A couple of days ago, I went to the hospital to visit a dear friend whose mother had been admitted. Hospitals have become familiar places to me over the years. They are places where heaven and earth seem to meet in profound ways. They are filled with a strange mixture of hope and heartbreak. One room celebrates the birth of a child while another family says goodbye to someone they love. Down one hallway, a patient receives good news. Down another, someone hears words that forever change the course of their life.

While we were sitting together, my friend asked me a question that has stayed with me ever since.

She is currently in school to become a hospital chaplain, and she asked, “After all these years of chaplaincy, what is the greatest wisdom you could give me?”

I answered her in the moment, but her question lingered in my heart long after I left the hospital.

As I reflected on the last sixteen years of ministry, one picture kept coming to mind.

Carry as many tools on your belt as you can without your pants falling down.

It may sound humorous, but it has become one of the greatest ministry principles I’ve ever learned.

Ministry Is Rarely Predictable

One of the beautiful challenges of chaplaincy is that no two days are alike.

One moment you’re praying with parents whose newborn is fighting for life in the NICU.

The next you’re helping someone process the sudden loss of a spouse.

You might walk into a trauma room, a prison cell, a hospice facility, a military base, a nursing home, a disaster scene, or a living room where someone’s world has just collapsed.

There is no script.

There is no checklist.

There is no single class that prepares you for everything you will encounter.

People often joke that I’m the Jim Cantore of pastors because I somehow seem to end up wherever there is death, destruction, tragedy, or crisis. I laugh when they say it, but there is more truth to that statement than I care to admit.

When storms hit, chaplains often find themselves standing in the middle of them.

And when people are experiencing the worst day of their lives, they don’t need someone who has all the answers. They need someone who has prepared well enough to walk beside them with wisdom, compassion, and the presence of Christ.

Every Hallway Tells a Different Story

One of the most remarkable things about hospital ministry is the emotional whiplash that can happen in a matter of minutes.

You can hear a “Code Blue” echo through the speakers as an entire medical team sprints toward someone whose heart has stopped beating. The urgency is unmistakable. Every second matters.

Then, just a few moments later, as you continue walking the same hallway, a soft lullaby begins playing over the hospital speakers, announcing the birth of a brand-new baby.

I don’t know of many places where life and death exist so closely together.

One family is praying for a miracle.

Another family is thanking God for one.

One room is filled with tears.

Another is overflowing with laughter.

One family is saying hello.

Another is whispering goodbye.

The hospital reminds me daily of Solomon’s words that there is “a time to be born and a time to die” (Ecclesiastes 3:2, NIV).

As chaplains, we’re invited into both moments.

Sometimes within the same hour.

Sometimes within the same hallway.

You learn to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15), often without having time to emotionally transition between the two.

People sometimes assume that after enough years you become hardened to all of it.

The opposite has been true for me.

My heart has become softer.

There are still places inside hospitals that stop me in my tracks.

For me, it’s the Cardiac ICU.

The moment I walk through those doors, something inside me changes.

The steady rhythm of the cardiac monitors.

The constant beeping of machines.

The ventilators.

Even the smell of the unit instantly transports me back to the day my father took his last breath.

Trauma has a way of attaching itself to our senses.

Sometimes it’s not what you see that brings back the memories.

It’s what you hear.

It’s what you smell.

It’s the familiar rhythm of machines that suddenly carries you back years in an instant.

I’ll be honest.

There are still moments when I walk into that unit and feel completely undone.

Sometimes my eyes fill with tears before I’ve even reached the patient’s room.

The grief is still there.

I don’t believe that makes me weak.

I believe it reminds me that I haven’t stopped loving.

The day our hearts become untouched by the suffering of others is probably the day we should step away from caring for them.

But I’ve also learned something else.

My strength isn’t enough.

My experience isn’t enough.

My education isn’t enough.

My certifications aren’t enough.

Even my tool belt isn’t enough.

Every single time I step into a room where life hangs in the balance, I am reminded of how desperately I need the presence of God.

It is only by the grace of the Father and the comfort of the Holy Spirit that I am able to keep walking into those rooms.

Paul understood this reality when he wrote, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9, NIV).

After sixteen years, I can honestly say that the greatest tool I’ve ever carried wasn’t earned in a classroom.

It is complete dependence upon the Holy Spirit.

No seminar can heal a broken heart.

No degree can remove unbearable grief.

No certification can speak peace into someone’s soul.

Only Jesus can do that.

Our calling is simply to carry His presence into the room.

Keep Adding Tools

Over the years, I’ve intentionally tried to fill my tool belt.

Not because I wanted another title behind my name.

Not because I enjoy collecting certificates.

But because every new tool allows me to serve someone else better.

I’ve studied grief.

I’ve learned crisis intervention.

I’ve trained in suicide prevention.

I’ve served in prisons.

I’ve spent countless hours in hospitals.

I’ve walked families through funerals.

I’ve sat beside ICU beds.

I’ve learned about addiction recovery.

I’ve studied counseling.

I’ve pursued theological education.

I’ve become credentialed and endorsed as a chaplain.

And now I’m continuing my education because I know there is still more to learn.

Every course.

Every conference.

Every difficult conversation.

Every patient.

Every family.

Every funeral.

Every mistake.

Every success.

Adds another tool to the belt.

The day we think we’ve learned everything is the day we stop growing.

Proverbs 18:15 says, “The heart of the discerning acquires knowledge, for the ears of the wise seek it out” (NIV).

Wise people never stop learning.

Tools Are Meant to Be Used

A hammer does no good hanging in a toolbox if it never drives a nail.

Likewise, ministry knowledge that never leaves the classroom doesn’t help hurting people.

I’ve discovered that many of my greatest lessons didn’t come solely from textbooks.

They came while standing beside hospital beds.

They came from grieving families.

They came from exhausted nurses.

They came from physicians delivering heartbreaking news.

They came from watching faithful believers trust God through unimaginable suffering.

Those experiences sharpened every lesson I’d ever learned.

Paul told Timothy:

“Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who does not need to be ashamed…” (2 Timothy 2:15, NIV).

Preparation matters.

God certainly equips those He calls, but He also expects us to steward the opportunities He’s given us to grow.

Some Tools Don’t Come from Books

One thing I’ve learned is that some of the most valuable tools cannot be taught in a classroom.

Presence.

Compassion.

Listening.

Patience.

Silence.

Discernment.

Humility.

Sometimes the greatest ministry you can offer isn’t a sermon.

It’s simply sitting quietly beside someone whose world has fallen apart.

Job’s friends actually got something right before they began talking.

“They sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him…” (Job 2:13, NIV).

Their ministry was strongest when they simply remained present.

People don’t always remember everything you said.

But they’ll never forget whether you showed up.

You Won’t Need Every Tool Every Day

That’s another lesson I’ve learned.

Some days you’ll only need prayer.

Other days you’ll need medical ethics.

Sometimes you’ll need conflict resolution.

Sometimes trauma care.

Sometimes theology.

Sometimes leadership.

Sometimes all you’ll need is a box of tissues and the willingness to cry with someone.

The more tools God entrusts to us, the more prepared we become for whatever season walks through the door.

The Tool Belt Is for Every Believer

This principle extends far beyond hospitals and just chaplaincy.

Parents need tools.

Teachers need tools.

Business leaders need tools.

Pastors need tools.

Small group leaders need tools.

Friends need tools.

Every follower of Christ should continually be growing.

Peter writes,

“Grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Peter 3:18, NIV).

Growth isn’t optional.

It’s part of discipleship.

Every Bible study.

Every sermon.

Every devotional.

Every challenge.

Every hardship.

Every mentor.

Every book.

Every experience God allows into your life can become another tool He uses later to bless someone else.

Sometimes the very pain you’re walking through today becomes tomorrow’s ministry.

Paul wrote that God comforts us so that we can comfort others with the comfort we ourselves have received from Him (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).

Even suffering can become another tool on the belt. I’ve often said that suffering is my superpower because of all the wild seasons I’ve walked through, but if that’s true, it’s only because God has been my source of strength. My ability to suffer well has never come from me. It has always come from Him, my source.

But Don’t Overload the Belt

There’s another part to the illustration.

Carry as many tools as you can…

Without your pants falling down.

Not every opportunity is yours to accept.

Not every certification needs your name on it.

Not every responsibility belongs on your shoulders.

There comes a point where adding more actually makes you less effective.

Jesus Himself often withdrew to lonely places to pray (Luke 5:16).

He rested.

He recharged.

He spent time with His Father.

Our effectiveness isn’t measured by how exhausted we become.

It’s measured by our faithfulness.

A good craftsman knows which tools to carry for the assignment at hand.

Likewise, wisdom helps us know what God is calling us to learn in each season.

Stay Ready

As I left the hospital that day, I couldn’t help but smile.

My friend is preparing for a ministry that will place her in sacred moments few people ever experience.

She’ll stand beside hospital beds.

She’ll celebrate miracles.

She’ll comfort the grieving.

She’ll pray with frightened families.

She’ll carry hope into some very dark places.

And I realized that the same calling belongs to every one of us.

Maybe not inside hospital walls.

But somewhere in your neighborhood.

Your workplace.

Your church.

Your family.

Someone around you is carrying a burden you cannot see.

Someone is waiting for a word of hope.

Someone needs encouragement.

Someone needs prayer.

Someone simply needs another human being willing to walk beside them.

So, keep filling your tool belt.

Read God’s Word.

Learn from wise people.

Study diligently.

Develop your gifts.

Seek opportunities to grow.

Serve faithfully wherever God opens a door.

But never forget this.

The most important tool you’ll ever carry isn’t a degree hanging on your wall or a certification in your office.

It’s a heart completely surrendered to Jesus and continually filled with the Holy Spirit.

Because when you find yourself standing on someone else’s worst day, you will discover what I’ve learned over these past sixteen years.

It’s never been about what I can do.

It’s always been about what Christ can do through me.

One day you’ll discover that what seemed like another ordinary lesson was actually God placing another tool on your belt for someone else’s breakthrough.

Because ministry is never about impressing people with what we know.

It’s about faithfully using every tool God has entrusted to us so that hurting people can experience the love, hope, comfort, and healing found only in Jesus Christ.

Prayer:

Heavenly Father, thank You for every lesson You have taught us, every season You have walked us through, and every opportunity You’ve given us to grow. Help us never become complacent, but always remain teachable and eager to learn. Fill our lives with wisdom, compassion, discernment, and grace so that we are prepared for whatever assignment You place before us.

Teach us to steward the gifts, experiences, and knowledge You’ve entrusted to us, not for our own recognition, but so we can better serve others. Give us the courage to step into difficult moments with confidence, knowing that You go before us. When our own wounds ache, remind us that Your grace is sufficient. When we feel weak, let Your strength become evident. When our hearts break for others, let the compassion of Christ flow through us.

May every tool You place in our hands become an instrument of Your love and healing. And may every person we encounter leave knowing they have experienced the hope, peace, and presence of Jesus because You allowed us to be there.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.