How I Got Here Part 1: God's Frightful Calling

Kitchen of farmhouse that exploded

My calling into full-time ministry was not a lightning-bolt moment during an altar call. It came from simply enjoying my time working alongside my youth pastor during my late teen years. I realized that I genuinely enjoyed what he was doing, and that inspired me to pursue it.

Fast forward to the summer of 1995: I was a single 21-year-old still living at home, working through school to obtain my ministerial credentials through the Assemblies of God. During this time, I met a young woman through our college program at the church where I had grown up. We got to know each other and began dating. Life was moving pretty quickly, and eventually, I was invited to her parents’ farmhouse getaway in Mauston, WI. We visited a couple of times.

However, in October of 1995, we went up there again, and I sensed that things were becoming serious. She had mentioned more than once that she did not want to be a pastor’s wife, so I had the audacity to spend time in prayer, telling God about this wonderful young Christian lady I had met. I thought that since she didn’t want to be a pastor’s wife, I would no longer pursue being a pastor.

That weekend in October, we arrived at her parents’ farmhouse and spent the day enjoying activities like exploring the area, buying pumpkins, and carving them. Later that day, her parents arrived, and it was time for me to go to bed. I slept in a small bedroom upstairs in the attic while the rest of the family stayed downstairs.

As the night wore on, the temperature dropped, and the hot water wasn’t working. This lady’s father went downstairs to light the hot water heater. After noticing a slight smell, he decided to air out the basement by opening the storm cellar doors. After a while, he lit it, and with some gas still in the basement, an explosion occurred that destroyed the house. I was in the upstairs bedroom, and all I heard was screaming downstairs as I woke up from my sleep. I knew something significant had happened and, to be honest, I thought my floor might be on top of them.

I jumped out of bed and realized my floor was still intact, so I went downstairs, which had become more of a ramp due to the plaster from the walls. The door wouldn’t open because the kitchen floor had raised up, so I proceeded to break it down. Upon entering, I found their nephew lying on the floor with a refrigerator on top of him. I moved that piece of furniture aside and standing at the front door was the lady’s father, who had rolled around in the sand to extinguish himself. His skin was melting off his nose, and his hair was completely singed. He had many burns all over his body.

I practically forced him into my car, and the family and I drove him to the hospital. We stayed there for quite a while before making the drive back to Milwaukee.

During this event, I felt that God was up to something and was clearly getting my attention. The story of Jonah came to mind, as I was clearly running from God.

A couple of days later, I was at this lady’s family home back in Milwaukee when we received a call saying it was okay to visit her father in the hospital’s burn unit. As we left the house, I headed toward my car, which was no longer there—it had been stolen. They went ahead to the hospital while I worked through the paperwork with the police. I was mentally and spiritually drained to the point that all I could do the next day was go to work.

While assembling an HVAC unit at work, I broke down at my workstation and went to the bathroom to have a good cry. I remember distinctly praying, “God, I know what you’re doing here, and you have my full attention. If you bring this lady’s father through this without any infection and return my car, I will go into full-time ministry.” Again, I recognize the audacity of such a prayer after everything I had experienced. As soon as I said "amen" and stepped out of the bathroom, a call came in over the loudspeaker: “Bob Adams…call park line 1.” I picked up the phone, and it was the police saying they had found my car and that I could come pick it up and drive it home. 

Instantly, I called this lady to ask how her father was doing. She said he had a long road ahead of him but had no infections—a miracle considering that 60 percent of his body had second and third-degree burns and that he had rolled around in a sandbox.

After hearing that news, I ended up parting ways with this lady and fully embraced my pursuit of ministry as my life’s calling. The term “fear of the Lord” is a phrase that, to this day, holds profound meaning for me; I do not take it lightly or as just a feel-good read in the Bible. I deeply fear not doing what the Lord has asked of me and will never deviate from that path.

*NOTE* This was an abbreviated version of the story. When I am asked to share my story I talk about many other details whether in a church or youth group setting.