He said he had his answer.
The next week, due to the ministry Matt had done at the funeral and for his family, Matt didn’t have a part in the service that day. We got to sit beside each other and hold hands at the back of the front section. Tears streamed down our faces as we watched the team lead and saw all the stories and relationships and “God stories” on that stage. Everyone from our worship leader Ashley, mentored by Matt and a dear friend, to our niece who was a prodigal returned home, now using her incredible gift to lead others in worship. It was family Sunday so the stage was bursting with teenagers that we have discipled and loved on as our own, and instrumentalists that have been with Matt since his worship leader days, and one that he did marriage counseling for and is now married, with his first baby. The entire team led that day, without any direct involvement by Matt. It was a gift to see. Alison hosted that day and quoted Ecclesiastes 3:14: “The work of the Lord stands.” It lasts. Not the work of man, but the work of the Lord. Yes, it does.
The week before the entire church would find out, I was teaching the last week of Bible study on Jesus’s longest prayer in the gospels--John 17. We studied his last week leading up to the last supper. We marinated in the questions the disciples pummeled Jesus with: “Who will betray you? Where are you going? Just show us the Father!” Eugene Peterson says that Jesus was answering them with “non-answers,” responding with statements that didn’t address the facts and details they were hungering for. His responses echoed of the bigger story He was drawing them into. He knew what was coming; they did not. They felt like their leader was leaving prematurely; He knew critical mass of mission had been reached and his work had been done. My heart ached with awe of God for this tender, kind word spoken to me in my study time. Matt and I were walking a parallel path in our own story. I also was comforted by John 13:1, that as our time came to an end, we would share the full extent of our love for the people we had served alongside of the past 12 years. I must say that this prayer has been answered one hundred-fold.
As I type this out, the obvious nature of it all is very much on display seeing the events typed in black and white words. But I tell you that we were experiencing a sort of torture inside as we lived it. . . not wanting to disobey God but sensing the absolutely ridiculousness of the request from our point of view. The factors included our daughter’s age; the health and stability of the MET; the thought of leaving a mega-church in Houston with such community influence and partnerships; the financial implications; Matt’s family being here; the elder and staff culture; our home that is a place of ministry and respite for us. When I say we were in disbelief, truer words have never been said. “Dis-” is a prefix expressing negation, denoting reversal or absence of an action or state. Dis-belief. Not believing.
I feel like after all this, even an atheist would agree that God is telling us to move to Marlow! The framework for how Matt and I hear from God has always been through His word, through circumstances, through others, and through His Spirit. Matt and I both share a foundation of being in the in God’s Word regularly, of prayer and of journaling. This may have looked very structured and rigid early on in our discipleship. I would say now it’s more fluid but is none-the-less an anchor for both of us. You won’t see either of us miss more than a few days of communing with God in His word and in prayer. We long for it when we miss it.
Another habit we have is to share with each other what we are reading. This, also, isn’t structured or routine. It’s just a general habit to ask each other what we are reading or studying in God’s word. We also share “God story’s” in our family. Little, or big “wow’s” when God shows you something multiple times in multiple places, or makes a way for something, or intervenes in someone’s life. That is a normal rhythm of our family that has been cultivated over time. It makes seeing God “show up” normal, because when our eyes are open to it, it is normal. Yet, it never gets old and never ceases to surprise us. We do have to be attune to Him to see it. We want to partner with the Holy Spirit and ask Him to reveal Himself to us. Then have expectation that He will. If any of this seems “too much” or weird or overwhelming to you, know that this starts with the desire of a humble heart, asking to know God more, and a consistent commitment to be in His Word. That’s it. Show up to the best of your ability, consistently, and over time, your relationship will grow. You will learn the sound of His voice. You increase your sensitivity to His work. You know His heart and character more. You increase Your love for Him and spend more time with Him. Start where you start, and never finish. In the words of Samuel, who as a young boy was learning to hear the sound of his Father’s voice, “Speak, for you servant is listening” (I Samuel 3:10).
