I am surrounded by piles of boxes as I write. My family is moving in three days - just 20 minutes up the freeway to reduce our cost of living. We are leaving the house where our church was born, and where our sons learned to walk, swim and shave. I’ve been asked more than once if I felt emotional about it, but I am surprisingly unattached to these walls that have witnessed so much wonder.

I think God has used hard seasons of life to give me the gift of uprootedness

Seven years ago, our family was navigating a new city, ministry fails, racism, legal injustices, puberty, a mental health crisis, losing a baby and having a baby within 365 days. We met our neighbors through the fence and shared just a few visits. We had nothing but cloudy chaos to offer, but Patrick and Kelley kept popping over with a kind of brightness we couldn’t resist. Patrick took pregnancy photos for us in our backyard. Kelley made a baby blanket when Benjamin was born.

This is the story of how I ended up like Dolly Parton on a Monday night in South Africa.

And that’s a wrap on 41… What a year.

I’ve been weathered, made wiser, and found possibilities and limitations I never knew existed. More than anything, I saw God in ways I never had... ways I’d never needed to before this year.

We’re getting ready for the launch of a friend and church member’s new business, Sent Collective. We started by studying the Scripture it’s founded on. Nobody loves the Word more than Benjamin Ladd. I tried to edit out the flip-kicks and stimming sounds but saved the content.

I've been playing an old hymn on repeat. My younger children don't understand the 18th century lyrics, but we've worshiped wholeheartedly to "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing". Something in that song is reaching something in us, so I did a little digging on the story behind it.

Robert Robinson lost his father as a young boy in the 1700's. He had to grow up fast, start working young, and ran the streets of London as a gangster. Robinson convinced his gang to heckle a Methodist gathering when he was 17.

A certain worship song spurs me to write the call to worship on some weeks. On other weeks, a passage of Scripture, a conversation or current events inspire me to write. This week, I listened to a song on repeat. I knew I’d write about it, but I didn’t know what I’d write or why.

The song title, “Less of Me” reminded me of a conversation John the Baptist had with his disciples after Jesus started baptizing. John’s faithful followers were becoming indignant that Jesus was a rising, baptizing public figure. John, however, was overjoyed the Messiah had been revealed.

Our church just hosted a two-day women’s event. God’s presence was so palpable among us the second day that I choked up as I shared the idea He had given me the night before. The ladies were sitting at tables spread with abundance—gifts, flowers, hot drinks, snacks, beautiful decorations. They graciously received the idea I shared before our final time of worship.

Nothing takes you down the road to regret faster than inviting a 4-year old into your kitchen counter to make pizza dough.

We had an AMAZING two days together! We laughed. We cried. We worshiped. We learned. We danced. We ate and ate and ate. We drew near to God and each other. It was an altogether holy, wonderful weekend. Here are a few clips to capture the two days.

I grew up in a family that celebrated “birthday months”. I thought it was the only way to celebrate and was sure I’d carry on the rich traditions. It hasn’t played out that way, however, as anticipation costs my autistic son immeasurably. At just 7-years old, he’s asked me to not tell him when it’s his birthday or anything exciting at all - until it’s time to celebrate.

My birthday is at the end of August. We usually whisper-plan a family meal or date night. My birthday tradition with friends is to eat an exclusively chocolate meal at my favorite cafe in town.

This year, I’m not even calling it August - it’s “My Birthday Month”. (But please don’t tell my 7-year old!)

Cory Asbury released the award-winning song, “Reckless Love”, in 2017 and was thrust into the crosshair of Christian critics. The worship leader was accused of misrepresenting God as “reckless”. He took advantage of the spotlight to talk more about God’s love. “…His love bankrupted heaven for you. His love doesn’t consider Himself first… He doesn’t wonder what He’ll gain or lose by putting Himself out there. He simply gives Himself away on the off-chance that one of us might look back at Him and offer ourselves in return.”

We’re in week three of school holidays, and it feels like my skin is buzzing with over-stimulation and high needs. I’ve been more irritable, often setting off a chain reaction with my son who shares my snap-crackle-pop nervous system. My world shrunk as my thoughts looped on my own struggles. This isn’t my first rodeo. I’m painfully prone to self-rumination.

I don’t think it’s just me. The Israelites sung “songs of ascents” to turn their minds from hardship to hope on the arduous journeys to Jerusalem.

Human nature is drawn to hiding and disguising. It’s our futile attempt to protect ourselves from the effects of sin. It started in the beginning. Adam and Eve exchanged walking with God for a taste of life outside of Him. After just a bite, “they made coverings for themselves… and hid from the Lord God among the trees of the garden.” (Genesis 3:7, 8)

Much later, sinful King Ahab of Israel convinced righteous King Jehoshaphat of Judah to go to battle with him. Prophets had predicted Ahab’s death in this battle.

Hello Dude Perfect!

I'm sending a SEEMINGLY unimpressive "Trick Shot" video you inspired for two reasons:

1. I made a promise to a 7-year old.

2. I'm wiling to bet even my small testimony matters.

I've been praying specifically for "the joy of the Lord" for our family this week. Our autistic son is in a kind of burnout I never knew a child could experience. He is home with me full time and has almost no ability to access to himself, relationships, or any measure of delight. Paradoxically, our household feels like we're walking on eggshells AND our legs have been cut off at the knees.

Since interceding for joy, the meltdowns and heartbreaking moments still happen... But joy entered too. Joy that felt foreign. Joy that didn't match, didn't fit, and didn't "fix"anything either. Honestly, it gave me false hope at first. Maybe this would end soon. Maybe the intensity would let up a little. But that's not it.

The joy of the Lord isn't the absence of hardship. It's the nearness of Christ.

I clocked a new level of “frazzled” this week. I couldn’t even tolerate a worship song playing in the background of my overstimulating life. Surprising even to myself, I responded by burying myself in stories. The memoir of an admirable Christian leader played in my headphones while I folded towels and mashed potatoes. I read the journal entries of a 19th-century woman’s journey toward God when I would normally turn to social media. Internalizing the way others told their stories quieted my own story just enough to give me a small measure of perspective.

We were washed with wonder and welcomed with dignity today at Wonderdal World . Jam and I had the “Edutainment Centre” to ourselves… well, us and an entire staff.

We’re in a parched and painful season right now with Benjamin’s nervous system disability. He’s at home with me full time, and his smiles are few and far between. The whole family is taking strain.

I didn’t take a single Father’s Day photo or do a gushy post, although he’s so gush-worthy. BUT a friend recently resurfaced this old beauty and it deserves a place here.

2015. Lifa was seven and hardly had any teeth that whole year.

This was before we were married, before he ever called him Dad. We had no idea what God was doing, but we all knew He was in the center of it. Family began in a usual way, an out of the ordinary order for us. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

In honor of today’s Call to Worship, I went all the way back to our move to Cape Town and captured my weightlifting journey in less than 90 seconds.