The Pastor's Pen

The Pastor's Pen is a weekly devotional space where our pastor, as well as staff members on occasion, offer reflections, spiritual insights, and words of encouragement rooted in Scripture and everyday life. These writings are intended to challenge, inspire, and draw us closer to God and to one another as we strive to live out our faith with boldness and compassion. Whether offering comfort, conviction, or a call to action, each column invites us into deeper discipleship and shared community. When The Columns does not run, there is not a new entry for The Pastor's Pen.

Along the journey... | Feb. 12, 2026

My family was supposed to move to Huntington the last week of January, following a big celebration of mine and Kristy’s 12.5-year pastoral ministry at First Baptist Church of Middlesboro, KY. It snowed. We pushed the party back a week. My family was then supposed to move to Huntington the first week of February. It snowed again. The movers couldn’t get to us, so Kristy and I loaded up a big UHaul and made a partial move February 3. We arrived in Huntington in a snow storm.


Thanks be to God for the many church folks who unloaded us in the snow. Three

days later—just two days before my first Sunday—it snowed. My mother, Jill, has said for decades, “Give or take a week, it always snows on your birthday.” Behold this prophetess in the city of Maysville. In the same way Mom can tell the story of bouncing the old Pontiac through the snow the day I was born, I can tell of bringing Elliot and Chester down McCullough and Miller Roads in front of half our house on white roads. I’ll tell the stories forever. You may, too. 


What an adventure we’ve had getting here. Not just logistically, but also

physically and emotionally, it’s been a lot. Nearly all change is, even good change. A new job or a new school makes your brain dream but your stomach squeeze. A new home inspires both “Yay!” and “Oh dear…” Yesterday, I took Eleanor and Elliot to meet and greet at St. Joseph School. They were excited and they were afraid in equal measure, and as is often so in moments like that, the fear won out for quite a while. I knelt and looked into Eleanor’s teary eyes and said, “I know, sweetie. How you’re feeling right now is how I feel at church right now, too. It’s different. There are lots of strangers in a place in our lives that’s been so familiar for so long. It’s a lot.” Then I said the only thing I knew to say: “I’m here, buddy. I’m here.”


Maybe you know what I mean. To the extent that you do, we’re alike. We’re

both human. And in all the distortion and disorientation of change in our lives,

there is one constant. It’s God, kneeling and saying, “I know… and I’m here. I’m

here.”


~ Rev. Zach Bay