The first church I pastored left me bruised and battered. Some of the people and more than one elder—out of motives they hid from me in plain sight—tried to convince me that I was no pastor. I heard numerous explanations as to my identity: I was really a seminary professor. I might be a good staff member. Maybe I should try military chaplaincy. Alluding to my pre-ministry vocation, one even suggested that, as pastors go, I was probably a pretty good journalist.

Despite all the flak, that gnawing in my gut to serve God’s people flew on. That fire shut up in my bones simply wouldn’t abate, and I think it was the Holy Spirit. The desire to do the work of a pastor haunted me, keeping me awake night after sleepless night. As Charles Spurgeon advised his students, that itself may be the first subjective sign of a genuine, irrevocable call to the pastorate.

Was I tempted toward bitterness? Yes, strongly. Despair? Time after time. But God kept me from that. I even heard that small voice that whispered in my ear, “Maybe you’re not called to be a pastor.” Why did I want to pastor again in spite of such a catastrophic first try?  In this excerpt from our new book, Faithful Endurance: The Joy of Shepherding People for a Lifetime (Crossway), I unpack six things that kept me in the ministry.