From Backyard Sermons to a Life of Service
A Excerpt from the newly expanded rewritten addition of Book 1 Beauty For Ashes: Refined In The Fire
Some people are born to entertain. Some are born to fight. My brother Richard? He was born to preach.
Long before he ever held a microphone or stood behind a pulpit, he was already delivering backyard sermons from the pulpit of a tree stump in our childhood woods—Bible clutched tightly in his chubby hands, squirrels and birds his captive congregation. “I preach the biyi!” he would shout with conviction, mispronouncing “Bible” with adorable confidence. He was barely out of toddlerhood, still fumbling with words and battling a childhood hearing impairment, but oh, did he preach.
You could already see it—this spark in him that wouldn’t be silenced.
As we grew up, Rich was the “straight and narrow” sibling. The kind of kid who worried about rules, order, and cleaning the four-wheeler after accidentally hitting a mud puddle. If I was the fire, he was the compass. Focused, disciplined, devoted to God. His high school years were filled with all the hallmarks of a rising leader: debate team, hockey, Christian clubs—he walked the walk.
After high school, his calling led him to Bible college, where he immersed himself in theology, faith, and servant leadership. It wasn’t long before he was ordained and serving as Associate Pastor at one of Fredericton’s largest churches—Sunset Church now known as Hope City. For seventeen years, he poured himself into ministry, walking alongside people in their highest highs and lowest lows. He married, raised children, and preached hope into broken hearts. But the call to serve didn’t stop at the altar.
It grew louder. Bolder.
After nearly two decades in traditional ministry, Richard felt God leading him into new territory. He ventured into prison ministry, agricultural management, real estate—and eventually, politics. Because at his core, Rich is a bridge-builder. A big-picture thinker with a heart for the overlooked. He saw injustice and wanted to change it. He heard the voices of his community and longed to amplify them.
His first run for Parliament was noble and exhausting—endless unpaid hours knocking on doors, listening to stories, hearing people’s struggles and dreams. He gave it everything. And when the votes were counted, it wasn’t enough.
Most people would’ve folded. But not Rich.
He dusted off the disappointment, dug deeper into prayer, and knocked on even more doors. He didn’t just show up; he stayed—at meetings, in parades, at community BBQs and late-night phone calls with constituents. He didn’t campaign for power. He ran for people. And this time, the door swung open.
Today, my brother is the proud MP for Tobique–Mactaquac. But that title doesn’t define him. It’s just one of many roles he’s filled on this winding road of purpose.
He’s still the preacher on the stump.
Still the kid with a Bible and a dream.
Still the man who believes in second chances, mountain-moving faith, and the power of showing up even when you’re weary.
He has a few catchphrases that float through our family gatherings like sacred mantras:
“Fine as frog’s hair.”
“Split one million different ways.”
“All things keep rolling.”
They make us laugh, but they’re more than words. They’re reflections of a man who has lived through deserts and floods, success and sorrow—and always emerged stronger. Richard has had moments where even his steady faith has been shaken, where the silence of heaven seemed too loud to bear. But he always returned to the Word. Always found hope again. Always rose—refined in the fire.
He’s not just my brother. He’s a symbol of perseverance. A husband, father, dreamer, and doer. A preacher turned politician, still guided by the same voice that called to him all those years ago in the woods.
And every time he stands up in Parliament, I smile—because I know somewhere deep down, he’s still just that barefoot boy with the “biyi,” preaching to the trees.
The secret to success? It’s not found in some slick seminar or flashy promise of overnight wealth. No, the real secret—the one too few talk about—is forged in the quiet, unseen spaces: the long days, the harder nights, the unwavering belief that your labour is not in vain. The truth is this: success comes from relentless work and even greater faith. You will fall. You will face closed doors, criticism, and loss. But it’s what you do next that defines you.
The hero isn’t the one who never stumbles—it’s the one who refuses to stay down.
That is how character is carved. That is how strength is shaped. That is how the fire refines.
I am proud to come from a family with deep roots of grit, unwavering faith, and resilience that doesn’t back down. We were never handed greatness—but we were handed a legacy. And Richard? He’s carried it with honour.
Now serving his second term as a Member of Parliament, Richard has not only realized some of his lifelong dreams—he’s exceeded them. But even in the spotlight, it’s the shadows that shaped him. In his toughest seasons, when the weight of responsibility threatened to crush the calling, Richard found himself drawn to the powerful sermons of A southern TV Avangelist and Best Selling Author, his voice carried fire and truth, speaking into the dry bones of hardship, reminding him that grace can carry what human strength alone cannot.
And then something extraordinary happened.
Richard began to harness all the experiences that had refined him—his church upbringing, his years in pastoral care, and his deep compassion for the forgotten—and turned it into policy. He drafted a bill to reduce recidivism, built not just on numbers and data, but on dignity. The vision? Equip inmates with skills, education, and support so they wouldn’t just leave prison—they’d rise from it.
Through prayer, perseverance, and providence, that bill made its way to Parliament. But what followed could only be described as divine alignment.
Richard joined forces with the very man whose voice had spoken life over him during his lowest moments. Together, they began to shape something that would go beyond Canada’s borders—something that would truly transform lives.
And then came the garden party.
As Bill C228 was nearing its final passage into Canadian law, Richard received an invitation to attend an intimate gathering hosted by the Bishop at his personal residence. There, surrounded by global influencers, artists, and visionaries, my brother stood shoulder to shoulder with the very people who had once seemed unreachable.
But he wasn’t there as a fan.
He was there as an equal.
That surreal night wasn’t about fame—it was about faithfulness. It was proof that when God opens a door, no man can close it.
Richard has always lived what he preached—that if you cling to faith and rise with resolve, all things truly are possible. Even in the fire. Especially in the fire.
Richard’s story reminds us that Beauty for Ashes is not just a promise—it’s a process. And when you let the fire refine instead of consume, the ashes can become the very soil where destiny is born.
Reflection — What the Fire Really Reveals
What strikes me most about Richard’s journey isn’t the titles he’s held or the doors that eventually opened—it’s the long stretch of faithfulness when nothing seemed guaranteed.
The fire doesn’t announce what it’s shaping.
It works quietly. Slowly. Honestly.
So often we believe success is the moment the door swings open, the crowd applauds, or the vision finally “works.” But the real work—the kind that lasts—happens when the votes don’t come through, the prayers feel unanswered, and the calling still whispers, Stay.
That is where faith matures.
That is where character is forged.
That is where legacy is built.
Richard didn’t rise because everything went right.
He rose because he didn’t leave when things went wrong.
And that truth extends far beyond his story.
Every one of us will face moments when the outcome doesn’t match the effort, when obedience feels lonely, when the path forward is unclear. The fire tests us—not to see if we’re talented, but to reveal who we are when no one is watching.
The refining doesn’t mean you were weak.
It means you were worth preparing.
Declaration — Refined, Not Consumed
Here is what I know, and what I declare over my own life—and yours:
You are not behind.
You are not forgotten.
You are not being punished by the delay.
You are being refined.
Every closed door.
Every quiet season.
Every long obedience—
It is shaping you for impact that doesn’t crumble under pressure.
The fire doesn’t erase the calling.
It clarifies it.
So stand.
Keep knocking.
Keep serving.
Keep believing when the silence feels loud.
Because Beauty for Ashes was never just a promise—it was always a process.
And when the fire finishes its work…
What rises will be strong enough to carry the assignment.
Refined in the fire.
Faithful in the waiting.
Rising anyway.
