Concrete faith


The truck had arrived. The concrete pour was on. Three carpenters and a builders labourer downed tools and grabbed a wheelbarrow. I was the builder’s labourer.

After twenty minutes you pay by the minute for the truck to wait. The pace was frantic. Barrows lined up. One by one they are filled. I took off down the driveway will a full load. Wet concrete is heavy and unstable.

Around the side of the house we were renovating and extending, through the mud to the back where we were laying the foundations.

I was poised for the last challenge. Down a slippery plank and under the house to drop my load.

Just as I was about to take the plunge I heard the booming voice of the foreman: “Watch out. We don’t have a good labourer here!”

I made it down the plank. Emptied the barrow and headed back up around the house to pick up my next load. Choking back the emotions. I felt totally beaten.

There I was, working three days a week as a builder’s labourer. Trying to survive financially while while we planted our second church and I wasn’t even a good builder’s labourer.

The plant wasn’t coming together like I’d hoped. We had a couple of financial crises every week. We had two young children with one on the way. The strain was showing in our marriage. I was barely holding it together.

Worst of all, I’m right in the centre of God’s will and purpose. The trap is set and I'm in it.

By the time I made it back up to the truck I had determined in my heart there was no going back. I would stay the course. I would surrender my life and future to God and trust him with the outcome.

This was to be one of half a dozen opportunities over eighteen months to come to this same place of surrender. I thought once would be enough. God had other plans.