I send the Friday Call to Worship out via WhatsApp every Friday morning at 6am. This self-inflicted deadline has nothing to do with the receivers, but it's part of a deal - a holy handshake of sorts. The deal: "God, I'll show up because I know you will." I'm not trying to manipulate God with time-bound transactions. It's more of a "dealing with myself" deal. I cannot write until He deposits something in me - often a subtle, internal stirring during the week's events, Scripture, song, or phrase.

This is a rare week when I've shown up to my keyboard at 4:30am on Friday morning with a blank screen before me.

The little guys and I had a Saturday morning splurge: a trip to the blueberry farm! Despite the summer heat in a greenroom, it was easily one of the most special mornings we've had in a long time. It felt like a gift from God. Jam was able to stay fully present, fully himself. He reached for his brother's hand during the tractor ride and found peace in the unhurried pace of plucking blueberries from the bush. My favorite part was…

I had an encounter with my pride this week.

I was born with a fierce stubbornness that's helped me jump in, without looking back, to what God has called me to. I drove a U-haul from my small hometown in Texas on my 22nd birthday. I moved to Los Angeles to start work and seminary in a city where I didn't know a soul. I moved to Africa on my own at 25 and became a mom. Somehow though... Even though I've lived on donations for 16 years...

I asked my three-year old son, Wyatt, what I should write the call to worship about. He replied without hesitation, "You should write about everything because I just love my family so much."

Context makes that statement so profound. We've just finished a long, hard school holiday. Our six-year old son, Benjamin, struggled at the edge of autistic burnout. There were few peaceful moments and many meltdowns. Little Wyatt adores his brothers and has a special connection to Benjamin. We've watched Wyatt's love for Benjamin grow exponentially in the last months, even while Benjamin lashed out against him and dominated the attention of the household.

There was just one unexpected guest during my personal retreat… a baboon! He silently came in through a second floor window with stealth and determination. Before I could register what was happening, my house guest helped himself to the candy in the candy dish and flung open the freezer and fridge doors like one of my own offspring! I, the ever-calm, cool and collected one, screamed like a crazy lady and threw a pillow at the freezer door...

just went away - all by myself for three nights. Yesterday, the day I returned home, marked 16 years since I left America for South Africa. This time away, a gift from a friend who met me use her holiday home and my husband who handled EVERYTHING in my absence. It was silent, peace-filled, restorative, and an unspeakable blessing. I reflected on the last 16 years, the goodness of God, and I read and read and read and read. I slept, and I read. And then I did it some more. I am so thankful!

It's 2026! Some are working out new year's resolutions, while others are still shaking the dust off of 2025. I tuned in (a week late, as usual) to a raw WhatsApp conversation about the new year in my neurodivergent parent support group. Weary parents disclosed visceral reactions to the social standard of dreaming big for the year ahead or even celebrating it as they stagger across the finish line of 2025. They found solace in relatable stories and sentiments, and then resolved together to take one day at a time. I was too late to join the conversation, but I related deeply as I read it.

These three brothers. They are God’s gift to me and to each other. Sure, there are less stable moments than unstable, and they could not be more different… but God designed Lifa, Benjamin and Wyatt each with a very special capacity for brotherly love. I pray they will be lifelong friends, always calling out the best in each other, and continually overcoming every obstacle with their unity.

This kid IS the vibe. He’s picked up a bad habit of screaming, “WHAT THA HECK!?!” over this school holiday. He loves his brothers fiercely, and his only volume is SCREAM. Wyatt is one of those kinds of people that brings energy to a room, makes the house feel alive, and can get a whole household working for him without us even realizing it!

Our beloved van might have had its last adventure, and we’re back to being a one-car family for now. We’re still in the thick of a long, hot summer holiday. The people (specifically, me) are going crazy.

But here’s the cool thing... We’ve unintentionally written some default codes into our family system for a time such as this…

I have found myself in the beginning of my Bible at the beginning of a new year. The fall of man is the first account after creation. It only took three chapters to get there. Every page after is filled with God's pursuit of unbroken relationship with us, no matter the cost.

Genesis 3 starts with the enemy twisting questions aimed to steal, kill and destroy. "Did God really say...?" In an instant, chaos, confusion, separation, shame, guilt, and fear stained a spotless masterpiece…

The most anticipated day of the year has come and gone, leaving precious memories, overflowing garbage bins, and my kids asking how many days until next Christmas. Is there a such thing as a "wonder hangover" after the Christmas magic has peaked?

Just imagine the morning after the very first Christmas. An incredibly sore, new mom picks up the King of Kings in soiled swaddling cloth.

In 1843, a French priest commissioned renowned poet, Placide Cappeau, to write a poem to commemorate the renovations to the church organ. Cappeau penned the poem "Midnight, Christians". At the priest's request, he worked with distinguished composer, Adolphe Adam, to turn his poem into a song called “Christmas Carol". Today, we know it as the song, "O Holy Night".

The carol was instantly popular but quickly banned from French liturgy when church leadership found out Cappeau was an atheist and Adam was Jewish. The French wouldn't let the song go, however, and it lived in their homes when the church wouldn't sing it.

There is no one on earth like Lifa.

We are traversing some of our hardest days with Benjamin right now. I’ve found the end of myself, and my tank feels empty. And then Lifa jumps in the van for a trip to the park. He sits under a tree and plays ninja turtles. He makes heavy times lighter just by being there. He embodies family in the way family was meant to be - the sticks with you, rain or shine, goes along for the ride kind of family….

We got an opportunity to show some love to a women’s shelter in Athlone called Carehaven. A building that was last painted over 20 years ago finally gets a face lift. We’re going back in the new year to finish the bars the other side of the facility.

The South African school year just ended, but it ended extra early for my differently-wired son. His sparkle has been losing its luster since the middle of this year. School breaks, weekends, and our family's accommodations brought no relief or restoration. He loves his school, family, soccer team, and the church community growing around him more than you've ever seen a six-year old love. But even good old-fashioned childlike zeal costs him much…

Last week, I marched into my kitchen and announced, "I will not utter a SINGLE grumble or complaint for an entire month. I won't think one. I won't say one. There's no venting. There's only gratitude." My husband hadn't had his first sip of coffee yet. His eyebrows rose to his hairline as he wondered what had his wife riled up so early in the morning.

It didn't feel early in the morning for me. I'd been up for a long time with a sick child. Beyond that, seismic concern for my son with special needs was rising.

Better question: How many times did Wyatt shout, “I’M RIGHT!” when he guessed the right answer?

We kicked off school holiday with a tour of a sea bird conservatory and rehabilitation facility. Wyatt was absolutely FERAL. He and I were asked to leave the tour for the sake of the penguins. But not before he answered the tour guide’s questions correctly with his favorite number.

How many times a day does a penguin poop? ONE HUNDRED.

We went ALL OUT for Thanksgiving this year! The Church Home family gave their time, talent, treasure - AND they invited their friends. It was our most epic celebration yet! We served a full traditional American Thanksgiving menu and feasted on the power of gratitude in God’s Word.

We collected donations for a local women and children’s shelter and look forward to a serve day there in a couple of weeks.

We are FULL of turkey, pie, and, most importantly, soul-satiating gratitude for the people God has placed in our lives.

There have been a few seasons in our missions career when we didn't have enough money to buy makeup. I only keep a few, inexpensive cosmetics products on hand, but it's a little thing that makes me feel like me.

Almost ten years ago, I held an almost-empty bottle of makeup and looked at its almost-empty companions. I prayed, "God, please don't let me run out until we can buy more." Maybe it was ridiculous. Maybe it was vain. But God answered that prayer.