‘Maybe one day when I’m old, with four or five decades of pastoral ministry under my belt, I’ll have something to share with the broader church worth writing down.’ For years, that was my response when asked if I’d ever write a book. Then a day came when I felt a spark, something like the still, small voice of the Spirit, prompting me to put into writing the understanding of the Gospel that had resonated with so many in New York City, where I pastored in one of the least-churched pockets of the globe today.

In writing my first book, Searching For Enough, I had two important realizations: The first was that most of the people who have most profoundly shaped my view of Jesus and what it means to follow Him are dead.

Writing is a medium of communication that lives on beyond our numbered days. What if something of my journey with Jesus could continue to bear fruit in the lives of others long after my days have drawn to a close? The second was that I loved it. I loved writing enough to want to do more of it. I’d always loved reading, and now I was learning to play the very instrument I’d been wooed to wonder, laughter, and tears by for so long.

My great hope is that something I put down on paper would reach further than my voice ever could. And if it ever does, I know for sure it’ll be joy that was behind those words.