Following call to advocate for vulnerable children

Written by Jay Boyd, Chief Advancement Officer

Bryan and I were riding in the back of my grandfather's pickup truck in late November. Thanksgiving on the Florida Panhandle had already been full—bonfires, s'mores, oysters on saltines, and outdoor adventures on the farm. We were somewhere between catfishing and dove hunting as the truck bumped across a cut peanut field, our legs dangling off the tailgate, shotguns across our laps.

Everything had been going great. Bryan had been laughing and soaking up every new experience. But as we crossed the field, I felt the mood shift. His shoulders trembled and I heard a quiet sniffle. He had pulled his hat low, trying to hide tears running down his cheeks. In the awkward way only a thirteen-year-old boy can manage, I whispered, "Hey man, are you okay?"

He hesitated, lifted his head, and said softly, "Jay… you have no idea how good you have it."

He was right.

Bryan lived at the Florida Baptist Children's Homes where my mom served as campus director and my dad was his youth minister. He had been around our family before, but this was his first time immersed in our extended family's holiday traditions. I didn't know the specifics of his past—my parents never shared details—but I didn't need them. That one sentence told me everything. He wasn't crying because anything was wrong. He was crying because, for a moment, he glimpsed something he had never really known—stability, warmth, laughter, belonging.

Looking back, that moment became one of hundreds of experiences that quietly formed who I have become. I grew up in a loving family with parents who followed Jesus and strove to live out the fruits of the spirit. I didn't yet understand what a gift that was. Bryan did.

In my final years of high school, I worked on campus with the maintenance director. I cut grass, changed light bulbs, and helped repair whatever needed fixing—but the best part was teaching younger kids how to do basic chores so they could earn a little allowance. I didn't realize then that those simple interactions were planting the seeds of my calling.

Years later, after college, Lauren and I were newly married and living on stretched paychecks as I pursued a master's degree from Southern Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky. One evening during dinner with my parents, I found myself asking again about the kids I'd grown up with at the children's home. After a long conversation about ministry and calling, my mom asked, "Jay, have you ever thought that maybe God wants to use your compassion and sense of justice for them?"

Something unlocked.

Not long after, I attended a national conference for Baptist childcare agencies. For the first time, I met people—besides my mother—who had built their lives around serving vulnerable children through fundraising, church engagement, and marketing for ministries like BCH. As I listened to their stories and watched their passion, everything in me settled. I left that conference with a clarity I hadn't felt before—the Lord was calling me to devote my life as an advocate for vulnerable children and struggling families.

As I begin my new role at Baptist Children's Homes of North Carolina, the weight and privilege of this calling feels even more significant. BCH is truly a pro-life ministry—caring for people from "the womb to the tomb." The organization's scope is extraordinary, and the scale of opportunity to serve more children and families with the hope of the gospel is remarkable. Combine that with their 140 years of rich history, a compelling mission, and the fresh leadership vision under CEO David Melber, and it's impossible not to feel excitement about the future!

And this calling to BCH doesn't rest on my shoulders alone.

Lauren and I recently celebrated seventeen years of marriage, and every season of ministry has been something we've stepped into together. In recent years, her ministry has been especially impactful. During our time at Connie Maxwell Children's Ministries in South Carolina, she served as the Fitness and Wellness Specialist, using her background as a personal trainer and former Division I tennis player to build relationships and healthy rhythms for kids and staff. She helped establish a gym on campus—not just as a place to work out, but a relational tool where confidence grew and trust was built.

For some kids, that gym became a place of healing. For others, it prepared them for sports or gave them tangible goals to work toward—one even improved her run time enough to qualify for a military institute. Lauren has since spoken at national conferences about how fitness, health, and physical rhythms can lead to better outcomes for children who've experienced trauma. Her ministry has been personal, creative, and transformative.

As we prayed about this new opportunity with BCH, we sensed a shared peace that this is exactly where God was leading us. Our children—Brayden (14) and Isabella (11)—have grown up seeing ministry not as something their parents "do," but as something that shapes our family culture. Ministry can be messy and beautiful all at once, but when we talked with them about moving to North Carolina, they trusted that Mom and Dad were doing their best to follow God's calling for our lives—and theirs.

As we begin this new chapter, we do so with deep gratitude—for the past that formed us, the calling that guides us, and the Christ-centered mission ahead. We are honored and excited to join the BCH family.