The first gathering of what would become Tabernacle Church took place on Sunday, September 11, 1988. We were an ambitious group of believers who chose to walk together, though our beginning was shaped by difficult and unexpected circumstances.

Following our resignation from Victory Christian Center, a faithful remnant chose to step into an unknown future with us. In those early days, we met in our home until we were able to secure space in one of the theater-style classrooms at Kutztown University. For a season, we moved from classroom to classroom, searching for something more permanent.

After many months without a place of our own, we finally found a storefront. There, the church took root and flourished in its early years. What followed was a wide range of experiences—some joyful, others deeply painful. While the church never grew large in numbers, what we lacked numerically was more than compensated for in other ways. We were, without question, a family.

It would be impossible—and unnecessary—to recount every detail here, so for the sake of this blog, I’ll focus on a few pivotal moments that help explain how I arrived where I am today.

In April of 1996, Jean and I joined our dear friends Bill and Emogene Kaiser as part of their team that traveled to various locations around the world, hosting conferences for American missionaries. Time of Refreshing was a three-day gathering held in the missionaries’ regions, offering rich times of worship, generous gift-giving, and shared meals. It was an extravagant expression of love, encouragement, and honor for those serving abroad.

We continued this for fifteen years, logging countless miles and being immersed in cultures across Europe, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia. At the time, we didn’t realize how profoundly this exposure—to people, cultures, and cuisines—would shape us. It cultivated a deep love for diverse foods and an even deeper love for God, while also transforming how we understood the church.

Our missionary friends introduced us to the unconventional—new expressions of ministry that stretched our imagination. A desire to walk a less-traveled road began to grow in our hearts. It felt as though we were being rewired for something different, something altogether unfamiliar.

Then, in December of 2004, Adam2 Ministries was born—not out of a church split, but from a deep, inward calling to share the gospel of Jesus Christ in a tangible, lived-out way.

Christian Retreat Conference Center, located just east of Bradenton, Florida, spans 110 acres of paradise carved from wild orange groves along the Manatee River, which winds its way to the Gulf of Mexico. More than a conference center, it is a vibrant blend of community, ministry, and family church life.

After completing the Institute of Ministry, we returned to Christian Retreat in January 1977. With only a few hundred dollars, a car payment coupon book, and all our possessions packed into one vehicle, we arrived hopeful—longing for connection and a place to call home.

We found it, though not without some wandering. For a time, we bounced from house to house across the sprawling campus before finally settling into our own space. God’s faithfulness was evident in every step, guiding us through one experience after another. For brevity’s sake, I’ll share just the highlights.

Jean quickly secured a position in the center’s kitchen as the new baker, while I sought work off campus. Tropicana’s massive plant in Bradenton hired me into their box factory. Each day, our three-man crew clocked in at 6:30 a.m. and labored until 3:00 p.m., producing nearly 100,000 cartons for orange juice. The pace was relentless—machines cranking out 200 boxes every minute. It was grueling, far beyond what I had imagined, and I never expected to work so hard.

By God’s mercy, after two months of box-making I transitioned back to Christian Retreat, joining Jean in the kitchen. My duties ranged from washing dishes and cleaning restrooms to stocking vending machines across campus.

When the dining services director stepped down, a new leader arrived. Upon meeting the kitchen crew, he immediately appointed me his first cook. Though I had no real culinary training, I accepted the role. To my surprise, I discovered a natural aptitude for cooking. Under Fred’s leadership, I was soon recognized as head cook, while Jean continued her amazing baking. Together, we became a strong team, and the kitchen thrived.

Eventually, Fred’s lifestyle proved incompatible with the Christian community, and he was released. Responsibility for dining services fell to Jean and me. Overnight, we were in charge of the entire operation—cooking, baking, and managing staff. I didn’t known I was capable of such work, but with Jean by my side, we flourished.

But I was wrestling with pride. I believed the culinary world was beneath me, convinced I was destined for “greater” things—ministry. I imagined God’s Kingdom as a ladder, with rungs to climb toward higher callings. That attitude was misguided, yet God’s grace prevailed.

In 1979, I was ordained into the ministry and within weeks, I joined the pastoral staff at Christian Retreat, serving alongside Gerald Derstine and four other pastors. My responsibilities shifted dramatically—from cooking meals to coordinating conferences, and concert schedules filled with world-renowned speakers and artists.

During those years, I met believers from across the Christian world—Pat Boone, Tom Netherton, Anita Bryant, the Continental Orchestra and Singers, Costa Dier, Charles and Francis Hunter, Benny Hinn, and many more.

Our daughter, Rebecca, was born one very stormy morning on May 12th, 1980. What an amazing joy she brought into our lives.

Then, in the summer of 1981, we moved to central Florida to pastor our first church in the small town of Frostproof. The transition was jarring—like stepping from the frying pan into the fire. Rural central Florida felt worlds away from anything familiar, like we had left the country altogether.

After completing an intensive 10-week program at the Institute of Ministry, Jean and I returned to Pennsylvania, where I resumed my position at Gaumer’s Plumbing Supply on Allentown’s south side. I remained there for another year and a half.

Gaumer’s was a humble, one-man operation run by Homer Gaumer—a man whose presence was as impactful as his work ethic. Working alongside him felt like earning a graduate degree in both life and faith. Homer had a remarkable way of weaving spiritual insight into the rhythm of our daily tasks, and I absorbed invaluable lessons from him—professionally and spiritually.

About a year after my return, tragedy struck. Homer suffered a fatal heart attack on his way to work. In the aftermath, I stepped in to manage what remained of the business, doing my best to keep it going. But as the months passed, the financial burden grew heavier, and it became clear that continuing was no longer sustainable. Eventually, Gaumer’s Supply closed its doors.

With that chapter behind us, Jean and I turned our eyes once again to Florida.

In January 1977, we packed everything we could into our 1975 Volvo—roof rack overflowing, $400 in cash, and a car payment coupon book tucked in the glove box—and headed south. We had no job lined up, no place to stay, and no one at Christian Retreat expecting us. We didn’t even have a hotel reservation. Still, we believed God would provide. That faith carried us—at least for the first three days.

By the third day, doubt crept in. With no job, no permanent housing, and dwindling funds, we began to question whether we had misunderstood God’s direction. We packed up, ready to return to Pennsylvania while we still had the means.

Before leaving, we decided to say goodbye to Gerald Derstine. We found him working on the platform in the sanctuary. After we shared our situation and plans to leave, he encouraged us to stay, assuring us that things would work out. He even offered us a temporary room in his home. Just then, the person in charge of housing rentals on the conference grounds happened to walk by. After a brief conversation, we learned that a mobile home had just become available—for two weeks. We gratefully accepted.

Two days later, Jean found a job in the conference center’s kitchen. It wasn’t what we expected, but it was exactly what we needed.