This was the beginning of God softening my dad’s heart. He knew I was learning things that had to do with how I lived, and I’m sure he could see the difference in me. But he couldn’t understand why he didn’t have the same experience. Church was a duty; he and Mom had never really thought about it any other way. And they were suspicious of “religious fanatics” who carried their Bibles around and badgered people. I was trying to help them see something different: a practical, passionate faith that goes with you, instead of staying inside with the pews and stained glass windows.
Kandi and I stopped at Immanuel Baptist Church and had a wonderful visit. Morgan City bills itself as “right in the middle of everywhere.” It’s a bayou town, an hour from my hometown and an hour from Kandi’s. Morgan City had come through Hurricane Katrina without much devastation. As a matter of fact, it was proud to be one of the first places to take in refugees from the flooding in New Orleans.
The church was without a pastor, and they’d asked me to preach earlier, before the hurricane. Back then, however, they knew I had no interest in pastoring, and I didn’t consider myself a candidate.
The church was small, with about sixty-five in attendance, but they were very receptive. We felt the presence of the Holy Spirit as I spent time with them.
The next day, they called to invite me to be their pastor. I thanked them, told them I was honored, and told them I would pray about it. I called Tim LaFleur shortly after.
“What do you think, Brother Tim?” I asked. “Be honest. In many ways, I’m still a new believer—even a new husband. Am I ready to be a pastor?”
“Well, you’re a new believer, but you’ve had your share of experiences,” he said. “You’ve shown a lot of growth, you’ve managed adversity well, and God is really moving in your life. I feel this is probably the right time for you to pastor a group of people, but also to be shepherded by them.”
He made a great point. I knew I would need them as much as they needed me. In Spartanburg, one of the things I realized is that ministry is a two-way street, if it’s going to be real.
“God blesses you as he blesses people through you,” Tim said. “And you and Kandi have gone through a lot over the past four months. Settling down in one place will be good for you and her.”
As Kandi and I prayed, I sensed God directing me to accept the call at Morgan City. She had a good feeling about it as well. We called the committee at Morgan City and told them we were ready to talk about my being the pastor of Immanuel.
In Houston, my parents were glad to see us. We had a delicious Thanksgiving dinner, Gallaty-style. But during the cooking, Dad was given the assignment of going out to find some groceries. I told him I’d drive him there.
We jumped in the car and backed down the driveway. As we were riding along, I leaned over and said, “Dad, let me ask you a question. This storm has been one of the worst we’ve ever been through. We both lost our homes. But we could have lost our lives, like thousands did. Have you ever thought about that? What would have happened if you’d died in the storm? Do you know for sure that you would have spent eternity in heaven with Christ?”
“Well, I don’t know . . .”
“You don’t know where you would spend eternity?”
“No,” he said, “I don’t.”
He was silent, but he wasn’t changing the subject. I could tell he was struggling within himself—that this was part of a long-time struggle as God had pursued him. I would never have raised this subject unless I felt moved by the Spirit that the timing was right.
I continued, “It’s not a matter of what church you go to, Dad—what denomination, what kind of water they sprinkle you with. It’s something between you and God, and it’s a free gift. That’s the incredible thing about it. He offers this to you, the gift of salvation, and you need only say yes. And I think you know, just from our talks, you receive a whole lot more than a ticket to heaven. This is a daily relationship with Christ. He fills you with his Holy Spirit today to live in the kingdom. It’s the peace and purpose that has completely turned my life around.”
He nodded thoughtfully, and I could see the emotion he was feeling.
“Dad, do you think you’d like to pray to Jesus today, ask him to forgive your sins, and put your complete trust in him? You don’t need a priest, or even me. It’s between you and God, your decision to follow him and to have new life and assurance of your salvation.”
He nodded, and his eyes met mine. “I don’t know what to say,” he said. “I’ve never prayed like that.”
“I can help you with that,” I said. And as we parked the car, we sat, my hand on his shoulder, and I led him in a prayer of commitment to Christ. When it was over, I gave him a big hug and clung to him for a few seconds. We just sat silently for a while; then we picked up those groceries and headed home for a truly special Thanksgiving.
During the next year, I began my ministry as a pastor. Morgan City was a friendly town, and I came to love those people very quickly. The town is diverse, with French, Spanish, Italian, German, Dutch, Native American, and African American heritages mingling together—a microcosm of our world today. I got acquainted with those who were our members and those who weren’t.
As I mentioned, the church had gotten down to sixty-five people for Sunday morning worship. This could be the reason they took a chance on a first-time pastor who had been sober for only three years. The Immanuel folks wanted to reach new believers and see their church grow; they just needed someone to lead them in that direction.
My basic strategy was 2 Timothy 2:2, which says, “What you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses, commit to faithful men who will be able to teach others also.”
These words were written from the apostle Paul to Timothy, whom he had already discipled. Now Paul was challenging his younger protégé to pass on what he had learned—the biblical model of disciple-making.
I chose a handful of our men to pour my life into; Kandi did the same with a group of women. We knew this was the best possible investment of our time as church leaders. We taught, trained, and challenged those in our group to look toward multiplying their growth by starting new groups. During our first year, we saw more people make decisions for Christ than were attending when we arrived. More than once I heard people say, “It feels like we’re living the book of Acts.” There was an electric intensity in the air, the feeling like no other that means the Spirit of God is on the move.
It was there I met my prayer partner, Jody Blaylock. He was a modern-day E. M. Bounds or Andrew Murray. Jody visited our church one Sunday morning. He had moved to Morgan City from New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, so he was also new in town. We immediately hit it off. He asked me a question that would change my prayer life forever.
He asked, “Do you have a prayer partner?”
“Yes, I love to pray,” was my response.
“I understand that, but do you have someone you pray with regularly who holds you accountable to pray?”
I had never been asked that before. Sure, I prayed with friends in my grandfather’s home shortly after getting saved, and with David every week on the steps of the chapel at New Orleans Seminary, but I never had anyone with whom I regularly prayed.
Jody invited me to meet him the next morning at 7:30 a.m. in the McDonald’s parking lot. I assumed we would meet up to drink coffee, eat an Egg McMuffin, and talk for a while. But I was wrong. Heading into the McDonald’s, I noticed someone motioning to me from inside a vehicle. It was Jody. When I sat down, he asked if he could call his friend Doug to pray with us. “Sure,” I said.
We never made it inside the restaurant that day. We prayed in his car in the parking lot for almost an hour. After finishing his prayer, Jody concluded by saying, “Okay, brother, I’ll see you next week—same time, same place.”
I walked back to my truck saying to myself, “What about the coffee and
the Egg McMuffin?”
For the next four months, we prayed together every Monday morning in the McDonald’s parking lot. Later, because of changes in our schedules, we prayed by phone rather than in person.
I was learning so much at this time. I thanked God for showing me I was designed for the pastorate despite all my self-doubt. And I knew that wherever the Lord may lead us in the future, the first subject we’d raise would be discipleship—discipleship and missions would define us, and we’d be all about building fully committed followers of Jesus.
Kandi and I went on to have a wonderful three years in Morgan City before accepting a call to Brainerd Baptist Church in Chattanooga, Tennessee.
As busy as those early years of ministry were, I thought frequently about my mom. My dad and my sister had come to faith, but there was unfinished business in my family. I just knew that sooner or later, Mom would be saved as well. I would keep praying until it happened.
I called Mom regularly and told her all the exciting news from Morgan City—people coming to Christ, long dormant faith being reignited, marriages being redeemed, young people sharing their faith at school for the first time. I wanted badly to paint a picture for her of this world of a living, redemptive Jesus. But she remained resistant.
Mom never quite seemed to grasp the need of every man and woman for salvation. She would say, “Robby, you needed to be saved. You had so many issues in your life. I’m glad you found God, because it’s been good for you. But I’m just fine the way I am.”
“It’s been good for me because it’s good for everyone, Mom. It’s necessary for everyone.”
“Robby,” she said, “I’ve always been a good person. I’ve never gotten into any trouble, and I’ve been in church all my life.”
“Of course. But going to church doesn’t make you a Christian. And being good is not going to work. The issue of salvation is living up to God’s perfect standard. And nobody in this world can do that—not based on how we live, even if it seems that by some standard, we’re ‘good’ people. How good is good enough to be saved?”
“I don’t know.”
I continued, “The standard for God is infinitely high—it’s perfection. You can be the best wife, the best mother, the best anything, but you’d still stand before God as a sinner—just like me, just like everybody. Mom, I’m off drugs. I try to be a good husband. I help people. But I’m no more righteous in God’s eyes now, based on my actions, than I was when I was utterly messed up! I’m just more socially acceptable. When I stand before God, that won’t cut it.”
“That’s hard for me to believe, Robby.”
“There must be a moment when you accept the gift of God, through his grace, and go from death into life. What Jesus did on the cross is create a way for you and me to be fully forgiven. I said I wasn’t any more righteous by my actions, but now, in God’s eyes, I’m completely accepted because of Jesus’ finished work on the cross. He lived the life I couldn’t live and died the death I should have died. He traded his perfection for my sin. Yours, too.”
By nothing else but her patient love and the work of God, she listened. She just couldn’t see it. All I could do for her was to keep praying.
God was answering all along, because he was nurturing the seeds that had been planted. And one day in 2010, the harvest came. She was listening to a song at Spring Baptist Church in Texas—the gospel song, “Born Again,” by Ron Hamilton. I’d never have guessed God would use a song. He moves in mysterious ways! Seeds send forth their shoots and break the ground in their own time.
In that moment as the lyrics to the song came across, she simply believed. Praise God.
Here’s what I learned.
Once I had confronted my parents and tried to argue them into salvation. That was a terrible idea.
Then I had gently reasoned with them, and that had worked at least a little better. No one got angry. And finally, through our conversations and his own reflection, Dad entered the family of God.
For Lori, it had been during a sermon in a tiny church. The words of Scripture, the Spirit moving in a worship service, and the voice of her brother—God had used these things to draw her to himself.
And for my Mom, music was the vehicle.
For everyone, it’s something different. But ultimately it’s one thing—the Spirit of God bringing people to conviction, repentance, and surrender to the love of Christ. We can be obedient and plant seeds, but the Spirit provides the water and the sunlight. All those years I felt my mother wasn’t taking in a word I said; we couldn’t connect. But at the proper time, the Holy Spirit spoke, and she responded. I learned a lesson in patience.
Years later, I had the incredible privilege of baptizing my father, my mother, and my sister on the same day, in Chattanooga, Tennessee. They visited often after I accepted a call to Brainerd Baptist Church.
One weekend, I revisited a question that was avoided years before because of our Catholic heritage: “What about following through with baptism now that each of you are saved?”
To my surprise, Mom spoke up first, “I’m ready.”
On a Sunday evening, the three of them—Mom, Dad, and Lori—came forward in white robes, symbolizing their new purity as believers in Christ. All of them were smiling, the warmth of God’s love filled the room, and I couldn’t help but think of how far we’d come as a family. I’d been a drug addict. I’d stolen thousands of dollars from these people, the ones who loved me more than anyone else on the face of this earth. I knew I’d hurt Lori, too. Yet all of that was gone, covered by the blood of Jesus.
The past was nothing more than a marker to show us what God could do; all our tears were wiped away. All our heartache was pain well spent, if it could lead us to a moment this much like heaven.
My long search for a true identity had led me to the one identity that matters: that of a child of God.
I grinned at Dad, Mom, and Lori, and they beamed back—maybe a little nervously. I don’t think any of them were crazy about being the center of attention in a large worship center. They’d have been so much more comfortable sitting around the table at Galatoire’s, back in New Orleans, sharing a dish of shrimp and crab sardou and arguing about which movie to see. Maybe someday we’d do that again.
But they understood what this moment meant. Now we were whole. We were new creations, bound together by his kingdom and his love.
We’d been a good family, to be sure—a loving family, a circle of four who never gave up on one another. By social standards, an outstanding household. But now we were something more. By the standards of heaven, we were redeemed, pure and spotless in God’s eyes, rescued, and part of the great forever family.
Mom, Dad, and Lori never gave up on me. When others turned their backs, they never did. God used them to save me from the toughest times of my life. But little did we know he was saving me so that one day he would save them.
I said a silent prayer of gratitude to God in that moment. I told him the rest of my life would be a sustained act of loving, grateful service to him.
Then I motioned my father to step into the cool water with me. I grabbed his hand as he entered.
Afterword
After reading my life story, you may be thinking your life is different than mine. Maybe you’ve never struggled with alcohol or drugs, or maybe you have but not to the extent of the addiction I had. Regardless, we all share the same sin problem that can’t be fixed by our own good works or meritorious actions. Every one of us needs a Savior to set us free and make us whole. If you’ve never surrendered your life to Jesus completely, I want to encourage you to do that now. The joy, peace, fulfillment, and satisfaction you’ve been searching for is found in him alone.
Some of the common rebuttals I’ve heard from people hesitant to submit their lives to Christ are:
“Robby, you don’t know what I’ve done.”
“Robby, you don’t know where I’ve been.”
“You don’t know the pain I’ve caused others.”
You’re right. I don’t know any of the intricate details of your life. However, God does, and he still forgives you. For some of you, it’s time to forgive yourself and walk in victory in life.
When You’re Down to Nothing, God Is Up to Something
It’s difficult for us to discern how God is “working all things together for the good” when things continue to get worse. God began writing your life story in eternity past and is continuing to write to eternity future. Unfortunately, we are unable to see the finished product of God’s handiwork of the tapestry of our lives. Little did I know when I decided to attend William Carey College in 1994 that God was working behind the scenes to bring me to a school where I would hear the gospel. Although I wasn’t born again at that moment, I would remember that conversation with Jeremy Brown seven years later. After my car accident and drug addiction, my life spiraled out of control. Stealing from my parents and living without gas, electricity, and water humiliated me in many ways. But when we’re down to nothing, God’s up to something. A season of sobriety brought hope for the future, but a relapse took me back to ground zero again. Why is this happening to me? Would I ever get myself out of this mess? Little did I know, God was breaking me of all dependence upon self. The moment I relinquished control of my life once and for all, he stepped in and saved me. There are no accidents in God’s economy. He’s in full control of everything that happens.
You may wonder why God allows us to experience pain and suffering. I certainly pondered this notion. Every person mightily used in the Bible has endured some form of suffering. God’s divine instrument for shaping us into the image of his Son is suffering. Author A. W. Tozer wrote, “It is doubtful whether God can bless a man greatly until he has hurt him deeply.” At face value, his proposition catches us off guard. He offers an explanation to clarify his intention:
The flaming desire to be rid of every unholy thing and to put on the likeness of Christ at any cost is not often found among us. We expect to enter the everlasting kingdom of our Father and to sit down around the table with sages, saints and martyrs; and through the grace of God, maybe we shall; yes maybe we shall. But for the most of us it could prove at first an embarrassing experience. Ours might be the silence of the untried soldier in the presence of the battle-hardened heroes who have fought the fight and won the victory and who have scars to prove that they were present when the battle was joined.4
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